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One of my earliest memories is of my dad giving me and my sister a handmade wooden stool. He was going to college at the time, working his way towards a Bachelor’s degree in industrial arts. His ultimate goal was to become a wood shop teacher.

That particular stool was an assignment. This simple assignment turned out to be about much more than building a wooden stool.  More importantly, he was building a memory. I loved that stool. I loved it all the more because he made it.

I spent the rest of my childhood in and out of wood shops. My dad was incredibly talented, turning what looked to be nothing much into something beautiful. From bowls, to spoons, to pie safes, to clocks, to wooden stools. You name it, he could create it.

My sister and I loved Barbies. Yes, I know. Lots of little girls love Barbies. I get it, but let me tell you, our Barbie-love was at a whole other level. We lived and breathed Barbie. My dad totally got it.

One Christmas we woke to an amazing sight. Highlighted by the twinkling lights of the tree was a dollhouse nearly as tall as us! This house was decked out with three bedrooms and wall-to-wall carpeting. It was a little girl’s dream come true.

We played with that house for years. It was the life of the party when our friends came calling and the stage for countless adventures of the mind. The love our dad poured into those walls was not lost on us.

Far be it for our dad to pour the love solely into us and our house. He saw that our sweet friend’s love of the house equaled our’s. Her dad wasn’t in a position to build her one, so my dad did instead. If you could have only seen her joy when he delivered the house. Words cannot do the moment justice. There is nothing quite like showing unexpected love to others.

For my dad, building was always about much more than the project. His focus wasn’t so much on what was being made, but was more so on the person for whom it was being made. That’s what made his approach to building so special.

He carried this approach with him into the classroom. Of course his students learned the expected…technical math, how to read plans, building techniques, et cetera. But more importantly, they learned such things as respect, compassion, and adaptability. Their finished project was a tangible reminder of these lessons.

Isn’t that just the way of life?  The memories we carry the closest are nearly always more about the people and what we learn from them than they are about the things. We each have the ability to influence others and live in their memories through our actions.  This is true, whether we realize it or not.

Growing up I was as accustomed to being referred to as “Mr. G’s daughter” as I was to my real name.  As I entered adulthood, that naturally changed. I didn’t realize it until I went to my first high school reunion. There, the first question off the lips of my classmates was often, “How is your dad?”. It was frequently followed by stories of how he influenced their lives. I was so happy to again be known as his daughter.

My dad made a tangible difference in the lives of many people during his career. Now he’s retired, but his ability to make a difference is unchanged. I continually learn and benefit from his displays of love, as does my family.

One thing is true, my dad figured out what he was meant to do with his life. Not only is he a gifted carpenter, but he’s more importantly a wildly generous encourager. He has an inate ability to give people exactly what they need. For some, it’s a gentle hug and a handmade dollhouse.  For others, it’s a life lesson built into a woodworking project or some other activity. For everyone, it’s love.

For me, it all began with a wooden stool. But it’s the dollhouse that really stands out. My dad saw a need and cheerfully filled it, without any pomp and circumstance.  The world would be a gentler place with more people like Mr. G. I’m ever so grateful to have the opportunity to learn from and be loved by him.

 Each of you should give what you have decided in your heart to give, not reluctantly or under compulsion, for God loves a cheerful giver.

~ 2 Corinthians 9:9

Music is food for the soul, in my approximation. It has the power to lift our spirits, make us want drive fast, and bring us to our knees. Why is it that we can so easily memorize the lyrics to songs, with possibly little to no effort, and recall them with ease years later? How is it that hearing a song can bring us back in time? Simply, music is soul food.

When I need a moment of peace, want to quiet my soul, need to reflect, I take a seat at my piano and get lost in a melody. When I want to beat my PR or simply get through a workout, I plug in my earbuds and soak in the tunes. When my family needs to pass the time during a long car trip, we pump up the volume and imagine we’re driving fast. Music helps take me places I couldn’t get to on my own.

Last summer as I was being put to sleep for an emergency surgery needed to save my life, a beautiful song played through my head, giving me peace and comfort. Though I had every right to be afraid, I had no fear. God’s promises were sung to me through this melody.

Simply speaking, songs are like poetry put to music. For whatever the reason, they enable us to see the world in a new way and set sparks in our mind. They transport us to a different place. So the next time I want to remember my baby asking me to play “whoa, whoa, whoa” for the umpteenth time, while trudging up a Colorado mountain with her on my back, I’ll turn on “Springsteen” by Eric Church and let the memories roll. And I’ll keep listening to, playing, and singing songs that feed my soul.

Even when I walk through the darkest valley, I will not be afraid, for you are close beside me. Your rod and your staff protect and comfort me. Psalm 23:4 (NLT)

…but be filled by the Spirit, speaking to one another in psalms, hymns, and spiritual songs, singing and making music from your heart to the Lord… Ephesians 5:18(c)-19 (HCSB)

I will sing of your love and justice; to you, Lord, I will sing praise. Psalm 101:1 (NIV)

My mom was a maker at the heart of her being. Whether candlewicking a pillow, designing a wedding dress, painting wooden angels, or baking a cake, she was always creating. And not just creating for the sake of creating, but doing so out of love. She loved the process of making something, sure, but more so she loved sharing what she made and her creative spirit with others.

One my earliest memories is of my mother patiently teaching me how to embroider a simple design. Cradled in her arms, she guided my small fingers as I learned how to handle a needle. She encouraged me to keep trying, no matter how difficult it might seem at first. Mistakes were just opportunities for more practice. “Besides”, she would say, “sometimes the imperfections end up making things the most beautiful and uniquely yours.”

Isn’t that the truth? Strive as we may, we can never be perfect. We can choose to fret over our imperfections, or we can see them for what they are and try our best. Sometimes in working through our imperfections, we end up with something even better. Other times, it’s the imperfection itself that ends up being beautiful. Regardless, imperfection is the reality of life and so we may as well embrace it knowing we did our absolute best.

My mom’s creative spirit never faltered, nor did her love for sharing creativity with others. Towards the end of her life, every Thursday she took her friend Jennie (who has Down’s Syndrome) to art class. Together they would create. She and Jennie enjoyed their last art class together only days before my mom departed for her next adventure.

I’m thankful for the lessons my mom shared with me. Not only those that were technical in nature, but more so those about life. She put her heart and soul into everything she did, sharing her love and creativity extravagantly with those around her. The world is a better place because she was in it.

“Whatever you do, do it enthusiastically, as something done for the Lord and not for men, knowing that you will receive the reward of an inheritance from the Lord. You serve the Lord Christ.” Colossians 3:23-24 (HCSB)