• Skip to primary navigation
  • Skip to main content
  • Skip to primary sidebar
  • Skip to footer
  • Home
  • About
  • My Books
    • True You
    • Katharina and Martin Luther
    • 50 Women Every Christian Should Know
    • Spiritual Misfit
  • Blog
  • On My Bookshelves
  • Contact
  • Privacy & Disclosure Policy

Michelle DeRusha

Every Day Faith. Faith Every Day.

love

Because There’s More Than One Way to Love

July 9, 2014 By Michelle

coins

As kids my sister and I were instructed to refrain from hugging or kissing Papa. He doesn’t like physical affection, my mother always reminded us as we clamored out of the car and up the sidewalk toward the screened porch.

“Hey, Pops,” I’d call out with a wave as I breezed through the back door and into the kitchen, the scent of apple pie a welcome greeting on the doorstep. In later years, after his stroke when he was wheelchair-bound and hunched over the kitchen table, I’d pat his shoulder, bony beneath his soft shirt, or his veined hand. But I never hugged or kissed him, not once.

When we were little, Papa made my sister Jeanine and me pancakes from scratch on Saturday mornings when we slept over, shaping the batter drip by drip into gingerbread men or fish or flowers. Our favorites were the ones he called “the smallest pancakes in the world” — really just the errant droplets of batter that sizzled on the griddle, but we didn’t know that. As he slid a pile of brown dots off the spatula and into the syrup on our Fiestaware plates, we’d laugh, sorting them with sticky fingers to find the tiniest speck of them all. Standing over the electric griddle with his back to us he sang the chorus to “Michelle, My Belle,” a song I thought he’d created just for me.

It was my grandfather who taught me the art of rolling coins. He’d lived through the Depression, and although he didn’t suffer as much as many people did during that bleak time – he held a steady job making guns at the Springfield Armory – he wasn’t one to waste even a single penny.

We sat side by side at the dinette, the gentle clink of change and the tick tock of the wall clock the only sounds in the small kitchen. He demonstrated the method, selecting a coin wrapper — orange for the $10 quarter wrappers, green for the $5 dimes, blue for the $2 nickels, red for pennies — and gently squeezing the edges until it popped into a slender tube. Slip your pointer finger into the bottom to make a platform, and then drop in the coins one by one, he cautioned. Impatient, I always tried to rush the process, pushing three or four coins at a time into the wrapper. It never failed; the coins would jam sideways, and I’d be forced to dump out the entire contents of the tube and begin again.

When we finished there would be four piles of rolled coins stacked like pyramids on the table. Then Papa would meticulously inscribe each roll with his name, address and telephone number in ballpoint pen, each letter curling in an elaborate script. My grandfather had the most beautiful handwriting, elegant and sophisticated like calligraphy. He graced all correspondence, from the electric bill to birthday cards, with this penmanship – even the humble penny roll rose to regal status under his hand.

I once mentioned to a friend that I’d never hugged or kissed my grandfather or received such affection from him. “That’s a little weird, don’t you think?” she’d asked, noticeably disturbed.  I’d shrugged, because I’d never thought it strange. It simply was just the way it always was.

My grandfather was a stoic man. He kept his thoughts and emotions so closely contained, none of us, including his own son — my father — could ever really tell what he was thinking. But we knew one thing for sure: he loved us. In his own unique, non-traditional way, Papa wore his heart on his sleeve.

Filed Under: family, love Tagged With: family, how to love

The Art of Doing Small Things with Great Love

August 23, 2013 By Michelle

I settle in, cinch the seat belt across my lap and, with one foot, push my carry-on farther under the seat in front of me. It’s only when I go to power-down my phone that I see I have a text message. And I know, even without looking, who it’s from.

Whether I’m traveling for two days or two weeks, Deidra always sends me a text the morning I depart. It’s a simple message – a wish for safe travels and a good trip. But she always remembers. It’s just one small thing, a few words on my cell phone, but it makes me smile every time. Her text reminds me that I am loved and remembered, that we are connected, she and I.

“Remind me to buy a birthday card for Mary Ann when we’re at CVS,” my mom says as we walk side-by-side past the farm stand and the rows of corn and cabbage along the country road. “No one sends cards anymore, you know,” I tell her. “Well I like them, so I send them,” she replies.

It’s true. My mom never misses a birthday or an anniversary. If you’re in my mom’s address book, you’ll get a card. She single-handedly keeps Hallmark in business. A couple months ago when my dad was in the hospital, my mom forgot to send a birthday card to my Aunt Marie. A week later, Aunt Marie called, wondering what had happened. “Where’s my card? You never forget to send a card!” she told my mom on the phone.

My friend Andrea bakes and cooks – muffins, casseroles, soups, bread, cookies. If you have a baby or a medical procedure, are suffering through the loss of a loved one or a difficult time, it won’t be long before Andrea rings your doorbell, comfort food in hand. My husband Brad’s that way, too. When our neighbor’s Maggie and Mike had a baby, I mused aloud that we should make them a meal. Two hours later, Brad was whipping up a pan of enchiladas in the kitchen.

“No one can do great things,” Mother Teresa once said, “but each of us can do small things with great love.”

Deidra’s texts, my mom’s cards and Andrea’s and Brad’s casseroles remind me just how important these small gestures are. These small acts tell us that we are not alone. That we are remembered, cherished, valued and adored.  They may be small gestures, true, but they communicate a great and powerful sentiment: love.

Tell me: What’s one small thing you regularly do with great love? 

And the winner of the book Wounded Women of the Bible is: Joanne Palm!!!! Rowan picked your name from the Tupperware bowl!! Joanne, please email me your mailing address and I’ll have the book sent directly to you from Amazon. My email: [email protected]

Filed Under: giving, love, small moments Tagged With: doing small things with great love, Mother Teresa

Hear It on Sunday, Use It on Monday: When You Fear You’ve Flunked the First Commandment

August 11, 2013 By Michelle

“So what do you think?” I ask my kids as we eat lunch on the back patio. “Do you love God with all your heart, all your mind and all your soul?” They both answer without hesitation. Rowan says yes. Noah says no.

“Why not?” I ask Noah. “What’s getting in the way?” He thinks for a minute, chewing thoughtfully on a slice of nectarine. “Well, I think it’s because God’s not right here, right in front of me. It’s much easier to love you and Daddy and Rowan. And Minecraft.” I laugh, because I know exactly what Noah means.

The very first time I read Jesus’ answer to the Pharisee’s question about which is the greatest commandment, I was relieved. “Is that it?” I thought. “Hey, no problem. I can love God.” Later, of course, reality set in. Love is hard – certainly hard enough with our real, live, flesh-and-blood family and friends, but even harder with our amorphous, intangible God.

The more I thought about that verse, the more challenging it became. What does it mean, for instance, to love God with our whole hearts, minds and souls? Like Rowan asked, “What is the soul, anyway? And how do you love with your soul?”

I think I’m pretty good at loving with my mind. I like to wrestle with Scripture and read theology. I like to dig into the Bible, pondering verses and trying to flesh meaning out of the layers. But heart and soul? I’m not so sure. I’m more pragmatic than emotional. I don’t tear up easily; I don’t profess love with abandon. Loving with my whole heart and soul feels a little too over-the-top.

A few months ago when I was writing the 50 Women book I was introduced to Hannah Whitall Smith. Hannah was a leader in the Methodist Holiness movement during the 1850s and ‘60s. A pragmatist like me, she struggled with the movement’s expectation that believers needed to experience an emotional connection with God in order to be fully sanctified. She often approached the altar call with a handful of Kleenex, trying desperately to will herself to tears. But the tears and the overwhelming emotional response never came.

“I am convinced that throughout the Bible the expressions concerning ‘heart’ do not mean emotions, that which we now understand by the word ‘heart,’ but they mean the will, the personality of the man; the man’s own central self,” Hannah later wrote. “It is not the feelings of the man God wants, but the man himself.” (from The Christian’s Secret of a Happy Life)

Hannah’s decision to walk by faith, not feelings, was a turning point in her spiritual journey.

The longer I walk this path, the more I realize that there’s not a right or wrong way to love God. It’s not black-and-white. It’s not simple or easy, but neither does it necessarily need to be complicated. Like I told Noah that afternoon on the patio, we just do our best, and that’s good enough for God. Falling short doesn’t mean we flunk the first and greatest commandment, because God meets us exactly where we are. As Hannah said, God doesn’t necessarily want only our feelings. He wants our whole selves.

Questions for Reflection:
Do you love God with your whole heart, mind and soul? Which of those three areas is the most challenging for you?

: :

Welcome to the “Hear It on Sunday, Use It on Monday” community, a place where we share what we are hearing from God and his Word. If you’re here for the first time, click here for more information.

Please include the Hear It, Use It button (grab the code below) or a link in your post, so your readers know where to find the community if they want to join in — thank you!

Please also try to visit and leave some friendly encouragement in the comment box of at least one other Hear It, Use It participant. And if you want to tweet about the community, please use the #HearItUseIt hashtag.

Thank you — I am so grateful that you are here!

<a border=”0″ href=”https://michellederusha.com/” target=”_blank”> <img src=”http://i867.photobucket.com/albums/ab239/mderusha/HearItUseItImage-1.jpg”/></a>



Filed Under: 10 Commandments, Gospels, love, Use It on Monday Tagged With: Gospel of Matthew, Hear It on Sunday Use It on Monday, how to love God, living the 10 Commandments

She said, “I Do.”

May 15, 2013 By Michelle

There were vows and rings. A best man and a maid of honor. Toasts and hugs and kisses. Brats and burgers, stories and laughter.

And there was love. Abundant love.  Exuberant love. Joyful, celebratory, smiling, laughing, weeping, I-want-to-spend-the-rest-of-my-life-with-you love.

The ceremony took place on a dock next to a pond. The couple wore tee-shirts and shorts, sneakers and flip flops. The preacher tucked his dress shirt into a pair of farmer’s overalls.

Two friends of mine, two women, got married on a dock in a small town in Iowa on Friday night. They slipped rings on each other’s fingers and vowed to love and cherish one another in sickness and in health, until death does them part. Their loved ones gathered around, teary and smiling, as the orange sun slipped behind the pine trees and a pair of geese honked and flapped into the azure sky.

The brief ceremony complete, my friends stepped into a wicker basket and were lifted into the Iowa sky beneath a roaring flame and a canopy of color. They rode off, gliding over the rolling cornfields and into the sunset. It was like something out of a movie.

I stood on the edge of the woods smiling like a fool. And I watched the balloon float soundlessly away, until it was just a speck in the vast, vast sky.

 

Filed Under: friendship, gay marriage, love, marriage Tagged With: how I feel about gay marriage

When Love Changes

March 13, 2013 By Michelle

Two shoeboxes, one stacked on top of the other, sit on the top shelf in the back of the basement closet. Each is filled to the brim with love letters, written more than 18 years ago when Brad (who is now my husband) and I were first dating. He lived in Minnesota, I lived in Massachusetts, and we wrote to each other once a week, sometimes more. It was the early ’90s, pre-email. The letters are hand-written on lined paper torn from spiral-bound notebooks and legal pads. I saved every one.

Even after I married the man who wrote me two shoeboxes full of letters, the correspondence kept coming. Not only for birthdays and anniversaries and other special occasions, but for any old reason. Or for no reason at all.

And then the letters stopped.

…I’m over at Prodigal Magazine today, writing about marriage. Join me? 

Click here to get posts in your email in-box. Click here to “like” my Facebook Writer page. Thank you!


Filed Under: love, marriage, parenting, Uncategorized Tagged With: marriage and parenting, Prodigal Magazine

« Previous Page
Next Page »

Primary Sidebar

For as long as I can remember, I’ve been a Triple Type A, “make it happen” (my dad’s favorite mantra) striver and achiever (I’m a 3 on the Enneagram, which tells you everything you need to know), but these days my striving looks more like sitting in silence on a park bench, my dog at my feet, as I slowly learn to let go of the false selves that have formed my identity for decades and lean toward uncovering who God created me to be.

Read Full Bio

Available Now — My New Book!

Blog Post Archives

Footer

Copyright © 2023 Michelle DeRusha · Site by The Willingham Enterprise· Log in