God enriched my life not only with friends like Dorie Howell, but with friends of so many different nationalities and diverse races.  My life has been etched time and again with such diversity.  But the most important etching in my life and on my heart is that of my most beloved Lord and Savior, Jesus Christ.

I must have seen it a thousand times over, my name, Helen Louise, etched in glass on a flower vase.  Above my name is etched a small songbird with flapped wing sitting on a small branch.  It sits holding pale artificial flowers on the sink in my bathroom.  Every time I wash my hands, wash my face, put on makeup, comb my hair or push it into its waves after shampooing, I see it. And yet this morning, it was more than seen.  It was a reminder of a very dear friend who gave it to me as a gift.
That dear friend was Dorie Howell, a graduate student I met in college my freshman year as an undergraduate student at our Christian college founded by an Irish Presbyterian minister in Columbia, South Carolina.  Dorie was one of those delightful people who was always cheerful—one might even call her the “life of the party.”  She was quite tall, while I was so short.  We only knew each other there for a year and a half, as she returned to California to begin teaching kindergarten.  Through correspondence, our friendship grew and became punctuated with visits to California, to her family’s cabin in Colorado, and her visits to her sister and family in St. Louis.  Dorie was also a twin whose sister was named Lorie.  Dorie and Lorie.  Another interesting fact about Dorie was she and her sister, as toddlers, were babysat by Marilyn Monroe when she was still Norma Jean before becoming a star.
Our friendship continuously grew and endured many years until God took her home following a long bout with ovarian cancer.  I had visited her in California less than a year before she died sensing what the outcome of her medical battle would be.  One day while at work, I telephoned her in the hospital from my office when one could charge calls to one’s home telephone.  I felt compelled to call her and to attempt to encourage her.  That very day a few hours later when I returned home, her twin sister telephoned me to let me know Dorie passed and was with the Lord.  I was so struck that I called her only a few hours before her departure.  God has a way of letting us know what we must do and when.
This morning seeing that etched vase reminded me that not only was my name etched on a vase; my friend remains etched on my heart.  So many years later, I recall so many conversations and experiences with this dear friend and sister-in-Christ—conversations and experiences that not only formed a deep and rich friendship but edified us both in the Lord.  We both shared a deep and rich love for our mutual Lord and Savior, Jesus Christ.  We both sought to serve Christ by making Him known to others.  Dorie, remaining single, loved children and gave them her all teaching kindergarten in a Christian school.  She served Christ in many other ways as well through her church and in community service to many.  She was completely spontaneous in talking about God.
A short while after her death, I was informed she made travel arrangements for me and others to go to California to attend her memorial service.  So a plane ticket was made available to me to go, and I was able to spend time with her twin sister, Lorie, and her family with whom I remained in contact all these many years after Dorie’s death.  A healthy friendship is not exclusive; it invites many others into it.
As I am reminded of this very dear friend who remains etched in my heart, along with so many more of diverse nationalities and races, my thoughts take me to our relationship with Jesus Christ and our Triune God.  Just as my name is etched on a vase and a dear friend is etched on my heart, what about Jesus Christ?  Is He etched on our hearts? Biblically, the word “etched” does not appear.  But there are not a few references to Christ being written on our hearts:
“You are our letter, written in our hearts, known and read by all men; being manifested that you are a letter of Christ, cared for by us, written not with ink but with the Spirit of the living God, not on tablets of stone but on tablets of human hearts” (2 Corinthians 3: 2-3).
As a Christian woman, I have many very dear friends etched on my heart.  In fact, the plaque to be placed on my grave reads “Devoted daughter and friend.”  I want to leave behind the legacy that my parents and my friends were most important to me.  God enriched my life not only with friends like Dorie Howell, but with friends of so many different nationalities and diverse races.  My life has been etched time and again with such diversity.  But the most important etching in my life and on my heart is that of my most beloved Lord and Savior, Jesus Christ.
The etched vase that caught my attention this morning reminded me, yes, of a very dear friend; but it also reminded me of an eternal relationship that matters the most in life and for eternity.  Is He and His sacrificial death on the cross for you and His resurrection etched upon your heart?
Helen Louise Herndon is a member of Central Presbyterian Church (EPC) in St. Louis, Missouri. She is freelance writer and served as a missionary to the Arab/Muslim world in France and North Africa.
Related Posts:

Grief is the innate urge to go on loving someone who is no longer there, and to be loved back. And insofar as we hold ourselves back (or allow someone else to hold us back) from bringing this urge to expression, we will remain frustrated, and we will never heal. In other words, grief is the soul’s natural response to loss, and should not be repressed. 

No matter the circumstances when someone dies, we tend to haul out the same old clichés. Part of it is probably our fear of hurting someone by saying “the wrong thing.” Part of it is that we are so overwhelmed by emotions that we don’t know what we really think. But a good part of it is also our general discomfort with grief.
For most of us, the raw reality of losing someone (or seeing someone else suffer such a loss) is too much for us to address honestly and fully. It demands vulnerability – the admission of weakness, dependence, and the fear that we’ve come to the end of our rope – and because of this we try to brush it off, or skirt it by means of pat phrases. And when that doesn’t work we treat it like a speed bump: slowing down because we have to, but then hurrying on as quickly as possible.
Sometimes we do this for ourselves, in the hope that if we can pick ourselves up again and “move on,” we can limit our pain. Sometimes, worried what others will think about us if we don’t pull ourselves together soon, we mask our pain by bottling it up silently.
Common as it is to try to deal with grief in this way, it does not work. Hide it, talk around it, postpone it, pretend it isn’t there – in the long run, grief will never go away until it is met head on and allowed to run its course. Given the unique circumstances that shape every loss, the time this takes will vary with every person. Tragically, time isn’t always granted, as Gina, a young woman I know, found out.
When Tom, Gina’s sixteen-year-old brother, died of an overdose several years ago, she was devastated. “In a way, I’m still not through dealing with it,” she says. Friends and acquaintances were sympathetic at first, but after a while they grew tired of her inability to “move on” and made her feel guilty that she was still struggling:
I tried to explain, but they never really understood me. It seemed like they expected my life to be “normal” again. I often went through times of sadness, bitterness, and other painful emotions, but people were uncomfortable with this. I was so alone.
Read More
Related Posts:

So what transformed James from a skeptic to a Christian saint? Two things—Jesus’ resurrection and the persuasive power of a sinless life. These two factors together compelled James to believe that Jesus, his brother, was God and convinced him to stake his life on that conviction (he died a martyr).

My brother isn’t God. It’s pretty obvious (we grew up together, after all), and nothing he could do or say could convince me of his divinity. I’m not God, either, and nothing I could do or say would convince him otherwise, too.
Yet somehow, Jesus convinced his brother he was God. And James was so confident, he was willing to die for his belief. How did Jesus do it? What convinced his own brother to acknowledge Jesus was God and worship him?
Early on, James had a different opinion. When it came to his brother’s bold claims, James was a skeptic. James, his brothers, and even his mother thought Jesus had “lost his senses” and showed up once when he was teaching “to take custody” of him (Mk. 3:21). Another time, Jesus’ brothers told him to go to Judea, where the Jews were seeking to kill him (Jn. 7:2–4) since “not even his brothers were believing in him” (Jn. 7:5).
“A prophet is not without honor,” Jesus said, “except in his hometown and among his own relatives and in his own household” (Mk. 6:4). During Jesus’ public ministry, his brothers rejected his message, criticized him, and refused to follow him.
Later, after Jesus’ ascension, we see these same family members in the upper room praying continually with the disciples (Acts 1:14). What happened? What convinced Jesus’ brothers to believe he was Messiah, become one of his disciples, and devote their lives to him? What persuaded them their brother was God? What transformed James from a skeptic to a convert to the leader of the church in Jerusalem and author of a book of the Bible?
Two things made all the difference.
Paul tells us in 1 Corinthians 15:7 that Jesus personally appeared to James alive after the crucifixion. Pretty impressive, but it raises a question.
Read More
Related Posts: