Articles by Kelly Breece at Heartlight

Nearby Treasures

KellyBreece@aol.com (Kelly Breece) — Mon, 11 May 2009 00:00:00 -0500

Could you be looking for something that is already right next to you?

On a beautiful May afternoon, my daughter and I decided to visit my nearly 91 year old grandmother. She has lived in a retirement home for quite some time now, and has done remarkably well. She still plays the occasional card game with friends and shares meals with some of the ladies. As time has gone by, however, she spends less time with others and more time alone in her room. She assures us all that she really doesn't mind. After all, she explained to me once, naps are good.

During our visits, I try to think of interesting things to talk about. I get an update on my uncle and cousins who live out of state so she can keep up with them. My daughter is learning to "speak up" when she's telling Memaw all about her baby dolls and her friends because Memaw can't hear well. We also look at a lot of pictures. We've looked at the same photo albums over and over; I don't think she ever gets tired of looking at images of her family and talking about each one as if it were the first time we'd seen it.

As I was putting some pictures back on her antique secretary desk on the other side of the room, I noticed the handmade notebook lying on the table. It was the gift that my Mom had given her for her 90th birthday. For a person who doesn't hear well, written words are invaluable. Mom wanted my Grandmother to know just how much she had touched all of our lives. Mom had asked my grandmother's close friends and family to write a birthday wish for her. These best wishes were all included in this wonderful notebook.

As we looked through this homemade treasure, she was reading every word of every page. Then, about halfway through the book, she said, "I haven't seen this in forever. I completely forgot about it."

Along with the birthday wishes, friends and family had fondly recalled memories of life through the years with my Grandmother. Grandmother had led a Brownie Troop in the fifties. She took cross-country trips and traveled to Ireland. She had even appeared on television commercials at the local TV station back in her younger days. Everyone mentioned the amazing meals she prepared throughout the years. Grandmother had touched so many lives, and in this notebook, people were given a chance to share their thoughts and love. She was moved by what people said about her.

As I watched her reading the book, I thought to myself, "Wow! This amazing little treasure has been sitting on the table about two feet away from where she sits every day and she didn't realize that it was there. I wonder how many powerful reminders go unseen and not experienced simply because I don't realize they are there."

What about you? Have you checked your tables lately? Has God placed something in your life as a reminder of how much you're loved and valued? Are you seeking validation that quite possibly has been there all along, perhaps tucked under something much less significant?

The psalmist said:

"He knows us inside and out ... God's love ... is ever and always, eternally present" (Psalm 103:14-17 MSG).

All we have to do is look for it.

Kelly Breece lives in Hendersonville,Tn. with her husband, Michael, and their two children. She's worked in television production in Nashville for over 14 years. To read more articles like this, visit Our Morning Cup.

Website: Morning Cup

A Gift from a Friend

KellyBreece@aol.com (Kelly Breece) — Mon, 04 May 2009 00:00:00 -0500

Rejoice with those who rejoice; mourn with those who mourn (Romans 12:15 TNIV).

A dear friend, James, taught me a life affirming lesson a few days ago -- and I am grateful for his lesson and the opportunity it gave me to connect with a dear friend.

The lesson happened when a mutual friend of ours, named Karen, lost the love of her life, suddenly. Being a highly respected and prominent figure in our city, his passing would undoubtedly draw a huge crowd for the family visitation in his honor.

Even though I was almost consumed with thoughts of Karen, her daughter, and their sadness, I felt a sense of insignificance in anything that I could ever do to bring comfort to them. After all, it had been several years since our paths had crossed. We probably wouldn't even know what to say to each other.

I prayed for their broken hearts. I prayed that God would comfort them, but as I thought more and more about the droves of notable and distinguished people who would surely come to the visitation, I talked myself out of going. I didn't think I had any words that could possibly help her, although I so wished I did. So I went about the day, quietly thinking of my friend.

Around 2:00 that afternoon, my phone rang, and it was James. He asked if I was going to the visitation; he asked me as if he already knew the answer was "yes." After all, we had been corresponding by email about the sadness we both felt for Karen. After a long pause, my excuses started to flow. I couldn't believe my own ears, quite frankly.

James, being the understanding person that he is, quietly said, "Well, if it works out for you to go, just call me back and I'll meet you there."

His gentle, non-judgmental words lingered after I hung up the phone. I decided to quickly rearrange the afternoon, threw on a basic black outfit, and called James back. "I can be there in 30 minutes," I told him.

We stood in a long line, and my palms started to sweat as we got closer. What will I say? What could I say that hasn't already been said? I'm just another person for whom Karen, who's already exhausted, will have to muster up some sweet response for the generic, hopefully politically correct, sympathetic phrase that I will probably give.

She softly smiled to a few ladies ahead of us. She shook hands with men she'd never met. Then the line cleared, and there we were, face to face.

She stopped. She took a deep breath. Silently she reached out her hands for James and me. And softly, she said, "Give me just a minute." And she began to cry.

I felt my own tears well up as I slipped into that brief, but precious, moment. I saw tears in James' eyes, too. For a few seconds, no one said a word. All the years that had passed just fell away as we stood there, holding the hand of our friend. In that quiet moment, my heart overflowed with gratefulness for the friendships that we're all blessed with in this life. I felt a deep gratefulness to James for reminding me just how incredibly essential those friendships are to living our lives, no matter how many years may separate us.

The most important thing I learned that day was that when a person is hurting, there is always room for one more familiar face. Even if we don't have the right "words," a familiar voice is often enough to comfort a friend in a deep moment of pain. And that same familiar voice is often enough to help comfort them in a lot of the moments that lie ahead of them.

I hope to never again doubt that God has a plan and a way of using us when someone who is close to us is hurting. Thank you, James.

Website: Morning Cup

Grand Slam?

KellyBreece@aol.com (Kelly Breece) — Thu, 22 May 2008 00:00:00 -0500

Check out our new women's blog, featuring Teresa Bell Kindred. You can find it online here: http://akindredheart.com. You can also follow Kelly Breece on her blog found here: http://morning-cup.blogspot.com

The sun was setting on a March evening leaving a chill in the air. It was the last practice before the first game. A single lamppost shined on each boy at bat. The coaches pitched to each player until they'd had a chance to hit the ball a few times each. All the other teammates had had their turns; now, they stood in the field and watched as Shane stepped up to the plate. Would it be just like the other practices?

The pitch flew ... swing ... a second ... a third ... another swing ... nothing. Each pitch that sailed past his bat made it harder and harder for him to raise it up to try again. He wanted to lay it down and walk away. He wanted to go home. I stood back, in the dark, with my arms folded, nervously rocking back and forth on my heels, begging God to let him hit the ball at least once tonight. If he couldn't hit the ball tonight after trying so many times, I didn't know if he'd try again tomorrow. I wanted to protect him from this disappointment and frustration; but more than that, I wanted to help him push past his fear.

Seeing him standing there, alone, and discouraged, I vividly remembered standing at home plate in front of my teammates years ago, feeling as if everyone around me "got it" but me. When we're young, keeping up is everything. I didn't know, at that age, that finding my own true passion in life would bring the validity that I was seeking back then. During that season, all I wanted in life was to fit in.

Shane's team finally ended the practice that night. The coach sympathetically patted him on the shoulder and offered him a few words of encouragement, but Shane didn't hear him. He just saw me; he dropped his head and dragged his bat across the grass to me. He tried to be tough, but when he felt my arms around him, he just sunk into them.

"We'll get it, Buddy," I assured him. "Don't worry."

Game day rolled around. Bats clanged and cleats scooted across the sand on the concrete floor as the team gathered in the dugout. Crisp "Red Sox" uniforms lined the bench. The boys were eager to get their first game started.

Shane nervously swung his legs back and forth beneath the bench seat, timid and insecure. The team's dugout coach, with his roster in hand, called Shane's name second. Shane stood, slowly picked up his helmet and bat, and walked shyly out to the batter's box. I started to ask that through my prayers, God would give him the confidence and the strength he needed to meet this challenge. The first player hit the ball on the first pitch -- a strong single. The umpire motioned for Shane to step up to the plate. I sensed that the coach had similar ideas as me as I saw him look deeply into Shane's eyes as if to send, through that stare, the power to connect with the ball and hit it. The first pitch came ... then the second ... nothing.

I closed my eyes and took a deep breath. "Lord, let him hit it. Please let him hit the ball just once."

CLING!

"Run Shane run!" yelled the coach.

I opened my eyes and saw that Shane had hit the ball. He did it! It landed two feet from home plate, but it was the hit that he needed. He made it to first base; and with the next batter, he made it all the way to home plate. Two more times that night, Shane hit the ball. I can't begin to put into words the elation that I felt in that moment.

I looked around and couldn't help but notice that I was cheering much louder than any of the other parents did when their son successfully hit the ball. They all had comfortable folding chairs. They chatted with each other nonchalantly about where they would eat after the game or how work was that day. To them, the game was no big deal.

To me, God had just moved a mountain! You'd have thought his "hit," barely making it off home plate, was a grand slam. The joy I felt was so incredible, I believe, because it was born of adversity. What a gift!

Since that night, Shane has come to love baseball. I have to admit, that although I'm just as thrilled, I stay in my seat now. There's no comparison with the joy I felt when he hit the ball for the first time that season.

My prayer is that the next season of frustration or disappointment through which we pass as a family is met with acceptance and assurance that God is simply sharpening our vision so that we may see the true colors and true beauty of the joy that will follow it.

Hope deferred maketh the heart sick: but when the desire cometh, it is a tree of life (Proverbs 21:30 KJV).

Website: Morning Cup

Letters from My Sisters

KellyBreece@aol.com (Kelly Breece) — Sat, 15 Jan 2005 00:00:00 -0600

"Would anyone like more coffee?" Our gracious host for the evening asked as we sat around the dining room, quite contented from our meal. After a bowl of home cooked soup and a sampling of each of the scrumptious casseroles and salads, a steaming hot cup of coffee seemed to be the only thing left to do before our devotion began.

Later, with a kitchen chair under my arm, I followed the rest of the ladies to the cozy fire-lit family room. A soft verse of "Jesus Is Lord" seemed to soothe away the stresses and worries of the day as we settled in. Our speaker for the evening had prepared a lesson centered on the importance of Christian relationships among women.

After her heartfelt lesson, she stood up and began to hand out pieces of paper, face down, to a few of us women. With a puzzled look, we took them, and one by one, we turned them over to read to the other ladies as she asked us to do. The first letter was from a lady in our congregation who had suffered the loss of a child. She wrote about her experience and the sadness that often fills her heart. At the end, however, her letter was about inspiration and about the love she feels from her Christian sisters. That love, along with the knowledge that she'll someday be reunited with her son, comforts her.

Another lady in our circle had written a letter about the loss of her husband a few years back. She talked about the support and sustenance that her sisters gave her. There was a letter from my Mother thanking her dear friend for lovingly lifting her spirits when she went through a frightening medical scare last year. Yet another lady told of how the love and support of her church family helped her place things into a whole new perspective while she was struggling with difficulties inside her family. We listened intently to emotional outpourings of gratitude and thankfulness these women felt because of their church family, and more importantly, their Christian sisters. For a moment, the emotion of each experience was almost as real as it was when it first happened. A few sniffles could be heard underneath the reading of each letter.

As we circled the room, we came upon the last letter of the evening. The tear that I'd been trying to stifle rolled down my cheek when I saw who had written the letter; it was our host for the ladies fellowship. In her home throughout the evening, I had seen walls filled with pictures and other remembrances of her husband, whom she recently lost. I knew this letter was going to get me.

She began by recounting all the times that people brought by food, sent warm wishes, made phone calls, and came by just to visit. Just as everyone's eyes filled up with tears, the person reading the letter stopped and said ... "And then there was the time, last summer, when I fell off the chair, while hanging wallpaper, and broke my arm. People helped me around the house and brought many hot meals over. And for that I just want to say thanks to all of the women ... well ... except for one ... the one who pushed me out of the chair!"

The expression on her best friend's face, who was there hanging wallpaper with her, was priceless. In the midst of tears, our group of ladies broke out in much-needed laughter. I couldn't help but think about how that so often describes our experiences in life. Just when we feel that we're reaching our emotional limit with the sorrows in life, God rescues us with a bit of good ol' laughter ... and so often through our sisters.

"Sweet is the voice of a sister in the season of sorrow." (Benjamin Disraeli)

And again they wept together, and Orpah kissed her mother-in-law good-bye. But Ruth insisted on staying with Naomi. "See," Naomi said to her, "your sister-in-law has gone back to her people and to her gods. You should do the same."
But Ruth replied, "Don't ask me to leave you and turn back. I will go wherever you go and live wherever you live. Your people will be my people, and your God will be my God. I will die where you die and will be buried there. May the LORD punish me severely if I allow anything but death to separate us!" So when Naomi saw that Ruth had made up her mind to go with her, she stopped urging her.
So the two of them continued on their journey. (Ruth 1:14-19)

Website: Morning Cup

It Never Left

KellyBreece@aol.com (Kelly Breece) — Thu, 02 Dec 2004 00:00:00 -0600

"How'd ya like that movie, Shane?" I asked my sleepy little guy as we walked toward our car.

"Moon, Mama. There's the moon. See?" he exclaimed with sudden energy.

"No, the movie ..." I quickly saw that something much grander had captured his attention. It was full and bright, and though I'm sure he'd seen it the night before, Shane greeted the moon like a long-lost friend. As I carried him toward the car, he twisted and turned in every direction, never losing sight of his enchantment. "Yes, I see the moon." I said. After tucking him into the car and pulling away, I heard him begin to cry.

"Where did moon go?" Shane asked.

Trying to comfort him, I drove the car around the parking lot, hoping to position us properly for another glimpse. However, even when I was sure he could see it, the roof of the car still blocked his view. In a tired, defeated whimper, he said, "Good night moon." In and out of sleep, he softly cried.

Throughout the drive home, I scanned outside all of our windows and stretched forward peering through the windshield, trying to spot the moon again for Shane to see. Even though it was a chilly November night, I even opened the sunroof for a couple of seconds, hoping to see the moon just above our heads. No luck. We simply couldn't see it from inside our car.

Once we arrived home, I pulled him from his car seat, and quietly pointed up toward the star-filled sky. He raised his sleepy head, opened his eyes wide and said, "Ah-w-w, there it is."

"It never left, honey; we just couldn't see it. The moon's always there even though you might not be able to see it. Do you feel better?"

"Yeah ..." he answered half-heartedly as he lowered his head to my shoulder.

There was a familiarity in the words I used to teach my son something new that night. There was a familiarity in Shane's despair when he thought the moon was gone. I realized this wasn't as much a teaching moment for Shane, as it was a teaching moment for me.

Christ, our light in the darkness, is always, always there. If I'm in the comfort of my home or in the uncertainty of a far-away land, He's there shining down on me. If a cloud of despair separates me from Him, He's right there awaiting its dissipation. Even when, through my self-proclaimed self-sufficiency, I interrupt His light and cause a total lunar eclipse, He still waits for me, patiently, in His steadfast position.

Where can I go from your Spirit?
Where can I flee from your presence?

If I go up to the heavens, you are there;
if I make my bed in the depths, you are there.
If I rise on the wings of the dawn,

if I settle on the far side of the sea,
even there your hand will guide me,
your right hand will hold me fast. (Psalm 139:7-10)

Website: Morning Cup

Trailing Me

KellyBreece@aol.com (Kelly Breece) — Sat, 27 Nov 2004 00:00:00 -0600

We had about an hour before the sun went down. That was just enough time for Shane and me to meet up with my Dad and hit the city greenway on our bikes.

Strapped in tightly in his seat on the back of PaPa's bicycle is the best place to be for an afternoon ride down the cool, wooded bike path. The popular greenway meanders through our small town and intersects city streets in three different places. Dad, Shane, and I rode nearly to the end, but stopped short to head back home, knowing that nightfall was coming fast.

As we approached an intersection, the oncoming car stopped. The man inside rolled down his window and motioned for our attention. He was winded and spoke with a bit of panic in his voice. He asked if we'd seen a woman and two young girls on the greenway; then he explained that his son had been taken to the hospital following an asthma attack and he was trying to find his wife and two daughters to let them know.

With his detailed description, Dad and I realized that we had indeed passed them, though we weren't sure if we'd seen them before or after we turned around. We wanted to help, but we couldn't tell the man with certainty which direction they were heading. I assured the man that we would keep an eye out for them and would let them know he was looking for them.

The moment we returned to the front entrance of the trail, we passed the woman and her daughters. Trying not to upset them, I slowly explained the situation to her. Knowing that by this time her husband was on the other end of town, I decided to call my brother and ask him to come over and drive them to where he was.

In the meantime, Dad volunteered to head back down the trail on his bike to look for the man in case they weren't able to catch him. Dad knew this family needed help, so off he went. Shane and I waited behind as Dad could ride much faster without us. Making good time was essential because by now it was nearly dark and there were no lights on the trail.

Twenty minutes passed ... then forty ... and my brother returned after having successfully reunited the family. Unfortunately, there was still no sign of Dad.

"Did you see Dad on the other side of the trail?" I asked my brother.

"No, I thought sure he'd be back here with you guys by now. He must still be looking for the man."

"Well, we have to go find him. What if something's happened to him in the dark? He should've been back by now." I said, beginning to feel very unnerved.

I had told him that Shane and I would stay right there and wait for him, but I couldn't wait. I put Shane in his car seat and my brother quickly tried finagling the bicycle into the back of my Jeep. "It's not gonna fit. The back wheel is hanging out."

"Don't worry. I'll sit in the back seat and hold onto it!" I told him.

I jumped in and we drove away as I held a death grip on the cold metal frame. As we approached the other end of town, my phone rang.

"Well, he just pulled up on his bike. Come on back home." Mom said.

When I walked in the door, Dad asked me with a grin, "Were you two the ones I saw pulling out of the parking lot with the bicycle hanging out the back?"

"Yep." It turns out that after all that waiting, Dad was about thirty seconds behind us.

Such is life!

Our bike trail adventure made me think of all the times in life that God's perfect plan is trailing our plan by thirty seconds. If we would only stop and listen, we could hear the sound of his tires rolling up.

Website: Morning Cup

Lady and Champ

KellyBreece@aol.com (Kelly Breece) — Wed, 10 Nov 2004 00:00:00 -0600

Our first house was a haven of glorious, mature, maple trees. We were just outside of Nashville, but when you drove down our street, you felt as though you had entered the Smokey Mountains of East Tennessee. In the middle of the day, all you could hear out on the front porch was the rustling of leaves and the occasional barking of one of the neighborhood dogs. There were several, but two little hound dogs, named Lady and Champ, stole my heart the day we moved in.

Lady and Champ were like a couple that had been married for years. You would never see one without the other trailing closely behind. Even though they belonged to Ronnie and Patty, our next-door neighbors, they spent many cold winter nights curled up together in our basement on a warm blanket. We considered them a part of our family. You would have thought they had been with us for years the way they would come running when they saw us pulling into the driveway.

Champ would drop to the ground at our feet and roll his plump self over for anyone who might want to scratch a sweet auburn-haired beagle's tummy. They never missed a chance for affection and they never missed a cookout. When we moved, I cried. I had to leave those beautiful trees and I had to leave Lady and Champ asleep on the front porch with no idea that we weren't coming back.

We've been in our new house for over three years now. Just the other day, Mike walked in and said, "Ronnie and Patty moved. Did you know that?"

"No I didn't," I replied. When I thought about what he had said, I envisioned the house being empty. If Ronnie and Patty had moved, then that meant that Lady and Champ were gone, too. Suddenly I felt so sad. They were gone. I would never see those little hound dogs again. My heart sunk.

I thought about them all that day. As afternoon came around, Shane came bounding down the stairs and asked if we could go outside and play. When we did, I looked around at all the trees that we have planted and how they are really beginning to blossom. I waved at my neighbor across the yard -- someone who has become a dear, dear friend. And out of nowhere, came Cowboy, the rambunctious, but gentle German Shepherd from next door. Cowboy and Shane have become the best of buddies.

As I stood in my yard watching my son play, I realized something very important. I left my last home with the comfort that I could always go back and visit the things I missed most. I had every intention to go back often and see Lady and Champ. When I learned that they were gone, I felt the loss of that comfort ... then realized that I hadn't had enjoyed that comfort for a long time. Everything that we knew about home had changed -- not necessarily a change for the better or for the worse, it had just changed. Three years had gone by, and not once had I found the time to go back. Though leaving my two little buddies was sad, it proved to have been a part of God's plan for our lives. Lady and Champ will always hold a special place in my heart. I know they're romping around a new place somewhere else with someone else to love them. We had found a new set of friends, we were growing new trees, and the three of us now enjoyed a new adopted pet friend.

Sometimes God chooses to change our paths in much more profound ways. In order to do that, our lives sometimes have to come to a screeching halt so that we don't miss an important turn in our path. With every change, however, He provides new insights, new goals, new visions, and a newfound strength to let go of our past. He teaches us that joy sometimes comes through pain. He reminds us to trust in Him and to believe that His plan is His perfect way of bringing us, ultimately, back to Him.

And wisdom and knowledge shall be the stability of thy times, and strength of salvation: the fear of the LORD is his treasure. (Isaiah 33:6)

Website: Morning Cup