First planting and first harvest

The past week was unusually hot for April--in the 90's. The warm weather makes us want to get out and plant the garden. I had to hold my husband back and remind him that Mother's Day is the official planting time for our state, when all danger of frost is over. Some vegetables can be planted early though, so Fred got out the small tiller and stirred up a small area in our big plot of ground for our salad garden. He's already tilled twice with the big tiller, adding in fertilizer and mulch. Arielle said, "I can't wait to get my hands in the dirt!" The girls helped to plant the spinach, lettuce, onions, and radishes--in their swimsuits. Fred promised them he would spray them with the hose after we finished.

I noticed the rhubarb was ripe and ready, so we cut several stalks for everyone's favorite-- Strawberry-Rhubarb Pie. The girls wore the huge leaves for hats and then used them for flamenco dancing (in their swimsuits) before tossing them in the compost heap behind our house. I know, the leaves are poisonous. But no one was eating them. Friends, anyone want some rhubarb? Come on over!

We have been planting our garden for 12 years now. Fred has expanded it, fenced it, then re-fenced it to keep out a variety of critters. We rotate the crops and we replenish the soil. We've had to re-plant several times after flooding and a few times we've slopped through the mud after a thunderstorm and helped the baby plants to stand back up. But our garden rarely disappoints. We never use pesticides or herbicides and we have never had any attack of insects or disease. Why is this?

It's a healthy garden. The sun shines hot and strong on it most of the day. We usually get enough rain to keep it hydrated. We weed and thin to prevent over-crowding. A multitude of birds and bats eat up the pesty insects. We give the garden lots of attention and watch for problems. Maybe this is good advice for humans too. Good nutrition, sunshine, fluids. Keep out what hinders good health--poor diet, inactivity, stress. Stay away from crowds. And then let God do the rest. He provided our bodies with good immune systems to keep the pesky bugs out. If they do happen to get in, they are quickly destroyed.

Food

I've long battled food. You would never know it as I've always been thin. But weight isn't necessarily an indicator of food issues. I am not alone. I've had many, many conversations with other women about food. I've already discussed my decision to cut down on sugar, and I have. I read years ago that if you crave sugar, you're depressed. If you crave salt, you're angry. Well, I guess I'm both. Though I'm not sure there is really any truth to that. Bottom line: I eat more than I need to eat.

In nursing school, and later chiropractic school, I studied nutrition. I know the basics of a healthy diet and I've since followed all the latest breaking news from the scientists, much of it conflicting. I had every good intention of saving my daughters from the typical American diet, but my grand ideas were quickly sabotaged by my fat/sugar loving husband. So while I could discipline myself to only buy good food, he brings temptation into the house. The girls still eat fairly well though, lots of fruit and vegetables, along with pasta and rice. They eat very little meat, as they don't like it. Maybe genetics has determined that.

I think food can destroy good health, and also it can be medicine. When I was sick with my lung ailment years ago, Fred would bring me fresh strawberries every day. I ate huge quantities of strawberries and I believe they were a part of my healing. I have celiac disease, so wheat is toxic to me. We know diet is very important. If we have children, we owe them our very best effort to give them the right food so they can grow properly. But where does being a good steward of the body God gave us clash with being obsessed with food? No doubt as a culture we spend way too much time thinking about food. (I know I've spent way too much time preparing food!)

I read a fascinating article by Mark Galli in Christianity Today. He discused the numerous studies always being conducted on food and food's impact on health. In particular, we're always warned of the horrors of red meat. He comments, "Now every time I sit down to a polish sausage or hamburger, I will not be able to count it as joy. The steak sitting gloriously before me will not signal a gift from God but a tempation of the Health Devil and the Grim Reaper."

And there's the point: we can't enjoy the food God has provided for us because food brings guilt! We can't be thankful for it. How can you thank God when you are giving in to "temptation"? Galli goes on to say, "The bottom line is that food of all sorts--but especially food that we have traditionally enjoyed the most, the lusty foods dripping with sweetness and fat--is now seen as a threat. A threat to what? Well, longevity. Most of these studies are about discovering the relationship of a food or nutrient to death...the goal of the scientific health community seems to be to flag foods that cut life short, because, as we all know, the idea is to live as long as possible."

Is this Biblical? How liberating this thought is to me! Can we leave the length of our days to God and stop obsessing about every bite of food? Let's end the guilt and be grateful to God for the nourishment and yes, the pleasure food gives. Can you tell me where the scriptures say our goal is to live as long as possible? That the pursuit of the fountain of youth should be our goal? Galli says, "This fixation on food's relationship to death is but another sign of our culture's deep fear of death." As Christians, what do we really believe?

I think I'll ENJOY a dish of Breyer's strawberry ice cream right now while I plan tomorrow's lessons for my girls, my very healthy girls, raised on the bounty of our organic vegetable garden but allowed the occasional treats their father takes joy in giving them. Scripture tells us "all things in moderation." (Oh, if we would just do that!) We press on toward the goal for the prize of the upward call of God in Christ Jesus. The goal is not longevity and food is not our god.

Mark Galli sums up his article with these wise words: "The point of our sojourn on this planet is not to live long but to live well."

Cooking for Alpha

Fred and I have cooked the dinners for all the Alpha attendees for as long as Alpha has been offered to the community at our church. It's been three years now, two sessions each year. For those who don't know, Alpha is an international, inter-denominational, 10-week program designed to explore the Christian faith over a meal, friendly conversation in small groups, and a short video presentation. It is supported by most all Christian churches. At our church alone, hundreds of people have attended, many of them new to the faith or questioning what it's all about.

We have had our struggles in the kitchen. In the beginning, we couldn't find anyone to help us cook for the 40-70 people who attend each week, except for one woman who makes the dessert. But now, Fred and I easily do most of the work alone. We've had many frustrating encounters with the Awana cooking crew, with which we share the kitchen on the same night. But now, Fred and I have made peace with them, and they have reluctantly accepted the fact that we have a right to the kitchen too. We've had complaints about the menu, but that doesn't bother us anymore. It is what it is. Fred and I often used to be short with each other after we got home at night, both of us exhausted after standing for 4 hours staight without a break. But now we're stronger and tougher.

People ask us, why do we continue to do this? First of all, we believe each person should give back to their home church. We receive so much from our church, so we need to contribute what we can of our time, treasure and talent. We don't have much treasure to tithe, so it's our time we give. Maybe talent too--I have been cooking for a big family since I was a young woman, so that experience is being put to good use.

Second, we want to be part of God's work in this world. Many people ask, "How can I find out what God's will is for my life?" I heard an answer to that question that made sense. "Find out what God is doing and join in." A friend first told me about Alpha years ago. She had attended the program at her church and she said it changed her whole life for the better. Then one year at the end of one of our Alpha sessions, several people gave testimonies on how it had helped them. Fred and I are glad to be a small part of that.

Also, every now and then we get positive feedback and it warms our hearts and makes us want to continue. In this last session especially, several people have let us know how much they enjoy the food and tell us they appreciate us cooking their dinner each week. Tomorrow another 10-week course ends. Each time, Fred and I re-evaluate. Will we continue? And if we don't, who will do it? It is very hard to get anyone to volunteer for this job.

On Good Friday I attended a service with a friend at another church. Some words spoken by a woman there stuck with me these last few days. On the night before Jesus died, he washed his disciples' feet. This was a job no one else wanted to do. Then Jesus said, "Go and do likewise." Sometimes we are looking for a big, important, glorious ministry in the church. But maybe we just need to do the job no one else wants to do. We need to be a servant in the house of our God.
Last month we were asked to assist at a special event. People involved in Alpha programs from churches all across the metropolitan area were invited to come to an information-sharing night at our church. Also, pastors and priests from churches that do not currently have the Alpha program were invited to find out about it. There were over 100 people there, all gathered in our gym for music, a meal, and fellowship. We had many helpers from many churches. In the kitchen with us were women from two local Catholic churches and also an elderly couple from the Presbyterian church across the street from our house. I stood at the stove and cooked all the chicken cutlets and let others hustle around setting up and preparing the other food. It was great to have help! And I was privileged to see the diverse, colorful groups walk in. Members of black and Asian churches from the inner city, Catholic priests, Methodists, and Baptists poured through our doors.

A couple of guys from our church played guitars and led the group in praise songs. Everyone stood and lifted their voices in worship! How pleased God must have been to see a fulfillment of Jesus' prayer to his father in John 17, "that they may be one as we are one." We celebrated our common belief in the gospel of Jesus Christ, and at least for one night, we forgot all about our differences.

Journey stories

I was asked to speak at the annual women's conference at our church. Several people would be sharing their individual life journeys and the attendees would be encouraged to begin writing their own stories. The event would serve as a mini-writing workshop. We all have stories to tell and our lives are so different. I was asked to talk about our decision to adopt our children from China.

My initial response was to say no to the request. I do not like speaking in front of a group, especially a crowd as large as this one would be. It is stressful and uncomfortable for me. I had little time to prepare. There were plenty of reasons why I couldn't do it. Then the thought came to me that maybe I had something important to share, something that would be beneficial to others. Maybe a child somewhere would have a home because I told of my wonderful daughters and how they have blessed my life. Maybe someone struggling with defeat would be encouraged by my story of God's forgiveness. My adoption story is really a story of forgiveness--too long to tell here now. Bottom line--God was nudging me to speak, and in reluctant obedience I said I would participate.

What an incredible morning it was! I realized how much I missed the women of my church. Since I began homeschooling, I let go of a lot of church activities that used to be so important to my life. I spent much time through the years with so many of the women who were here this day. Many were close at one time and I was so glad to see them and catch up on our lives.

Each of the very different speakers gave testimony to God's hand on her life as each traveled a very different journey. An older woman spoke first. She was one of the founding members of our church, a girl from Kentucky who, with her husband, began one of the largest churches in this suburban area. I was second to speak. Maybe I will have the courage to post my story here someday. It was hard to tell that morning and it would be hard to tell here. In summary, my story is about a woman who loved Jesus but decided at one point to pursue her own interests and rebel against God's ways. It is the story of my way back and how God forgave me when I didn't deserve it and then abundantly blessed me with these two precious daughters.

Next, to my amazement, was my "angel" K.! Yes, the same woman who shared her wisdom with me on Christmas Eve. She spoke first about her difficulties with family members afflicted with mental illness. She said she heard a sermon once and the pastor quoted Philippians 1:21: "For to me, to live is "____." He invited people to fill in the blank. K. said, "For to me, to live is suffering." Later she realized that throughout her life she had been such a joyful person, and that God had given her a gift of joy from childhood. She saw she had lost that joy and with God's help, reclaimed it. Later she could honestly say, "For to me, to live is Christ." She then told about her diagnosis of stage 3 ovarian cancer a year ago. Through her testimony, we saw that even now she has not lost that joy. She told her story with great humor and no sign of self-pity. She ended her story with the next line of the scripture, "For to me, to live is Christ, to die is gain."

The next speaker unexpectedly lost her husband last year. She honestly told of the excruciating pain she's endured. She revealed how God has ministered to her through the Word that keeps coming to her mind. All the scriptures she's memorized throughout her lifetime now comfort her. God continually reassures her of his presence and that keeps her going forward each day.

Jesus said, "In me you may have peace. In the world you have tribulation, but take courage; I have overcome the world." I've told some sad tales lately on this blog and I need to remember these words myself. God will sustain us through whatever life brings. He's given us his Word to comfort us by promising he will always be with us. His Word is living! He has also given us the sisterhood of other women to console and affirm and encourage each other. When we are strong, we uphold others who have lost their strength. We weep with those who weep and rejoice with those who rejoice.

What would your journey story be?

Into the darkness

I have many stories to tell of God's goodness and our hope and joy through him in this world. But somehow the darkness overshadows that goodness right now and my life is caught up in the grief of others. This time it is another friend of mine. I cannot tell of the details because there will be a trial coming up and I would not want the information to get into the wrong hands.

To support my friend, I offered to go to juvenile court with her yesterday. From 9am to 2pm, a small waiting room was filled with people--all with the same court time of 9am. What a system we have. What suffering in that room. Families broken and parents waging war over custody. Two scruffy young boys doing their best to wait patiently, their lives in the hands of a judge who hasn't had time to preview the case and has to make a snap decision on the information he has. A teenage girl in some sort of trouble writes furiously in a diary the whole time we wait. Her life in the hands of an overworked, very young caseworker.

I saw evil in the eyes of fathers. Fathers who have not been fathers, but have selfishly pursued their own pleasures and in the meantime have destroyed their children's lives. Children who have been neglected and mistreated. Children who act out their rage with crimes against the society that produced them. This room, this place, is a culmination of our sick and perverted culture. This was one day in one county in this country, reproduced thousands of time across our nation on any given day. Lord, have mercy.

Sushi in the car

On Sunday Liana had a playdate with a friend who lives on the other side of church. Arielle and I didn't want to drive all the way home and then go back out again. So we had three hours to spend together. All week we were thinking about what we would do with the time, but we had no definite plans.

First we went to a fabric store and I picked out a couple more colors to add to my quilt. Arielle wanted to look at the new Webkinz in the gift shop. She almost bought one but it is hard for her to spend her own money. (She likes spending mine though!) We also had to to to Trader Joe's for bread and we walked around there for a little while, sampling the free coffee and soup. By now it was lunch time. I had intended to take Arielle out to eat somewhere. We have so little time alone together. Then she noticed the sushi in Trader Joe's refrigerated case. Could we get some? I reminded her we would have to eat it in the car. No restaurant would allow us to come in and eat our own food. She was fine with that. So many choices for sushi! California rolls, vegetable rolls, chicken, shiitake, crab. Finally we each chose one and then found a couple of 49 cent bottles of water. At the checkout the clerk asked if we wanted chopsticks to go with our meal. Helpful man!

Arielle got in the front seat of the car (special treat) and we ate our sushi with the chopsticks. We've never tasted better nor had so much fun eating it. As we talked, I got a glimpse of the lovely young woman Arielle is growing to be and the easy companionship of mother and daughter that I hope will characterize at our future years together.

Laughing, with our teeth full of spinach and sesame seeds, we headed for Barnes and Noble and promised not to smile if we saw anyone we knew.

Why we like March

We almost always have a late winter snow and March definitely came in like a lion this year. March 1st into the 2nd a blizzard blasted through and it was the bigggest storm of the season. But the best thing about March snow is that it melts quickly. Five days later it was almost 70.

Liana had her best friend over to play and suffering from spring fever, they donned Easter dresses and ran outside barefoot, despite some snow still on the ground. I caught a glimpse of them out the kitchen window sliding down the hill on the sled. Their joy is contagious!

On a warm March day you can enjoy being outdoors without sneezing from pollen or swatting at bugs. Since there are no leaves on the trees we can see old bird nests and watch the migrating birds returning to them. We can hear again the chatter of a thousand voices coming from our bamboo grove now that the little birds have come back from wherever they go in the winter. We also noticed a new flock of huge aggressive crows chasing the squirrels away from our neighbor's deer feeder. The time changed! I always love when we have more daylight hours in the evening, and as an extra bonus, at dawn the full moon rose bright and beautiful from my western window.

Fred made what was maybe one last fire in the woodstove as the temperature dropped below freezing last night, but spring is on its way. That promise makes us restless and longing to be free from the the confines of the house. But it was a good winter. This morning I thanked God for all His blessings on us these past few months and asked Him for another winter to enjoy.

Refreshment

Sometimes the sorrows and tragedies of this world can be overwhelming. Sometimes just trudging through our daily routines and the ordinary battles of day-to-day living can steal our joy. We need a break. It came for me unexpectedly.

My girls were invited to a birthday party at a paint-your-own-pottery type place. They were very excited. After all that happened the last couple of weeks, I saw the invitation as another task to do on an already busy Saturday afternoon. When we arrived my friend and the mom of the birthday girl said, "You're going to paint something too, aren't you?" Well, no, I hadn't planned on that. I am no artist and lack any imagination to design a project. I even lack the fine motor skills needed to paint. Reluctantly, I agreed. What else would I do while I waited?

All the children happily took a piece of pottery and chose their paint colors. Arielle began painting a purple piggy bank and Liana chose a vase and immediately knew what she wanted to do with it. I looked at every piece in the store over and over. What to choose? I am practical. What would I actually use? Finally I selected a sugar bowl. What color? What brushes? Oh, the decisions to make. This was stressful. The girls and I had been studying Van Gogh and we admired his use of bright colors, so my bowl would be turquoise blue highlighted with yellow handles. And, of course, sunflowers should adorn the outside.

The children settled in to their painting, talking quietly among themselves. My brush swished back and forth, washing my pottery in color. You need at least three coats, my friend said. It took a long time, but no one seemed to mind. Then it came to me. What was this feeling? Relaxation? Peace? A week later my friend returned our creations and we were delighted with the shiny, colorful finish that emerged with the glazing and firing.

Another friend invited me to join her for a quilting class. I have time for that? But I do love quilts and I had been missing my friend, so I thought it would be fun to spend time with her. And it was! We went to a cute little quilt shop not far from home and for two hours our teacher explained the design and new techniques we would be using. Afterwards we browsed the shop looking at the beautiful fabrics. I couldn't sleep that night because my brain was racing with ideas.

Several factors were at work here: friendship--the easy, relaxing kind when you can be yourself without feeling judged. What a gift friends like that are! Second, time away from routine, especially to learn a new skill. We all need a break and brain stimulation. Third, the act of creating. (Even when you don't think you are the creative sort.) We are made in the image of God and He is the Grand Creator. So we are also creators by nature on a very small scale and it brings us joy to fulfill these very human yearnings. Even the children, these little women, relaxed and found pleasure in creating. I hope you would find many refreshing days ahead.

Requiem for a soldier

"There is an appointed time for everything and there is a time for every event under heaven-- a time to give birth and a time to die; a time to plant and a time to uproot what is planted. A time to kill and a time to heal; a time to tear down and a time to build up. A time to weep and a time to laugh; a time to mourn and a time to dance. A time to throw stones and a time to gather stones; a time to embrace and a time to shun embracing. A time to search and a time to give up as lost; a time to keep and a time to throw away. A time to tear apart and a time to sew together; a time to be silent and a time to speak. A time to love and a time to hate; a time for war and a time for peace." Ecclesiastes 3.

Along with 19 others, I was asked to prepare Marc's favorite dessert for the memorial service. What a privilege to do something, anything, for the family. I carefully chose only the very best granny smith apples to make the apple crisp. Ordinarily, I just slap food together to be as quick as possible to finish the task of cooking, but I found myself painstakingly cutting and mixing this dish and thinking about other food I served this family. After the birth of the youngest child I brought to their house fried chicken and macaroni and cheese. The only reason I remember this is because Mary often talked about it. She always said how nice that was, but then laughed about how I didn't know at the time she hated cheese.

As I baked the dessert the phone rang. It was someone from our police department--the emergency call system put in place to tell us of fallen trees on the road or downed power lines. The call goes out to everyone in our town. Today we were told the route Marc's body would take from the funeral home to the park where the memorial service would be held. To honor our hometown fallen soldier, residents were encouraged to "line the streets." And they did. Citizens came out on this bitter, cold day--the elderly, veterans, moms and dads and little kids. They stood along the roads, flags in hand, awaiting the procession.

Fred, three of my boys, and I arrived at the park. There were so many people that shuttle buses were carrying us from a distant parking lot to the pavillion at the edge of the woods that Marc so loved. Thankfully, this open structure was covered with clear plastic curtains to block some of the wind, but they flapped wildly with the icy blasts. Once again, we saw our old friends and neighbors, bundled up in their scarfs and hats. But this time there was nothing to say. The ceremony was solemn and respectful. The eulogies were in turn sad, humorous, and heartbreaking. We cried, then laughed. Amazing Grace came in haunting tones from the bagpipes as the wind howled around us. At the very end, a recording of the old song Ballad of the Green Berets was played. The author of that song was like Marc--a Green Beret, a medic, and a staff sergeant, only he did not die in the war in which he served. I knew every word to that song. It's a song from my youth that was on the radio constantly during the Vietnam era, but today it has new meaning.

"Silver wings upon their chest, these are men, America's best, one hundred men we'll test today, but only three win the Green Beret."

At the end of the song a woman's anguished cry pierced the frosty air. Mary? A sister? The fiancee? Her desolate wail squeezed our hearts and tears flowed again. Is there any meaning to be found here? A life well-lived, full and rich--but much too short in our eyes. History repeats--war and death. Amazing grace--the only hope in this desperate world.

Somber reunion

With fear and trembling (literally), Damien and I pay our respects to the family. Why is this so difficult? Because we may say or do something to offend these hurting people? Because we are afraid we may not know how to speak or act? Because by immersing ourselves in their grief, we are acknowledging our common mortality and the fact that this pain could easily be our own?

On the porch stand two men--Marc's step-father and a neighbor from the other side. My relationship with them in the past consisted of friendly hellos and shared social events. However, today we sob together and hold each other tightly. All we can say is, "Oh, my God!" over and over. Their sorrow pours out, drenching me in it. How can this be happening? Inside the house, Mary's pain is too deep to reach. She is just going through the motions-- hugging, visiting with the crowd, talking, and then suddenly running away to the refuge of her room to get away. In the kitchen, people stand around talking softly, smiling hesitantly at those they haven't seen in awhile. I remember the loud laughter and fun of this house 18 years ago when we lived next door. Laughter that was still heard just a few days ago, I'm sure.

Marc's siblings have come from other states. Beautiful kids, all grown-up. The whole neighborhood is here, it seems. The twins from down the hill who confront Damien on how he used to harass them. Other kids who used to play street hockey in the driveway or capture the flag on the grassy hills around our yards. I see the snooty past president of the PTA. She's still snooty, but old. Maybe she looks at me and thinks I'm old too. We hug though, and it is good to be here and see these people-- even her.

Several days later we go to the funeral home for Marc's viewing on a cold, blustery night. A long line of people has formed around the building. There are so many people here that they can't fit inside. Old veterans stand motionless out front in this frigid air, holding tightly to big flags that snap in the wind. We wait over an hour just to get in the building. At first the mood is reverent and still as we wait. As the minutes go by and the wind picks up to seemingly gale force, we recall stories of the former days in the old neighborhood and shiver and laugh. But we sober up right away once we get inside. Pictures of Marc surround us. His mementos from school and sports, his awards. He was a Green Beret. The tears flow again. We reach the casket. No, it isn't Marc. Doesn't look a bit like him. He was full of life, mischievous, always smiling. I can't look anymore at this stranger.

Mary. Oh, Mary. She's exhausted, drained. Greeting people for hours, standing here near the body of her son. What a strange custom we have that a family must endure. Mary and I exchange a few words--what we wouldn't give to have our children little again, to go back to those carefree days, ignorant of this impending tragedy. As we leave we run into more people, old friends, classmates of my boys. A grand reunion here in this funeral home. A young woman beside me in line graduated with Jon. She says, "What fun it would have been to catch up with everyone at a different time and place. A wedding maybe." Marc's wedding that will never be.

Boy next door

My former next-door neighbor and good friend is the business manager of our local library. After our kids grew up and I moved to a different part of town, Mary and I didn't seen each other much until she got this library job. Now we frequently see her and catch up on family news. There is something special between next-door moms and kids who grow up together.

I saw Mary last Wednesday. We talked for longer than usual while my girls looked for books. We told stories of old neighbors we've seen and what our kids are up to. She always asks about Damien--her favorite of my kids. I asked about her son Marc, an Army medic, who recently left for Afghanistan. She said Marc was eager to go and that his girlfriend has just forwarded a picture she'd received from Marc. Mary said he had a big smile on his face and that he'd grown a beard. I pictured the little blond, blue-eyed boy I once knew--now a man--and we laughed about that.

On Friday Damien called me, devastated, broken, weeping. He responded to my cheery voice on the phone, "I guess you didn't hear the bad news." A chill went through me. What bad news? "Marc was killed in Afghanistan."

Oh no oh no oh no oh no! It can't be! It can't be because I just talked to his mom and she said he was okay! So how could he be dead?? The horror of it! My thoughts go to Mary. How can she bear this? Oh, the world is a terrible place. This should not have happened.

A sign in front of our municipal building explains why the flag is at half-mast. In honor of Marc.

Time warp

We were in another dimension for the past couple of weeks. We went to a place where time is suspended, where our old lives are, in fact, put on hold. It was a time of being imprisoned in our house except for a couple of forays into the medical world. We're emerging from our exile now, and I can't believe it has only been about 10 days. It seemed like forever.

On Wednesday Fred suddenly spiked a fever of 103 and with it chills and a horrifying cough. On Thursday, my little Liana fell too, and then Arielle on Friday. My world was confined to dispensing Motrin, cough syrup, and soft foods and cold drinks. The girls had no interest in TV, books, games, or anything. Everyone was in a stupor, alternating between sleep and moaning. Saturday skipped me, but then Sunday morning I ached so bad with fever I could hardly walk across my bedroom. Arielle, feeling a little better, brought me applesauce and water. Fred brought medicine. Monday, we all felt somewhat better. We were still weak, but we were thinking we were on the other side of this. But no, the girls began a new round of fever and coughing. I was especially worried about Arielle. Her cough just wouldn't let up. Another trip to the doctor. He ordered a chest x-ray to rule out pneumonia. For anyone feeling smug because you had your flu shot--think again! Our doctor did two tests that came back negative for influenza.

Fred and I joked saying, "Remember when we used to all eat dinner together?" Or, "Remember when we watched a movie and made popcorn on Friday night?" Those days seem remote when you are in the midst of illness. We decided we loved our old life!

Then, just as suddenly as it all began, Arielle's fever abruptly ended. She was fine the next day. For all my complaining, I am grateful. I think of people who live this life every day for a long, long time. People with serious illnesses with no hope of recovery. People who long for the old life when good health was taken for granted and now is a much coveted gift. Love your life, thank God for your health.

Words of wisdom

A strange thing happened on Christmas Eve during the girls' rehearsal. Two days earlier I had been to the hospital for a medical test to rule out a disease that took my grandmother's life. I did not know the results. So this day I was sitting in a front pew of church watching my girls practice their song and other people practice their lines for the Christmas play. During a break an older woman I never saw before came and sat down beside me unexpectedly. She poured out her heart to me and told me she had just been diagnosed in March with this same disease! She had refused chemotherapy and was caring for herself with a special diet. I then told her about my test. She said very forcefully to me, "Stop eating sugar. It causes cancer and it is a big factor in aging. Think of your girls." Then she walked away.

My diet has been an issue for awhile. (This woman, of course, did not know that.) I know I should be eating more nutritious food and not eating other things. I don't have a weight problem so no one would guess my battles with food. Except God.

I take very seriously what this woman said to me. This is no New Year Resolution to try out for the month of January. This is a decision I make now for a lifetime. Not recklessly eliminating specific foods, but being more responsible about what I eat. I will be obedient to this solemn warning. I don't want to leave this world before my girls are grown.

My test came back normal. Our God has been gracious to me.

Reliving the season

I'm not ready to press ahead to the New Year yet. It has been a wonderful season and I want to relive some of the good times. My daughters, this is for you. You two made Christmas so much fun this year! I am grateful to have shared it once again with you and your dad.

First, there was the trip to the farm to choose our tree. Daddy set up his huge train town underneath it and you girls carefully unwrapped the ornaments and hung them on the branches. You both said this day was the very best.

What about driving around at night? I loved hearing you girls yell out, "Beauts!" everytime we passed a decorated house. Remember when Daddy played the CD with "What Child Is This?" over and over really loud and we drove around to find the best houses? What about that one house Helen told us about that was covered in colored lights that were synchronized to blink in time to a radio station playing Christmas music?

We had fun at the mall a couple of times too. Arielle, you helped Dad choose a Land's End outfit for me while Liana and I got gifts for Dad. Then we went to that fancy kitchen store and ate the free samples of peppermint bark they passed out. We saw the old REAL Santa, the same one who used to hold you both on his lap when you were babies. He is still holding babies, but you girls are too big now and you just like to go and watch him for a few minutes.

You had a good time rolling out, cutting and icing the Christmas cookies. What talented girls you are! The cookies were beautiful. But then after you went to bed, Dad ate the best ones! He loves those kind of cookies.

We sat in our favorite spot at the Christmas concert at church, right in front of the violins. All three of us liked the same song the best--the one where Mary and Elizabeth sing back and forth. We finally got to watch "The Story of the Nativity" on DVD and it made us think about what it might have really been like that Holy Night.

You girls had fun watching the UPS man bring all those packages to the door, thanks to Mom and Dad's late-night shopping on Amazon and the generosity of out-of-state family and friends. Stacia and Dominic came and you spent the day making a gingerbread house and snowflake decorations for the windows. Then there were many nights of watching your favorite holiday shows with Dad supervising the two of you roasting marshmallows in the wood stove.

Finally, with the big day almost here, we went to church on a rainy, windy Christmas Eve in the afternoon to rehearse the duet you girls were to sing for hundreds of people at the two services that evening. I was so proud of you. With great poise and confidence you both climbed the stairs right on cue and walked to the microphone. You sang beautifully with all your hearts as I watched your precious little faces up there. You stayed to sing the final carols and then, before you could come back down to us, Daddy jumped up from his seat and grabbed you, Liana, whirling you down from the stage, your poofy skirt flying. Then, Arielle, he lifted you down in his strong arms too. He wanted everyone to know you two were his daughters!

The next morning, all your brothers, sister, and their families arrived for our traditional gift-opening and dinner. I know you girls love being with the whole big family. Every step leading up to Christmas was wonderful this year. Thank you, girls!

Wrapped in love

Following my mother's example, I like to give my kids a tangible expression of love. And since she taught me to sew, I like to give quilts. I've made each of my six children one through the years. Some have enjoyed them more than others, but each quilt has served its purpose-- warming the heart and warming the bed.

With my two oldest grandkids halfway across the country, I decided to make them fleece throws for the frigid Minnesota nights. I picture them wrapped in the blankets watching TV or playing a game. But more so, I hope the softness covering them will remind them of hugs from the extended family so far away.

After making these blankets for Kelsey and Seth, I decide to make flannel quilts for the little ones. Princesses in pink and purple for Mattie, pink rainbows surrounded by yellow sunlight for Lana, and a pink-and-white 9-square for Laci Bo. I'm on a roll now. With so many in our family, we draw names among the adults for Christmas gifts. So I get fleece for my pollyanna. Marissa's birthday is two days after Christmas, so I make her one too. My husband? What about when he is cold on the sofa from watching the football game so long? Okay, this is getting out of hand.

At Damien's birthday party last week someone brought up the old quilts I made long ago. Damien said his is pretty much a rag now (he's 32) but he still likes it when he's sick. He said, "It makes me feel better." So I continue to sew and someday when I'm gone I hope the worn scraps of fabric will remind my family of how much each one is loved. As for Damien--it's his name I drew this year. He is getting a new blankie for Christmas!

Special morning

I never spend Christmas with my mother anymore. It's been over thirty years. But every year she faithfully sends huge boxes of gifts for everyone in the family. She is outrageously extravagant. She made Christmas magic for me as a child and she continues to do so. Every December I can always count on a special, personal "mother-type" gift for me. She knows just what I will like. One year it was a soft, powder blue robe, another year a long flannel nightgown. I like to open these gifts alone beside the tree, in the quiet stillness of dawn. That way I can spend private time with thoughts of the mother I love so dearly.

Today Fred left early and the girls were still asleep. I looked through the packages my mother sent. Some had warnings on them for me--"Don't open before Christmas!" My mother is like that. She always tells me to wait. But she doesn't realize how I treasure this one morning. Still, I choose a large box with no warning label on it. And I also find a small, squishy gift. Before the lighted tree I slowly unwrap her presents. I always picture her hands doing the wrapping. It's funny how we remember hands. Maybe because as small children we see our mothers' hands down at our level. The little package, wrapped in a fancy brocade paper with a curled ribbon contains two pairs of Christmas socks, whimsically decorated with reindeer and snowflakes. I smile. She knows I like silly socks. Then the bigger box. I cut the ribbon and inside is something soft wrapped in red tissue paper, carefully taped. My mother doesn't rush wrapping gifts like I do. She never rushed us kids either. She always took time for us. I take the paper off. The gift is a beautiful fleece zip jacket in blue, L.L. Bean. I can hear her say, "That color will look good on you with your eyes." The jacket is warm, earthy, comfortable--like my mom. Tears spring up in my eyes. She is such a good mother. She has so many kids, so many grandkids, yet each gift is thoughtfully chosen so we each feel special, like we are the only one. In the twinkly light of my living room, I whisper, "Thank you, Mother. Merry Christmas."

O Christmas Tree

Fred and I were talking about how Christmas is a disappointment for some people. Maybe Christmas was magical when they were children but now they can't recapture that feeling again no matter how hard they try. That's not even considering people who have lost loved ones or experienced some trauma this past year. I've had many Christmases when I just wished it would be over quickly. It's hard to pretend to be joyful when you just don't feel the joy. But the Christmas tree has always been enchanting for me.

This year we went to our local tree farm on the coldest day of the season (again). We bundled up in layers from head to toe. Then we climbed onto the hay wagon and sat on the metal seats as the wind whipped about us. The tractor groaned across the ruts on the frozen ground and finally we were dropped off to select our tree. I resisted the temptation to plead with the man to return for us soon. It was way too cold to dilly-dally. This year we are on a budget and we would just quickly find a small tree. But the girls had such fun as they skipped along the rows between trees saying, "This one!" And then a minute later, "No, this one!" In the end, a seven-footer was calling to Fred and he cut it down and dragged it back to wait for the wagon.

With great excitement the girls unpacked all the ornaments to decorate the big tree. I told them again the story of the special ones I got when we were waiting for them to come home from China. The purple crepe-paper Asian angel for Arielle and a glass ball with a delicately painted black-haired flying angel for Liana. We brought out the little walnut shell cradles that I made many years ago as a fundraiser for Half the Sky. Each ornament has a child's name written on the red ribbon, a child who was waiting for a family back then. I find "Our First Christmas Together" for the year Fred and I got married. Then there are all the handcrafted ones--projects made by little hands. Memories are attached to each decoration. I returned the boys' old ornaments to them long ago so they can add them to their own family's tree. But I would like to see them again and remember. And oh, the ornaments from my own childhood! To unwrap them and hold them in my hands again!

Christmas was magic for me as a child. I loved to sit on the floor in front of the tree, silent, with all the lights glowing. It was so peaceful, a time to wonder and anticipate. Even now, I stare at the tree in the silence and peace descends. I'm filled with gratefulness to God for so many Christmases. I've been given one more year, one more tree to gaze upon, another year with family to celebrate our Lord's birth.

Our pastor reminded us not to lose our amazement at the Christmas story as we reflect on the familiar passages. The incredible birth of Jesus--God, coming to earth as a man! At the time, God had not spoken to His people for hundreds of years. They longed for the Messiah, and generation after generation awaited His coming. Immanuel, God with us. Never again would God's people be lost and alone. Knowing this, we rejoice like the shepherds did as they heard the angel proclaim, "Don't be afraid. I bring you news of great joy that will be for all the people. Today in the town of David a Savior has been born to you; He is Christ the Lord."

"For all the people." Jesus did not come only for the people back then. He came for us too and He is here with us. He is the magic of Christmas. He is the peace-bringer, the one whose Spirit comes and calms my soul when I watch the tiny lights on our tall tree. So many memories of Christmases past flood my mind. The love for my mother and all my brothers and sisters. My mother did her best to make the holiday beautiful for us. And my siblings made it fun. With a tear, I think of my little boys, all now grown men. I remember their excitement when Christmas was still magic for them. And my little girls. Oh, what joy fills their hearts this time of year! They love every minute of the preparations, but bringing home the tree and decorating it is at the top of their list. After the frozen fingers and toes and the cold wagon ride and the mess in the living room, we turn on the lights and there it is: O Christmas Tree!

Remembering

My friend Joan invited me to a special service at her church. Family and friends gathered to celebrate the lives of loved ones who died the previous year. My friend lost both her parents and I my sister. It was especially meaningful for me because Deanah's husband had no memorial service for her.

It was sad to see so many people there knowing they must have suffered so much pain the previous few months. But the priest encouraged us to remember the happy times and the unique characteristics and personality traits that made the person so special to us. Then the list of names was read and a family member walked to the back of the sanctuary, took a candle, and brought it to the altar. I felt a jolt when I heard my sister's name. Her name--listed among the dead! It still shocks me to think of her like that.

Beautiful music surrounded us, and one piece I recognized as Pachabel's Canon in D. It brought me back to my own wedding. I had asked my two sisters to be my bridesmaids but Deanah declined. My sister Kelly was my only attendant. Fred and I had chosen Pachabel for our prelude, and as the music played, my mother and Fred's mother lit two candles at the altar and then joined the flames to light another candle. This symbolized the beginning of two families united into one. Tonight we grieve for broken families where a beloved one was ripped out and is now gone. With time I suppose the tear will mend. That's what this service was all about. But scars are left on our hearts. We won't ever forget.

Best birthday ever

This earth is still full of beauty and joy even in this broken and dying world. Here is what came before the show:

For my birthday getaway, we began with a long drive through the countryside blazing with the colors of autumn. We never mind this leisurely, traffic-less trip. The girls watch for horse droppings along the road because that means Amish horses and that means we are almost there! Arielle begins to count buggies (every trip she does this) and then finally we pull up to the first stoplight in Intercourse, a small quaint town at the center of a clash of cultures. This day on the right corner a tourist stands in the parking lot pointing her camera across the street to the left corner. We turn to look and see an elderly Amish woman in her black dress and boots vigorously mowing grass around a tree with an old push mower. Fred says I should have pointed my camera at the inconsiderate tourist to see how she likes being viewed as an exotic zoo animal.

After the show (see previous post) we go back to the hotel for swimming before dinner. The girls love this part of a vacation just about more than anything. Only one other person is there--a legless man doing laps in the pool. The girls are quite accepting of this unusual sight and just jump right in. It was amazing to me to witness the tremendous strength of this man who continued to do his laps the entire time we were there. At one point he called the girls' attention to a colorful hot-air balloon sailing by the window and they ran outside in the cold, biting air to see it better.

We went to dinner at Fred's favorite place--Texas Star. We pretended we were down south. (This place always makes me think of Easley, South Carolina and our almost move to that area.) Tonight we had a sumptious meal!

The next day we drove around town visiting a farmer's market, our favorite quilt and fabric store, and a doll shop that delighted the girls. Then we found a little Mennonite family store and bought a half bushel of organic apples. As we stood outdoors choosing apples from the bins, I heard the clickety-clack of hooves and Fred shouted, "Look out!" In the nick of time I dodged a big black horse trotting toward me. As it passed, I looked inside the buggy and saw a man with a long white beard and black hat grinning gleefully as he drove the horse past me.

We walked around Intercourse on our way home looking for a handmade mailbox, as our old one is moldy and falling apart. No luck. No one was selling them. We headed out of town and suddenly passed a little house with several mailboxes stacked along the road. Fred turned around and we pulled into the driveway. Then we saw the buggy parked inside the garage. The house was quite ordinary and otherwise there was nothing to tell us it was an Amish home, except a little chicken pen ran alongside the drive. A girl about 12 years old came out to greet us followed by a large, bounding golden retriever puppy.

Fred asked her about the mailboxes and she led the way up some stairs to a loft above the garage. The girls and I followed as best we could with the friendly dog trying to lick our faces. Inside were dozens of the most interesting wooden mailboxes. Some looked like barns, some like log cabins or covered bridges. Fred was thrilled and immediately chose his favorite. I took a picture from the top of the stairs of the beautiful farmland around us. I wished for a picture of the cute blonde girl, but I know the Amish do not like photographs to be taken of them. Instead, Fred asked, "Could we take a picture of your chickens?" The girl laughed and said yes, revealing fluorescent green braces on her teeth. We took our picture and left, leaving behind one of our favorite towns.

What we lost

Fred took me to Lancaster for my birthday. We saw In the Beginning at the Sight and Sound Theatre. (http://www.sight-sound.com/) Our family loves these musical productions! This one was about Creation and the first few books of Genesis. On the incredible set we saw a glimpse of what the Garden of Eden might have been like: the richness of the colors, the diverse plants and animals, the only time there has truly been peace on earth. We were drawn into the beautiful scenery and the unity and love between husband and wife. Most incredible was the first humans' interactions with God and their intimate connection to him. At the end of Act I came the deceit of the serpent and man and woman's disobedience. The joyous Garden was replaced by a gray landscape, howling wind, and prowling animals. Adam and Eve argued with each other and had to scavenge for food, clothing, and shelter. The entrance to the Garden was guarded by angels with flaming swords. Then, intermission. Thankfully, that isn't the end of the story! But at that point in time, people headed to the restrooms with heavy hearts at the impact of what was lost when sin entered the world.

We returned to our seats and saw that the angels were still on stage with their flaming swords. Photographs are not allowed in the theatre, but I guess because it was intermission, they made an exception. Fred took the camera to the front and one of the ushers took his picture with the angels. Seeing my silly husband up there sure broke the sad spell cast by Act 1!

Of course we find out in Act 2 that we will not be forever banned from the Garden because Jesus came to lift the curse and give us eternal life. Yes, we will die once in this life on earth, but we are not without hope. All of creation, the way God meant it to be, will be restored.

"Then I saw a new heaven and a new earth...the angel showed me the river of the water of life, as clear as crystal, flowing from the throne of God and of the Lamb down the middle of the great street of the city. One each side of the river stood the tree of life, bearing twelve crops of fruit, yielding its fruit every month. And the leaves of the tree are for the healing of the nations. No longer will there be any curse. The throne of God and of the Lamb will be in the city, and his servants will serve him. They will see his face, and his name will be on their foreheads. There will be no more night. They will not need the light of the lamp or the light of the sun, for the Lord God will give them light. And they will reign for ever and ever. The angel said to me, 'These words are trustworthy and true'..." (Revelation 21:1, 22:1-6.)

Every now and then we need a reminder of the future! In the meantime, God does not leave us alone to fend for ourselves. "Never will I leave you; never will I forsake you. So we say with confidence, the Lord is my helper; I will not be afraid." (Hebrews 13:5,6.) God will carry us through our sojourn in this world.