Unexpected Sightings

Coincidently, while I was shopping in Hobby Lobby yesterday, I recognized a lady pushing a cart through the aisle in which I was browsing . I couldn't remember her name, but the face was familiar. I bravely said, "That is a Recker (my maiden name) face if I ever saw one". Her face lit up and she smiled broadly and said, "Yes, I have Recker blood in me". It was one of my father's cousins, her mother being a sister to my father's father. I recognized her face as one that I had seen in family reunions from the past. Because I am the first of my generation, most of my dad's gazillion cousins know my face when they see it. She said, I know you are Gayle but I don't remember your last name. I confessed that I didn't remember either her first or last name. She was Barb Smits Lanninga. Amazingly, it is easy for me to converse with someone I know is kin. We chatted for probably fifteen minutes among the goods in the clearance aisle. I told her that I found it interesting that I had just written about our common ancestry in my blog.

Just last Sunday evening, a young gal from our church approached me following the service and said, "Guess who I work with." I had no clue. She said she worked with Amy Turner. Amy is a gal who is very dear to us. When she was about four or five, I began to baby sit for her and her disabled sister. Her sister had a brain disease and was troubled with seizures. Amy and I grew very close over the few years in which we spent nearly a day to day relationship. While Amy's sister's condition and needs sucked the energy out of their mother, it seemed that Amy was left without much attention. I suppose I tried to fill that void. I began to love her as a familiy member. Amy is twenty three now and working as a CNA and will return to school for nursing (her mother's profession) in August. My church friend told me that Amy was wonderful at her job and that she was very much appreciated. Those words were sweet music to my ears. As we parted, I asked my friend to give Amy a big hug for me and to remind her that I love her. I hadn't seen Amy in several years and had lost track of her so just knowing she was well was balm to my soul.

On Monday morning, my husband and I went to the hardware store in town. We were admiring something on display outside the door. My husband had his hand on the exit door and I could vaguely see a body standing on the other side waiting to open the door until he moved . I drew his attention to the person's need for him to move. As he stepped aside, the door opened and it was Amy. What a thrill and surprise! As I began to tell her about my church friend's message to me she said, "Oh yes, Beth told me and she gave me a big hug from you." We embraced in a person to person hug and enjoyed a few moments of "catching up". I wish my dear Amy the best of God's richest blessings in life. One of my best memories with Amy was when I read, "The Lion, Witch and the Wardrobe" to her. She caught the sprirital analogies as quick as a wink. What a thrill to hear that little girl relate to the Biblical messages that C.S. Lewis was trying to get across.

So two surprises in one week. What fun. The thought crossed my mind that God gave me those people sightings as a gift. Both people were spoken of the day before I met them and came out of the blue. It was if God wanted me to renew those relationships. I thank him for those two special moments.

Psalm 5:11

Father's Side

My father’s family came from Holland, however, my grandfather’s family had a bit of French Huguenot woven into it somewhere and a bit of German as well. I believe my father had an exceptional amount of the French ingredients. Even though he was blonde as he could be while a young child, his hair darkened to a very dark black during his adult years. My grandfather, William Recker, was a very adventuresome man. His adventurous spirit rubbed off on my dad and eventually to my siblings and me. He came to America at the age of five and grew up in Highland, Indiana. He was a truck farmer and taxidermist. After a failed attempt to homestead in Montana during the nineteen twenties, he returned to Highland and worked for Pullman Standard as a supervisor of their finishing crew. The crew varnished wood and put a finishing touch on their train cars. He told his family he felt God tell him to move to De Motte, Indiana to get his family into the country. The day they arrived in De Motte, the banks failed and the great depression began. His move to the country was a safe place for the Recker family as they raised their own food. They struggled through the depression like everyone else, but God brought them to the other side. In De Motte, he practiced his taxidermy and truck farmed his small acreage. Eventually, he set up a small sale stand on the highway in front of his home each summer to sell his wares. His peers often came to the stand to “chew the fat”, meaning to talk together and solve the world’s problems.

My great grandpa on my dad’s side was Ahlrich Recker. He was a very tall man. He made wagon wheels in Holland and became a carpenter when he arrived in America. My father recalls him remodeling the barn on my grandfather’s home place in De Motte. He remembers his grandfather tearing the existing barn up to do the remodeling and hearing him say, “The Vurst ist yet to come”. He meant that before the barn would be put back to gether, more had to be torn apart. Dad told me that when something would go wrong for his grandpa that Grandpa would say, “defal” which meant a pan lid. My father chuckled at recalling his grandfather’s curse word, which was not a curse word. Great Grandpa Recker played the pump organ like a whiz according to his grandson, Jim Recker, (my father). His grandfather would walk to the organ and invite those present to come around to sing together. They would belt out the words of the Psalms in song and encourage each other in that way.

My father’s mother’s family was from Freisland in the Netherlands and immigrated to the states with three children in l892. They lived in the Roseland area of Chicago.
Grandma was one of fourteen children. Her name was Jesse (Tjitche) Staal. While in Holland, her father, Anne Sipkes Staal was a barge captain on a canal. He was born while Benjamin Harrison was President on Febuary 5th, l865. Grandma Recker’s mother was Sijske Dirks Kalma born March 1866 in Wanswerd, Friesland and died on May 5 l941 in Montana. Once in the states he worked for Pullman Standard as a Car builder until 1894 when there was a huge labor strike. He relocated to Lansing, Illinois, then to Griffith, Indiana and then to Montana.. He also tried his hand at homesteading. He died at the age of 79 on September 2, l944 when I was two years old. Anne and Sijske had fourteen children and 71 grandchildren. The Staal family was one of a kind. There was nothing they were fearful of and seemed to have been blessed with an excessive amount of confidence. That confidence has also made its way into the lives of the descendents. Obviously, not all in the family tree have these traits but they become recognizable in some from time to time.

Both my paternal grandparents’ families swallowed the urging of land sales agents during the twenties and moved west to homestead in the grasses of Montana. The agents were full up of promises and spoke word visions of grandeur and lives of ease. Like all other sales pitches, most were spoken only to make a dollar. The work was difficult and the weather was not conducive to growing field crops that needed time to mature before harvest. Hail got it nearly every time.

Both my paternal grandparents died at the young age of fifty-nine. I was ten and eleven at the times of their death. I feel cheated that I lost them so young. I was their eldest grandchild of whom they were proud. I remember doing more with my grandfather than my grandmother. My grandfather was a pipe and cigar smoker and paid the price. He was born on February 14 1894 and died on May 24, l953. Grandma was born on October 16, 1892 and died May 9, l952. My remembrances are small things. I recall the smell of bacon and eggs as my father and I walked in the door each morning during the summers. Grandpa would offer me a Smith Brothers cough drop. It was candy in those days. Grandma loved moss roses. There were heads of mounted animals all over the living and dining room. I recall wonderful Thanksgiving Day dinners with the warmth of uncles and aunts and cousins. I wish I could have gotten to know them better. Much of what I know of them, I learned through the stories of my dad and his siblings. I think I have mentioned before that my dad and his siblings are such an example of how siblings should love one another. I NEVER hear my father’s family talk negatively about one of the others. Even though miles and circumstances have put distance between some of them over the years, they always found a way to stay connected. When my uncle was in Africa for fifteen years, my father got out his Remington typewriter every Sunday afternoon as soon as dinner was done. He slipped one of those blue aerograms in and typed away. He would fill every inch of that paper even turning the paper on its side and writing in long hand on the spaces he couldn’t reach with the typewriter. There is a significant amount of loyalty among those dear folks, all of whom are getting up in their eighties at this point. One of my uncles, Ahlrich, died in l989 but the rest, including his wife are all alive and functioning. It is a tremendous blessing to see them and be able to share life with them.

I could write for days about my grandparents and great grandparents. Both sets had significant influence on my life. Both sets were dedicated and godly people. Both had good marriages and good families. I owe God a great big thank you for those dear people in my life.

Who Am I?

One’s heritage explains much of whom they come to be. I am a product of two people of mainly Dutch decent. My mother was a pure bred, born and raised in De Motte, Indiana. Her father, Frank (Foppe)De Haan, was born April 18, 1888 and came to the States when he was seven years old. His family settled in the Fair Oaks area around De Motte, Indiana. He spent his life as a farmer, was a very humble man, and served as an elder in his church for many terms during my growing up years. Her mother, Grace Bierma was born in De Motte across the street from Eenigenburg’s blueberry farm on Road #1400. Later her father built the home where my paternal grandparents raised their children. Grace’s parents came to the States from Holland. Her father died when she was eleven and then she became an orphan at the early age of fourteen when her mother died in childbirth. She and her five siblings were split up to different family members. Both my grandparents spoke Dutch and would use it frequently when we children were around and they wished to speak in private among the public. I always knew when there was something I wasn’t supposed to understand because they would fall into their mother tongue like falling off a log. I loved them so dearly. When my dad was gone during WWII, I nearly lived with them. My mother and I slept in our home next door (the distance of about a city block in the country) but I spent all my waking time in their home and in their laps as my mom supported our family by teaching school. My mother would carry me in their home on those cold winter mornings and my Grandpa would receive me with open arms. He would reach under my pajamas at my waist and pinch my skin with a smile and say, “ I got your bare skin”. I recall feeling as home there as anywhere in the world. Even after my father came home the day after Thanksgiving of l945, the convenience of having those loving people so near sent me walking down the country road nearly everyday to spend some time with Grandpa and Grandma. I almost always went home with them after church for Sunday dinner. One time when I was about seven or eight, our pastor, who evidently wasn’t very bright about child psychology, walked out of the church door as I was making my way to my grandparent’s car hand in hand with one of them. The pastor looked at me and said, “Gayle, whom do you love the most, your parents or your grandparents?” I recall squirming inside. Just how should I answer that question? The truth was that it was neither. I loved them all with all my heart. I don’t remember how I answered but it was something close to the truth. That pastor’s insensitivity has stayed with me all those years. One doesn’t ask open-ended questions like that of children.
The De Haan grandparents moved to De Motte early in their years in the States. They lived a quiet life of farming, surviving by supplementing with farm animals of various kinds. Grandma canned every vegetable known to the area and there was a larder ever ready and ever full. She also canned meat, beef and chicken so she could put a hot meal on the table in the time it took to cook potatoes. They lived a humble but happy life. Their home was about a hundred years old but was kept painted and coiffed. It was important to Grandma that even though she didn’t have much, what she did have would be well cared for and well presented. Grandma’s time was spent in service to her husband and her grandkids. She always had time to explain the meaning of things or to take me on rides where she would explained the owner’s of the homes we past along vast country roads and tell me stories of their ancestry or significant things about the history of those folks. I learned so much at the knee of my Grandma De Haan. Grandpa died when I was in college but Grandma lived until she was ninety-one. She was as special to my older children as she was to me. She was never too busy for us and was always willing to stay with my first three little ones or ride with me when I had to take a child to the doctor. She had us for dinner occasionally and brought over pots of food that she made. Most of those were Dutch dishes that she knew I enjoyed so much. What a Gram she was.

Because my mother died before my grandmother and they have both been gone for over twenty years, I have heard less frequently the stories of Gram's parents; Great Grandpa and Grandma Bierma. I did write down as many facts as my Gram gave me and have kept them in a file for all these years. My Great Grandmother Bierma, was born Suzanna Achteen. She came to the states when she was seventeen years old and settled in Roseland, a south suburb of Chicago. She died in childbirth at the age of twenty-eight and is buried in the Forest Home Cemetery in Chicago. One Memorial Day many years ago, my husband and I took my Gram there to look for the gravesite of her mother and a sister that also died in childbirth at a premature age. The sister’s name was Teresa. We successfully found the graves which seemed to give Gram a peaceful satisfaction. Though Cornelius, my great grandfather, died at the age of 43, he had lived a productive life. His obituary states, “He was a Hollander by birth and had lived in Keener Township perhaps 13-15 years and previous to that time lived in or near Chicago. He was a man of fine character and education and was probably at the time of his death the most influential man of Holland birth in Jasper County. He was trustee of Keener Township for four years. He was a Republican in politics and always took an active part in political matters.” The obituary adds that my great grandfather died of consumption and had been bed ridden for only two weeks.

Great grandfather on my mother’s paternal side was Stephen De Haan. His wife was Anje Sipkema. I know little of them other than that they, too, were farmers. I know that Stephen’s first wife died young. She was my grandfather’s mother. His step mother's name was Hilda Zandstra. Both Stephen and his second wife are buried in the Dutch cemetery in De Motte near the graves of Gram and Grandpa De Haan.
Psalm 100:5

Tomorrow will be about the grandparents on my father's side.

Souvenirs

It seems each time my daughter goes away without her children, she brings each of the four of them a "souvenir" when she returns. They have come to expect the little pleasantries and come to stand at the door when she returns just full of anticipation of the special thing that will fill their heart with joy. As I observe this, I notice that it is my daughter's giving heart in motion. She has looked for just the right trinket for each child. It is her parental love in action.

I remember being the child with anticipation, also. When my parents went on trips without us, which was seldom, but it did happen, it excited me with each thought of their return because I knew they would have something to warm my heart. Whatever it was would say that thought of me while they were gone and that I was special to them. I can't say I remember any of those trinkets, only the love that was connected to them.

I do remember some souvenirs, however. The ones I remember are the ones I chose myself in my travels. On one of my first trips west with my parents, they purchased for me two fiction books I chose as my take home remembrance. They were about the bears in Yellowstone Park. I remember the specialness they were to me and how I protected those prizes. I remember the feel of their covers and their familiar book smell. I kept them for many years, probably thirty or forty years. I think I stupidly put them on a garage sale one time.

My uncle and aunt served on the mission field in Nigeria for many years during the time I was growing up. Every two and a half years, they came home for six months of forlough. How we longed for those times when we could see those precious people. One time they brought me a souvenir of a black wooden mask. It was so typically African and I treasured it. It hung on a wall in my home for many years until one day when it fell to the floor and broke in two.

On another occasion, they brought me a silver bracelet with several squares of silver tied together. In each square was a beautiful blue stone that shimmers with irredicent colors. I was so touched by such a special gift. I have it today and still enjoy wearing it from time to time. My aunt and uncle have been in the states now for years and years. Just the last time I visited their home a few months ago, Uncle Bob reached somewhere into his desk and pulled out a letter opener made of the same wood of which the mask had been made. His question to me was, "Did I ever give you a souvenir of Africa?" I confessed the broken mask as he put the letter opener in my hand. That letter opener is right next to me on the computer desk.

When we first became members of the church we attend, we enjoyed the ministry of a special minister and his wife. They have traveled extensively. Since the Netherlands is the place of his birth, they have made many trips there. On their return from one of those trips, they brought me two decorative tiles with Dutch words on them. They are words of the truth of God. I treasure those sovenirs. They are on display in my home.

On a trip to Korea in the late seventies, I found all kinds of goodies to take home. A beautiful satiny looking comforter that I had to buy another bag in which to carry it home. Brass bells were everywhere so I took some of those home. They still lie in a drawer. I also brought home a tradional Korean costume for our Korean son. That hangs in one of our closets. A small house carved of wood fashioned after a traditional thatched roofed home also found its way to this address. Our young son had shared with us that he had lived in a house with a straw roof so I couldn't leave that in Korea. Souvenirs were abundant in Korea.

I recall that on one trip my husband and I took to the southwest, we came upon an outdoor market in the middle of some mountains. Indians had set up little roofs over posts to shade themselves from the sun. There they set out their wares. I fell in love with a wonderful Navajo blanket at one women's shanty. It was in shades of browns, black and white. Those are my favorite colors. I paced for several minutes to determine if spending one hundred dollars on such a thing was good stewardship. In the end, I took the plunge. It was my souvenir from the southwest and became one of my prize possesions for many years until a dog (those darn dogs, not one has done us any good) chewed off all its fringe. Discouraged, I discarded it.

Very soon, God-willing, we will leave on our trip to the northwest. I have been there several times before and know already the souvenir temptations that will be out there. I anticipate looking into glass cases filled with Black Hills gold jewelry. It always looks better there than it does when I look at it in my drawer. I know there will be wonderful things in the gift stores of the national parks. They have the most unique books and I'm tempted each time. I have determined in a non conclusive way that I will not take souvenirs home with me this time. I have so much "stuff". I have seen all those things that will be presented to me. I know that I can live without them so I am already planning to enjoy an eye feast and leave them there. We will see how successful I will be.

Getting back to my daughter and her desire to please her children, I see God in her when she wants to be generous with her children. God never goes away from his children so the analogy ends quickly. However, even in His constant abiding with us, He wants to please and give to us the joys that are His. Each day He stands with something in His hand for us. On a foundational basis, it is faithfulness and truth. In addition to those wonderful gifts, He gives us this beautiful creation to enjoy each day. He also gives us material trinkets to enjoy. Just as my grandchildren are thrilled at the moment and two days later have forgotten what the trinket was, we forget very quickly, the material gifts God bestows on us. Look around you today. Ask God to help you take notice of His goodness to you. Just as my grandchildren feel the love of their mother in her giving, you and I can feel the love of our heavenly Father as we enjoy the little surprises He gives us each day.

The Prize in My Backyard

A few days ago while sitting in my little screen tent in my backyard, I looked again at my favorite tree. It is an oak tree and bears all an oak’s characteristics. It has scaly bark, and lots of huge green leaves that turn brown in the fall and then requires us to rake them all into a fire in our back forty. (Feet that is) It has the rugged look, huge in all ways and appears very strong. One of its greatest virtues is that it affords at least a third of our back yard with wonderful shade.

Its gigantic size is enough to make one stare in awe. I began to eyeball the size of the lowest of its branches. With my naked and untrained eye, I estimated the length of the branch as about thirty feet, most of which is fairly straight. I didn’t trust my raw calculation so today I went out with a 30 foot measuring tape and found that my tape had extended its full self and there was at least ten feet of branch beyond. I shook my head in disbelief. Forty feet of extended branch is a tremendous weight for that tree to uphold.

I walked to the front of the house and found my husband sitting in a chair drinking a Coke. I told him about my discovery. He was in awe, too. He informed me that oak trees roots extend underground to the tip of its branches. Evidently there are a whole lot of roots under that ground. The measured branch is only the biggest of one of dozens of branches attached to the huge trunk. My husband asked if I had measured the trunk’s circumference and I replied that I hadn’t thought of that. So, together, we went back to the tree. It took both of us to wrap the tape around the belly of the trunk. It measured 125 inches around. That is over ten feet around. I suppose we shouldn’t have been surprised of its girth since we had discovered how much weight the trunk has to bear.

There are scars on the tree where branches have broken off and some have been sawed off. Those scars tell me that the tree has sustained some damage from storms that come in the form of wind, snow and rain. I have often thought of how I am like that oak tree. The storms in my life have left their mark. There are scars on me that may be invisible from the outside but they are very real on the inside.

While I can have the strength of an oak through the power of God, there is evidence in me that as a branch of God’s family, I am totally weak without roots. My tendency is to reach out pretty far from my Source and take on stuff that requires me to make sure my roots are deep enough to support the weight. Sometimes my roots shrink from lack of moisture. I’ve realized more than once in my life that if my roots aren’t deep into God’s Word, I can expect failure in the things I try to do. To grow roots equal to the plan God has for us to live out means soaking up as much moisture from God’s Word as we can. It is called “living water”. God promises to give us the kind of water that will solve our thirst issues forever. If we tap into that well, our roots will grow to reach the edge of God’s plan for each of us. Drink up.

Not My Cup Of Tea

Yesterday was a full day, church morning and night and in between our daughter and her husband, Lauri and Elton came to visit. It was an unusual visit because they were alone. They left the kids home under the care of their eldest and we had some moments alone. While we love the kids company, there was a sweetness to being in complete adult company, too. The guys watched the Sox and Cubs play, (Cubs swept the series, just thought you should know.) and Lauri and I played Scrabble, one of our favorite games.

After church last evening Ken reminded me that Mark Harris, one of the members of the group 4Hymn was at a neighboring church. I thought it could be good so agreed that we should go. Once there, I knew I was in for an endurance test. My first impression was, "this guy has a beautiful voice". However, it wasn't long before the intensity of the loud music got to me. One heard guitar and drums but not the voice. Air conditioning was pouring out of the vents and both of us were freezing cold which added to our discomfort. None of the songs he sang were familiar to either of us. I decided that one must have to be a follower of this guy to know his music because he wrote it all himself and didn't sing other's stuff. I sat pondering over what would be the Christ like thing to do in this situation. The longer this went on the more I contemplated my escape. I invisioned walking in the door of our home and finding a warm throw, wrapping myself in it and sitting in my comfortable chair with a hot cup of tea. We were sitting close to the back of the church so I considered the possibility of getting up and nonchalantly slipping out. Two adults don't just nonchalantly slip out of anywhere. Okay, if I couldn't remove myself bodily, perhaps I should just zone off somewhere in my mind and pass the time in another mental place until we were dismissed? Well, actually, Mark was talking about Biblical truths and singing about them as well. I couldn't disrespect that. I concluded in my thoughts that God was being honored, just not in a way that I enjoyed or that spoke to me. I came to this conclusion, I would try to glean as much as I could from the concert.

One of the songs Mark wrote and sang was called, The Line Between The Two. In introducing the song, he said that if one visits a cemetery, one reads the birth and death dates on the headstones. Those dates tell very little about a person's life but it is the line between that tells the story. If only we could read those lines between, we may learn some very good lessons and hear some awesome stories.


The Line Between the Two

Lyrics:
A beginning and an ending, dates upon a stone
But the moment in the middle is how we will be known
Cause what defines us can be found within a line
Finding reason for our time
chorus:
And the years go by, how they seem to fly
They'll all be over soon
When our life is done, did we live and love
The way we wanted to
Cause everyday that we leave behind
Goes on to tell the truth
Of how we lived in the line between the two
The line between the two
Will I walk straight,
will I be true
Will I finish strong
Will I stand up for the moment
When I could right a wrong
Because the legacy we have will never change
It's how we spend our days
chorus
I could live a life for just myself
Or I could live a life for someone else
But I'll live and die just to hear You say
Well done my son come and be with Me

I found in that song a truth I wanted to take home. It isn't when one is born or one dies, it is how we live the time between. I'm not proud of the thoughts I had sitting there listening to what wasn't my cup of tea, but I am at least grateful that I came home with something of eternal value to practice in my daily life.

This experience made me aware of the struggle I experience when I am on the other side of things. Choosing songs for worship services is like walking onto a battleground. I am responsible for that once a month. Yesterday was that Sunday. There have been many times I have threatened to quit. Congregants all have their own opinions about what is meaningful or appropriate. As any church member knows, today people war over music. Should it be new or old, loud or soft, organ or other musical instruments. All of us seem more opinionated today than twenty years ago. Perhaps it is that we are more free to give our opinions. I think the way of the world has rubbed off too much on God's people. Ken's question to me after church was very telling. He asked, "Well, did you make any enemies today?" I laughed and told him, "I think maybe today, we hit the balance that is so tenuous".

May God grant to each of us a willingness to look for Him as we worship Him, be it at a concert that isn't our cup of tea or at a worship service where the song isn't our favorite. He'll be there.

A Little Down Time

Our immediate family now consists of four adults and one eleven-year-old boy. What I mean is that in addition to Ken and me, we have our daughter, her good friend, Lynette, and Isaiah living with us. Four adults in any one house can make for too many chiefs and not enough Indians.

The three of them left for the west on Wednesday evening. The last I heard was around noon yesterday when they were in the parking lot of Mt. Rushmore. Basically, they are taking the same trip we are planning, God willing, July 6th. When our daughter learned we were planning to take Isaiah out west, she decided to jump the gun on us. That was and is so fine with us. Of course, we would like her to see God’s wonders in our nation and share that with her son. I’m happy our intent caused her to take on this adventure. In our phone conversation, the kids shared with me that they loved the Badlands and saw wild bison, in fact, one walked in front of a car ahead of them. They sounded thrilled and oh so happy. It is our delight to hear of their happiness and thrill.

As I was writing this, the phone just rang and it was Scarlen with, “this is our daily check-in”. I am delighted to hear from her and I think she is happy with my delighting. They are forty miles from Yellowstone. When I asked how they liked Mt. Rushmore, she replied, “It was awesome”. I am so excited that they are having a wonderful time. Lord, continue to protect them, be on their right and left, in front and behind, above and beneath, in Jesus name.

Now this all leaves Ken and me at home alone. No, we aren’t lonely yet. We are enjoying this brief time of relief. While we love each of them with all our heart, we know that it is a heavy thing for all of us to live together. We do fairly well but do have our moments. At any rate, I’m doing things I don’t normally do when we are all together. Two days this week I did absolutely nothing. It was wonderful. I don’t feel the same kind of pressure and rush that I feel when we are all here.

I washed all the bedding from Isaiah’s bed so that everything will be clean and fresh when he returns. I just took his blankies out of the dryer. Yes, I said, “his blankies”. When Isaiah and Sydney (his twin cousin) were about seven, great grandma thought it inappropriate for those big kids to have blankets. I spoke with her about someone she and I both knew who was twenty plus that still had his blanket and seemed perfectly healthy emotionally. She wasn’t convinced. I think our attitudes about such things have changed dramatically since her and my children were young. I wouldn’t have thought of letting a child keep a blanket beyond toddler hood, either. I remember explaining to Great Grandma that if children can find solace and comfort in a rag in their bed in this crazy world, I would be in favor of it.

Isaiah has two blankets, both of which he has had since birth. They are identical except for the color. One is white and one mint green. His preference has always been the white one but when he was very little and we couldn’t find the white one, he would use the green one for a substitute. Nearly eight years ago, I had a heart virus that nearly did me in. I was hospitalized for eight days. During that time, Isaiah came to visit me and brought me his green blankie to hug and sleep with while I was there. It brings tears to my eyes as I tell it. It was a most sacrificial deed. I must confess that I found comfort in that green blanket. It was soft, smelled like Tide and Downy and more importantly, it smelled like home. It also reminded me that there was a little boy in that place I longed to go that was waiting for his grandma to come home.

Now it is we who wait for the three of them to come home. I imagine by next weekend, we will be again ready to welcome home those we love. In the in=between time, we will enjoy the lull and get as much accomplished as we can.

Never Give Up

Things are still as dry as cork. But it looks mighty cloudy out there so perhaps, today will be the day.

Last evening we enjoyed getting take-out from Pizza Hut with our daughter's family. The kids decided they liked the new P-zones so that was the basic menu. I stuck with my usual salad in hopes of it being more on the "healthy" side. While we talked, the subject of the "Dadisms" came up and we all sat trying to remember more of them. After many smiles and chuckles, we succeeded and added those newly remembered ones to yesterday's list.

During our evening together Lauri asked how in the world I had so much to say to a computer. I guess I've been practicing preaching sermons in my head for so many years, it just comes naturally. I always wanted to be a missionary and mary a preacher. I struck out on the second one but I suppose all of Christ's followers could say they are missionaries so the first goal is being accomplished. Not accomplished, though, in the way I dreamed of when I was a little girl. I remember writing to a woman missionary from the church of my youth. She served in Africa and I was so impressed with her work. I was deeply impressed with my uncle who was also a missionary to Africa. He and my aunt served fifteen years there and raised six boys in Nigeria.

As my life played out, my mission field would be my own home. We brought four children into our home who were already beyond toddler age. They ranged from six to twelve years of age upon arrival. Some would look at such an act and say that was very risky. Risky, indeed, if one places all the responsibility on him or herself. It was our thought and belief that it was God at work in those adoptions. We were not acting on our own decision or abilities. I always asked God to multiply and bless the things I was doing right with both our biological children and our adopted children and to NEGATE that which I did wrong.

I was looking through some old journal entries a few days ago and came upon some entries regarding our adopted son, Joshua. He and his biological sister, Jennifer, came to our family together. Jennifer had been exposed to Christianity through vacation Bible school in Korea but Josh seemed to not have much exposure. Jennifer seemed to have no problem with our beliefs and though she struggled later in life, she didn't express doubt. Our eldest son, John, who is now a pastor was already in that mode back then. He discussed faith with this little nine year old many times. One night, Josh came to me and asked if Jesus forgives sins. I told he that He did. He asked if Jesus forgives anyone's sin and I assured him that was true. At that point, the Holy Spirit urged me to take this moment of opportunity. I asked him if he would like to ask Jesus to forgive his sins. He was so eager. So, together, we went to the side of my bed and I lead Joshua in a prayer of repentance and acceptance.

Joshua has always been good with money. He knows how to make it. On the other hand, Joshua is so generous. That generosity was evident was back then. He delivered the Grit newspaper on Saturdays and made a little money that way. On Sunday mornings, he would plunk his dime or quarter into the offering plate with such pride. He took to tithing like a fish to water.

Josh went through many times in his young adulthood when his faith lay dormant. Life's experiences had been tough and there were many times of questioning and also times of walking in the other direction. Josh would readily admit that. About a year and a half ago, Josh's faith came full circle. He saw with clarity that it was time to live life God's way and to welcome God's faithfulness into his life.

I see our family as a missionary family because of experiences like the one with our precious Joshua. Was it our work? No, it was the work of the Holy Spirit, but again, I like to believe that we cooperated with Him. Our cooperation included loving Joshua and all the rest of our kids without condition. Taking them to church regularly, praying for them, involving them in the family of God and waiting on God to act is a parent's role.

Never give up on the salvation of a child. Love them no matter what. Walk in exemplary ways. Show them Jesus through your life. No, you can't do it perfectly, neither can I. Pray for the Spirit to churn in them and light a fire of desire for righteousness.

The following are some names of children. They are adult children of people I know and love and these children need God's saving grace in their lives. They need to fall in surrender to the teachings of their parents and put their faith in Jesus Christ.

Troy
Scott
Joel
Kelly
John
Scarlen
Aaron
Tara

Lord, those who are reading this list of names and believe in your saving power for salvation, join me in lifting each of these precious ones to you. Stir in them a desire to know you. Reach down to each of them in their individual needs and situations and cut through all former pain, doubt, behavior and rebellion. Save them from themselves in the name of Jesus. You will receive all the praise and glory. Amen

P.S. I just walked into the car for my Bible and guess what? I could hear that rain on the roof. It is raining! Thank you, Father.

Dadisms

We didn't get any rain yet. Unless one considers a trace, rain. The sidewalk was wet this morning but the rain gauge didn't measure anything except a bit of moisture in the bottom of the glass tube. It is cloudy so at least the little we got will penetrate rather than evaporate. We are grateful for anything we get. The weather man says there is a chance again tonight. We will trust it will come in His good and perfect time.

I write alot about my father. The reason for that is I want to record all the things about him that make him who he is for the sake of our kids and grandkids that get such a buzz out of him. Grandpa has such a zest for life and when one is around him, it is contagious. Now, I confess that he isn't perfect, not by a long shot, but he is full of love and delight for most people. All our kids and grandkids know Grandpa loves them. Even those that are brought into the family by marriage feel his warmth. His arm is ever open whenever one comes around. We always say, "Grandpa doesn't know his strength" because his hugs can be quite painful. His hugs are as intense as the life he lives and the opinions he has. Don't get on politics with him unless you are willing to see things his way. His faith in God is as strong as can be. He also has some doctrinal preferences but he is open to brothers and sisters of all brandnames and loves the greater family of God.

Dad has a way with words. They are not necessarily the words that others use. He colors his phrases with little things that only Dad says. I call those things, Dadisms. I began thinking about this a day or two ago and decided to recall and record as many as I could. I will be adding to them as I visit with him and recognize those words and phrases that akin to him alone. I asked him what things he says that others don't and he laughed and said, "you'll just have to listen, I don't know". So following is a list that is a beginning:

Keep your nose clean
Means to keep your nose out of other people's business

Chew the rag
Means to carry on a conversation with a friend

Don't spare the horses
Means not to spare expense


Chief Cook and Bottlewasher
Translation: The wife or woman of the house

How 'bout those apples?
Meaning, "can you believe that?"

If they ain't paying rent, kick 'em out
Meaning, If something isn't benefiting one, get rid of it

You need to talk to the "Chief"
Meaning, you will have to talk to my wife

Don't take any wooden nickels
Always a farewell

That's a bunch of malarky
Meaning whatever is being said isn't true

Get on the stick
Means get to your business

Bellyache
Example: “My mother never bellyached about that” meaning complained

Humdinger
An adjective meaning out of the ordinary

Beaut
Example: “Look at that apple, it’s a real beaut” meaning it’s a fine specimen

Underground Balloon Corp
He uses this to explain where he heard some news about someone that didn’t come from that person; similar to hearing something through the grapevine

By Cracky
Rather unexplainable

According to the Meads and Persians
Meaning rumor has it

There's no flies on that one.
Usually referring to a young child that never sits still therefore no fly would have a chance to light on him/her

Get some hair on your teeth
Means that someone needs to get some courage or some determination

That was fun 'til the government got involved. That was Ralph Nader's fault
Dad is a true Republican who believes in smaller government and absolutely despises the things Ralph Nader stood for

Doesn’t Amount to a Hill ‘o Beans
Means that something isn’t important

Get ‘em where the hair is short
Means causing someone enough pain to get them to see things or do things differently

From the horses mouth
Meaning he heard the news directly from the person involved.

Look at that little rascal
Almost always used when finding delight in watching a small child, bird, or other small animal

You Get a Lot Farther with Honey Than Vinegar
Meaning that people are more cooperative when you treat them with sweet words than if you use acidic words

SLANH
All my kids will know what this one is but it isn't politically correct anymore so I can't spell it out. It was a phrase he used as I grew up and was one of that time era. I learned it from him and used it at a very inappropriate time when I was a teenager and was very humbled. It isn't vulgar in anyway but isn't appropriate either. I add it only to make my children smile when they think of their grandpa and also to make them realize that the freedom to use certain words or phrases changes over time.

Send The Rain, Lord

Psalm 24 was one of those that I learned by memory way back in one of the lower grades in De Motte Christitan School. It's first verse, is such a comfort to me. The earth is the Lord's and the FULNESS thereof and all who dwell therein.

At present, we need rain so badly. It has rained all around us but we have gotten only a smidgen. A town twenty miles to the south of us got three inches a few nights ago. Neither my husband or I are farmers but my heart goes out to farmers who live all about me. My dad is a farmer at heart and owns some farm ground. Even at 87 he maintains a beautfully kept garden and it is the pride of his summertime. My brother farms some of my father's ground so last evening as we visited in my father's home, there was much talk about the need for rain.

Driving through the country side, I see beautiful corn fields. The crops are far ahead of their normal growth at this time of year. Much of the corn is about to tassel. It used to be said that corn should be "knee high by the fourth of July". That certainly doesn't apply this year. On these hot days the leaves of corn are curled into themselves to prevent further moisture loss. That is a pitiful sight to me. A sight that also reminds me that God has given even the fields of the earth wisdom. Plants know how to protect themselves. Its an awesome thing to behold.

My dad told me that his rose bushes are difficult to keep standing right now. He props them but they don't have enough moisture in them to stand. I wonder if he needs some help in getting water to them. I didn't think about that last night, but that is something I could ask. He loves to nurture his roses and bring a blossom a day to his wife. There is still romance in that man's heart.

It is comforting to me that God tells us in His Word that this earth is His and everything in it. He knows about the curling corn and the wilted roses and the dust on the ground, he sees the yellowed and prickly grass. He knows the needs of this earth, even right here in our little town. I implore Him for His mercy. The weather forcast says we may have a chance of rain today. May it be so.

The Older Teaches the Younger

Yesterday, Elise, a high schooler from our church, and I went to lunch at a Thai restaurant in Merrillville. It was a celebration lunch to mark the completion of eight lessons that we have worked through together in preparation for Elise's profession of faith. Elise has been raised in a wonderful godly family and is the youngest child. She is very grounded in her faith and eager to be about the business of serving Christ in her life. She is not the run of the mill Christian kid. This one truly lives out her convictions and faith.

We started this process many weeks ago when both of us were still in school and had very busy schedules. We met after school and sometimes after her track practices. By the time we got together on those days, both of us were pretty much spent. It felt good to sit together in our sunroom and pour over the Word of God seeking the truth the Bible teaches. It was good for both of us, the young and the older, to share our heart and be open and honest about our character, our fears, and our sureties. We took a look at what God has to say about all the areas of our lives.

These are some things I learned about Elise. I learned she knows she is loved by her family and by God. She is a serious person, wanting to do her best in everything she does. Elise likes to have alone time. She isn't so interested in crowds. Confidence is not lacking in Elise's character. She knows what she likes and what she does well. She enjoys playing her viola and likes to sing in the praise teams at church. She speaks well in front of a crowd when the material is in front of her. She says, "I have a good reading voice".

Three weeks ago when we met, she mentioned that she had had a headache for a few days and was concerned about that because she doesn't get headaches. A couple days after our meeting her left eye began to swell and get abrasions on the lid. After a couple trips to the doctor it was determined that she had shingles. What a strange thing for such a young person. There were some days that Alise was very sick. The kind of sick that when anything that moves around one, it causes discomfort. She made two trips to the emergency room in addition to her doctor visits. The kid was really sick. The outing of yesterday had to be postponed a week because she was still recovering last week. We also celebrated her recovery and the fact that she felt well again.

It was a pleasure to get to know Elise. Seeing high schoolers at church, one flashes a smile to them and says hello but one doesn't get to know them. The eight weeks cooperative study with Elise gave me opportunity to become her friend and vice versa. I think we will always have that bond. The experience taught me once again that good things come out of sacrifice and effort. Finding time to be together eight times was difficult for both of us but but we made it. Sometime soon, Elise will meet with the pastor and they together will plan the date of her public profession of faith. It will be a banner day for Elise and her parents and family. For me, too!

Happy Birthday to Schyuler and Alexandra

Special Days. In a family as big as ours, we have birthdays come around often. Yesterday was Schyuler's birthday. Schyuler turned thirteen. We have yet another teen grandchild. I am reminded of how Schyuler came into the world. Schyuler is the son of our eldest son, John. John's cousin was getting married in Wisconsin and had asked John to sing some duets with his youngest sister during the wedding ceremony. Because Schyuler's mom was much pregnant but not yet due, she stayed back at home with their little boy. At that time, John's family lived in our town. On Saturday morning, the phone rang in my brother's home where we were all staying in Wisconsin. The call was for me. When I answered, it was Schyuler's mom, Kim, saying she thought she was going into labor a little early but felt there would be time to get John home after the wedding. Her instruction was not to tell John because she wanted him to fulfill his responsibility at the wedding without being concerned about her. That was a big dilemna for me. I went along with her desire and didn't tell John until the ceremony was complete. When I told him, his eyes were filled with shocked fear that he was missing a very important occasion in his life. I told him I would ride with him so off we flew back home not even caring that we would miss the wedding reception. When we arrived at the hospital, we learned that Schyuler hadn't waited for his daddy's arrival. He was snug as a bug in a rug in the bassinet we were peering at through the nursery window. I know John was disappointed and elated all at one time. Kim seemed to have weathered the storm well and wasn't bitter, just relieved it was all over. Kim's mother had made an emergency trip from Michigan, only about an hour's trip and had been her coach through the birth. I will always feel somewhat responsible that John missed Schyuler's birth. If I had to do it all over again, I may have gone against Kim's wishes and gone home immediately. Those are difficult decisions to make.

Today is Alexandra's fourteenth birthday. Her arrival into this world was one to remember also. Alex is our daughter, Laura's, first born. Elton and Lauri lived in Omaha then so that Elton could finish some of his pharmacy training. When Lauri thought she was going into labor, she called me. Because it was summer and I wasn't in school, I had the privilege of dropping all else and driving there. Omaha is a long way from here. I think I had one of our first cell phones then and recall checking in with her every hour or so. (That phone bill was astronomical) When I got there, the labor had stopped and we sat looking at each other waiting for some progress. We slept well that night and attended a gazillion garage sales the next day in hopes that all the exercise would hurry things up. Eventually, labor did kick in and off to the hospital we went. I had only been in attendance at one birth to that point. John and Kim had asked me to be present when their eldest, Jacob was born. That was a good experience because everything went well. As time went on this night of birth was not going well. There were no major complications and Alex was never in danger but Lauri suffered and I was miserable watching. The doctor didn't seem to know or care how to help her. He eventually allowed her to rip from stem to stern. It was a very messy birth and I have not cared to be present during our grandchildren's births since then. I remember looking into the bassinet at Alex being so grateful she had finally arrived and then being so grateful they had been able to put my daughter back together. It took Lauri a very long time to heal from that birth, yet she was brave enough to give birth three more times. Thankfully, she didn't have trouble in the latter deliveries.

Happy birthday to two wonderful grandchildren.

Seeds of Truth

On Sunday, the United States population celebrated Father’s Day. I have heard it commented that those types of holidays were created by Hallmark to sell cards and gifts. We don’t need that kind of cynicism to take the joy out of days that honor mothers or fathers. Actually, I believe a day to honor those special people in our lives is very biblical. To honor one’s parents is one of the Ten Commandments that God laid out for His people. Our family always begins our Mother’s Days and Father’s Days in church. Yesterday was no exception. Two of our daughters were there so with their families we took up a few more chairs than a complete row. In front of my husband and me sat two grandchildren. One of those was Sydney, our eleven-year-old granddaughter and the other was our eleven-year-old grandson, Isaiah. Those two have been best buddies since their first couple months of life. They are two weeks apart in age to the day. It was very predictable that they would sit together. At one point in the service, our pastor asked all the fathers and grandfathers to stand so that he could pray for them. Then he asked those around the fathers and grandfathers to lay hands on them while he prayed. I placed my hand on my husband who is a wonderful dad and a great grandpa. I’m not sure why I opened my eyes during the prayer but what I saw brought an immediate flood of tears to my eyes and I had a difficult time stopping them. My husband had his hands on the chair in front of him in which Isaiah was sitting. Isaiah had his preteen hand on his grandpa’s hand and kept it there for the duration of the prayer. There are special reasons why that scene touched my emotions. Isaiah was born to our daughter when she was sixteen and he has never known his biological father. He has been in our home for ten of his eleven years. Isaiah told his aunt this weekend that Grandpa was really his dad. To see that boy recognize the importance of participating in the prayer of the pastor for “his dad” brought a thrill to my heart. It was a thrill that confirmed that we are succeeding with our day-to-day grand parenting of this dear child. More than anything, we want for Isaiah what we want for our own children and all our grandchildren, that he love and serve the one true God; Father, Son and Holy Spirit with all his heart, mind, soul, and strength. We know that is the work of the Spirit, but we sure do want to cooperate with Him. With love and example, parents and grandparents can prepare the soil of a young person’s heart that make it ready for the seeds of truth to sprout and take root. Isn’t that our true goal in life? I know it is mine. God help each of us.

Pauses That Refresh Me

Telephone call or e-mail from a friend

The hug of a child

My husband's arm around me

Stopping to take in the beauty of a flower

A 15-minute break at work

A shopping trip just to look

Finding an unexpected garage sale with great treasures

A walk in the park

Reading a book

Sitting in a whirlpool tub (or just a warm bath)

Trip to Starbucks and holding that hot chai tea in my hand

The sight of a cardinal or deer or any wild animals whose sight is seldom (I saw a dead coyote along I-65 last week!)

The down time between big events in my life

Sitting with God’s word and conversing with Him

Isaiah's words - those words that say -those who wait for the Lord will renew their strength, they will mount up on wings like eagles, they will run and not be weary, they shall walk and not faint. Notice in this promise the words - will and shall -and the total lack of modifiers in front of them. It is not - they who wait for Lord might renew their strength,it is not - maybe they will walk and not faint -it is - they will renew their strength and - they shall walk and not faint.. God says to us, “Take me at my word. Enjoy the pauses that refresh you on your way. Let the unexpected pauses point your attention to me. I am everything good in your life.

Take a pause, if only for a moment, and let the beauty of life around you refresh you.

Do Not Fear Little Lambs

Fear. Ever been struck with fear? It's happened to me a couple times within the last twenty four hours. Yesterday we went to the lake in Culver, Indiana with our family. Our daughter, Lauri and her husband, Elton have a speed boat so they like to spend Saturdays on the lake with their kids. They invited my husband and me and also our other daughter, Kendra and her husband Craig. We took Isaiah, our eleven year old grandson along as well. It was a 90 degree plus day, a very good day to sit at the edge of the water. We took a picnic lunch and sat under the shade of big oak trees in the park. A delightful day, eating together, visiting together and playing together. Because my husband and I had a graduation open house invitation to attend later in the afternoon, we left the lake about 2:30, taking our fourteen year old grandaughter and our youngest daughter and husband with us. That left Lauri and Elton, three of their children and Isaiah to spend the rest of the afternoon doing all the things they do in the water and behind the boat. The plan was to all eat dinner together and the menu had been planned. Nothing big because we were all out playing and had no time to prepare. Ken and I went to the open house and came home around six oclock. We called over to Lauri and Elton's and their daughter said the family hadn't returned home yet and that she had called both of their cell phones a dozen times and got a very strange reaction but no connection. The fact that they weren't home surprised us because they had given no indication they would be late for dinner. Every fifteen minutes, we tried to call the cell phones and got what their daugher had gotten. Absolutely nothing. Obviously, the tension began to mount and we could sense the fear in their daugher's voice each time we spoke with her. At 7:00, we decided to go to their home and spend the fearful wait with Alexandra. We began to prepare for dinner hoping they would arrive soon. By this time, everyone was getting on edge with worry. Finally, it was being considered to have Ken and our son-in-law drive back to the lake (about an hours ride) and see if they could find them on the way or at the lake. Just as they were thinking about getting out of their chairs to leave, the Durango with the boat attached pulled into the driveway. When one could see that they were well, our grandaughter said, "Let's all glare at them!". I said we should not do that until we had heard their story. Our daughter came up the drive with her tail between her legs and an apologetic look. The story was two fold. They played on the lake a bit longer than they had planned and then a storm came up. They headed for the dock only to find that many other boaters were in line to pull their boats out of the water as well. It took them an hour to get their boat out. The next question was why we couldn't get them on their phones or why hadn't they called? Lauri pulled out her phone and showed us that it had gotten all wet in the boat and wouldn't work. Elton had forgotten his phone at home and that explained our not being about to reach him.

Once they were safely in the house, that feeling of relief came over me. I felt like I wanted to cry. My cry would have been one of thanksgiving. I'm grateful they weren't other kinds of tears.

The second time I had fear strike was at 3:45 this morning while I was lying in bed sleeping . The phone on the table next to our bed rang once. I poked Ken and said, "Get the phone". He lifted it, said "hello" and didn't get a reply so hung it up. We turned to go back to sleep and it rang again. Again there was no answer. It began to grate at me. Who was trying to get us and why weren't they able to make connection and and and and and and? As I've mentioned in another blog, phone calls during the night don't often bring good news. The only way my spirit found relief was to pray. After asking God to dispatch His angels to whomever was in need, I felt relief. I slept again and we weren't disrupted after that. It may have been a wrong number but it certainly struck fear in me. I'm so grateful that God never slumbers nor sleeps and watches over me and those whom I love during the long hours of darkness. I woke the next time and was delighted to see that it was four thirty, the birds were already singing and my heart sang with them in thanksgiving for the end of an interrupted night and for the new mercies He promises to deliver every morning.

I am reminded today that God's Word repeats over and over, "Do Not Fear!. Trust.

Confession Time

I am ever reminded of the depravity of my soul when I think of my lack of integrity. Yes, people would call me honest but only I know my heart and my heart isn't always full of integrity. The first time I remember having this problem was when I was about four or five and I accompanied my dad to the town grocery store. The owner of that store, Bill Swart, was a good friend of my grandfather, my dad's dad. My dad had gone to school with Bill's kids and so the families were close. I recall sharing that warm feeling of friendship when we entered the store and Bill called a "Hello, Jim" to my dad. Walking the aisles that morning, a strong desire for a pack of gum came over me. I knew it was useless to ask my dad for such a frivilous thing because that just wasn't something my parents felt was necessary for their kids. Gum cost money and it was full of sugar and would rot our teeth. So I chose to take matters into my own hands.

When we got home, I popped a stick of gum in my mouth and was enjoying that fresh burst of flavor when my mother asked, "Gayle, where did you get the gum?" I had been had. I wasn't smart enough at that time to worm out of looking guilty. That was a skill I learned as time went on. My mother was really angry with me. After producing the hot goods, she and I were in the car in a flash and off to town we went. The humilation of walking into Bill Swart's store to confess my theft lingers with me yet today. Over the counter, I handed Bill what was left of the pack of gum and paid him for it to boot. I'm sure both my parents suffered humilation also because their eldest child had betrayed the family friends. Yuk, that isn't a good memory.

Then there was that plastic cup on the shelf in my dad's closet. It held the change that Dad would empty his pockets of the night before when he came home from work. I was a bit older than five by the time I learned of this gold mine. If confession means real confession, I would have to admit I was in junior or early high school by this time. I have always had an addiction to sugar and graved candy. If I could get sneak enough change out of that tupperware glass, I could meander over to the store across from school and get a chocolate candy bar. Nothing satisfies like chocolate. My theory remains to this day that if it isn't chocolate, it isn't worth the calories. Anyway, I ate many chocolate bars that were purchased with the money I stole from my dad's plastic glass. Actually, that wasn't just stealing from the glass, that was stealing from my father. My head falls in humilty. I confessed that to my youngest brother (twelve years younger than me) and he said, "Don't feel so bad, we all did that". He has a way of making me feel better.

I didn't like being a girl until I was an older teen. The things in a boy's world intrigued me much more than dolls and buggies. I loved the speed of cars, toy trains and bebe guns. My brother had a bebe gun that I envied. Because I was a GIRL, I didn't get to use that gun. One day, everyone but me was gone. This was my day in the sun. I found the bebe gun and went out in the yard and walked around like a big shot (no pun intended). I cocked that thing and shot out into the air. Now that was a great feeling of power. As I was emptying that gun of its bebe's, one of the shots had a devastating ring to it. Upon further investigation, I saw that I had shot a bebe through the storm window in the dining room.

Now shooting the dining room window was not the real sin. The real sin was that I let my brother take the fall for that one. I don't remember what consequence he got for my behavior but I didn't confess that one until about five years ago. It bothered me for all of those years and one wonders why it would take that long to come clean. I think it is because I realize what a lousy sister and daughter I was for not confessing. I realized I was sinning all along. Yuk, I don't like that memory either. I know some people laugh about stunts they pulled as kids that were wrong. But I don't laugh at these things in my past. They indicate a need for redemption. My redemption. These tendencies in my to be selfish, to want what doesn't belong to me, to steal, to lie..........they are still there and I hang my head in shame.

In Romans, Paul tells us that this is the state of the human condition. "All have sinned and fallen short of God's glory". That means that we as God's children have humiliated Him, too. Each time we choose to do something he doesn't want us to do, we make him sad. I don't know what that does to you, but that springs tears in my eyes. The bright side of all this is Jesus. God sent Jesus to pay for that stolen gum, the stolen coins and my betrayal. All He asks from us is confession. Confession is good for the soul, they say. The truth of the matter is that confession is necessary for salvation. So, today, I lift my fraility to the Father of mercy and grace and ask for His forgiveness. It feels good to have the weight of sin's guilt lifted. I recall how good it felt to confess the broken window incident to my father and my brother. We were all together for a holiday and I finally got up the courage to tell them. They both laughed and told me I was forgiven. The weight of my sin was off and I was free. That is how it is when we confess our sins to God, also. The weight is off and we are free. My advice is not to carry it as long as I did. The weight of guilt takes its toll on one emotionally, spiritually and physically. Thanks to Jesus who makes us clean before the Father.

Canned Meat Not This Time

My daughter arrived with a list. On the list were things she wanted to do while she was here with her parents and family. This was what the list looked like:

1. Trip to Shipshewana
2. Garage Sale
3. Eat Dinner at Golden Corral
4. Can Meat
5. Swim

After today, we will have all but number four and five accomplished. We had a great trip to Shipshewana yesterday. That was my third trip there this spring. I think that was my last one this year, but who knows what other soul will beg to be taken there. Normally, I go there at most once a year but this year has been unusual. I have gone with different friends or family each time and it has been enjoyable. When Kendra mentioned the possibility of going to Shipsey, I said, "yes, I'll take you as long as it isn't a ninety degree day". Well, guess what, yesterday was a 90 degreee day and we survived. The humidity was down so that did help endure the warm temps. One of my older daughters, Lauri, also went along. The girls found great pleasure at the bulk food store. One can find just about anything one might desire to eat or ingredients that will make anything at that place. Many Amish shop there so they cater to their needs. We bought things like noodles, chili powder, sliced ham, carob powder, etc. I think we came home with more food than anything else.
This morning we dragged ourselves out of bed early to be on the garage sale circuit by seven thirty. The effort was a bust even though we went to at least ten. We saw nothing of value or excitement. Sometimes one finds little treasures that thrill. You know the kind. Something you always thought you may like to own but didn't feel like you wanted to spend the kind of money it would take to buy it? I did get my grandson a box of beautiful marbles. He was thrilled so I guess that made the trip worthwhile.
In about a half hour we will got to Golden Corral for an early dinner. If they don't have it, it isn't made. I so enjoy their wonderful salad and fruit bar. Our grandson eats a very limited diet when we take him there; grapes and steak. He goes back for steak a few times before his tummy is satisfied. I think Kendra has heard us talk of the place too many times so has decided it was one of her "have to attend" places. I know she will enjoy the experience.
She will get to go swimming tomorrow with Lauri and her children tomorrow. Now for number four on the list. Can meat. Going to Shipsey in ninety degree weather is one thing but to start a canning project in ninety degree weather is over the top. Mom says no. Not this time. We can do that in cooler weather. Have you ever canned meat or eaten canned meat? There isn't anything else that is more convenient than having meat already for heating to serve with whipped potatoes when time is short or unexpected company arrives. To have such convenience one takes about thirty pounds of roast beef, cuts it in chunks and puts it in canning jars. Add some salt and a couple tablespoons of water. Put the lids on, place in a canner and let it cook for some time under pressure. The meat comes out so wonderfully tender. I don't know anyone who has tasted it that hasn't loved it. My grandmother used to can beef and also chicken. I haven't done chicken because I don't like messing with the bones, but I do love to can beef because the result is so fabulous. Kendra has a good idea but it won't be this weekend. That will have to be on her next visit.
It's time to go.....we will have a good dinner today at Golden Corral, but it won't be canned meat.

Preparing the Guest Room

My youngest daughter, Kendra, who is a music teacher in Illinois, is coming home by train today. One doesn’t meet trains too often these days but I will meet her in Chesterton, Indiana at 1:52 P.M. Friday was her last day of school and this is her first free week. Her husband who is busy with basketball camp will come on Saturday to spend Father’s Day weekend here. I am very excited. The older I get the more excited I get to have my children come to visit. Maybe it is that the older my children get the better they get. This mom has always thought her kids to be the best as most other mothers do but now that they are adults and making good and right decisions all on their own, I take such joy in them.

I have to confess that after I awoke at one o’clock this morning, I could not get back to sleep. I began to think of all the fun things we have planned for this week, the excitement rose in me and I couldn’t put my thoughts to sleep again. I tossed and turned. Got up and got a drink. Counted sheep. I tried anything to get my mind off the rest of the week. I saw four o’clock but must have given in to slumber at some point after that. I woke up at five thirty and was delighted to see daylight and the opportunity to get the show on the road. I had things to do to prepare. I gave a quick dusting to the furniture in the guest room and that was all it needed to be ready. There were a few other housekeeping duties I wanted out of the way so I can enjoy the week with my family.

The Bible tells us that God, also, gets excited when one of His children is coming home. I know He doesn’t loose sleep over it because the Word tells us “He that keepeth Israel (God’s people) never slumbers nor sleeps”. (That’s a comfort, what would happen to us if God slept?) Jesus tells us that He has gone to prepare His guest room for us and it will be our very own. We won’t go for only a visit, but we will take up permanent residence there one day. It’s all a bit over my head and maybe over yours, too. That is where I have to practice my faith and leave all the details with the Lord. There is a sixty-ish lady in our church whom got a devastating report at the doctor two weeks ago and is already a hospice patient. I think Jesus has her room in His mansion nearly ready. I pray God fills her dear heart with a longing to be with Him as she lives out her last days here on earth. Pray for Emily and her husband John.

Feedsack Dresses

I had to check back through my blog to see if I had already written a memory worthy of mention. I don’t see it so I’ll review it for all of us. Recently I wrote about chickens and told about stealing a slurp of grey pasty buttermilk that my grandfather fed to his chickens. It occurred to me today that there is another story that deals indirectly with those chickens that must be remembered. In the days when I spent most of my waking hours next door at my grandparents, my grandmother wore housedresses as her daily mode of dress. (My mother and mother in law also wore housedresses for longer than I care to remember but they eventually and gradually succumbed to modernity and changed to some form of pants but never jeans. Jeans were for the farmers) I can’t imagine dressing like that to clean house or work in the yard, but she did. She usually wore an apron over the top on which she could wipe her hands as she cooked and baked. The apron was used in the chicken coop, too, as she would scoop the eggs from under the hens and cradle them in her drawn-up apron. As long as she didn’t trip and fall or run into anything, the eggs were safe in the apron until they were brought into the house.
Grandma’s housedresses had a strange beginning. While most of my clothes are either from Kohl's or Penny’s, Grandma got her everyday clothes by making them from scratch. In those days, companies that made chicken feed sent the feed to feed stores in nice patterned cloth sacks. They came in a variety of colors and patterns. When Grandpa and Grandma needed feed for the chickens and Grandma needed new housedresses, Grandma would tell Grandpa she wanted to go to Kaper’s Feed Mill to get the feed that particular time. I was allowed to accompany her a few times and I watched as she scanned the selection from the mountains of feedbags lined up along the walls. Neil Kaper would graciously get Grandma the patterns she liked even if he had to move some to get to the ones she chose. Home we went with the raw materials that Grandma would transform and wear on a daily basis for the next year. If memory serves me right, Grandma would get some for my mother also, but I don’t recall my mother ever darkening the door of Kaper’s Feed Mill. My mother had a pride that Grandma didn’t have. Oh, Grandma was proud of her accomplishments when the dresses were made and she was wearing them, but she was never too proud to save a penny here and there. There in was a hint of a generational difference, which has only grown on us since that time. That is only three generations ago and I don’t know of anyone today who would get his or her material for daily wear at the feed store. Perhaps we could compare it with getting one’s clothes at garage sales and Good Will. I know people like that and admire them for their frugality. I have better success at getting great deals at the stores in which I shop. I’m gifted in finding clearance items. Today, I made a trip to Kohl's and got six beautiful tops for less than forty dollars. I am a scavenger when it comes to clearance items. Clearance shopping is generally the only time I shop. The store had goods at 70-80 percent off and then I was blessed to get an additional 30 percent off coupon. It's a blast. Maybe Grandma’s frugality has been passed down to me. I love a good deal. Just like Grandma loved getting her dress fabric free after dumping the feed into the bin in the chicken coop. I find myself confirming over and over that God always gives me the desire of my heart. If I really desire something, He always seems to supply it for me at a fraction of its original cost. I praise Him for that gift to me.

Invasions

Invasions generally carry with them negative consequences or results. Last evening while my husband was watching the Cubs and my grandson was putsing with his recreation, I slipped away to visit my father and step mother. When I walked into the house, I enjoyed an inward smile as they were sitting together in their usual places allowing Lawernce Welk and the big band to entertain them. My dad pointed to his desk and told me to pick up the photo album his wife had found recently. It was one with a wooden cover that my dad made while in the Navy during WWII in a carpenter shop on the Hawaiian islands (as he always calls it). Inside were many pictures of his experiences there and the people he met and became close to. There were also lots of pictures of my mom and me. I really was pretty cute, if I do say so myself. There are many pictures of my mother and me alone from those years when my dad was gone to put in his time for our country. I guess one could say that the war was an invasions on the lives of all those who had to leave home and family to serve in the military. Inside this album I found a letter that was addressed to my dad from another man with the same last name. My dad explained that his cousin was in the war at the same time and was with the infantry in Europe. Evidently my dad had written that he was enjoying his work in the carpenter shop in Hawaii. I think the man was a bit offended and envious of my dad's soft position. While Dad was enjoying the beauty and wonderful weather in Hawaii, his cousin, Tony, was involved in many of the invasions our military planned. He expressed frustration that they would be lead to believe they were going to go home or go to a safer location and find they were really being groomed for another invasion. In the letter he talks with a very serious and sad heart about the bloodshed he had seen and how he didn't know if he would get home alive either. It was a very sobering letter. After reading it, I turned to my dad and said, "Tony was telling you that even though you had to leave home for a few years, you didn't really know what war was". He shook his head in agreement. I am very grateful my dad didn't see fighting as I think that leaves such a pitiful mark on people. I have a good friend whose father saw much bloodshed and came home with difficult issues with which he struggled his entire life.
There are other less serious but still painful types of invasions. On Friday, my daughter and her four children spent most of the day here. My daughter decided to attempt to tackle the invasive honeysuckle that had taken over so much of the big garden I spoke of earlier. It was a very hot day and I didn't like the idea of spending the day in the hot sun with a shovel but she was undaunted. I reluctantly joined her and we dug and pulled and dug and pulled. Toward the end of our energy, I was digging in the soil and suddenly, out of the ground wiggled a rather large animal. It came up toward my direction and ran between my legs! I flew out of the garden with the speed of light. Scared my daughter to death since she hadn't seen the animal. She drilled me about what was wrong and I couldn't say a word. That little animals appearance had invaded my peace and I was speechless. I shiver sitting here writing about it. It was such an ugly sight. After we had settled down and laughed about it a dozen times, Lauri said she would be brave and go to get our shovels (we had decided we were finished for the day). She walked back into the garden and screamed, "he is still here". And she came running back without the shovels. I can hear you ask what the animal was. I do not know. Moles have a particularly identifiable nose and it didn't look like a mole to me. It was too big for a mouse and it wasn't a rat. My daughter thought it may have been a vole. I have never heard of a vole but my son-in-law sent me a picture of one and I got it this morning. It made me shiver to see the picture too. I don't think it was a vole either. Lauri isn't any more sure about identifying that animal as I am but it was surely ugly. My husband asked why I didn't take the shovel and kill the thing. I told him I am a woman and women don't think of killing like men do. He caught a mole in the mole trap yesterday and thinks that may have been the culprit. I'm not convinced. I'm not interested in any more invasions either.

There is a Creator God-My Garden Proves It

I haven't planted any annuals in my gardens this year. There is no time to garden when I'm teaching and by the time I got out of school, it seemed the time to plant annuals was past. Oh, I now there is still time, but I'm considering the fact that we are going to be gone two weeks in July. I don't want to pass the responsibility of caring for my flowers onto someone else. I have a gazillion perrenials in my gardens and they will have to supply me with oohs and aahs this year. The neat thing about perrenials is that they come up every year and get thicker and more lush each year. They take turns blooming as well so that there is rarely a time when nothing is blooming. At present there are still a couple of late salmon colored irises to thrill me. There are some blooming bushes that are profuse with white blossoms as well though I don't recall the name of the bush. Doesn't matter if I remember its name or not, it still blooms. A few peonies are in bud yet though most of those have already had their day in the sun. Bright yellow sundrops are in their full glory as well as my eight blooming red hot pokers. I am intriqued with those pokers. They are so unique. It is just thrill personified to stand and behold the magnificience in God's creation revealed in that bloom. Coreopsis are just beginning to shine their bright cherry yellows. Some of my favorite plants in the garden are those with varigated green leaves. One leaf may have two to four shades of color or more. That in itself is blossom to me. Those of that nature would be some varieties of hostas, chameleons, grasses, weigela bushes, ground covers, mugworts and others. There are the plants with purple leaves as well. Smoke plant is a favorite of mine. My smoke plant needs to be moved because it is being choked out by some other ambitious bushes and because I'm the only one who knows where it is, I'm the only one who can see it at this point. My ferns and dozens of hosta varieties as well as lamb's ear all add delightful variety in their particular leaf design and texture. God is never more amazing to me than in His gardens. Last fall when I was sick, my greatest fear was that I would not be able to garden again. All winter, each time I thought of my gardens, I got overwhelmed. The biggest garden had become overgrown and out of control. Once my husband took the mower to it this spring, I felt things were hopeful again. I think that may also have been one of the reasons I didn't get excited about planting annuals this year. Just didn't have enough confidence in my endurance, but in God's grace, my energy and strength have returned and I can do what I thought I couldn't. I praise Him for that. It's taking me a bit longer this year to get all the gardens cleaned and presentable but I'm on my way. If they are only beautiful for me, it is worth the effort.

Confidence Built

More about Fred. Fred was a kind man. I don't recall him ever getting angry though I'm sure he did as all humans do. While he was in the Navy, he picked up a cute little southern bride . She worked like a work horse. She seemed much more intense than Fred to me but all this is my recollection. Perhaps another would think differently. Even though they were both Christians their marriage ended in divorce which sadden me deeply. I don't know the reasons but it seemed so strange to me that they couldn't work it out. The ex-wife went back to her people in the south and Fred lived alone for a few years and eventually remarried. Fred died some years ago but his influence on my life lives on.

When I think of his influence in my life I am reminded of how much one can touch another for the future. Fred always gave the boy workers the really heavy work. (though I remember throwing hundred pound potato sacks which I still feel today in my left shoulder). He was aware, though, that there was a difference in the physical strength of a boy and girl. As I got older and got my driver's license, Fred asked me if I cared to drive a truck to market. I was so thrilled that he would give me such a heavy responsibility. Being a kid that loved to drive (and still do), I jumped at the chance. Most of the time, we took two trucks to market and then there were times we took three. I can still feel the wheel of that truck as we turned the corner at 231 and the viaduct. The truck was loaded to the top and when I turned that corner, the load would shift slightly. My stomach would jump from fear it would tip over on its side. I'm thankful to say that didn't happen and neither did I have any accidents.

I cannot put a value on the confidence that Fred built in me by asking me to drive his harvest to work. I was a girl and he thought I could do something that until that point only he and boys had done.

Remembering that experience reminds me that as I am now older, I can instill confidence in young people by giving them responsibility they haven't been asked to do before. The place I have that opportunity is in church. I must remember to ask the younger when I need someone to particpate in a service or project. Especially the young need the older to put their trust and confidence in their ability to carry out major responsiblities. I suppose that is what God had in mind when he instructed the older women to teach the younger women. Help me, God, to do for others what Fred did for me.

Blast from the Past

Blast from the past. As I sat thinking about a subject I could say a few words about this morning, a memory flashed over the radar screen. During the summers between my high school years, I was privileged to have a job on a truck farm. I say I was privileged because I listen to high schoolers talk about their desire for a job and the inablility to find one. I think it was easier back in my day. Then there were no laws about numbers of hours a high schooler could work or about the age upon which one could work. I realize those laws have come about because of abuse in the workplace but I think it is rather sad. I worked at fourteen. I did physical work. The things I did included picking vegetables, cleaning vegetables and getting them ready for market. Those veggies included green beans, tomatoes, sweet corn, green peppers, potatoes, and melons of various kinds. The redeeming value of my job was that the boss liked me and I worked with my best friends and I got a paycheck, the first in my life. As teen girls do, we talked and shared our thoughts for hours and hours while we bent over the rows of beans or peppers. We talked about the boys in our lives and our hopes and dreams for the future. I don't recall there being any down time. We always had something to talk about. One of our jobs was to rub tomatoes. We stood on the concrete garage floor with soft rags rubbing dirt from the tomatoes. It cleaned them but also made them shine and look appealing for display on the market shelves. "Market" was a block of space in downtown Gary, Indiana. It's a place one wouldn't want to go now, but then it was a glory town. At that time it was the shopping meca of an area of 40 miles around it. It had a variety of ethnic peoples, many of whom worked at the steel mills, whose practice it was to go to market each day in the summer and fall for their produce. Many farmers rented a space under an open air roofed building. Rough wooden tables were lined up along the aisles. Upon these tables, each farmer would display his harvested vegetables. I recall the care my boss required of us in displaying the goods. The sweet corn ears were lined up one next to the other and then one on top of the other, not dumped onto a pile like I see done today. Obviously, each farmer attempted to outdo the next in not only good products but beautiful display as well. Most of the customers were women and many of them had foreign accents. (Many of them kept their money in their bosoms) I found the variety of people to be a wonderful window to the world. Coming from my small town, my eyes were used to Caucasians, some of whom had Dutch accents but other than that, we were all pretty much the same. In Gary, I met people of many colors and decents. It was eye opening and exciting. I loved the atmosphere and thrived at my job. On Monday, Wednesday and Friday, we worked in the fields and on Tuesday, Thursday and Saturday, we went to Gary. We had to get out of bed around four o'clock and be at "Fred's" at four thirty to climb into the trucks and head north so that we could be set up by six thirty. I suppose I have always enjoyed early mornings because I can remember the excitement and anticipation I felt as I got ready for work at that early hour. I knew a good day was ahead. We had such good times there enjoying the people including our boss and the other farmers and their helpers. The mornings were busy and we didn't have much time to think of anything but stocking, selling and restocking. We may notice that Fred had stolen away for a few minutes and then be delighted to see him coming down the street with a white bakery bag filled with sweet rolls and donuts which he always shared with us. Another of the highlights of the day would be when Fred would say, "You girls may go to lunch, now." He had introduced us to a restaurant downtown that served good hot meals which he felt we needed. I suppose we did by that time. It had been a long morning. One of my favorite meals there was a hot beef sandwhich and gravy over mashed potatoes. It definitely filled the vacuum in my stomach and gave me energy for the rest of the day.

I wonder. Will the kids working at MacDonalds or Subway remember their teenage job with as much fondness as I remember my job working for Fred? I hope so. For me, it was a wonderful usher into the adult world.

The Youngest Turns Twenty Seven

Yesterday was our youngest child's 27th birthday. She told me she was getting old. I responded, "You're the youngest we have and if you are old what does that make us?" She told me she didn't dare say. Kendra and Craig live in Algonquin, Illinois and that is quite a hike from here. Takes us two hours if the traffic is light, takes us four hours during rush hour. We called Kendra to wish her a happy birthday and learned they had celebrated on Saturday night and were free on her birthday. "You gonna come, Mom?" A quick question to her dad and we had spontaniously decided to drive there to share her birthday. So off we went. Two hours later, we arrived. The usual comment about how long the trip had taken was made. "You made good time". Sundays make for good travel times. It was nearly lunch time and Craig had planned a simple and sweet picnic lunch. Shortly after we arrived, the sky began getting very dark in the north west. It was obvious, Craig was surveying the weather situation every few moments. Finally, the clouds opened up and the rain came down in sheets as the wind picked up speed.. Craig wasn't daunted, he said we would have an indoor picnic. We had ham and pastromi sandwiches, some healthy crackers, fresh raspberries and sparkling juice in stemware. For dessert, Craig brought out a container of fancy chocolate covered fruit. They were very colorful in reds, orange, blues, and white which made them all the more tempting. He had purchased the sweet delicacies at Trader Joe's so I knew instantly that was something we would want to take home for ourselves. Trader Joe's has a location about two blocks from their home so each time we visit them we visit Joe, too.

Kendra told us they had a new game which Mom would like. Dad asked if it was Scrabble and she laughed and said it was a spin off. Since Mom loves Scrabble, I was ready to learn a spin off. It is called Snatch. One uses the letters from the Scrabble game which are laid face down on the table. In turn, each player turns over a letter. As soon as a word is visible, one yells out the word and takes those letters and forms the word on the table in front of him. Then if a letter comes up that can change that original word, anyone can yell out that word, take the word from it's original maker and form the new word in front of him. Kendra whipped me the first game. I realized that my Scrabble skills needed to be enlarged to include the ability to look for ways to change the words already formed. By the last game, I whopped Kendra. She wasn't too thrilled but we all had a great time trying to out do the next player. My husband doesn't like word games but he was gracious and played a long inspite of his dislike. He would do much better if it were a math game.

We arrived home around eight oclock and I was done in. Knowing I had to go to work in the morning, I went to bed early. So here I am, it's morning and I'm at work, everything is very quiet as no students are here today. The only noises I hear are the hum of the computer and the dripping of water. We have a refrigerator in our room and I have the door open to defrost the freezer which is mostly ice at this point. Soon, I will have to go to our first meeting of the day. By three fifteen today, the school year of 2006-2007 will be history.

Time Will Tell

One of my students is presently singing, "Hallelujah, hallelujah, school's out". A wee bit sacreligious, I suppose, but the senitment is one of my heart as well. As my time ticker indicates, this is the last day of school. Staff has to return on Monday to close up shop.

We have a major building renuvation going on presently and through the end of summer. A geothermal heating and cooling system is being installed. That is requiring the digging of between fifty and sixty wells in the front of our school. Because there is much inside work that is going to be done, we must pack up ALL our things and remove what is personal and cover everything that isn't boxed or covered with visquine. Quite a big assignment.
I just took a walk down the hall and the sights were interesting. Even though the construction men have been working in the building for about two months, one can tell they are chomping at the bit for all the students and staff to get out of their way. Sitting at a big table in the social studies office is a man
studying a huge blue print. Another man with a flowing white beard wearing a mesh baseball cap was carrying a different large blueprint which flowed like a flag as he walked down the hall.

There are gigantic pieces of equipement outside the front door. I'm guessing those will be installed as soon as we are gone. I don't think they will make the school look very presentable for the graduation weekend.

This project is absolutely major. I don't recall the amount of money that is being spent but I'm assuming it will be beyond my understanding. The corporation superintendent addressed the staff at the beginning of the project and said this was the only way to go. Unfortunately, he didn't convince me. We had a geothermal cooling system in our home for many years. I am sure this one is much more modern and cost effective but I only have our experience from which to draw comparison. I'm not sold. However, I hope the system is the answer to many years of hot rooms in the winter and cold rooms in the summer in this building. To say it has been difficult to know how to dress would be an understatement.

All of this activity and these requirements have taken my attention off the fact that this may have been my last year of full time work here at the school. While I'm not totally convinced about my retirement, I know that if I do come back, it will be only one more year. I also realize that the school is changing the position I fill so I would be doing different things than I do now and also work different hours than I do now. I will see how the first month of summer vacation goes and then evaluate so the inevitable decision can be made. Do I return or do I not? That will be the question I ponder for the next few weeks.

There are times I wish the Lord would write my direction on the wall. Have you felt that way, too? Perhaps this issue isn't as big as I'm making it so he is letting me struggle with the decision. I have never planned to get my fulfillment through a profession though I wish I had finished college. (I would have made twice the money as I did without one) Each time I considered going back to school, my family responsibilities loomed larger than an education. Family responsibilities are less now. Perhaps I can return to school in my retirement. That sounds like fun! Sitting in a rocker on the front porch sounds good, too. Time will tell....