Monday, March 30, 2026

Spreading Cheer

“A cheerful heart is good medicine.” – Proverbs 17:22

Our church has a group of ladies who are the United Methodist Women Cheer Committee. You might be wondering how our committee works. There is no special training needed, just a loving heart. We are a unique ministry that sends cards and makes visits to those who are shut-in and home-bound or may have an extended illness. We also like to recognize birthdays or special events.

This ministry became even more special when one group member (Cathy Cupples) said she would design and make custom cards for us to send. They are spectacular cards.

For Valentine’s Day we prepare Valentine Cheer Bags for church family shut-ins and for the residents of Boulevard Temple Continuing Care Center in Detroit. Our Sunday School children help us in spreading cheer by making loving messages to include in the Cheer Bags. The content of the bags ranges from sweet and savory treats to room decor and hand cream.

These cheer bags brighten their day and remind them they are cared for and not forgotten. A brief visit when the bag is delivered is like sunshine on these cold, winter days. A good thought to keep in mind when you can’t find the sunshine, is to be the sunshine.

Cheerfulness is not only therapeutic for the recipient but also the giver. Mark Twain said: “The best way to cheer yourself up is to try to cheer someone else up.” A cheerful heart makes you a better person and helps you live a life of Christian service. You may not be a doctor, minister, or a therapist but with a cheerful heart you can be like good medicine.

We welcome anyone to join our group of Cheer Spreaders.

Prayer: Heavenly Father keep us mindful of the amazing opportunities you have given us to brighten someone’s life with a small act of cheer. I follow the example of Jesus when I serve others. Amen.

Pat Deck

Palm Sunday, March 29, 2026

A Place of Joy

One evening, my eight-year-old daughter Lula had two of her closest friends over for dinner. The three third-grade girls were sitting around our kitchen table, giggling and going back and forth about Messi vs. Ronaldo…very serious opinions being shared. My six-year-old, Majid, was also at the table, listening and trying to chime in as much as he could.

As they continued their conversation, I called out from the other room that after dinner I’d need to take the girls home.

Right on cue:
“Nooooo!”
“We want to keep playing!”
“Can we just stay later?”
“Pleeeease!!”

I told them it was already kind of late and that Lula and Majid had church in the morning.

One of the friends announced, “church is boring” and the other friend added, “I don’t like going to church.”

There was a brief, quiet pause at the table. Followed by Lula proudly announcing to her friends, “Our church is really fun!”

Majid then added, “Yeah, we even have a church garden with Farmer Don!”

Lula continued, “All our Sunday School teachers let us play games. And during third-grade Bible class, Ms Emily would hang out on the floor with us. We have so much fun.”

Majid jumped back in “Our pastor even tells sports jokes during church and everyone laughs!”

Both friends were listening intently. One of them replied, “My church is not like that.”

The other friend then asked Lula, “Can we come with you to church sometime?” Second friend excitedly adds, “Yeah, I want to go to your church too!”

Lula’s response was simple: “Everyone is welcome!”

Majid then proudly wrapped up the conversation with, “Oh you guys…and guess what?! After Sunday School we get COOKIES!!”

Listening from the other room, my heart swelled. In that moment, I reflected on how incredibly blessed we are to be part of a church family that embraces children so fully…where faith is taught with laughter, where learning happens with games and sometimes on the floor beside caring teachers, where a church garden with Farmer Don becomes holy ground, and where even sports jokes from the pulpit remind kids that church is a place of joy.

God’s work is so often most visible in the quiet, ordinary moments. It shows up in the patience of Sunday School teachers, the dedication of volunteers, the creativity of those who build youth programs, and the warmth of a congregation that says, “Everyone is welcome.”

This Lent, I am deeply grateful for a church family that nurtures young faith so intentionally. I am grateful that youth are encouraged to feel God’s love being lived out through games, gardens, cookies, kindness, and community. I am grateful that our church is truly a place of belonging and that my children want to proudly share that with their friends.

Ashley Deeb

Saturday, March 28, 2026

A Son’s Love, Part II

“He has made everything beautiful in its time. He has also set eternity in the human heart, yet no one can fathom what God has done from beginning to end.” Ecclesiastes 3:11

Over the following months I asked about our sordid family history. From her prodigious quantity of photo albums, I began posting and rotating photos – many unfamiliar – onto a corkboard next to her head. I discovered a cache of farm animal photos, close-ups of cows, a horse, her beloved Belgian dog. I learned that during WWII, my grandfather purchased a farm. My mother didn’t like the farm, the chickens, the horse that galloped to the far end of the meadow as she approached. Being out of town made it difficult for her to visit her friends.

In October, I strung colored lights around her double window. Significantly, we could turn off all the room lights, leaving the soft glow of the colored lights, by which I would read after she fell asleep. By November, Hospice joined in. They liked my mother because she could carry on a conversation.

December: her interactions became fewer, being present, but saying little. I had kept a spiral tablet on which I recorded the days’ events and conversations. One night she abruptly sat up, looked at me straight in the eyes, her pupils black, haunting. “I need four more cows,” she exclaimed, before falling back asleep. Having recorded her usual conversations, I thought she might be losing her way.

A few days later as the staff changed her gown and bedding, at nearly 6:30 am, mother, sitting upright looked me in the eye, a message to give her privacy. Stepping into the nearby bath, I puttered a little; ran hot water over a washcloth. Staff walked behind me into the hallway. I moved to the foot of the bed. She preferred having her feet exposed while sleeping. I wiped her feet with the warm washcloth. Perhaps this was my apology for hanging around.

I sat facing her near the bed. Her head moved slightly, and she died. In those few moments I understood we were a part of something bigger.

One of the aides entered with mother’s morning tea. “She’s dead,” I said to the aide, incredulous, because she had been there only a short time earlier.

My need to record this mundane account stems from “I need four more cows,” mentioned four days earlier. My mother died on December 22, 2010, the date of my brother’s birthday. There is more: Mother’s funeral was December 28, which was her birthday. During her funeral we appropriately sang, “Happy Birthday.” Though not consciously aware, at that time, the “something bigger” evidenced in the position on the calendar of her death and funeral: December 25, three days after she died, and three days before her funeral-birthday. Father, Son and Holy Spirit brought us two together in reconciliation, forgiveness and love.

Michael Calligan

Friday, March 27, 2026

A Son’s Love, Part I

“He has made everything beautiful in its time. He has also set eternity in the human heart, yet no one can fathom what God has done from beginning to end.” Ecclesiastes 3:11

It is January 2010. My mother lived in Florida. We had drifted apart; we sometimes spoke over the phone. She had told me about her Pulmonary Fibrosis.

One day, a neighbor of my mother’s called me saying that she and other neighbors had been feeding my mother, and that she had become thin and fragile. I flew to Florida to investigate. It was true: My mother moved about her home dragging the long, clear hose connected to an oxygen concentrator. I asked how much longer she thought she would live. “A year,” she said, without hesitation.

My brother and I returned to bring her back to Michigan in May. We packed the few items she wanted to keep in a rental truck, and her Buick. My brother who lives in Oregon was openly concerned I could not take care of her properly. I offered to escort her to Oregon.

… I found a place for her to stay in Michigan. After visiting several nursing homes observing how the staff treated the residents, one stood out above the rest. The rooms were small; a few had a connecting door to a second room. The choice was rooms 44 and 45. They were very cozy with a TV in one room, viewed a short distance to the adjoining. Settled in, we sat facing one another closely; mother said: “I prayed for 30 years that we might become close again…finally, I gave up. But here you are.”

I was not a religious man, but I was moved by her straightforward comment. I realized my early retirement, rather than being a disappointment, was somehow arranged for this moment.

I was born for this.

Michael Calligan

Thursday, March 26, 2026

Let There Be Light

“You are the light of the world. A city on top of a hill cannot be hidden. Neither do people light a lamp and put it under a basket. Instead, they put it on a lampstand and it shines on all who are in the house. In the same way, let your light shine before people, so they can see the good things you do and praise your Father who is in heaven.” – Matthew 5:14-16

Sunday’s service was about (salt and) light. Pastor David spoke about this in his message. The choir sang an anthem entitled “Let it Shine!” and the lyrics of the hymns included words like “this little light of mine” and “It only takes a spark to keep a fire going…”

Last week our church hosted almost 20 unhoused women for dinner, conversation, a cozy bed, and breakfast before heading back to Cass Community Center. This ministry and its outreach offer support to homeless women in transition who are seeking new futures. While one week is not a huge amount of time, it does require intense planning and preparation in order for it to be successful. On Tuesday of last week, the power went out at 1 AM and quickly the church was COLD. There was a flurry of “Plan B” discussion. Memorial Church, scheduled to bring in dinner that evening, graciously offered to host dinner at their church but could not host guests overnight due to the fire Marshall’s restrictions. We knew that something would need to be in place by 4 PM in the event the power did not come on. There was no alternate plan and we prayed fiercely for answers. God responded. Power WAS restored by 4:00 and we were able to host our guests for dinner and overnight as planned.

Admittedly we worried our “light would be hidden under a basket”…we feared our plans would be ruined. But, God had our backs – and as the lights and heat came on we rejoiced and gave thanks that we could carry on. After a brief setback, we “lifted our lights” …so they could continue to shine. While our week offered comfort and hopefully peace for our guests, we as God’s children, realized the privilege of helping others. It was our time to shine that light – and thankfully we could do that.

Marcia Wright

Wednesday, March 25, 2026

Joy in Spite of it All

Read: James 1:2-6

It’s interesting how different the experience of Shelter Week can be from year to year – or from day to day, for that matter. Sometimes our guests are very quiet. Sometimes they’re friendly and outgoing (I remember playing cards for hours with one lady a few years ago). Sometimes you almost don’t even know they’re there. This year we seemed to have a pretty friendly, talkative group.

Heidi and I spent Monday night at the church – fortunately for everyone, after the power had been restored and the building was getting warm again – and it was, as always, a night to remember.

There was a small group of ladies gathered near the fireplace, talking about everything and anything. It was such fun to hear them express the joy they were experiencing. One lady came in from the hallway and exclaimed that there were books on the children’s bookshelf out there that she had read as a child. Dr. Seuss was lovingly remembered by the whole group.
Then one of the ladies by the fire remarked how she loved watching the flames – the way they move and change shape and color. Another replied how watching the water was the same – always changing, always giving you something new to see.
There were also earnest conversations about spiritual matters, about dealing with their pastor, about dealing with other folks in their church. (There was even a special prayer area set aside in the parlor near the bay window where one lady spent a lot of time on her knees and with her Bible.)

Listening to the ladies at Shelter Week sharing their joy gave me joy too – and when I stopped to think about their living situations, it was all the more amazing.
It made it blindingly obvious that Joy comes from the Lord, not from our circumstances. As David wrote in Psalm 30:4-5:

Sing praises to the Lord, O you his saints, and give thanks to his holy name.
For his anger is but for a moment, and his favor is for a lifetime.
Weeping may tarry for the night, but joy comes with the morning.

What a blessing to see these ladies living out their morning joy throughout the day and night.

Prayer: Father, thank You for Your abundant blessings of Love, Grace, Peace, and Joy. May we live in the light of all You have given us, and all You continue to give us. Amen.

Charlie van Becelaere

Tuesday, March 24, 2026

Miracles In My Life

Remember the wonders he has performed, his miracles, and the rulings he has given. – Psalm 105:5

In about two weeks I will become a grandmother. I am blessed to be able to be in South Carolina and share the last weeks of my daughter’s pregnancy with her. Every time I see her I am reminded of what a miracle childbirth is. Then this morning I read Beth’s devotion about the solar eclipse. I was lucky enough to be in Cleveland and witness it from atop a 12-story building. The simultaneous sunrise and sunset during the total blackout window was amazing and I remember thinking what a miracle the solar cycle is. But every day there are miracles in my life. The daffodils are blooming outside my window. Yesterday I “attended” church with my friends from 500 miles away thanks to the miracle of live streaming. Last week my grandnephew, who was born 15 weeks early, went home as a perfectly healthy baby, thanks to the miracle of modern medicine.

I have been watching “The Chosen.” One of the themes of the series is the miracles Jesus performs as a way for his disciples and others to understand who He is. The miracles Jesus performed were big ones, bringing sight to the blind, feeding the multitudes, walking on water, and raising the dead. We don’t see miracles like these in our daily lives, but I propose we experience miracles every day. I hope to always see them as just that and feel blessed and appreciative of the gift they are.

Prayer: Gracious God, thank you for the miracles in our lives, the big ones and the small ones. Help us to see them as reminders of your divine power and to strengthen our faith in your plan for all.

Cathy Lorenz
(Editor’s note: This devotion was written last year during Lent, apparently on March 24^th)