Light the Night

My dear friend June out in Kansas is my guest writer today. She participated in a very special event last month. I am grateful to her for honoring my sister who died in April.

Light the Night sounds like the subject line of an undesirable email, but it isn’t. Light the Night is a national fund-raising event for The Leukemia and Lymphoma Society. In its ninth year, the evening walk event raises money for patient care and research for all blood cancers. Participants raise funds and carry lighted balloons through a 2 or 3 mile walk – red for supporters, white for survivors, and gold for memories of those lost.

I remember first hearing about the walks last fall and decided to do the walk in 08. How could this worthy cause have escaped me all those years before? I’m sure it had news coverage. The answer -it wasn’t personal. That changed two years ago when I lost a dear friend, Pat, to complications of treatment for leukemia.

So, when I heard about the walk this year I signed up, struggled with a fund raising letter and tried to brace myself for an emotional walk. And then I learned my long-time friend, Debbie, had lost her much loved sister, Deanah, also to leukemia. I remember Deanah as a sweet, shy young girl.

The walk here in Kansas City was scheduled to be held on 9/12, but it was not to be. Tornado warnings cancelled the walks that night. Two weeks later on 9/27 my husband and I drove to nearby Lawrence, KS (home of the KU Jayhawks!) to join their walk. I took pictures of Pat and Deanah and a red rose for each of them to leave in the memory garden.

Streets of this small college town were blocked off and we boldly walked the downtown area carrying our lighted balloons. It was a small walk by some standards, only about 700 walkers. There were walkers of all ages, though most were much younger than I. Well, it is a college town after all! People who were on the sidewalks stopped whatever they were doing to watch us march by. Kent and I were toward the front of the walk. I turned around to see what bystanders must be looking at. It was awe inspiring to see all those lighted balloons.

I think I was expecting something different than what I found at the walk. I was expecting an air of grief and sadness, but what I found was hope and inspiration. Hope that a cure will be found soon and the inspiration to continue to be involved in the walks until there is a cure. With that in mind, next year I will be doing two things. First I’ll be putting together a team of walkers here in Kansas City to walk in Pat’s memory. And second, if I’m able I’m going to be flying to Philadelphia to walk Light the Night with my friend Debbie in memory of her sister Deanah.

I know we’ve all hit hard times with the economy the way it is, but I want to challenge everyone to save your pennies to make donations to The Leukemia and Lymphoma Society next fall. See you then.

Love to you.
June

New pastor

We have a new pastor coming to our church next month. I can't wait. We have been without a pastor for two years. He is from the Midwest and spoke just once at our church. It was enough for me to vote yes for his appointment. I later found out he had a "controversial" blog. I guess it is controversial if you don't agree with him. And many will not. I find the blog fascinating. http://www.toddpruitt.blogspot.com/. This man is intelligent, well-read, and dynamic. Check him out. For lack of a better space, I copied some of his quotes that I found interesting. Each on an entirely different topic.

"God will take you where you do not want to go, in order to produce in you what you could not achieve on your own." Paul Tripp.

B.B Warfield the great 19th century theologian and champion of inerrancy captured the right approach to the spirituality of the Bible when he wrote:
“You must taste of its preciousness for yourselves, before you can apply it to others’ needs. You must assimilate the Bible and make it your own, in that intimate sense which will fix its words fast in your hearts, if you would have those words rise spontaneously to your lips in your times of need, or in times of the needs of others. Read, study, meditate…until the Bible is in you. Then the Bible will well up in you and come out from you in every season of need.”

There is a clip on the blog of U.S. Congressman Cohen comparing Obama to Jesus. Todd writes about politicians who use Jesus, "Nothing against them but Jesus was NOT a community organizer (whatever that is). He is Messiah, King, Lord, Servant, Sacrifice, and Savior. He did not come to make bad men good or good men better. He came to make dead men live.I wish that politicians would stop dragging the name of Jesus through the political sewer. It is fine for a politician to profess faith in Christ (if it's genuine) but beyond that they should give expression to their faith by how they lead and serve. Their dalliances into theology are embarrassing at best, blasphemous at worst.I am convinced that if Jesus walked the earth today He would refuse to associate himself with any political party. He would not campaign for Democrats or Republicans. It's quite possible that Jesus would prepare a whip just in case any of these yo yo's came into a church spouting their sentimental and self-aggrandizing platitudes."

Family work day

Some days are just perfect. Family relationships shift with the slightest shuffle. Like a kaleidoscope, the colors re-arrange and fall into place beautifully.

Dominic came on this late summer weekend. Right on schedule the nights have a chill but the days warm up. We had three cords of wood dumped on our driveway on Saturday and Fred wasn't home to receive it. Poor Dominic! This is usually a job for the girls and me, but of course, he helped us get it ready for winter. It's a difficult chore we do every year, but like Liana reminded us, we need to think of the cozy fire in our little school room when the cold wind whips around outdoors.

By coincidence, Damien was planning to trim the hedges that same day, as he does twice a year. So we were all out in the yard working hard. Arielle and Liana loaded the logs into the wheelbarrow, Dominic pushed it to the garden, and I arranged it on the racks. When Damien finished his job, he joined in to help us. Then a friend of his stopped over and he helped us finish up. In a final whirlwind of motion, we actually completed stacking all the wood! It's back-breaking, but exhilarating work, and we were all quite pleased with ourselves. Fred came home from his class and was shocked to see it done.

It was only appropriate to celebrate that night by going to our favorite Chinese restaurant. Marissa and her boyfriend joined us, along with Damien's girlfriend. We all joked and laughed and carried on in the restaurant--the way close families do. There were no harsh words, and no hurt feelings this night--just pure fun.

Dominic needed a haircut so Marissa came back to the house with her scissors. Dominic requested something to keep the hair off his neck, so when I gave him a trash bag, he fashioned it into a cape. Fred came into the kitchen to show off his new bifocal safety glasses and I snapped a picture of these two goofy guys.

To top off the day, we had a rousing game of Blokus Trigon. Dominic had earlier bought this game for the girls. Just as when he was younger, he is tagged as "the one to beat." Everyone tries to beat him (usually unsuccessfully) at whatever the sport or game. In a battle of wits, I think his true rival will be Arielle in a few years. She is very competitive and can almost top him now.

Families! The joy, the grief. We have so many kids, there are plenty of both. That's just life. But it's a good life.

This morning I read Psalm 66 and as I reflected on the weekend (and my life) I realized these verses sum it up. "We went through fire and through water, yet God brought us out into a place of abundance...Come and hear, all who fear God, and I will tell of what he has done for my soul. Blessed be God, who has not turned away my prayer, nor his lovingkindness from me."

Unemployed

The professor ran out of funding. Just like that, I'm out of a job. Every day for almost a year I have immersed myself in reading Congressional hearings, studying the words and attitudes of our members of Congress. Politics became my passion and the pay from this job kept us afloat some months. Now gone. On top of that, Fred had yet another real estate betrayal. Just when a sale was ready to happen, the buyer gives the business to another realtor. These are not only strangers who do this but friends, family, church members. I remind Fred (and myself) that it is God we trust to provide for us, not people.

So what do I do over the weekend without my Congressmen? I need a new routine. I feel lost. So Arielle and I cleaned out cupboards. We dusted furniture and vacuumed. Liana and I made a chamois-covered field book like Lewis and Clark used on their journey, and we will use when we take our nature walks. I even got out some fabric I bought in Lancaster last year and cut squares to finish my quilt.

I call my quilt "October." It has all the colors of autumn--rusty browns and muted greens, along with rich reds and splashes of bright oranges and yellows. I lay out my new squares next to the 9-patch blocks I created a year ago. The new hand-dyed cloth I just cut looks like dappled sunlight peeking through the trees. As I admire the colors, joy peeks into my heart. Just a little. A reminder that God is present, no need to worry.

Later on that night I am washing dishes and hear a song coming from the TV show Fred is watching. I remember this music! It is Celtic Thunder! Fred in his channel surfing found a PBS fundraiser. We watched this several months ago and we both were mesmerized by the group. So now we drop everything and cuddle up on the sofa to again see this concert. Celtic Thunder is four Irishmen and a 14-year old Irish boy named Damian with the most incredible voices. As we listen, the joy that seeped into my heart earlier spreads out and leaves me renewed. Life is full once again.

These gifts from God abound--free for the taking. Oh, give me better vision to see them and ears to recognize them! And a grateful heart to remember to thank God for them.

Grandkids

My two older grandchildren are moving to Minnesota. Today I met my son and his children at a local park to enjoy one last day with them. Arielle and Liana adore Kelsey and Seth and they all had fun playing, but it was a sad day overall. The impending move comes as a shock. What will this mean to our family? These kids have been part of everything we do together. To not have them around is unthinkable. Two boys not talking and now my grandkids gone. I'd like to skip holidays this year.

We so often take for granted what we think will continue on forever. Kelsey and Seth bounce into our house at every visit and run off to play with my girls. Kelsey is three years older than Arielle and the two of them have long, serious conversations. Seth, our little whirlwind, is three years older than Liana and from the time Liana was little, the two of them were drawn together. Seth has always been her playmate and protector. A little boy who was rough and wild with others was tender towards my baby.

I wanted to give Kelsey and Seth something to take with them and couldn't come up with a good idea. Then last night I decided to make pillows to take on their long car ride. I found some colorful fabric--one, given to us by Great-Grandma, is a riot of colorful cats and the other is orange and white koi swimming in a black sea. The cats for Kelsey and the fish for Seth. The kids seemed pleased with the pillows. Seth hugged his to his chest and said, "This is like a Christmas present." I said no, it wasn't his Christmas present, it was a "going to Minnesota present." He said, "Well, it could be my birthday present." In April? No, I assured him it was not a birthday present. I said, "It's because I love you." He then gave me on of his famous hugs. I always tell him he gives the best hugs. They are actually more like a Heimlich maneuver!

I'd like to think this move might be good for the kids--growing up in the Midwest, a better school for Seth, wide open spaces. But oh, we are going to miss them so much. What joy these kids have brought me! What regrets I have. I haven't been a good grandmother. I was closer to them when they were younger. But then I got busy with my own two daughters. Later on, Kelsey and Seth's parents separated and the kids moved to the city and I didn't see them often. Lost years.

Their loss is greater than mine. They are moving without their father or baby sister. I could hardly bear to take this picture of Kelsey saying good-bye to Laci.

Family trouble

There isn't much that grieves a mother's heart more than to have her children make poor choices or that her children are fighting with each other. I had both this week and the two are related. One of my sons is living a lifestyle unacceptable to another one of my sons, and this son confronted him on it. Now they want nothing to do with each other. Then the worst of it--I am pressured to take sides. I cannot, of course.

A friend of mine told me this happened in her own family among her siblings. A battle raged for years and years with two sisters who would not speak to each other. This caused her parents deep sadness and affected the whole family. Imagine family holidays--the walking on eggshells, the carefully chosen words each member must use. What if the family can no longer even get together as a whole? It isn't fair to the rest of us who just want peace and harmony. I dread the next few months--birthdays, Thanksgiving, Christmas.

I used to tell people that my four brothers and my younger sister and I always got along so well. Is it because we live in different states? Is that what it takes for families to be at peace? No one teaches you how to parent grown children. What do you do when one child calls you with bitter complaints about another? Little children argue, my girls often do, but those quarrels soon sputter out. I can see this fight with my boys simmering just below the surface, ready to bubble up and boil over at any moment. Unless someone can say, "I'm sorry," and someone can say, "I forgive you," (and mean it). We'll see. It's not something I can do for them.

Harvest

We begin school in 3 days. How did summer fly by so quickly? Arielle reminded me we never even had ice cream on the deck this year! (A special summer treat.) When I realized this, we hurried to do so that night after dinner. Liana was immediately attacked by mosquitoes, so we came back in the house.

We've had a lot of rain this summer, plus Fred put down some kind of black sheeting in the garden that kept the moisture in. The result has been beautiful, lush, green plant growth and an abundant harvest of vegetables. Fred was successful in keeping out the deer by adding height to the fence, but the squirrels found the corn. All year Fred feeds them dry corn at a feeder on a tree in the backyard. But the greedy little creatures decided they would steal fresh corn instead. We had to pick it all before the whole crop was ruined.

Gathering the corn every year means Tommy's Soup! My mom passed down the recipe from one of her Cherokee friends and it has become a favorite. The primary ingredients are fresh tomatoes and just-picked sweet corn--lots of each. Every year I make at least one batch to put away in the freezer. It is heated up on a cold winter night and we dream of our summer garden.

So I started peeling the tomatoes and chopping them up in a big pot. I scraped the corn and tossed it in too with lots of onions and peppers. Oops, forgot the carrots. I turned the soup to low and darted out to the garden to dig some up. The sky had suddenly turned black and flashes of lightening zigzagged in the west. Fred yelled at me not to go out but then he helped me free the bright orange carrots from the rich earth. We ran inside as the storm grew closer.

The windows were all open in the kitchen and as the wind picked up, the chimes on the deck sounded their alarm. The electric scent of rain mingled with the rich boiling fragrance of the soup. My girls watched the lightening from the window in mock fear, squealing with each clap of thunder. All the heaviness in my heart from the past few months was pushed out by the crisp breeze blowing through the kitchen and the pounding rain on the deck. The storm ravaged the yard, tearing branches from the trees, but we were safe in our cozy house, protected and feeling abundantly blessed.

God gives a promise in Revelation 21:4 of a coming time. "He will wipe every tear from their eyes. There will be no more death or mourning or crying or pain, for the old order of things has passed away." It's not a promise for now, we know that. There is plenty of suffering in this world. But a day like today in my kitchen is an exception to the norm. It is a foreshadow of things to come, a glimpse of the new earth where peace and contentment will reign and no one is sad. Today is a gift and a peek into a future time.

"Yet God has not left himself without testimony: he has shown kindness by giving you rain from heaven and crops in their seasons; he provides you with plenty of food and fills your hearts with joy." Acts 14:17. The storms will come, but one day it will all pass away. Never forget the promise.

Thoughts of China

The morning news announced the date--it's August 4th! I met my precious daughter Arielle ten years ago today. How can I show her how thankful we are that she is part of our family? Here she is with my new granddaughter, Laci Bo. Arielle just adores her, and it appears Laci feels the same.

My dad was an amateur rock collector and jeweler. On my tenth birthday he made me a necklace with my birthstone--an opal. It was an extraordinary, beautiful blue opal. I was thinking of that when I decided to give Arielle the topaz necklace that Fred gave me several years ago. Topaz is her birthstone. I told her this was a very special anniversary for her--ten years in America and ten years my daughter.

We decided to surprise Arielle with lunch at a local Chinese restaurant. Our favorite place was closed, so we went to one not so familiar to us. The owner, after watching her go back and forth to the buffet several times, asked if she was Chinese. Then he asked if she spoke Mandarin, but unfortunately, no. He seemed to understand, motioning that she must have come here as a little girl. Then he smiled and told Arielle she was beautiful. We sat back down and in a few minutes he came to our table with gifts for the girls--little red Chinese ornaments. Arielle and Liana were delighted.

As we ate lunch I thought of another restaurant so long ago. On August 4, 1998 I was dining with my mother and several other American families at a hotel in Nanchang, Jiangxi Province. It was our first day in China. We were excited and chatted nervously, wondering when we might meet our babies. Then we heard someone say, "The babies are here!" We were told to go to our rooms and we immediately left the tables and ran for the elevators. One woman cried in the elevator at the thought she would soon become a mother for the first time. Too full of emotion to wait quietly in our hotel rooms, we congregated in the hall of the 17th floor and soon a parade of women came, each carrying a baby. A boy of about 10 or 11 was hoisting my Arielle on his hip. Our facilitator called our names and then my baby was in my arms. Joy unspeakable! I get teary-eyed every time I re-play that wonderful moment in my mind.

A little bit of China came to us last weekend. The director of the orphanage from Yangchun, Guangdong Province arrived in the U.S. for a visit. Yangchun families were invited to come to a picnic to meet her before she and her boss headed on to Oregon for a huge reunion. Liana is a Yangchun girl, so we decided this was a once in a lifetime chance for her to meet one of the caregivers who knew her so long ago.

We arrived in the middle of a nasty thunderstorm and Mrs. Yu and several other families were crowded under a covered porch watching the rain. Someone motioned for me to take Liana to meet her, even though I considered waiting until we went inside. It was so dark and dreary. I brought a picture of Liana, one Mrs. Yu herself had taken at the orphanage and given to me many years ago. I had taped the characters of Liana's Chinese name on the back to jog Mrs. Yu's memory. After all, she has seen many, many babies since then. We walked over and I set Liana before her. I handed Mrs. Yu the picture and she did not turn it over to read the name, but instantly exclaimed, "Yang Chun Cun!" How did she know? Then she embraced Liana and kissed her face. Just to know Liana was recognized meant a lot to me. She was a real person to Mrs. Yu, not just another little face in a sea of children. Hopefully Liana will realize this too someday when she is searching to answer the hard questions.

Shalom

It's been a month of sadness, overwhelming grief, injustice, and fear--not just for my family, but for dear friends and for people we hear of in the news. The weather matched the misery of the world by the continual cold rain here every day. Tears from heaven, I'd like to think.

Then Memorial Day weekend arrived and with it warmth and sunshine. Who could not have a glimpse of hope? Could renewal and peace descend once more? Our flooded, barren garden sprang to life, new shoots pushing through the mud. Fred and I stood on the deck and surveyed the lush, new-spring green of the lawn and towering trees. Soon the drought and sweltering heat of summer will wither and wilt, but for now it is a glorious display of new life. The girls forgot their quarrels of a month of being indoors and reveled in their release from the confines of the house. The had a picnic on the grass, careened down the slope of our yard on their bikes and gathered treasures winter left behind and spring brought-- bits of shells, wildflowers, interesting rocks and seed pods. New birds called in unusual tones and Liana ran to answer them with her bamboo flute. Arielle delighted in the colorful cardinals and blue jays that cavorted just out of reach of her outstretched arms. Baby rabbits froze in place, thinking we couldn't see them Then peace settled gently on my soul. The cloud of despair lifted. Shalom--the peace that only God can give.

Jesus said, "These things I have spoken to you, that in me you may have peace. In the world you have tribulation, but take courage; I have overcome the world." John 16:33.

Let's love people today, while we have them. "The Lord bless you and keep you; the Lord make his face to shine upon you and be gracious to you; the Lord lift up his face upon you and give you SHALOM." Numbers 6:24-26. Jesus is our Shalom, the Prince of Peace.

Hospitals

We arrived at our local hospital at dawn. Fred was to get injections in his neck again. As we waited for him to go in for his procedure, I looked out the window across a courtyard to a row of windows on the other side. I thought of my sister and her last days in a hospital. Through each of those windows is a life, a person with family, a person fearful and in pain. What untold suffering is contained in this building where I stand? Lord, have mercy on your people.

I hate hospitals. I feel contaminated by illness just being here. The air is polluted with disease and despair. I tell the girls not to touch anything and I want to take their young healthy bodies and run out the door far from the decay I feel here. My sister, with her job in the lab, spent her whole adult life working in a hospital. Then she died in the same place. She didn't want that and had asked her husband not to take her to the hospital when the end was near, but in his fear he did what he thought best.

I worked in a hospital for several years in my former life as a nurse. I know the suffering and pain, the dying and death. As a young woman, it terrified me and I never got used to it. Big events happen in hospitals--people are made unconscious and their bodies cut and probed. Invisible rays are blasted into brains and lungs and bones. Babies enter the world, but not always into ideal circumstances. Fearful mothers, fathers, husbands and wives surround bedsides of those they love to comfort and to wait--for life or for healing or for death.

The girls and I are in Paneras again having breakfast while we wait for Fred. The early morning sun bursts boldly across our table. People with fresh faces order coffee and bagels and laugh and talk about their upcoming day. Death looms only a couple of blocks away. We all ignore it. We know our ultimate fate but turn our eyes away and live our lives--for me, with gratitude for each day we have the people we love with us, for each day we have good health. We can't dwell on death, but the black cloud hanging at the horizon reminds us to embrace the life God's given us, for each of the unknown number of days we have.

"If a man should live many years, let him rejoice in them all, but let him remember the days of darkness, for they shall be many. " Ecclesiastes 11:8.

Baby sister

I called my sister Easter Sunday, with hesitation but resolve. She has been tolerant of me these past few weeks, but I always feel she doesn't really want to talk and that I'm bothering her. Still, I persist. She is my sister and I promised her I would be here for her. A couple of weeks ago she expressed a great deal of anger about our past. She's suffered so much. I can't just give up on her, so I called once again. Maybe her husband would answer the phone and I would find out how she was doing that way. Maybe I could convince him to let me come down and take care of her. Instead, she answered.

She was making jello for Easter dinner. Sitting down on the couch. She can't get around much anymore. Amazingly, she was cheerful and glad I called. This time we didn't talk of serious issues, just our families, our plans for the day. Her husband and son were out buying a new toilet seat. We laughed about that. We laughed about many things that afternoon. My sister has a great sense of humor and even in her illness her laugh was honest and uninhibited. We talked about an hour and my guests started arriving for dinner. I left them to Fred, not wanting to hang up. She didn't want to stop talking either but finally I realized I'd forgotten to put my ham in the oven and said I had to go. I told her I loved her and hoped she had a nice dinner with her family. It was our last conversation. I thank God for giving me that gift.

My dear, precious baby sister left this earth last night. Even though I haven't seen her for years, I have a gaping hole in my heart. I found her again at Christmas, only to lose her forever. She was the keeper of our memories. She told me she remembers everything and we talked of so many things these last couple of months. But she'll never again remind me of hilarious stories of our childhood. I'll never hear her laugh again.

My sister's isolated little family of three has become only two. Her 22-year-old son could hardly speak in his grief. Her husband I hardly know graciously let me into their private world. Between sobs of despair he gave me a detailed account of her last days and then shared funny anecdotes from their long marriage. Precious stories of the adult sister I never really understood until now.

I can't imagine how my mother can bear to lose her child. I wish we were together so I could hold her and cry with her. I need my siblings now to process these emotions. But there will be no funeral. My sister requested that. It was her wish to keep us all at bay and not let us share in her pain. We did as she asked.

After the news of my sister's death, I went to check on my daughters before I went to bed. I kissed my little Liana and then knelt by her bed weeping. Baby sister. Liana is the baby sister of this big clan. She is so loved, cherished, doted upon. My own baby sister didn't have that kind of love. How might her life have been different? Instead she bore the brunt of an alcoholic father's rage. Through our past few conversations I realized how this overshadowed her entire life and stole her joy. She was surprised one time when I told her how much Fred adores his girls. She never knew a father's love. Neither did I, but I see it in my own husband and I see how my daughters bloom and flourish in it.

I hope that my sister now knows an even greater love and that she is in the arms of Jesus.

Killer owl

I woke the other night to an eerie sound that seemed to be right outside our bedroom window. It was the unmistakable hooting of an owl. No wonder there are so many myths and superstitions surrrounding owls. Their sounds are haunting.

We have a bamboo grove in our back yard and we have been plagued with thousands (no exaggeration) of birds that roost there every night. Our cars are splattered every evening as the birds fly back from wherever they go every morning. Fred has tried throwing rocks at them to discourage them from thinking our bamboo is a good nesting place. If that seems cruel, I have to clarify that the bird droppings are not just a nuisance but a health hazard. Our bamboo leaves are white, not green, anymore. Our windows and our deck are covered in filth. It has been a very bad situation.

Lately we've noticed huge piles of feathers near the bamboo. If our cat was still outdoors, we would think for sure that it was him hunting these birds. But he is crippled now and lives inside so the feathers have been a mystery. Until now.

I searched the internet first of all to try to figure out what kind of owl we have been hearing. One site has owl-calls and I confirmed we have a great horned owl. Then I read about their diet--they eat the usual--mice--but also rabbits and other small mammals, lizards, snakes, and even other birds! Chickens, ducks, and your common ordinary birds, like the ones that roost in bamboo. I think those bamboo birds are a little unhappy with the owl. We haven't seen them in a week or so.

Arielle heard all this and once when we got home after dark she refused to get out of the car. She was afraid the owl could swoop down and get her. We had to unlock the house and have the door open before she would run quickly inside. Our poor old cat would surely be prey, so it's good he isn't available as a food source anymore.

We went to the Audubon Bird Sanctuary at Mill Grove recently for their annual sugar mapling. Trees are tapped and sap is boiled in big black cauldrons. Fred has actually tapped our trees this year and he was giving some advice to one of the volunteers. It was freezing outside so we went into the museum to warm up. A display had been set up for the kids--a model of a red-tailed hawk and a great horned owl along with paper and colored pencils so they kids could try their hand at drawing like John James Audubon. Liana took the challenge and spent a good amount of time drawing "our" owl. Arielle looked at it reluctantly. "I don't like it," she said finally. Why not, I asked, it's just a beautiful creature God made. "I don't like the claws," she responded. (See picture above.) It is a source of nightmares for her.

Last night my granddaughter Lana spent the night. With the time change, she had a terrible time getting to sleep. Finally she drifted off. A few minutes later she woke up and I heard her calling to me. "Grandma, what's that hoo-hoo-hoo sound?" I assured her it was our friendly, nice, pretty owl coming to visit. "I don't like owls," she said. I elaborated on what a special privilege it was for her to hear our sweet, peace-loving owl. At midnight a four-year old doesn't need the whole truth about owls.

Flags of the nations

For one week every year our church has a missons week where we focus on the world outside our own community. Missionaries come back to visit and speak to different groups within the church. There is a three-night event for the kids with crafts and games and immersion into another culture. This year the girls learned about the food, language and customs of Brazil and even came home speaking some Portugese. Every year there is also a fundraiser for one of our missionary families. This time our church donated a total of $50,000 to supply a medical clinic in the Congo where we have two doctors working with a very few supplies and medicine.

The kick-off for this special week is on Sunday morning when we have a "parade of nations." Dozens of adults and children march into the sanctuary carrying huge flags accompanied by the song "Lift High the Cross." Arielle especially has always enjoyed this and from the time she was little she wanted to carry the China flag. This year, to her joy, she was selected to be a flag-bearer.

Arielle did not want to wear her beautiful red Chinese dress (although others often wear native costumes). She tried on several outfits before choosing one that was acceptable. She was very excited Sunday morning. When we arrived at church the flag-bearers gathered in back ready to make their grand entrance. That's where I snapped a picture. The music began and each carried his or her flag to the front and turned to face the congregation. By strategic planning we were nearly directly in front of Arielle. The red flag of China held proudly, she smiled that beautiful smile and her eyes glowed. Her dream has been fulfilled! Maybe someday she will lift high the cross and carry the gospel to her ancestors on the other side of the world.

Updates

I haven't been writing. I am uninspired and far from creative. I've reached the point of being totally overwhelmed, physically and emotionally. Besides homeschool taking almost as much time as a full time job, I am spending every "free" moment on my part-time job. Arielle started back to 4-H and while she is sewing for 3 hours on Saturday, I have been taking work to do. I'm glad to have that quiet time and I am not complaining! Thank God for this job! Thank God for my girls who keep me so busy! I'm just explaining my lack of attention to this blog, since some of you mentioned it.

My sister is not doing well. We had another nice, long conversation during the ice storm here last week. But her voice was so soft and fading. When I asked her about it, she reminded me, "I'm not ever getting better, you know." I've found my beloved sister again, only to possibly lose her for good. Why did I wait so long? I know why--I was waiting for a sign from her that she wanted a relationship. Sometimes we need to just take the plunge and be persistent in healing the past, even if we meet a little resistance. She is not resisting now. She is being open and honest with me. I realized she is the one person in this world who REALLY knows me. So there has to be total honesty on my part too. She knows me to the core of my being. She is very intuitive when it comes to the past and has helped me to understand and face up to some painful truths.

On a lighter note, I wanted to fill you in on the Russian kids. The 16 year old is returning home tomorrow with her family! My friend Connie is picking them all up from JFK. Another family from church left last week to bring home their son. He is in Diana's orphanage. I went back and forth over whether to try to make some contact with Diana--like send a letter, photos, gifts. Would it be more hurtful to her to be reminded of a family who couldn't take her? She didn't understand why Arielle and Liana got to stay here. Would she be confused and think maybe I was coming for her when she saw the other family taking their son? The family left for Russia without us sending anything with them.

Just this morning Liana said to me that she dreamed that Diana had sent her a letter. Liana said it was the first time she ever cried in a dream. I said, "Why were you crying?" She said, "From joy, of course." Then I knew I should have sent a letter.

I took to heart a lesson from our pastor yesterday. He reminded us we often put aside what is really important when we multi-task and try to do too much. Like our relationships with our family and with our God.

Christmas

God gave us a special gift this year--a glimpse of Mars--readily visible to the naked eye on Christmas Eve. All the kids were here and we took a break from our feasting and board games to go outside and look for it. It wasn't hard to find! It was big, red and amazing, especially with the full moon following it across the wintry sky all evening. The heavens truly declare the glory of God! No, that's not it in the picture, just the moon. But Mars was there alongside it.

Arielle wrote a paragraph for school on "The Best Part of Christmas." She said the most fun activity was rolling out, cutting, and decorating our sugar cookies. But she said the very best thing was having all her brothers and sisters together. She didn't even mention gifts.

We had plenty of joy this year, but also sorrow. I called my sister Christmas night and found out out she is very ill and possibly won't be on this earth very long. She was my very best friend when I was a child and often my only friend because we moved so often. I can't imagine my childhood without her. I would have been desperately lonely. She endured my bossing her around and she is one of the gentlest, kindest people I have ever known. My sister and I created our own world of fantasy to escape the real world and we played endlessly, caught up in the stories we invented for our dolls and toy animals. She told me the other night that one of her best memories was washing all our doll clothes outside in the yard and hanging them up on string with tiny, plastic clothespins. I remember that same yard and her climbing to the top of the eucalyptus tree. We talked about our summers at Grandma's house in California and the joy and peace we found there.

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When I think back, I have strange, disjointed images, like waking her up in the middle of the night to tell her I saw a werewolf standing under the red hall light or that I was sure rattlesnakes were under our beds. I must have scared her half to death. We took swimming lessons together and walked to church together in the quiet little mining town in Arizona. I think of hours and hours of Monopoly with her and my brothers as they got old enough to play. I remember standing with her at our remote bus stop in knee-deep snow after we moved to Missouri. Despite the bitter cold, the school forbid the wearing of pants and we were required to wear dresses. My rebellious mother had us put pants on under our dresses.

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To my great regret my sister and I parted ways as we grew to be teenagers and then adults. We lived in different states and now we can't make up those lost years. For her own reasons, she has withdrawn from the family and the rest of us have let her go. It's too late now and she doesn't want to see any of the family again.

Christmas night, before I called my sister, two of my boys had exchanged harsh words with each other. I hung up the phone and my first thought was to shake them up and tell them time is too short! We cannot fight and drive wedges between each other and go our separate ways. Only God knows the number of our days.

The Sunday after Christmas our music director's words hit me directly. He said, "Unilaterally, Christ initiated reconciliation with us." Unilaterally. Jesus didn't wait for us to make the first move. "While we were yet sinners, Christ died for us." Romans 5:8. "We implore you on Christ's behalf: be reconciled to God." II Corinthians 5:20. Having done that, Jesus commands us, "...go and be reconciled to your brother." Matthew 5:24.

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Don't let another day go by.

Beating the storm

Like all of you, we are in the frantic week-before-Christmas rush and my big plans for the new blog are on hold. Write 5 times a week? No way. But aside from Christmas activities, God once again provided and I have been busy with a new job--a very welcome job and I am grateful for it. Our friend Kim has a friend who needs research assistants. He is a professor in St. Louis working on his PhD and needs people to read and code congressional hearings. So I have been giving all my free time to that.

In spite of all this, we took a break to go to Lancaster to see a Christmas show and stay in a free Marriot (a bonus for signing up for a credit card.) We eagerly looked forward to our winter getaway until the Midwest ice storm was heading our way. We had heard about this severe storm for days, causing power outages and even deaths. It was predicted to hit our area in the early morning hours the very day we had to drive to Lancaster! I was in a panic. You can drive on snow but not on ice. What could we do but cancel our plans? But Fred was not deterred in the least.

We decided to wake up at 5am and if for some reason the storm had not arrived, we would head out. The plan worked. Nothing was going on when the alarm rang. We got the girls up, loaded the car and hurried out the door in the darkness, expecting the storm at any moment. We drove swiftly on the back roads through the silent Amish countryside. Still no storm as we drove through the empty streets of Intercourse and Bird-in-Hand usually bustling with tourists, but no one was out this day except a few lone buggies. Then a light rain began to fall.

It was 7am. Time for breakfast! We chose our old favorite--Cracker Barrel. We've been to just about every one of them along 81 in Virginia, so we could even pretend we were far away from home on the way to Grandma's house.

Fred was a little anxious over the long stretch of time before our 4:30 show. What to do? I was anxious about the hard, pelting rain coming down now, freezing instantly on our windshield and leaving icicles hanging from everything around us. Amazingly, the roads were just wet. What a great town--the salt crews must have been very busy the night before. Besides the Amish, Lancaster is famous for its outlet malls, so shopping is popular, especially in the winter when you can't visit the farms. Poor Fred, he was forced to shop all day. The most interesting store we visited was Walmart. Every clerk we saw there was Mexican and they would shout loudly back and forth to each other in Spanish. But roaming the aisles of the store were quiet Amish women in black pushing babies bundled in scarves, sweaters and boots. Bearded Amish men pushed carts with tools and hardware.

We were a little early for our show so we bought big coffees and sat in the parking lot of the theatre to wait. The freezing rain had stopped. It had been a wonderful day spending time together and the storm that hadn't caused any problems at all.

The musical was called "Voices of Christmas" and was a wondrous celebration of our Savior's birth. In drama, song and with many instruments, the impact of the Christmas story over countless generations and through many characters was portrayed on stage. From Charles Dickens and his timeless story to St. Francis leading people into the woods to view the nativity for the first time to the writing of Stille Nacht. The story of Handel writing Messiah was especially moving. We caught the joy. "For to us a child is born, to us a son is given, and the government will be on his shoulders. And he will be called Wonderful Counselor, Almighty God, the Everlasting Father, the Prince of Peace." Isaiah 9:6

We returned to our fancy hotel. We had the pool to ourselves on this wintry night. Fred and the girls swam and I pretended to be lounging on the beach with a book. We left Lancaster refreshed and thankful for so many things, but most of all, for God's gift of his Son. Merry Christmas Family and Friends!

Winter near

Dominic cut down a dead tree behind our house on Black Friday. It had a big, fat vine running up the trunk. But everything was dead outside. I didn't think poison ivy. But I did Dominic's laundry and two days later woke to that old familiar itch. It must have been a virulent vine, potent with poison. Dominic, whom I believe has never been afflicted in his life broke out in a rash. Fred rarely gets poison ivy and he got it too, even though he was only outside supervising. And me--I'm terribly allergic. Blistery, red sores ALL over. The itch alone will drive a person insane.

Anyway, I finally went to the doctor and she gave me 9 days worth of Prednisone. Good drug--the itch is gone and the rash subdued. I feel powerful and invincible. Bad drug--I cannot sleep. Every night my mind races for hours. I seemingly need no sleep.

I'm trying to take advantage of this time to use my energy to clean my house and finish up projects. At night when I lie awake I'm praying for everyone I know. "The Lord will hear when I call to him...when you are on your beds, search your hearts and be silent." Psalm 4:3, 4. The solitude has refreshed me more than sleep.

On Sunday morning we awoke to ice and snow. Fred got up early and rekindled the fire in the woodstove. We came downstairs with our coffee and sat in front of the silent flames. Peace. Yes, there is much trouble in this world but this moment of quiet will sustain us and prepare us for whatever is to come. With a grateful heart, I praise God for his many blessings. Winter will be here soon. I love this time of hibernation and family time.

New blog

I've neglected this blog to start another one. My new one will hopefully generate some extra cash. Fred and I were watching a segment on Good Morning America called "gray googlers." It was about "old" people (like us) turning a website into profit by allowing Google to post ads. If someone clicks on the ad, or better yet, buys something through the website, the blogger can collect money. Well, it's worth a try. I want to continue to write.

A friend of mine adopted a 10-year-old girl from Ukraine in May and she has a blog describing her daughter's adjustment to life in America. It is such a tribute to this special girl and I'm sure one day she will love to read back on her story and see her mother's enduring love for her. I started this blog as a spiritual journey to encourage others along the way, but lately I have written more about the girls. My new blog will be our homeschooling journey, and being inspired by my friend, I will write about day-to-day life with my own two precious daughters and create stories for them to read in the future. We will start with a short devotion for the new school day, then I will write about my worries and woes or joys and successes, depending on the kind of day we had. I will end with a quick recipe for dinner for busy homeschooling moms, exhausted after a day of teaching, but also for anyone else who might need a fast meal. I am targeting it to fellow homeschoolers, offering advice and asking for help, but anyone can take a peek. I plan to write 5 times a week. Whew! Lots of work to be done.

Right now the new blog is under construction and I plan to make a lot of changes. But if you want to look at it, go to http://www.livingstoneshomeschool.blogspot.com/. I would love to hear feedback on how to make it better.

At this time I plan to keep this blog too and go back to my purpose in the beginning--to inspire others to trust in our faithful God and venture forth in courage and expectation that he is with us always. Life is an incredible adventure! Look for God's fingerprints on every experience.

At Christmastime our hearts are hopeful and right now all is well in my world. I know that is not true for many of my friends. There are grieving hearts and life doesn't seem so much an adventure as a tortuous journey. Jesus reminds us, "Peace I leave with you; my peace I give to you. I do not give to you as the world gives. Do not let your hearts be troubled and do not be afraid...I have told you these things, so that in me you may have peace. In this world you will have trouble. But take heart! I have overcome the world." John 14:27, 16:33.

When Jesus was born the angel said, "Glory to God in the highest, and on earth peace to men on whom his favor rests." Luke 2:14. There has never been peace on this earth. But peace in our hearts can be a reality when we trust in the Savior of the world.

More ghosts

Fred decided to paint the kitchen ceiling. He brought up his old drop cloth from the basement and spread it out on the floor. I was stunned for a moment--children's footprints in blue, red, green and yellow covered the cloth. The Russian children's feet from our Vacation Bible School last summer. (See July archives.) We had painted their feet and then they stepped on the back of their camp shirts. The footprints on the drop cloth were from them walking to the buckets to get their feet washed. Arielle said, "Let's see if we can find Diana's feet. I remember she had yellow."

Liana said, "Here are mine!" She stepped into a set of red prints. Only no, they weren't hers. These prints were smaller. Liana is so tiny so the footprints could only belong to Valeria, the little 6-year old Russian girl. I remember her precious little face and her older sister with the curly blonde hair. Their host parents planned to adopt them both, along with their younger brother, but then changed their minds. (For many reasons.)

I often wonder about those two girls and about Diana. I dream about Diana from time to time. In one dream I go to Russia to her orphanage. I'm waiting for her to come out to meet me. Such joy on her face! I hug her and tell her I'm taking her home. She is whole; she is healed in my dream, the girl God created her to be. But then I wake up. In another dream she rejects me and won't come with me. Then in yet another I am trying to explain to her why she can't be our daughter and she is sad. It must be cold in Russia now. I wonder if the children are warm enough.

My friend Connie recently received a video of the boy they plan to adopt. He looks healthy and is smiling shyly for the camera. He even thought to say hello to his new sister and brother. They hope to travel in March to bring him home.

To update those who followed our story about the hosting program--remember Anastasia, the 15- year old whose time was running out? She turned 16 and the clock is ticking. Where is the hold-up? Not in Russia. It's in our own Citizenship and Immigration Services. Some U.S. goverment official is sitting on the paperwork. Anastasia's new parents are doing everything they can to speed it along but are hitting a wall. Also, she moved out of the orphanage and is living in an apartment with three other 16-year olds. That sounds like trouble to me. Other families are working on the mountains of paperwork to bring their children home.

Weeds of regret

The inspiring church service I wrote about earlier had a turning point toward the end that I didn't mention. Our music director was talking about the Parable of the Sower and what kinds of things hinder our walk with God. He zeroed in on the weeds that choke the life out of us. One kind he called "weeds of regret." My eyes filled with tears.

My life is full of regrets. I failed at the one thing I most desired to do well--mothering. A couple of years ago Arielle was taking piano lessons two doors down from the home I lived with my four sons. I would drop Arielle off and then Liana and I would spend the time walking around the beautiful old neighborhood, passing my former house. I would look up at the windows and see vignettes of my former life in my mind. Even the yard brought floods of memories--the side door where we tethered our springer spaniel, the forty red maples we planted as seedlings on the hill (now a forest), the flower bed under the mailbox where my tulips opened to the sun every morning in spring. I saw my boys playing street hockey in front of the driveway.

As Liana and I walked, I noticed the streets were empty of children, now grown and gone. So many ghosts here! On every block I saw a familiar home. One, where Home and School meetings were often held, my neighbor's house where we would enjoy coffee after the kids walked to school. I remembered the weeping cherry tree in another yard, and how I wept when my best friend moved away to Cincinnati. I saw the brilliant Japanese maples I always admired and wished to have. The trees have matured, now lush and full. Liana and I walked the hill I used to cruise on my old red bike, sometimes racing with the boys. Damien's buddy's house, so familiar because I was always taking that boy home. The sidewalks know my feet because I had walked them so much-- back and forth to the elementary school, back and forth to Cub Scout meetings, or around and around just to spend time with a friend or a son. Then darker memories came. The swimming pool we ran to first to search when a little boy went missing. Another friend's house, the one I escaped to when my marriage was falling apart.

Recently I drove down the main road leading to the neighborhood and was struck by a sudden, intense yearning for my four rowdy, precious little boys. I so longed to turn into the driveway at my old house, walk up to the front door and be greeted by their small, smiling faces and excited voices. Sadness and regret overwhelmed me. Children do grow up, but it was more than that kind of pain. This was a story that ended too abruptly. We moved out when Jon was only 12. So many more years we could have had with all of us together as a family. We all still bear the scars of that ugly time. In the deepest, darkest hours of the night, I replay those horrible days.

At our wedding, Fred and I asked Dominic to read Psalm 103. It seemed so appropriate to start a new life with those words. "Praise the Lord...who forgives all your sins...who redeems your life from the pit and crowns you with love and compassion. The Lord is compassionate and gracious, slow to anger, abounding in love...He does not treat us as our sins deserve..." My God has forgiven me. My boys say they do. But I can't forget the pain I caused them.

After several years of traveling through a dry, desert place, God brought me back into a relationship with him. He gave me treasured gifts from the other side of the world--my two daughters. I look at them in awe, amazed that my God would give me another chance and such undeserved joy. Shortly after Liana was home, I came across this verse: "Be glad, O people, rejoice in the Lord your God, for he has given you the autumn rains in righteousness. He sends you abundant showers, both autumn and spring rains, as before." Then, "I will repay you for the years the locusts have eaten...you will praise the name of the Lord your God, who has worked wonders for you. Never again will my people be ashamed." Joel 2:23-26.

The passage is about God restoring his people after they have turned away from him. I saw my two girls in these verses. My first daughter, Arielle, born in autumn, has a Chinese name that means "merciful rain," the kind of miracle rain that comes after a long drought. Liana's name means "spring is here." The earth has been replenished with life-giving water and has come alive again with warmth and new growth.

The weeds need to be pulled. Our music director said they are a heavy burden. "Lay them down and don't pick them up again."

Stressed

We're full swing into the fall schedule. Today I am stressed out, frustrated, rushed and irritable. Nasty. I hate myself like this. I wouldn't want to be around me. Life is just too busy. If I make a list of all I have to do, it doesn't really seem like much. No more than most working women face, probably less. Here's our weekly schedule: The girls and I have school every weekday from 9 a.m. to 2:30 p.m.. Some days everyone is cheerful and cooperative, and some days we're in a battle zone. Tuesdays we leave the house at 3:30 to go to church. Fred and I cook for about 75 people who attend Alpha. I am always scrambling around madly to bake or to get together ingredients we need before we can head out the door. While we cook the girls have choir and Awanas, and they so much enjoy those activities. So we cook to help out. All of us get home about 9 p.m., totally wiped out.

On Thursday afternoons, Arielle has piano lessons, and for sake of convenience, we food shop afterwards at the nearby supermarket. Library day is also that afternoon, since we pass by it on the way home, and we also stop at the produce market for the week's supply of fruits and vegetables. Sunday we go to church in the morning and then Arielle (and soon Liana) have art class in the afternoon. I also spend the afternoon preparing lessons for the girls for the upcoming week of school. The supposedly "free" evenings and Saturdays are rarely that way. All of this doesn't seem like much, and we've actually cut a lot of activities, but I must be doing something wrong because I struggle to find time to clean my house, to cook a decent meal each night, and to keep up with the laundry. I am in a constant state of hurry. I don't waste time (unless you call this wasting time--maybe it is) and I rarely ever watch a TV show unless I am also cooking or folding laundry or ironing at the same time. I don't have time to call or e-mail friends or even my older children as I wish I could. I live with chronic regret--what I should have done but didn't--cook a meal for the woman at my church going through chemo, visit my friend diagnosed with thyroid cancer, call my mother, invite someone to dinner. Please, someone tell me, what am I doing wrong? What happened to the joy? I am jotting these complaints down as I sit through Arielle's piano lesson, forty-five minutes of waiting until I run again.

***It's a new day. The girls and I are in Panera's, a coffee and bread shop just down the street from the hospital. Fred is having injections in his spine and we must wait to take him home. It's peaceful here. Classical music plays softly in the background and it's so early, the place is deserted. The girls are coloring pictures they drew, and we just finished their spelling tests and a game of "complete the squares." Do you remember that game of the grid of dots that you played as a kid when you were bored? Arielle and Liana were delighted with it. I've been carrying around a big spiral notebook, just like I used to do in college, so I could catch some thoughts flying from my restless brain. So I take it out and write. There is absolutely nothing else to do but sit here and wait.

I hear a whisper in my mind, "Come to me, all you who are weary and burdened, and I will give you rest. Take my yoke upon you and learn from me, for I am gentle and humble in heart, and you will find rest for your souls. For my yoke is easy and my burden is light." Matthew 11:28-30. "Come to me..." That's where I've gone wrong.

I guess I'm a little like King David when he wrote many of his Psalms. He starts with a lament, crying out to God in frustration and helplessness, but before the Psalm is over it becomes a praise. In the midst of his problems, he remembers God's faithfulness and his promises and David lets go of his fear and his anger. I choose to let them go too. I'm so thankful to God for my daughters and my husband and my church. All three keep me hopping, but what is the alternative? Getting old and sitting around staring at the four walls. (As my mother-in-law always says.) Praise God for a full, rich life! I grumbled about getting up at 5 a.m. today to take Fred for his treatment, but the day turned into a time of peace and solace and fun with my girls. Thank you, Lord. I even began to see Arielle's piano class in a new light too. It's my one day a week to pause for 45 minutes and then later I get to spend some one-on-one with Arielle.

Jesus said HIS burden is light. He didn't say we have easy lives. Some people carry enormous burdens, much heavier than mine. But when we're yoked with Jesus, he promises to share the load. We give it to him when we spend time with him and let him direct our day.

Check-up

I drove on winding roads, autumn trees on the brink of glory bending over me. But it's not quite time for these majestic trees to treat us to their glorious color. I was heading to our local hospital for a mammogram. No big deal. But at my age--and others my age confirm this--any trip to the doctor or any diagnostic test done can be life-changing. One day you're fine, the next you are thrust into a nightmare of specialists and treatments.
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I was reminded of other trips to this hospital--racing down these roads as my father-in-law lay dying, and then another rushed drive in the darkness the night I witnessed my granddaughter's untimely birth. After that, there were the many subsequent visits to the neonatal ICU. Oh, the walls of hospitals hold such fear and grief. As a young naive nurse I sobered quickly to the reality of this world when I was drenched in the suffering of people.
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Three years ago I made this drive in the dusky dawn, anxious about the high intensity CT scan prescribed to help the doctors figure out why I'd had a fever every day for seven weeks. That morning as I lay beneath a monstrous machine clanging and banging as it took pictures of my lungs, a peace descended on me. God was with me, holding me through that dark time, assuring me this was just part of my journey. That time I escaped unscathed, but illness will surely come again as this old body wears out. Still, I know I can trust the one who knows the number of my days on earth.
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Yesterday in church our music director and his brother gave us a beautiful gift of worship. With trumpets, the organ, and piano, they ushered in the Spirit of God. It was one of those moments when I considered the possibility that the roof of the church might just open up and we would all soar away. (No, I'm not talking rapture. Just a moment when the things of earth recede into the farthest corners of your mind and your total focus is on our glorious, majestic, eternal God.) I joined my voice with millions before me, millions to come, and millions that right then were praising my God, our God. I felt small, but not diminished, rather fuller and richer and more whole.
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"Since we are surrounded by such a great cloud of witnesses, let us throw off everything that hinders us...let us run with perseverance the race marked out for us. Let us fix our eyes on Jesus, the author and perfecter of our faith..." Hebrews 21:1, 2. Come what may, I will not fear. Our God is with us.
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So I had my test, as countless other women before me. The nurse gave me parting gifts of a calendar, a packet of forget-me-not seeds, and a dinner mint wrapped in pink. I went in to dress, dropping my little lead BB shields into the trash on top of many others. Noticing the pile of candy wrappers, I opened my mint and added my pink paper to the rest.

Autumn

I often hear the term "season" tossed about. When I declined a request to teach a class at church because homeschooling is a higher priority, I was told by an empty-nest mom, "You're in a different season now." At my age I'm in a child-rearing season. Amazing.

A Bobby Goldsboro song was popular when I was a teenager, "Autumn of My Life." It was a sad, man-loses-wife song that touched my romantic heart back then when I was in the spring of my life. He sang, "In the autumn of my years I noticed the tears and I knew that our life was in the past..." Maybe I'm in the autumn of my years now but seasons of life are circular, not linear. I've been through many seasons, alternating between children and career, turmoil and peace, tears and joy. The wisdom of Solomon tells us, "There is a time for everything, and a season for every activity under heaven...a time to weep and a time to laugh, a time to mourn and a time to dance..." Ecclesiastes 3.

I just finished reading Snow Flower and the Secret Fan by Lisa See. What a beautiful, thought-provoking book about nineteenth century women in China. I highly recommend it. You will never forget these characters and you will think hard about your role as daughter, mother, and friend to other women. A reviewer described the book as "heartbreakingly lovely" and that it is.

It was especially fascinating how the author described seasons of life in the book. First there are Daughter Days, the carefree days of childhood, until the terrible torture of footbinding ended a girl's innocence and confined her indoors, crippled forever. Chinese culture at the time demanded that women have impossibly tiny feet to attract a man and a good marriage. Then came Hair-Pinning Days when a teenage girl was prepared to be a wife, learning homemaking skills and obedience to a prescribed family ranking system. Next were Rice and Salt Days, the years of raising children and caring for the needs of a husband and mother-in-law. Last was Sitting Quietly, when a woman became a widow, "too old to cook or weave or embroider." She was referred to as "one who has not died."

In China in those days a woman had defining roles, roles that were as restrictive socially as they were physically by the footbinding. I was wondering how I might be limiting my daughters and binding them into my own expectations for them. How can I raise them to ignore our cultural demands to attain some physical perfection or professional attainment? (In doing this I have to examine my own attitudes and how I am enticed by the world.)

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Jesus said, "You will know the truth and the truth will set you free." John 8:32. I must not shackle Arielle and Liana with my own ideas and plans. Jesus also said, "I have come that they may have life, and have it to the full." John 10:10. He's got big plans for these Chinese girls he brought into our family from so far away. They broke free from their own culture and must not be bound by ours. I pray I will never stand in the way of what God desires for their lives.

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This September the weather has been perfect--sunny and warm. The sadness of losing summer is erased as the beauty of the new season unfolds. The stifling humidity has retreated and we sleep tonight under a full moon and cool breezes. Autumn again. The same trees will release their brilliant leaves once again, and these two sisters, bigger now, will still delight in them. How blessed I am to have another season of Milk and Salt days!

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Fred ordered two cords of wood and the girls and I will soon be stacking it next to the dying tomato plants in the garden. Another summer gone, time for pumpkins and apples. We will hibernate in winter and long for spring once again.

Poetry

The girls and I have been studying Japan and we found a great book of haiku poetry, Cool Melons--Turn to Frogs! The Life and Poems of Issa by Matthew Gollub. Issa was a revered haiku master who was born in Japan, and in his lifetime wrote more than 2,500 poems between 1763 and 1827. We thoroughly enjoyed this beautiful book illustrated with watercolor paintings. We were inspired to try our own hand at writing haiku. Haiku is said to be a quick line sketch describing a single moment in nature. It should call to mind life's passing details. Almost all traditional haiku suggests a season. In Japanese, a haiku must contain exactly 17 syllables in 3 different lines. The first line has 5 syllables, the second 7, and the last 5 again. (For some reason this blog site will not let me put the lines under each other, so I wrote them in one long line.)

I captured this moment above with a picture, but here are the words to go with it.

Warm September waves...Sharp wind of salt and seaweed...Drowns our sad farewell.

Liana was very excited about the idea of writing a poem when I said I would publish it on this blog. She had a hard time keeping up with her brain as she breathlessly told me her thoughts. Her first was called "Wonder."

Flowers are singing...Colorful butterflies soar...Across the blue sky.

Liana then asked to go on-line so she could see pictures of rice paddies. She wrote this, called "China."

Ducks in pure water...Fat buffaloes in rice fields...Chinese girls planting.

We had a little talk this morning about the tragedy 6 years ago. Liana was then inspired to write this, called "9/11."

Cold rain is pouring...The sky is black and crying...Oh so sad that day.

Arielle had a little more difficult time coming up with a topic, but then decided to write about two different thoughts of summer. The first is "Early Summer" and then, "Late Summer."

Baby robins nest...In our pretty lilac tree...Leave broken blue eggs.

Rose of Sharon bloom...Bees collecting pollen on...Sweet scarlet petals.

Give it a shot and write one of your own in this ancient literary form! Of course, send it to me to read!

Does scripture say anything about poetry? Ephesian 2:10 says, "We are God's work of art..." The word used for "work of art" is the Greek word poiema. And that's where we get the English word poem. God is creating sacred poems out of flawed humans like you and me!

Different work

God's provision continues. The daycare job ended and I was asked to help with a dinner party for 30 people at a private home in a million dollar neighborhood. Let me jump right into one scene:

I am out on this rich man's patio at dusk all alone. A huge orange moon is rising and I am sweating at the gas barbeque on this hot, humid night grilling shrimp kebobs and filet mignons. I have never grilled anything outdoors in my life! A radio station is competing with the sounds of the night insects as "Girls Just Want to Have Fun" plays through the outdoor speakers. As I wait to turn the meat, I look across the field in back of the house into the wall of windows of another home, a mirror image of this one, and watch a family eating in front of a mammoth TV screen. This is wild! I would never have imagined I would be doing this tonight. I had to admit, it was kind of fun.

Earlier in the evening I had assisted the chef in setting up 4 tables, one in the windowed sunroom off the kitchen, one in the formal dining room and two in the basement next to a fully stocked bar. I had the chef show me the set-up first. I surely don't know how to do fancy table settings. I chopped scallions for a potato salad and apricots for the couscous and skewered shrimp and scallops on wooden sticks. The chef was in the midst of roasting vegetables and needed something from the store and had to leave. Panic! What do I do? (Me, who has been a cook for at least 35 years!) But it was an intimidating setting and I was worried about messing up. And I did. I was only to set the timer, turn the veggies, and then take them out on time. Well, in turning off the timer, I turned off this complicated digital convection oven and the vegetables didn't exactly roast the way they were supposed to--but all was well in the end.

When the owners of the house went upstairs to get dressed, the chef and I sneaked a peek at a few rooms in this mansion, now all aglow with candles. It was quite impressive but our footsteps echoed in the vastness. With so many rooms, what do you do with them all? Even the owners didn't know, I guess. Some rooms were totally empty of furniture.

Couples started arriving, women in colorful, strapless sundresses and spiky heels slip-sliding on the slick hardwood floors, the men in khakis and polo shirts. I've always been a people watcher and enjoyed observing the pecking order and noted the discomfort of some of the guests--where to sit, with whom to talk, what light and trivial conversation to think up. I noticed that the women who were at ease with themselves all sat together without the men and their laughter was high and musical as they told inside jokes. One woman sat apart from them, the outsider, and as I collected dishes I overheard her awkward speech, trying to sound sophisticated and smooth when she certainly was not. I felt bad for her. Why was she invited to this party and why didn't she fit in? Oh, give me a couple of good friends sharing a cup of tea at my old kitchen table over this anytime.

I am thankful I didn't drip marinade on the plush carpets as I went up and down the stairs. One guest stood on the stairs to chat with the group, sprawling leisurely across the banister, and didn't move an inch when I tried to slip by him. After all, I was only the hired help. I felt like a servant in the castle of the king from one of my girls' stories. I prayed I wouldn't drop the grilled poundcake with the broiled nectarine topping as I carried three plates at a time to serve the guests downstairs. It's been a long time since my waitressing days. I didn't break anything either as I washed a mountain of dishes. Success!

What did God require of me here? The same as he requires wherever we find ourselves--love and service to others. Well, it was service all right. The love part is a little more difficult. But I'm sure even the glamorous ladies hide hurts and the boisterous men at the bar have unfulfilled dreams and holes in their hearts.

It was late when I got home to my cozy little house. Home to my riches and treasure--my husband who rushes to greet me and tell me how much he missed me these past 8 hours and my two little girls sleeping as I kiss their golden cheeks. What more could I want?

"Command those who are rich in this present world not to be arrogant nor to put their hope in wealth, which is so uncertain, but to put their hope in God, who richly provides us with everything for our enjoyment." I Timothy 6:17.

Preschool lessons

With some reluctance and trepidation, the girls and I set off for daycare early in the morning. I began work by assisting the teacher in the 4-year old class. I sat on the floor so I could get to know the children. An adult is much more approachable to a child when we are low to the ground. Our lap is free and our eyes are level with theirs. What a great age! Four-year-olds are personable and wise, opinionated, yet so excited about new ideas, and still young enough to cuddle.

Arielle's one wish was that she would make a friend. What chance did she have for that at a daycare? But it turned out the director's granddaughter had been helping out there all summer and Mackenzie and Arielle became immediate friends. The two girls were constantly together and actually relieved the teachers in the 1-year old class helping to care for the babies. Arielle was immediately comfortable in her new environment. Liana, however, is a stay-at-home-girl and never did enjoy this adventure too much.

What I learned at preschool...

Lesson #1: I learned great respect for childcare workers. The work is demanding physically and mentally. These women were infinitely patient, kind, and loving to even the most exasperating child. The day-in, day-out routine of playing, feeding, toileting, getting to sleep, drying tears, and refereeing squabbles was tedious and exhausting to me and I don't know how the teachers do this full-time. These women are to be praised and honored. It is a godly profession.

Lesson #2: My daughter Arielle will one day be a great mother. She was so nurturing and loving to the babies. At the end of each day she spoke of each child with such pride in her voice, telling of little Mikey's accomplishments or how cute Michelle was. I saw her out in the hall one day with a tiny guy at her feet, arms raised, crying for Arielle to pick him up. Arielle says he cries and wants her to hold him whenever he sees her. She fed babies and entertained babies and loved every minute.

Lesson #3: For the most part, little children love each other! The ones who fought were the ones who at other times were best friends. If a child was hurt, others were sympathetic. They were very affectionate to each other most all the time, sharing kisses and hugs. Also, children notice color, but they do not care about it. They stroked the red-haired boy's loopy curls and admired the dark-skinned girl's elaborate braids. Liana's long black hair invited lots of touching too. The children were surprised to find out that I was Liana's mom, but then accepted the fact without question.

Lesson #4: Daycare is good and bad. A good program with good teachers, such as this school, was amazingly peaceful and the days are pleasant for most of the children. It is not a bad place for kids to be. The children are safe and given fun things to do. On the down side, much of the teacher's work is keeping kids civilized and preventing them from getting hurt. The children bring their issues from the home environment and nothing that goes on in school can change that situation. The teacher can only hope to provide a reprieve.

Lesson #5: I am more grateful than ever to my husband who has always worked hard so I don't have to work outside the home. The routine of getting up and out early every morning was exhausting. Then when I came home I had mountains of work waiting for me, along with cranky, tired kids. All you working moms, I give you so much credit and admiration.

Lesson #6: In whatever situation we are in, God calls us to love and serve. The service is easy when the love is there. And I grew to love each one of these precious children. It was very hard to say good-bye. On our last day, I was left with a picture of my beautiful Chinese daughter on the playground trying to bring her charges back into the building. She was holding the hand of an Indian toddler with her left hand, and an African-American child was on her right hand. Both of the babies were new walkers and kept stumbling. Arielle held tightly to them and did not let them fall. She spoke to them gently, encouraging them to keep walking along in the direction they needed to go. Isn't this what we all are called to do?

"Carry each other's burdens, and in this way you will fulfill the law of Christ." Galatians 6:2.

God's provision

Summer came to an abrupt end for us when a friend called to ask me if I wanted to help out at a daycare center. My first thought that I did not speak aloud was, "NO!" Caring for screaming children and changing dirty diapers all day? No way. Of course I couldn't, what about the girls? My friend said I could bring them along and they could help. What about the waning days of summer? We had planned some projects and some fun for the last few days before school started. I really did not want to do this.

But we needed the money. With the real estate market the way it is, we have been struggling to pay the bills. Fred needs to buy or sell a house every couple of months to keep us afloat. We have been praying diligently for business to come his way. Fred is a hard worker; he just needs some work to do. Lord, please provide for us, we often pray.

Suddenly it came to me. (I'm slow to learn.) God was providing for us--through me! That wasn't at all what I expected (or desired, to be truthful.) But there was the answer, and just in the nick of time too because we were nearing the end of the month and things were not looking good. I changed my attitude and took this job with gratitude.

A couple of weeks ago the pastor taught on idolatry. Now most Americans don't have wooden statues in their homes to worship, but an idol can be whatever we put our trust in. Our god is whatever we serve and invest our time and our lives. For our family, do we put our trust in the real estate market--or in God? Who is our provider? So the girls and I headed off to preschool. We worked 7 longs days and I learned some lessons, plus brought home a paycheck. The first lesson is that God is our faithful but sometimes he answers prayer in ways we don't expect.

At the end of my seven day stint, another friend who manages a food service business called me. Did I want to help cater a private party? I did not feel I had the energy to do that after my week at daycare. But I said yes, and worked again, thankfully, and eagerly even, knowing an adventure and an opportunity lay ahead. I'll write more on both of these adventures later. School starts tomorrow and time is very limited.

A long time ago I marked this promise from God in my Bible. It came after a devastating financial loss. God's words were true then and they remain true. "Our sons in their youth will be like well-nurtured plants, and our daughters will be like pillars carved to adorn a palace. Our barns will be filled with every kind of provision. Our sheep will increase by thousands, by tens of thousands in our fields; our oxen will draw heavy loads. There will be no breaching of walls, no going into captivity, no cry of distress in our streets. Blessed are the people of whom this is true; blessed are the people whose God is the Lord." Psalm 144:12-15.

Life goes on

The pictures of our Russian experience are all developed and carefully mounted in our scrapbook pages. Fred removed Diana's picture from the refrigerator and we put away all the worksheets of Russian phrases, even though Liana is still answering every question with "da" or "nyet." I read two books on kids with special needs and knew we made the right decision that we could not parent Diana with our limited resources and skills. We're preparing for a new year of homeschooling and finishing up summer projects we don't have time to do during the school year.

Still...I think of her. What kind of life is going on for Diana right now? I guess she's still at her so-called "summer camp." She was very tan when she came so I guess she spends a lot of time outdoors before the bitter Russian winter sets in. How does she handle the cold and snow, this girl who loves running and swimming and biking? How she must dread another school year when the tasks are so difficult for her. Will memories of her summer on the other side of the world bring her joy?

I wonder if Diana even thinks of us. Or, in her disability are we out-of sight and out-of-mind? Is she angry we did not claim her, or did she ever know there was a possibility she might find a forever family? What will she think when Alexei's family comes for him in a few months? Surely she will recognize his family and ponder the possibility she missed out on.

The girls and I still pray for her, still hope there could be a family for her somewhere. The coordinator for Lighthouse asked me to write something about her to help a future host family. I did, and I pleaded her case for another chance. I posted to my groups too, but got no response. The books I read predict her bleak future without a loving family.

Lighthouse is bringing more children to the Philadelphia area in November. Will Diana be one of them? If not now, hopefully soon--to another state, another family.

Stopping time

On a beautiful, breezy Saturday morning Arielle and I harvested the rest of the corn. How did this summer go by so quickly? Not so long ago our homeschool co-op group of little girls were digging and dancing around in our freshly plowed garden plot. I hoed the furrow for the corn and they each took handfuls of seeds and carefully planted them. Now we pulled the dry stalks to begin preparing the garden bed for winter. It's hard to believe snow will soon be falling and another year will have passed.

A Russian Orthodox priest named Anthony Bloom practiced a discipline called "stopping time." He said we must deliberately stop time that is trying to move too fast. It is a crucial step in conquering impatience and creating space for God. Philip Yancey writes about him: "He concentrated on living in the present, recognizing the past is irremediably gone and the future is irrelevant because who knows whether it will happen or not. Now, a fleeting instant, represents the intersection of eternity with time."

How do we stop this frantic chaos of rushing through the day or the week, and then looking back with amazement at how the year flew by? I'm trying to learn to live in the "now." I think one reason I love the shore is the timelessness of staring out at the sea, with no agenda, no rushing, just quiet stillness except for the rhythmic sound of the waves. If we pay attention to the "now," we may find more moments like that, even in the everyday-ness of life.

Arielle has been in 4-H since January. She sewed a skirt and a bookbag and won some ribbons and her projects were on display at the annual 4-H County Fair. We spent three days at the fair--one day working and two days just fooling around visiting all the exhibits and meeting interesting people like the little red-haired girl who held a red-feathered chicken named Rachel. The girl somberly asked us if we would like to pet Rachel. We asked her several questions about her fancy chicken, and I saw she took this poultry-raising very seriously. Later Liana peeked into an incubator full of eggs and, incredibly at that moment, saw a chick hatch. She called out to tell me, and I never heard such wonder in her voice.

We met a teenage girl walking a goat named Fifi on a leash. Later we tried not to laugh during the goat judging as youngsters struggled with their rowdy animals to make them behave until the judges were finished. It is very fitting that young goats are called "kids." There are a lot of similarities. We paused while a parade of young boys with various fowl tucked under their arms marched by. We talked to a young woman who had a pony she rescued from a horse auction where neglected, starved animals were sold for the slaughterhouse. In another tent children lathered up their pigs with purple shampoo to prepare them for the competition. We petted the sleek, black lab puppies raised by children for a year or so until the pups went off to seeing-eye dog school. We marveled at the gorgeous quilts, snapping photos that would never do them justice. Even vegetables were proudly arrayed, although I think we've grown a bigger zucchini than the one that won first place.

The highlight of the fair for the girls was the huge fabric sale organized by the crafting club Arielle attends. We clocked many hours sorting and organizing fabric, patterns and craft items for the store. After a trip outdoors to see the animals, the girls kept returning to the fabric room. We worked so long that we racked up quite a bit of credit to "purchase" fabric and the girls spent a long time choosing what they wanted.

In the evening the lights in the tents came on and a live band began to play, creating a nostalgic kind of atmosphere. It reminded me of simple days on the windy plains of Oklahoma with my little boys. We noticed a man in a hay wagon giving free rides around the grounds, so we piled on just as the band began to play "Take It Easy."

"Don't let the sound of your own wheels drive you crazy, lighten up while you still can..." Not exactly spiritual wisdom, but an appropriate message for me anyway. It began to rain while we rode around, but that didn't matter. As the drops drizzled down our faces, we laughed with the others on the wagon and I looked out over dusky fields and treasured this special time with my daughters. I wasn't hoping for the ride to end or thinking what we would do next. Time stopped.

When we pause for these "now" moments, we get a glimpse of the future. I wonder about the adults these kids we met will grow to be--the kind of children who have proved they have the discipline to work hard. The rambunctious puppies will one day be dignified companions to their blind owners, the lovely quilts will adorn a home or comfort a child, the newly hatched chicks may return to the fair next year, proudly displayed by freckle-faced kids.

My girls came home and dumped their specially selected scraps of fabric on the living room carpet and excitedly chattered away about their dream for this and that bit of cloth--a fashionable purse, a glittery shawl for a doll. "Mom, will you make me a skirt from this one?" Endless possibilities. Even the corn we prepared today will sweeten a winter soup in the next few months.