Chrissy's Story

My daughter-in-law Chrissy wrote this story.

My most memorable Christmas to date took place when I was between the ages of 10 or 12. My mom could never afford to buy us presents for anything, Christmas included. But my Nan (who is my Mom's Mom) always had gifts for us. She asked me what I wanted for Christmas that year, and without hesitation I told her I'd like a gold cross necklace. I still think to this day, and almost immediately thought that day as a little girl, "What in the world made me ask her for that?" I mean we were not raised in a Christian home, and we certainly didn't go to church. But either way, I was proud of myself for that brief moment. I don't think I fully understood at the time why I felt so proud, but I do now. Christmas day came, and we went to my Nanny's for dinner and gifts. I still remember when I opened the little box and saw this simple, but stunning little gold cross necklace that was now my own. I remember wearing it almost every day, but eventually, being a little girl, I lost my cross necklace, but never lost my love for the Lord. That out of all the Christmases I've had and can remember is the one I always think of when I go back through my Christmas memories. It brings tears to my eyes to think how God reached out his hand to me when I never knew him.

Christmas Long Ago: My Story

My family lived briefly in a small logging town in Utah called Panguitch. We lived in a tiny green trailer-- Mom, Dad, and four children. My new little brother Shane had just been born in November the year of that memorable Christmas. Having no washer or dryer, my mother washed out his diapers by hand and hung them outside in the icy air to dry. I remember her bringing them inside, stiff and frozen.

I was seven and in second grade when we lived in Panguitch. I walked to and from school alone down the main street in town and looked into store windows on my way. Once, around Halloween, I bought wax teeth and big red wax lips in one of those stores.

That Christmas was snowy and cold. We were having a holiday party at my school. Each child drew a name, and we had to buy that classmate a gift--limit 50 cents. I don't remember the child who received my gift or even what I brought to share. Thinking back, I know it must have been a hardship for my parents to buy one more gift during a very difficult season in their lives.

I still have two of the four gifts I received for Christmas that year. A boy in my class gave me a treasure--a picture book filled with stories and poems about Christmas. It had the words to The Twelve Days of Christmas in it, and a poem about "Jesus, our brother, kind and good." There was a story about two girls taking a penny walk at Christmas. I'd never heard of a penny walk before and wanted to try it. You flip a penny at every corner while you're walking. If heads, you turn right, if tails, you go left. Oh, how many times I read that book through the years!

I also still have a doll that was mailed to me from my grandmother in California. It was a Terry Lee doll and she could walk and turn her head. I named her Sandra. My mother later told me she had two dollars apiece to spend on each of her children that Christmas. The winter in Utah was bitter cold but girls were required to wear dresses to school no matter what the weather. My mother bought me red tights. I was thrilled to have them and remember playing hopscotch on the blacktop at school while I was wearing them. Also, Christmas morning, hanging on our small blue spruce tree, I found a tiny, stuffed dog named Topper. I think the name was inspired by a TV show I had watched.

The images in my mind of our time in Panguitch are still vivid. My mother always made Christmas special, and that year was no exception. By the next holiday, we would be living in a real house and the first Christmas there was magical. But I will hold that story for another time.

Stacia's Memorable Christmas

My son Dominic's fiancee sent me this story:

One of my favorite Christmases was when I was about 7 years old. I remember this Christmas very well because my family was all together at my grandparents' house. All my aunts and uncles were there, exchanging gifts and laughing together. There was a coffee table with a bowl of walnuts in it and a nutcracker, and everyone ate walnuts out of the shell. There were Christmas songs playing on the radio. Suddenly we heard a knock on the door and a jolly "ho ho ho!" We had a special visitor--Santa Claus! He came down the stairs in a red suit holding a big red bag of toys for us kids. I would find out later that it was my Uncle Greg dressed up, but of course it was Santa to us. There were many wonderful toys in the bag, but the best one of all was too big to be wrapped. All the adults got kind of hushed and Santa said he had a special present for me. Then he went behind a door and came out wheeling a bright green scooter with tassels on the handle bars. I shrieked with delight--a scooter was every child's dream! This one was sleek and shiny and very fashionable. Santa then wheeled out a new bike for my brother, and he was thrilled, too. We couldn't stop talking about our new wheels. When we got home that night my dad brought them down to the basement and we rode around and around in circles until we were tired. I rode that scooter for years until I finally parted with it at a garage sale. I think my brother still has his bike up in the attic.

My Favorite Christmas

Here is Arielle's story:

I love Christmas time. Christmas is the time when baby Jesus was born. Lots of people get excited about the gifts and other stuff and they forget about what Christmas is really about. At our house we try to not forget the true meaning of Christmas, but we sometimes forget.

Every year we go to our church for a Christmas concert. It is amazing to see all the singers and hear the music. I always look forward to the concert. On Christmas Eve our church has a play of the nativity for the kids. One of my favorite Christmases was the year when my mom and dad bought me a Felicity American Girl doll. I play with her, but I am careful to keep her hair looking nice. Every morning on Christmas I wake up, get my sister, and we both go into my mom and dad's room to wake them up. When they are awake, we open presents in the living room.

All my big brothers and my big sister come over for dinner. Before dinner we all sit down in a circle in the living room and take turns opening more gifts. I love it when all the family gets together. At dinner it is always crazy when all the plates of food are passing from person to person and everyone is talking all at once. That was the best Christmas I can remember.

A Christmas to Remember

The girls had a creative writing assignment about a favorite or memorable Christmas from the past. I told them I would also write a story. So over the next couple of days, I will post them all. Readers! Please contribute!

Here is Liana's story: She was thinking of the Christmas when she was two but added some more recent details.

The countdown until Christmas has started. Soon it will be Christmas, the best time of the year. The best part was the family that would come. Even a two-year-old like me would not just care about the gifts. But I'm not saying that I don't want any presents. Christmas Eve is coming and that means the wonderful Christmas Eve concert. I'm strolling now through the house, my eyes gazing at the Christmas tree. Oh, what a beautiful tradition it is! Just lining up to Christmas is great! Going to the mall and getting the chocolate samples is awesome. On Christmas morning I got a doll house with furniture in it. It was sure a Christmas to remember.

Blizzard

What were you doing during the blizzard of 2009? Many people will have stories to tell in the years to come. I have a story of the blizzard of 1996 that brought us 30.7 inches of snow. I was stranded in a hotel in Philadelphia where I had gone for a chiropractic seminar. The highways and the airport were closed and no one could leave the city. The hotel had no restaurant so my fellow classmates and I had to venture out on foot and try to find some place that would sell us something to eat. We found a convenience store with a line of people wrapped around the building. But we bought food and then stuffed the containers in the snow below our window at the hotel so nothing would spoil and we could later heat our meals in the one microwave in the lobby.

This blizzard was mild by comparison, but I hope we will all remember it with a smile and with gratitude for a special weekend. The four of us were home together, gladly stranded and unable to go anywhere. Fortunately, we had no obligations like many others did, so we watched the storm arrive with an increasingly dense, dark gray sky as the light snow began and then quickly turned to a furious, relentless storm.

The girls couldn't wait to go outside and were delighted when the lawn was quickly blanketed in white. Fred and I did a quick shoveling after a few inches of snow accumulated, then retreated indoors for snacks, hot drinks, and movies by the fire. Is there anything better? At dusk we decided to shovel again even though the storm was still blasting through the area. I pushed all the snow from our wooden deck and then started on the driveway. Fred said to leave it be, that he would get out the snow blower in the morning. But I didn't want to quit. I felt like I could shovel forever. The falling snow was beautiful, magical somehow. The outdoor Christmas lights switched on and cast a colorful glow on our yard. I walked up the road in front of the house for a picture and then called the girls to come and see. Liana spent most of her time digging a big hole in the mound we had shoveled and then sat in it for quite awhile, transfixed by her own imaginary world. Arielle piled high a huge mountain of snow to make a fort. No one wanted to come inside.

Sometime in the middle of the night the Nor'easter left us to head further north. More shoveling awaited us. In the bright, cold sunshine we cleared at least another six inches. This time, our work was more drudgery than fantasy. The girls bickered and threw snowballs at each other. Fred and I just wanted to get done. The magic was gone. But I will always remember the snowfalll that evening when we were caught up in a winter wonderland.

Looking for Christmas

Christmas is coming way too quickly and we are going through the motions doing all the same actitivies we do every year to get ready. I'm enjoying them all! But I notice with each thing we do, we try to capture that essence of Christmas--something fulfilling, nostalgic, meaningful. Deep in our hearts is a wistful longing for the excitement and magic we experienced as a child. Or if not that, then something we can't name, something elusive, something we can't quite grasp.

Fred and the girls and I have been shopping at the mall and had a fun time trying to hide gifts from each other and not give away secrets. We went to the tree farm on the coldest, windiest day of the season (again!) and froze as we rode out to the fields in a hay wagon driven by two big horses. We cut the most beautiful tree we've ever had. It is 7 feet tall, full and lush. Fred placed thousands of lights on it and the girls hung our ornaments, each one attached to a memory.

My friend had a ladies' Christmas party in her 180-year-old country home, fully adorned in Christmas finery. We snacked and talked and sang carols, and listened to a dramatization of Jesus' birth. On Sunday we attended the concert at our church and heard a full orchestra and choir presenting glorious music. If you can't find Christmas there, where would you? We're building traditions and the girls are forming their own warm and fuzzy feelings about the season.

It struck me that when I'm looking for Christmas, I'm really looking for Jesus--a touch, a word, a connection to Him. It's His birthday, after all. He is not elusive. He's at the mall and the farm, in our homes and churches. He is in our hearts. Maybe I need to just stop and talk to Him, slow down and listen for His voice.

Why do we love the trappings of Christmas? Our huge tree reminds me of life, the rich full life God has given me here on earth and the hope of eternal life. I love the tiny, twinkling lights on the tree. They shine like the stars forever and ever. I love to sing the old carols. We'll one day join choirs of angels singing praises to God. We so enjoy giving gifts to our children, just as God loved us so much that He gave us His son.

All these things are glimpses of what can't be fully realized now. They are a hint of the future, the promise of what is to come. We cling to our little earthly traditions and long for heaven.

At the concert we heard a beautiful song that was unfamiliar to me. I found the words on the web, but could not find any site to post here so you could hear it. It's called, "All the World Was Waiting." I don't know who wrote it. If you find it, let me know. I want to hear it again.

All the world was waiting, for the promised One,

Prophets through the ages claimed that He would come,

Would He be a warrior, or a conquering King?

Could he be the one who'd save us from our sin and suffering?

All the world was waiting on the night that you were born,

God of life eternal, in a fragile form,

Shepherds gathered closer, gazing at your face,

Wondering how this helpless child could save a fallen human race.

All the world was waiting, as you became a man,

Truth was in your teaching, healing in your hand,

Though your heart was sinless, you laid down your life,

To pay the debt that only perfect love could satisfy.

Now the world is waiting, for another day,

When your Sovereign hand will turn the final page,

And all will be accomplished, our trials and tears will end,

And those who've longed to see you will never wait again.

On aging

A friend of mine sent me some great thoughts on getting old from Max Lucado. It's always bothered me that we are supposed to buy into the idea of making ourselves look younger than we really are. Why? What's wrong with looking our age? I'm all for keeping healthy, but don't you think our culture goes a little too far in promoting youthfulness? To all of my friends who are my age--we've traded our looks for the great wisdom we've acquired! I think it's far more valuable.

"How precious are your thoughts to me, O God! How great is the sum of them!" Psalm 139:17.

Aging is a universal condition. But the way we try to hide it, you would think it was a plague!
There are girdles which compact the middle-age spread for both sexes. There are hair transplants, wigs, toupees, and hair pieces. Dentures bring youth to the mouth, wrinkle cream brings youth to the face, and the color in a bottle brings youth to the hair. All to hide what everyone already knows--we're getting older.

Just when the truth about life sinks in, God's truth starts to surface. He takes us by the hand and dares us not to sweep the facts under the rug but to confront them with him at our side.

Aging? A necessary process to pass on to a better world.
Death? Merely a brief passage, a tunnel.
Self? Designed and created for a purpose, purchased by God himself.

There, was that so bad?

Let it snow!

Finally! A free weekend. Nothing at all planned, but snow was in the forecast. The girls were hopping with excitement. They were out the door when the first few flakes began to stick to the grass.

It was a warm snow, coming up from the South. It fell wet and heavy, pulling down our bamboo and breaking a huge branch from the lilac tree. But it frosted the trees with ice and was so beautiful. The snow was great for packing and the girls made the first snowman of the season.

Inside, Fred made a fire in the wood stove and we ate snacks and watched silly Christmas movies all afternoon-- Elf and Christmas with the Kranks. We also watched parts of The Santa Clause series AGAIN. Highly recommended!

Fred's leg is healing. He has to be reminded to be cautious because he tends to overdo. I am making an effort to massage it well every night and that has helped a lot with the swelling. Our hands have healing in them. I believe it and scripture supports it.

Our wonderful weekend is ending. Fred prayed at dinner, "Thank you, Lord, for allowing us to see another winter and another snowfall." We are grateful. Another season upon us and we are here to celebrate it!

Happy Birthday, Daughter!

My daughter turned twelve today. In the early morning quiet I thought back over my years with her. The tears my mother and I shed when we first saw the empty crib in that hotel room in China just hours before Arielle was mine. Tears because I really, truly, would have a daughter at long last. Indescribable joy when the thin baby with the huge dark eyes was placed in my arms.

Her hair grew thick and black and her big eyes didn't miss a thing. Even as a baby she carried with her the wisdom of the ages, serious and thoughtful. My little girl spoke in sentences just past her first birthday and could read all the letters of the alphabet before she turned two. She's always loved books and as a toddler would quietly take each one from her shelf and page through it, her little face so intent on learning and understanding. Then she would stack the books neatly beside her as she finished them. They were her treasures.

I think of my little ballerina in her many tutus and later my girl with her black hair braided with red ribbons performing at Chinese New Year. She learned to play piano and entertained us at home with joyful abandon but never enjoyed the recitals. She couldn't bear the thought of making a mistake. Once, as I watched her playing a lively tune, a word of scripture clearly came to my mind, "She's the apple of my eye." God's. And mine.

Her mind is her strength, but with caution and persistent effort she learned to swim and ride a bike. She's never been interested in sports but loves our vegetable garden and has diligently worked beside me year after year, planting, hoeing, harvesting. She has learned to sew and has begun to cook. Oh, there is so much more I want to teach her!

She loves the ocean. Our last trip to the shore I watched her edge further and further from us. Her thoughts were her own as she plunged into the swirling water, alone, but under our watchful eyes. What are your dreams, precious daughter?

The years fly faster and faster and soon she'll soar away too. Wait, please wait! I'm not ready for her to go! She is becoming a beautiful young woman, poised, confident, and never losing her sweet and gentle nature or the ancient wisdom in her eyes. Happy Birthday, Arielle! We love you!

Traditions

For weeks Fred has been looking forward to Black Friday, maybe even more than Thanksgiving. After several years of repetitive behavior, people tend to call something a tradition. So we continue our tradition this year.

We're not like those fanatics who go out in the middle of the night to camp out around the Walmart waiting for the doors to open. No, we leave the house around 7am and head to the mall, search the already packed parking lot for a spot, and then join the throngs of shoppers. Usually we don't do much buying. We just soak up the festive atmosphere, eating chocolate samples from the speciality shops and drinking Starbucks coffee. Maybe get a glimpse of the REAL Santa. Yes, we have the real deal at our mall.

Today we left a little later because we were bringing Dominic and his fiancee with us. They came to visit from D.C. and we talked them into joining us on our "day-after-T-day tradition". This year the coffee line was too long and the peppermint bark quota had already been distributed at Williams-Sonoma. Penneys had no more of the free snow globes they advertised and Fred and Arielle couldn't go off to shop together because I was pushing Fred in a wheelchair! That was quite an adventure. Wheelchairs are even harder than strollers to maneuver in store aisles and trying to get Fred up a ramp was near impossible if not for Dominic coming to the rescue. But wheelchairs are great for holding things. My purse went on Fred's lap and shopping bags were linked over the handles. Friends, don't you miss strollers for that reason alone? I wish I had my old stroller just to use as a shopping cart.

Our big bargain of the day--a Land's End coat for Liana that was 50% off! The most enjoyable part of the morning--a late breakfast at a diner with Dominic and Stacia. After our busy morning we got to relax and talk before they headed back to the big city.

Black Friday evening will hopefully become a tradition too. Fred made a fire in the woodstove, the girls roasted marshmallows, and I wrote my blog notes on paper so I could be downstairs with my family. On Thanksgiving around the table our kids had said what they were thankful for this past year. Over and over we kept hearing from each of them, big ones and little ones, "Family." My heart if full of gratitude tonight.

Indian Sam

I remember well the autumn I turned 12. I was in 7th grade and my school was on double sessions. I left the house after lunch and came home on the bus in the dark. My family lived in suburban St. Louis and we appeared to be an ordinary family, making snowmen in the yard in the winter, riding our bikes around the neighborhood in the summer, battling the bully on our street year-round. But we were not ordinary.

My own daughter Arielle is now exactly the same age I was that eventful evening, November 20th, long ago. I wonder how she would have reacted to my circumstances. If I remember right, it was also a Friday night, like it is now. My favorite show, Gomer Pyle, was about to start and I missed it because my new brother was coming into the world, right in my parents' bedroom.

My mother was against hospital births. Actually she is still pretty much against the medical profession in general. She gave birth to five children at home. But this brother, born when I was 12, was the most memorable for me. I remember the mysterious noises coming from the bedroom and my dad having me run get things for him. It was both scary and exciting. I was worried about my mother but knew something incredible was happening. I was privileged to see my newborn brother immediately after he was born. My mom and dad nicknamed him Indian Sam because his little face was so red. (We didn't worry about political correctness back then.)

For homework that weekend I had to write a report for English class. I wrote about what was foremost in my mind, of course! I told about how I had assisted with the birth and everything about Indian Sam, the baby I already adored. I read my report aloud in class. The teacher's reaction was stunned silence. My classmates didn't stir or say a word either. I knew then that it was a weird thing that I had witnessed and maybe my family wasn't like other families.

My mother probably influenced me to have my firstborn son at home, attended by a midwife--a MAN--and his trainees, who sat around and smoked cigarettes in the bedroom where I was laboring. It was a horrible experience and the rest of my boys were born in the hospital. (Those births weren't much better, but at least the air wasn't toxic.) After nursing school I worked in maternity in a hospital in Oklahoma City hoping to make other women's births a little more pleasant. I experienced many miracles there, for every child born into this world is a miracle.

Indian Sam was a very special brother. My other two brothers were playmates, lots of fun most of the time, but this one was my baby. I claimed him as my own. My mother gave me a lot of responsibility in caring for him and I thoroughly enjoyed him. Even today, we have a close relationship. So, Happy Birthday, Little Brother!

Pleasures

"The Lord takes pleasure in His people." Psalm 149:4. I know, hard to believe. This word comes after an exhortation to praise, rejoice, and sing. If God desires our praise, I will give it.

I was cooking dinner and Liana came into the kitchen and looked out into the backyard. "Mom, look at the sky!" I turned the light off so we could see better. Our window faces the setting sun and the sky was painted with glorious streaks of color. Liana ran for the camera, and we went outside on the deck to enjoy the view. No photo could capture this moment.

I'm so glad my children haven't become cynical, taking for granted the special gifts of the earth. They are both vigilant, scanning the outdoors for wonders--a deer that strays from its family to explore our yard, the groundhog quadruplets born in the spring, the little birds that find our feeder. Even a caterpillar or ladybug or praying mantis will excite them.

As we each look at our little piece of the earth, are we struck by the beauty of it? In the morning I watch the soaring birds departing from their roost in the bamboo grove. The sun rises like a glowing red ball and illuminates the shocking yellow trees, their leaves now falling gently and covering our lawn. Fred has been unable to do his usual autumn leaves clean-up, and they are piled high in the corners where the wind blows them. I enjoy listening to the rustling as they are scattered about. "God has displayed His splendor." Psalm 8:1.

Does God really delight in us that way, like we find joy in His creation? Does He smile at our human-ness, faults and all? Is He like a mother who tenderly gazes at her children, adoring them, even if five minutes ago they were being most disagreeable?

"God makes the dawn and the sunset shout for joy." Psalm 65:8. "In His right hand there are pleasures forever." Psalm 16:11. Don't miss them, and don't forget that your Creator also takes pleasure in you.

Grandmother

I had the best grandmother in the world. I think I've said that before. We lived in Tucson and she lived in San Diego, so visiting her was infrequent, but what an exciting time for me when we went to her house. She adored me, simple as that.

I was thinking of her yesterday. Arielle and I went to my daughter-in-law's house to pick her up, along with my granddaughter Lana. We pulled in the driveway, and Lana dressed in pink hearts bounced out to the car, her long hair gold in the afternoon sun. I adore that child. I hope she knows it. Girls' Day Out! We had an afternoon of shopping planned.

Chrissy and I are both on very limited budgets, so we were very discriminating about what we put in our cart. Lana, being a typical 6-year-old with no cares about money, wanted a stuffed animal. Over and over she implored her mother to get her one. I too loved stuffed animals when I was a child. Unlike my daughters whose rooms are filled with them, I had just four animals over the course of my childhood. Each one was so very special. My grandmother bought one of them.

On a visit to California, my sister and I were in a store with my grandmother. Maybe we were clamoring for a gift, I don't know. But I remember my grandmother saying we could get something. I was old enough to realize she did not mean a big something, just a little treat or toy. A huge display of plush teddy bears caught my eye. Could we have one of those? I can still see my grandmother's face. She hesitated, wanting to say no, it was too much. But she said yes! My sister chose a brown and tan bear. Mine was pink and white.

Lana never asked me for anything. I could tell Chrissy wanted to get her something, but she needed to buy clothing instead. So I knelt down and told Lana about my grandmother and my bear. And then I told her that her own grandma would get her the animal she desired. She must have already had one in mind. She ran to the display and immediately chose a gray kitty.

Lana didn't need another stuffed animal. Maybe she shouldn't have been allowed a toy, since she kept asking after her mother said no. But isn't that a grandmother's role? To give when it isn't deserved? To indulge a child, to be the pushover? Parents so often have to be the "no" person. I want to be able to say "yes" to my grandchildren.

The Great Healer

Fred went to the doctor yesterday for a new x-ray to see how his leg is mending and to determine if surgery will be necessary to repair the damage. Great news! The doctor said he is amazed at how Fred is healing so rapidly. No surgery is needed. In fact, he can begin partial weight-bearing on the injured leg. Maybe even driving again soon.

"I praise you because I am fearfully and wonderfully made; your works are wonderful, I know that full well." Psalm 139:14. God gave our bodies the incredible means to heal. Broken bones repair themselves. Even the enormous swelling in Fred's foot and ankle had purpose--to splint the fractured bones until new bone was formed. We are very grateful for this healing.

Fred has 9 more days of school. He has persevered in his work and will graduate at the top of his class. The girls and I are counting down the times we have to make the mid-day drive to pick him up. They have adapted, and I have overcome my fear of the traffic and the stress it caused me each day. Thanks again to all our friends who have offered to help us. In the big picture of life, these weeks are few and could just be called an inconvenience. Running with footmen, not horses.

The Great Leader

Years ago before we had Chinese children, I read Wild Swans by Jung Chang at the recommendation of my son who was reading it in his Asian Studies course at college. It remains one of the most memorable--and horrifying--books I've ever read. It is a memoir about three generations of women in Chang's family and it is also a historical account of China during the 20th century.

After reading Wild Swans, and while waiting for Arielle to come home, I immersed myself in Chinese history. I was stunned by the brutality of the Mao Tse-Tung regime, in part because it was such recent history. Many events happened during my lifetime. In fact, Jung Chang was born the same year I was, so I would relate my life to hers at the same age. I was also stunned by my previous lack of knowledge about China. My history classes in high school and college were quite lacking in content.

Jung Chang has written another book titled Mao: The Unknown Story, co-authored with her husband. When asked why she wrote this book she says, "Mao was responsible for the deaths of well over 70 million Chinese in peacetime, and he was bent on dominating the world. As China is today emerging as an economic and military power, the world can never regard it as a benign force unless Beijing rejects Mao and all his legacies. We hope our book will help push China in this direction by telling the truth about Mao." Of course, the book is banned in China. Mao's portrait still dominates Tiananmen Square in the heart of the capital and he still reigns in the hearts of many Chinese.

So why does any of this concern me and why would I take the time to write about it here? Three reasons: 1) I am reading another memoir right now called Life and Death in Shanghai by Nien Cheng. This author was imprisoned for years and her daughter murdered by Mao and his cohorts. The great tragedy of the Cultural Revolution is on my mind right now. 2) I am still amazed by the comment made by the White House Communications Director, Anita Dunn, who said that Mao is one of her "favorite political philosophers." Please, someone explain this! And 3) An article in our big city newspaper last week was very disturbing.

The article was titled, "Vows with a dash of Mao: Looking for wedding outfits, young Chinese are reaching back to the Cultural Revolution." Chinese women are getting married in green military outfits with the red stars on the hats--the uniform of the Red Guard! The article says there is "nostalgia about the 1966-1976 Cultural Revolution." And then this quote, "Estimates of the number of people killed, starved to death, driven to suicide, and died in acts related to political persecution run from the tens of thousands to around a million." Compare those statistics to those quoted by Jung Chang. Was it tens of thousands or 70 million? In either case, would Mao be your hero?

Supposedly two or three couples a week come in for their Red Guard portraits. The manager of the studio says, "I think it is fun to pose as a Red Guard. That is a special period that most young people do not know about. It definitely makes you feel different when you are in the green army uniform." The young woman responds, "I think it's very cool."

Young people in China have an excuse for their ignorance, living in a media-censored country. But what about us? Read, learn, and speak out! My children will learn about Mao. They will know the history of their country of origin, sad as it is. They will not be fooled by our political leaders or our newspapers that downplay what happened there. Did you know that public education in our own USA practices its own form of censorship? I will write more on that later. History is being re-written and it is absolutely appalling.

I know my friends and family follow this blog to read family news. You probably want to know how Fred is doing! For now I have to write what is on my heart.

Weary

I'm getting tired. It's only been 10 days since Fred's accident, but I am running on empty. Fred is tired of being in pain, tired of trying to get around on crutches and a very heavy, bulky cast. The girls are getting cranky. We had an hour drive one way to pick Fred up from school yesterday because of traffic. Then we had to turn around and drive home. Today we got up at 5:30 in the morning for Fred to get ready for his classes and do it all over again.

I have been reading a Charles Spurgeon devotional in the morning. It often seems to speak just to me. Here is today's verse: "For my strength is made perfect in weakness." II Corinthians 12:9. Our little family is weak right now. Spurgeon adds, "Are you mourning over your own weakness? Take courage, for there must be a consciousness of weakness before the Lord will give you victory. Your emptiness is but the preparation for your being filled, and your casting down is but the making ready for your lifting up."

The other day I remembered a verse from long ago and had to look it up because I didn't remember where it was: "If you have run with footmen and they have tired you out, then how can you compete with horses?" Jeremiah 12:5. I'm reminded this little accident of Fred's is small in light of the problems other people have. If I can't do this, what would I do if something big actually happened? Even so, in my own strength, I can do nothing right. Whether problems are big or small, we all need to go to God and ask for His strength for the task.

Yesterday Liana and I took a short walk around the yard. Even in November, the trees are glowing with a golden light. The mums are blooming and we brought their bright colors into the house to cheer us. Life is good.

We often ask people to pray for those we know who have needs. This is a different kind of prayer request. As you read this post, pray blessings down on our friend Pete. He is at our door every morning at 7am to take Fred to school. It's a very long drive through rush hour traffic. He does not even work in that area, yet he faithfully ministers to our family in our need. What a faithful servant of the Lord he is!

Blessings to all you who have helped in some way. A friend of mine took me out for a cup of tea. She would never know how much that meant to me and how refreshed I was afterwards. Someone else brought us two rotisserie chickens. Hurray, no cooking for 3 whole days! Everyone who has called and offered help, thank you, thank you. May God bless you richly!

Comfort food

After a stressful, hectic day, nothing seems to satisfy as much as hot, filling food. Not food that is exotic or fussy, rather something old-fashioned. When I was sick as a child, my mother always made me potato soup. Maybe that's why I like this recipe. Potatoes equal comfort to me.

I found this recipe last year and made it a couple of times. To my surprise, my picky husband likes it and Arielle loves it too. (Not Liana, but that's not surprising.) It is called Colcannon and is a traditional Irish dish, usually made on All Saint's Day. (Happy Birthday, little brother!) We have a smidgen of Irish blood and while my mom never made it, I think I will start a new tradition and we will have Colcannon every October when the weather turns to cold and damp.

Colcannon

Boil about 8 potatoes and mash with cream or milk. Fry up a half pound of bacon until crisp. Crumble and set aside. Chop up half of a small head of cabbage and an onion. In some of the bacon grease, saute the cabbage and onion for about 10 minutes. Then mix the cabbage and onions with the mashed potatoes. Add pepper and salt, if you like. Mound into a big bowl and top with butter, as little or as much as you want. Mmmm...

There is even a little song to go with your Colcannon:

Did you ever eat Colcannon

When 'twas made with yellow cream

And the kale and praties blended

Like the picture in a dream?

Did you ever take a forkful

And dip it in the lake

Of heather-flavored butter

That your mother used to make?

Oh you did, yes, you did!

So did he and so did I,

And the more I think about it

Sure, the more I want to cry.

God be with the happy times

When trouble we had not

And our mothers made Colcannon

In the little three-legged pot.

Update on Fred

Our friend brought Fred to school Monday morning and I was left to make calls and try to get him in to see an orthopedist. He got an appointment for that very afternoon, so after the girls and I picked him up, we went right to the office. No wait! Whoever heard of that?

Fred was already prepared with his argument for not having surgery. He wanted to see the X-rays himself and he wanted to try to heal on his own. The doctor is a sports medicine specialist and knows all about ankles, and he was willing to listen. He took another X-ray to determine if tendons had been torn and when he saw they were not, he said he would give Fred two weeks and check his progress. No surgery! Praise God for that!

The cast that was put on in the ER was big and bulky and straight, no bend in his knee, going all the way up his thigh. Fred was really having trouble getting around. This doctor took it off and gave him a "boot." This is a big black contraption that straps on his leg (but only the lower leg) and can be removed for bathing. Fred was so relieved to have this. It is heavy to lift but will make life so much easier. Fred can do more for himself but he has to be very careful not to re-injure the leg. Thank you everyone for your prayers. God is good.

What lessons in marriage we are learning. We have snapped at each other a little--Fred being a little too demanding and me being too resentful of the changes in our lives. This is the hard part. I remember how wonderful Fred was to me when I was sick five years ago. I need to learn patience.

Birthday gifts

Great birthday. That's what I thought when I woke up Sunday morning. Fred had a restless night and we both were very tired. I helped him wash his hair and shower and get dressed and settled him in on the couch. I had to get ready to go to church and take food from the freezer to the refrigerator for Alpha Tuesday night. Also, the church was collecting blankets for some Thai refugees and during the week I had made a fleece blanket with thoughts of some small child snuggling up in it, so I wanted to add it to the pile.

The drive to church was absolutely gorgeous. I don't believe I've ever seen the trees so colorful. The sunshine was bright and the earth was golden in it's light. The brilliant yellows, reds and oranges of the trees were almost blinding. Thank you, Jesus. His gift to me on my birthday.

I walked into church between services to take my blanket to the drop-off table. Numerous people stopped me and asked about Fred. Somehow it was announced that morning that he was injured and the congregation had prayed for him. People asked what they could do to help. As soon as I got home someone called and said she and her husband would do everything that was needed to be done with Fred unable to help with Alpha anymore. That was a great relief.

Back home the girls and Fred gave me a wonderful gift! It was a squirrel-proof bird feeder on a metal pole that just had to be pounded into the ground. We set it up right outside the kitchen window and waited for the birds. (None yet.) I've missed my birds from last year after the squirrels destroyed our other bird feeder. Then my friend's son stopped over with a gluten-free cake, a card, and a book I've been wanting to read.

Another call came--my friend's husband offered to drive Fred to school early in the morning! What an unbelievable blessing! It is a long drive and I couldn't imagine how I was going to get the girls up so early, drive Fred down there, then either wait several hours or make two trips to come and get him when his classes were over. This man says he will bring Fred every day. I've prayed blessings down on Pete. What a good and generous man he is.

Later in the afternoon two of my boys stopped over and brought joy and laughter into the house. I am so grateful for my kids. My granddaughter Lana made me a card. It says, "Have a happy birthday, Grandma. Dream about your birthday all night!" I will, Lana.