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.

.

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.

.

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.

.

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."