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Bless Your Heart by Cindy Colley

My Friend Pat…She doesn’t miss a thing.

Posted on August 12, 2025

Why is it that I miss her so much? All the selfish reasons. 

I will never laugh so hard in an antique store again (as that day that I fell down a flight of stairs holding a stack of antique dishes, making it all the way to the bottom, with clatter and flair, but still holding every dish and not breaking a single one!). Pat Deasy could laugh at me, with me, beside me, over me and while pulling me up!…And make me laugh just as hard!).

I will never get to wander through fields of giant sunflowers with anyone who loves plants as much as Pat. 

I will never get to explore historic sites all over middle Tennessee with my friend, and exclaim over the English antiques and the bullet holes from Civil war skirmishes and the manicured gardens surrounding the mansions. There will never be another Biltmore trip like the one we did together, where, just as we began eating our supper by a hearth in the fanciest McDonald’s I’d ever visited, a soft snow started to fall over Asheville, making the view, by the time we arrived at the mansion, one of the prettiest snow views I’ll ever see in this lifetime. I’ll never get to play cards in the lobby of the hotel with my friend again.

I’ll never get to watch her jump up and down with excitement, while playing Pictionary with the elders and preachers again. 

It’s all the selfish reasons.

Who else has a friend who hears you mention that you’d like to have a log cabin in your back yard and, next thing you know, she’s found the cabin for you? She and her good husband take you to see it, an old un-chinked structure…and they encourage you to go ahead and buy it? So you do.  And, when the cabin-raising day comes, they skin the chicken for the grilling in your back yard, without even being asked? Who has those friends?

Who has a friend who will come over and spend hours and hours decorating for your daughter’s wedding…bringing everything you could ever think of using, climbing ladders and hanging lights in tenuous old ceiling fixtures? And then, who has a friend who works just as hard picking up pieces with you, when your life falls apart, as she did when you thought you had it all together? There are really just not too many sisters like that anymore! But she was! 

Who has a friend who travels to Clarksville, Tennessee on Christmas week for your son’s wedding? I had that friend.

Who has a friend who will drop everything almost any Thursday night you call up—even last minute__ and say “Can y’all go with us to Marvins for fish?” I had that friend. I’m not sure I can go back to Marvin’s anymore. Her anticipated sweet potatoes couldn’t taste as sweet and good anymore. She’d go all day on Thursday without eating, just so we could sit there and talk and eat, and eat and talk, on Thursday night. She’d bring me the Early America Life Magazines that she’d already looked through (I have a stack now waiting for me and they make me cry), and we would talk…about the decor in the magazines, about Dorcas class and that sweet first great grandchild and she’d want an update on each one of our kids, too. 

Who has a friend who, upon finding out that your daughter likes those antique and pricey blue-green pyrex dishes, just makes a mental note and pulls one out of her own collection at home and brings it to church for that daughter’s birthday?

Who has a friend who can take you to meet her country music agent and can reminisce about playing the Grand Ole Opry and recording with Floyd Cramer as if these were just routine events in her everyday world? Who?

There they are again. All the wonderful things I will miss so much! 

I will miss those times she shared the Tennessee house with us. So beautiful and serene. I will miss seeing that cemetery where she sang as a five-year-old while swinging in that tree swing and where her body will now rest. I will miss visiting the South Tunnel church.

I will miss tromping through sunflower fields with her and running to Ardmore to see what our “antique lady” had found on her trip up north. I will miss looking for antique linens and tiny baby items for Katey and scouring for seventies mushroom decor in moss green and gold and brown for Drew. 

I’ll miss her love for all the pretty flowers, but especially her roses in May that really almost covered the front of her house.  I’ll mss the Mother’s Day mornings when she would bring Glenn a red rose for his lapel to wear in honor of his mother.  

I’ll miss her love for the tiny creatures God made. While I was fuming at the squirrels in the attic, she was making friends with them outside her kitchen window. I will miss walking her backyard path; surely the most beautiful backyard path in the city of Huntsville. Oh, the hours and hours of work she put in, with joy, there! I will miss her conversations about traveling with Bo, the cat.

It’s just about the selfish and temporary loss…the missing…for me.

I’ll miss the things she taught me about cooking and hospitality. Whenever we would find something in a restaurant that we loved, she’d keep looking until she found the recipe. I’ll miss that orange pretzel salad that we first had in that great luncheon place, but then, thanks to her, we learned to make it. I had that salad last Christmas and my Mattianne has even become an expert at that delectable treat! 

I’ll never eat at anyone’s table that’s quite so beautiful and elegantly served as Pat’s was! I’d give almost anything to have one more conversation—a final one that I didn’t get the chance to have—at that table. Just once more… having her standing there, passing mashed potatoes and roast and beautiful rolls from that giant side buffet. 

I’ll miss the amazing flair she had for vintage and Victorian clothing. She could pull off, with perfection, what nobody else could. I loved her beaded clutch bags and puffy poplin blouses and the antique laces and lace-up ankle boots with tiny heels.  She could sew beautiful things and  she could “re-do” anything to make it modest or make it fit. Once when I was having a bit of trouble understanding a pattern for a navy vintage sailor suit I was making for Ezra, I brought it so I could show her my conundrum on Sunday morning. I had been stumped for days. She took it home and by Sunday night she’d figure out what I was doing wrong. She was the best at all things feminine and all homemaking skills. 

I’ll  miss her love for preachers and the way she cared for their needs. I’ll miss her telling me about all the ones that stayed in their house when she was just a little girl. 

But the biggest “miss” for me will be our conversations about the Lord and the Word. I was in the Collierville, Tennessee church building that day I first met Pat in early 2003. She and Mike and another elder and his wife showed up anonymously and, by surprise, to visit the church where Glenn was preaching at the time. I approached these two elders’ wives in the lobby. Not knowing who they were,  I thought I could start a conversation and maybe lead them to the Lord. I invited them to stay for the fellowship meal. I inquired about whether they were local. Pat answered “No, we live in Huntsville, Alabama.” 

“Well,” I said “You should really stay and eat with us. Where did your husbands go?” 

“Our husbands are back in your husband’s office talking with him.”

At that moment, I started figuring out just why they had shown up for services. I thought, “Well, do I need to pack my bags for a move to Huntsville?” At that moment, also, a very long and dear friendship began to take root in my heart. We could have deep and thoughtful conversations about the Lord and, mostly, we could start those talks about passages without ever opening our Bibles. This kind of friendship is so precious and rare. She’d say “Why do you think Jesus said this?” or “What was happening in the disciples’ minds when they saw this?” or  “Why did the Lord say ‘don’t touch me’ and then he let Thomas touch him?” We could talk for a long time about the Word, and then we’d usually go ahead and open it and figure out some nuance or the difference in some passage between my KJV and her NASB. 

Today, a very trusted group of praying women removed Pat’s phone number from a very intimate little group of women who have prayed Cindy Colley through the darkest days of her life. She always let me know she was praying every single day for our family.  I wrote about these women in the brand new Digging Deep study “The God of More.” But I did not get to give her the copy I wanted her to have. She doesn’t need it now. She can and will know all the things she needs to know. She sometimes mentioned things she wanted to ask about in heaven. Now she can. And, surely, in her joyful entry there and in her current state of bliss, she will be filled with the fulness of Christ. 

All the things I miss already just hurt for the here and now.

But there’s no loss for her. Not even of her life. There is life found, joy gained, perfect bliss and satisfaction that can never be taken again. The flowers she loves now will never fade.The path through the eternal garden will not need weeding and it will be even more beautiful than that path on Green Mountain. The banqueting table will be far richer than any Thursday night feast and she can discuss the Scriptures with the ones who wrote them. Maybe she will meet my mother there and she can tell her about my children and my grandchildren that my mother did not get to see. I don’t know all about what she is doing now, but I know this: We are the ones who are missing. She is not missing a thing! 

On the last night that I was with Pat, at Marvin’s, she told me about her recent prayers.  She expressed to me her deep desire for the people she loved to be in heaven with her. She spoke about some recent decisions she and Mike had made and she plainly said that the reason for these choices was to reach someone she loved with the saving truth. I am going to keep praying for her influence and choices in life to yield the results for which she was praying so very hard.                                                                                             

I miss her so much. I wish I could have said a temporary farewell. But she has already “fared well.” Because she trusted God and obeyed Him, I’ll get to hear her eternal welcome in that morning of joy. I miss her, but she is not missing a thing. The valley of the shadow of death is, in reality, the frightening vale we all travel every day.  One day the shadow will lifted by a Lamb that is all the light. I’m dreaming about asking her a few things when we are exploring mansions again in a place where there are no bullet-holes.We’ll have all the time in the world, plus infinite, eternal time!

It’s hard for us because it was so sudden, so final, and so irreversible. And those are the exact reasons that have made the transition so very wonderful for her.  I cannot change the way we miss her…yet. 

But one sweet day, I’ll take a place at the very throne of God, where none of us will miss a thing!

Bless Your Heart by Cindy Colley

Winner #4: Rachel Valentin

Posted on December 23, 2024
I love this submission for a few reasons. One is the memory of snuggling in a blanket and the tie of that memory to a new blanket this year that’s sure to be Gram’s favorite for all the rest of her years on earth. I love to think of the “snuggle”  in which we rest, as His children  (I Samuel 25: 29) and the way he slings from that bundle His enemies, as with a sling. He provides a bundle of security for us.
I also love the way it emphasizes the gift of memory and the blessing of light.
Finally, I love the way it presents family tradition as a treasure. It is, you know. Children who grow up with traditions, grow up with security and belonging in family. They are part of  the “in crowd” because they are in on the traditions! And I truly LOVE the reference to Titus 2 traditions!
Here’s Rachel’s submission:
My favorite memories of Christmas with my Gr

am are always around the tree. Growing up we had a tree that had lights and sang tunes when it was turned on. We used to snuggle up on the couch together with a cozy blanket and just be together. 

There’s something magical about sitting in the dark with all the twinkly Christmas lights surrounding you and looking at each ornament and the special memories they bring back. 

Our town also had a tradition of handing out paper bags and candles to each house so you could light up the sidewalks with luminaries. It was always so beautiful to drive around and see the unity of the town as it put out a soft glow of love to those who drove by.  

This year we lost my Pop, my Grandma’s husband of 67 years. She lives an hour away from me and I am moving her up by me before Christmas so my family can take care of her. 

For Christmas I made her a blanket with all of Pops most favorite shirts on it. I’m hoping it brings her comfort and when she looks at it she can think back on all the good memories. 

My Grandma is the reason I am who I am today. She made sure I was at church every time the doors were open. I owe her everything and I love her dearly. 

I’m hoping to surround her with all the love and time she poured into training me up in the way I should go this Christmas. I pray my girls can bring her joy and peace during the sadness of not having Pop to celebrate this year, and I hope she has a few more Titus 2 moments in her to share with her great granddaughters. 

 

Bless Your Heart by Cindy Colley

Lessons from Memory

Posted on April 3, 2023

I was driving my husband’s recently purchased pick-up truck through a veritable monsoon between Jacksonville, Florida and Columbus, Georgia. I stopped at a McDonald’s in a little town called Dawson, Georgia. The pickings were slim and I needed three things: a fish sandwich, a restroom, and a safe parking lot where I could put my seat back and sleep for fifteen minutes. But when I tried to start the truck after that little nap, the starter wouldn’t even turn over. I had left the headlights on and my battery was dead.

My husband was in Texas that day recording some material for World Video Bible School, but I caught him via phone just before he began taping. He said my plan to cross that highway on foot and go in that O’Reilly’s and ask them to come and test the battery was a good plan. So I did. The bad news was that they did not have enough employees to spare one for my battery check. I had to turn right back around and cross that highway again, to no avail. “We’ll send somebody over when our courier gets back in a little while.”

So, of course, I crossed back over and did that thing that never helps very much….I worried. Once I got to Columbus, I still had to load and cover some furniture items with a tarp and then make the last leg of my trip back to Huntsville, Alabama before I could sleep that night. It was afternoon already. (…And I really needed to play with the grandchildren in Columbus for a few minutes, too!)

I went inside the McDonald’s. Two old codgers sat there chewing the fat over their afternoon cups of coffee. I thought it might be worth trying, so I said “You don’t have a pair of jumper cables, do you? I left my lights on and I can’t get the auto parts folks to come for another little while.”

One of them said he did have some and he’d go get his truck and see if we could “start her up.” He uttered a profane word or two, but in a few minutes, I was excited to be ready to roll again. I jumped out of the cab and shut the door to run around and thank these two men one last time before leaving. Just as I did close the door, I heard that familiar electronic sound of power locks. I had just automatically locked my keys, purse, and phone in the truck…and it was running! I ran back around to confirm what I already knew…every door was locked up tight. I looked at one of the old friends. He said, “Ma’am, this just ain’t your day, is it?”

“We ain’t got no locksmith in our town.” (Of course not. Of course, they don’t.) “But the sheriff’s a friend of ours. That’s who we’ll have to call. He might have to scratch up your truck a little.” (Of course he will. Of course he will scratch up my husbands new/old truck on it’s very first trip out of town.)

But, at this moment, I was thankful for my new “cussing” friend and I started a conversation while we waited for the sheriff… about my husband—where he was and what he was doing out in Texas:

“Oh, he’s a preacher, then. Well, where do y’all live?”

“We live in Huntsville, Alabama. My husband preaches  in Huntsville for the West Huntsville church of Christ.”

‘Well, I have a great niece who lives in Huntsville…really in Madison… but I can’t think of her name right now….But what have you been doing all the way down in Florida?”

“Well, my son lives down there and his wife is having a baby. So I took a cradle that my husband made and I worked on the nursery.”

“Well, what does your son do in Jacksonville?”

“He’s a preacher, too. He preaches for the Lakeside church in Orange Park.”

“Well, why are you going to Columbus?”

I thought, at this point, about reserving some information, but these two old men just didn’t seem like perpetrators of injury. So I said, “Well, that’s where my daughter lives. Her husband preaches at the Edgewood church there in Columbus.”

“Well,” he responded, “I ain’t never heard of so much religion in one family.” Then he told me about something he’d watched with emotion on television—about a father being in thankful prayer when his son was saved after being wounded in one of the school shootings.

I said, “God is so good. I’ve been talking to him several times already today.”

He said, “I bet you have. You’re needin’ to, I believe.”

(I noticed that this kind old man never cursed again. He complained about the heat and humidity. [By now, the rain had given us a short respite.] He complained that his sheriff buddy was off-duty today. He complained about the deputy taking so long. But he never used that colorful language again.)

The deputy did not have the right tool (Of course she didn’t), so we waited a while more for the back-up car to come. I was glad, that if this kind of stupidity on my part was going to emerge, that it did happen in a sweet little town where the back-up patrol was called in for the Jimmy tools.

I could hardly watch while they did the truck-scratching work. I thought of my husband’s excitement the previous week, as he told me about this new white truck he’d found “without a scratch. Somebody did hit the bumper, so the man just bought a brand new bumper to replace the old one. I mean, Cindy, this truck is pristine. I think I’ll buy this truck.”

So, instead of watching,  I went inside and bought gift cards for the men who were being so very patient and kind to me. (I did have one credit card in my pocket.) These sweet men tried to refuse the little gifts, but they’d already told me that they eat breakfast together there at McDonald’s, with the sheriff and a few more men, every day, so I knew it was a practical little thank-you gift. I insisted.

Before long I was driving on toward those sweet grand-babies. By now I looked like a homeless granny without a shelter bridge. The driving rain was back with a vengeance. But, you know, grandchildren don’t notice drenched hair or wrinkled clothes. They’re just looking to see if you brought a surprise. So I’d stop and get a frosty just before I got to Wood Duck Lane. But I would not, under any circumstances, kill the motor or get out of the truck. I’d use the drive-through.

 

The take-homes:

  1. Worrying really never does avail much. Praying does (James 5:16).
  2. People often say they can’t help cursing. “It’s just such a habit.” That’s not true. Knowledge is power.
  3. Never close the door on a running vehicle. (especially if you have a child locked inside in a carseat….Can you even imagine?)
  4. There are lots of people who have crusty outsides, yet very benevolent, patient insides. Those people may be good candidates for conversion. some of them have not seen “much religion” and maybe you could show them some.
  5. Pristine material things will never be pristine for very long, anyway. So don’t sweat it so much when you are forced to help them along to the destined place of rest…the scrapyard.
  6. My husband is the best. His response about the door?…”Well, It’s not really that bad.”
  7. Sometimes you have to tell your husband you scratched up the truck. You should remember that on the days when he leaves his socks on the floor or scatters his popcorn on the rug under his chair.
  8. Good days are relative. You just need to look around (at cancer, at automobile accidents, at children lost to death, etc…) to realize that sometimes when “This just ain’t your day.” it really is very much your day. 
  9. Grandchildren make everything better—the one on the way in Florida and the ones who love ice cream in Georgia. But some of you were already ahead of me on this one. Thank God for them every day. Pray for their heavenward progression every day. Just do not let days go by without praying for each of them by name.
  10. Son-in-laws are good, too. Mine helped me tie up that furniture, a piece he had re-finished for a family member for Christmas. He then insisted that I was not going to drive home that night without him testing and replacing my battery. (And not even one curse word under his breath.)
Bless Your Heart by Cindy Colley

Fond PTP Memories

Posted on August 11, 2022

It’s six days till the official beginning of PTP. I remember once hearing brother Windell Winkler say that PTP founder Allen Webster is the single most creative man he’d  ever met. My husband and I concur and just keep being amazed . Between his tracts that have influenced thousands, his dream that just kept growing for this powerful gathering that has strengthened the church in large ways worldwide, and the impact of the publication called House to House, Heart to Heart, it almost certainly has to be said that more people have learned the gospel though his work than through the work of any man living in this century; perhaps more than through any man since the first century. This is not to detract from the hard work and amazing talents of the other directors, etc… but the imagination for the instruments we see is from God through our brother Webster. I know it is because the focus of each of these gospel-sharing tools is the Word and the cross. There’s never any sought glory for any man or even any congregation. I hope you are taking advantage of opportunities through Door-knocking day 2022 (https://nextdoor.housetohouse.com) or the Great Smoky Mountain Marriage Retreat (https://smokymountainmarriage.com), through one of the Spark programs (https://polishingthepulpit.com/spark/), or through PTP 365 (https://watch.polishingthepulpit.com). You will be better prepared to share the saving message. 

In honor of the very exciting week ahead, here are 10 favorite little memories that we carry from this great gathering.They are not the largest thing we take-away, of course—that would be spiritual growth that we need so desperately in this old world.  

I hope you’re coming. 2019 was too long ago. I pray we never have to skip another year!

  1. Each newly-walking grandchild walking across the stage in the interim between lessons. (We just want to get their steps going in the right direction.) We’re praying fervently that they will all be faithful all of their lives.
  2. That one year when  the audio tech got criss-crossed and my husband introduced my son, saying he would lead the opening prayer. Caleb opened his mouth at the microphone and his mother’s voice came blaring forth from a ballroom down the hall. 
  3. The first year there was a women’s program and we had just 12 or so women and Hannah was THE whole entire children’s program. Wow! We have been blessed in the interim since those days. 
  4. The eclipse of 2018. The way we got to witness that phenomenon together.
  5. That year (2011) that I did four little lessons about Digging Deep that, unbeknownst to me, would turn into a 12-year in-depth study of Scripture by women around the world. What in the world?!  God never stops amazing and blessing. 
  6. That year when Digger Doug napped in our hotel room and somehow children found out and kept coming to our door to politely ask for a photo with him.
  7. Maggie’s first birthday party at PTP.
  8. Tonja McRady or Vicky Yocum playing a fruit of the Spirit game with Colleyanna  and Ezra while babysitting them during her parents’ “single-mingle.” Colleyanna said : We can’t play with that “Goodness!” piece because that is a word we cannot say. 
  9. Finding my Dickson in the Sevierville church sound room after its being missing for two years!
  10. That sweet year when we honored my dear friend and brother William Woodson, but he slipped from the bonds of this earth before the date of the celebration. Oh, what an alternative honor and celebration. I love the happy reunion of PTP, but how I hope I can attend THE reunion!

I hope you’re coming. Your memories will be yours. But they will be just as precious!

Bless Your Heart by Cindy Colley

Sister to Sister: Not a Minimalist

Posted on January 16, 2017

I will never be a minimalist. In fact, I am a bit ashamed to say I think I am a maximist. ( Since “maximalist” has a political meaning, I made that word up.) It might not be right, but it’s true. So many people have blessed our family through the years with friendship and comfort and then tokens of those sweet relationships…and I am an avowed sentimentalist. I can’t part with anything that was my mother’s. I have a thimble that my grandmother gave to me when I was a little girl. She said it came over on the boat with my ancestors. My grandchildren are wearing the same clothes that my children wore. I even have a very hard time throwing away a dish when it breaks, if it was made by one of my children in a pottery class or given to me for Christmas by my father. 

But lately, I’ve been trying to make myself part with clutter. I’ve been making a conscious effort to trample a bit on the sentimental side of me and “see” what I can throw away. I give myself all those reasons: If you haven’t used it in three years, then…or…Do you want your kids to have to sort through all of this one day?…or…You know, you can remember the day he took his first steps out in the yard without keeping the stick he picked up off the ground. I know…I need this exercise, so, as I put the Christmas stuff away and put the “regular” stuff back out, I tried to put a little less “decor” back out and a little more in the trash. 

And I saw this book that had been lying on a desk in the study. “I’m going to get rid of that,” I thought. “That book always makes me sad, anyway.” It’s one of those journals that mothers fill out for posterity, telling children all about  how they grew up, how they met the children’s daddy, favorite toys and prices of things in the good old days. Our little family had given it to my mom for Mother’s Day during the year that she passed away, so she didn’t even have enough time left to fill it out. So I picked it up to put it in a give-away place…or at least to try. 

But I looked inside and saw our note to her. I saw the four-year-old and eight-year-old signatures of my kids. Then the note from my father when he gave the book back, along with a couple more notes that he’d sent through the years since her passing. The first one I read said this:

Cindy, 

If crying is wrong  for an old man, I’m sorry, but that is exactly what happened when I  came across this book given to Johnnia in her last year here. The pictures are Johnnia’s type thing. She didn’t have a chance to write diary things in it. 

The message of love from you, Glenn, and the children touched me. I thought of how obedient you were over the years and how miserable you would always be if you slipped a little and disobeyed her in a moment of weakness and how eager you were to rectify it quickly. You and (your mother) are influencing me every day of my life. Not unrelated to this is the Duncan-Smith bunch (her family)…fathers, mothers, grandfathers, grandmothers, brothers, sisters, nieces, nephews and cousins…but of the good qualities of all, you got a double dose. 

Then there was another note, written following one of our big family holiday visits to his house:

…The sound of feet stomping…the sound of young voices (and old)…the sound of the bounce of the basketball…the sound of and sight of roller skating…the sound of the ultra-young to the older ones in offering thanks for the food, etc…the sound and sight of the splashing of the pool, in the summer…the much work done here when y’all come (allowing me to sit around). All of this is summed up in one word: LOVE. Cousins, aunts, uncles, nieces, nephews, maybe a grandparent here and there. 

The sights and sounds described herein, at times have likely been annoyances, but to me, they have become music to my ears…Keep up (your mother’s) traditions. Love…

PS…the part I miss most on these occasions is her voice and joy.

Then next, I noticed a letter of encouragement written to my daughter, Hannah, from her grandfather during her teen years. Among other things it said:

“You have not, in any way, let us down…you are of sterling quality and good for the church and the family…Keep on doing what you’re doing and living like you’re living. I love you…You’re my tweetie!

Funny how I thought I could just throw that book away. Funny how words can re-appear and resonate with encouragement on days when you need it most. Funny how one of the people who’s had the most profound influence on me could make me believe that I could influence him! Funny how someone long gone to glory can still influence so many so deeply. Dad’s little notes made me want to encourage people more…especially in writing. I have friends, especially one (Carol), who do it constantly. But I need to be better at written encouragement. 

I didn’t throw the book away. Instead, I think I’ll write in it’s beautiful pages and pass it on down. Maybe when Hannah is a grandmother or when Caleb is a grandfather, one of them will think about throwing it away on another day. Maybe they can be minimalists. But I doubt it.