During the first 18 years of my life I saw my maternal grandmother almost daily, as she lived in an apartment on the other side of town. Her birth certificate reads Ella Nora, but from the time she could write she spelled her name E-l-a-n-o-r-a instead, placing into words a message her family could not ignore: This youngest girl of 15 children possessed an independence to be respected.

When the memory of my grandmother begins, she was already a widow, having buried my granddad on the plains of Oklahoma and transplanted herself out West, to live by her two daughters and their families. My granddad’s fireman’s pension provided adequately for my grandmother, and she liked living independently. She always said she did not want to impose on her girls and she certainly did not want the responsibility of taking care of some old man! She chose, instead, to live in a two-bedroom apartment complete with a tiny kitchen, bathroom and sitting room. She worked at a dress shop, attended every dance performance I ever participated in, sewed most of my clothes and inner-tubed down rivers when we camped during the summer months.

Grandmother loved to drive and several times a week would call ahead and make her way across town to our home. There were times, however, when she wanted to cook for us and during those special occasions we headed her direction with the expectation that we would watch TV and eat. There was no room for anything else, but I never recall feeling bored. That is because we did two things at her apartment we did not do at my house: we ate lemon meringue pie — baked ever so slightly to brown the tips — and watched The Ed Ames Show.

Grandmother loved Ames’ voice and the comedy that defined his variety show. And while I thought the show was a little dorky, and about as entertaining as Lawrence Welk, I amused myself by watching her enjoy the show. I also delighted in listening to my dad perform from the front seat of the car as we made our way back home later in the evening. It was usually a mixture of whistling and bold attempts to sing, “Try to Remember,” for which Ames was famous. If I close my eyes and think really hard, I can still hear him sing,

Try to remember

The kind of September,

When life was sweet,

And oh, so mellow….

I never once recall anything about my grandmother’s home ever shifting. She seemed completely content to live modestly and orderly and I liked her that way. I, on the other hand, was not then or even now content with business as usual. I searched back then to define my own pathways and valued action and change. Rearranging my bedroom, of all things, seemed to fulfill my need at the time.

I had forgotten the joy of moving furniture late at night until this week when one of the students who frequents the computer lab I supervise told me about the new look he had given his room the night before. The conversation took me back to those days when the complicated, heart-driven thoughts of a young girl kept me wide awake long after my family had retired for the night. It was usually during those times that I would hop up onto a ledge in my bedroom and peruse my room from on high. I would mentally rearrange my furniture before muscling my bed, beanbag, dresser and desk to create an entirely new look. I also moved my stuffed toys and posters as well as pictures and treasures I collected each summer to remind me of travels with my family. Eventually I would fall asleep, delighted by my fresh, new look.

Today I rarely move my furniture as it was purchased to fit particular rooms in my home. But I remain that same girl who self reflects and dares to rearrange old ideas, daily activities and future dreams. It invigorates me and believe that if I am hesitant to consider new options, I might miss plans God may be setting into motion. So I challenge myself almost daily with things as simple as decorating around the seasons and holidays. I constantly try new recipes. I also stand in front of paint displays and gather color samples.

“Let’s do something new!” is my mantra.

This external movement mirrors my private, internal expectations of God. I remain comfortable with age-old activities like weekly worship, small group studies, daily prayer and consistent Bible study. But I long for fresh new people to give me insights into God, new ways to worship Him and new songs to sing. I even invite new business and pleasure opportunities. I believe that all these things provide a deeper understanding of God and the ways He works. Change can bring even the oldest of friends into deeper trust, greater maturity and surer steps into a life of faith.

Let’s make new discoveries this week.