Leaving Home

Later this week the movers will arrive to load up our stuff and take it to a new place. We have lived at our current address (a pleasant ranch-style house on Pleasant Avenue) for nearly 15 years.

We moved here because I was the pastor of a small church in town.  There are many posts on this blog about my life as pastor of the place once known as Jubilee Assembly of God.  When I arrived, Jubilee AG was a place with an extraordinarily difficult history and had already been a struggling congregation for many decades.  There were at least two points in its life when it probably should have closed.

Still, I arrived with a large amount of hope and a firmly-held belief that things were going to turn around.  How hard could it be to genuinely love people, preach reasonably good sermons, be honest and transparent and find ways to be a blessing in our small town?

While I will always love the people I met here, and while I affirm that God was often present in some wonderful ways, things did not turn around in any sort of permanent sense.  We grew. We shrank. We grew. We shrank.  After ten years of trying, I resigned.  Even now, more than five years later, typing those words makes my heart hurt.

I had stayed longer than any pastor who had been there, except the founding one. After me, Jubilee had an interim pastor and then two more pastors and a second name change before finally closing its doors a while back.

I have avoided driving past the church building for quite a while now.  There is going to be a "restart" that will be spearheaded by a large church about 20 miles away.  I hear it will begin this fall.  Last week I drove by.  There was a pile of stuff out by the trash--I think maybe cupboards, and a man was mowing the overgrown lawn.  I'm glad something may still happen there. I wish them the best.

Why we stayed in this town for five years after I no longer served the church is a complicated story. But now it is time to go.  If you have seen my neglected little blog lately you know that my husband, Ken, has been in poor health for about three years.  I thought a condo or senior apartment might be suitable, but Ken hated the idea (truth be told, I did as well) but his days of shoveling snow and lawn care are behind him.  We are moving to a large, two-family home south of here.  Our daughter, Kristina, son in law,Daryl, and granddaughter, Trinity will live upstairs in a nice apartment.  Ken and I will live downstairs.  It is a beautiful old house with lots of character.

The movers are coming in three days, and the house is mostly packed up.  I still have quite a bit to do, but this morning I sat out back with a cup of coffee and enjoyed my home.  The house is nothing special.  As I said, it is a pleasant ranch house. It has always seemed a bit small--mostly because there was nearly always some extra family living in it.  I won't particularly miss it.  However, I will certainly miss our one-third acre yard.

Right now, our tree-filled property is lush and and lovely.  We have a nice little deck out back.  In the long, grey days of winter I look out the kitchen window at piles of snow and I long for warmer days when I can sit in shaded seclusion.

This morning is beautiful.  It is supposed to be hot later, but right now it is pleasant and a breeze is blowing. I made coffee and went to "sit a spell" as my Texas-born mother used to say.

My elderly mother moved in with us about the time we moved to this place.  She was lonely, and it was hard to adjust from living in the south to living in the north.  She never really got over being homesick, and Wisconsin's  harsh winters were difficult. One thing she did love about Wisconsin was how green it is in summer. We used to have a covered swing on the back deck, and she spent many hours there. She also spent a considerable amount of time pulling weeds!  This morning I could almost see her in her jeans, striped cotton shirt (she pronounced it "stripe-ed") and large straw hat, sitting out near bushes on our fence line happily pulling up my poppies.  Poppies really do look like weeds until they put out flowers...I never told her.

My relationship with my mother was always complicated and usually strained.  I loved her very much though, and I was sad to see dementia take an increasing toll.  A friend from the church became her patient  companion for a while (thank you, Laurie), and then a stroke caused me to make the painful decision that a nursing home was needed.  She spent two years there before she passed away.  They were difficult years, made somewhat easier by an excellent CNA who knew her from church and loved her dearly (thank you, Kristen) and visits from a friend (thank you, Pat) who loved her like family.

Not long after my mother died, Ken's disabled brother, Kevin moved here from California to live with us. Kevin lived here for five years before moving to an assisted living place in Sheboygan for several months before his death.  This morning I closed my eyes and listened to the soft cooing of mourning doves and the trill of a cardinal singing from the top of our large birch tree.  Kevin used to comment a lot about the number of birds we had.

Taking a sip from my cup, I smiled thinking of sitting outside next to Kevin in his wheelchair, drinking coffee on a Saturday morning while Ken was still asleep.  Kevin was a character--and Kevin had "issues" and it was not easy having him here. I am glad we did though, and happy that he knew, at the end of his too-short and rather tragic life, that he was loved and valued.  How he enjoyed being part of a family.  He adored his grandniece, Trinity. And I can still see him waving at little Noah, our second grandchild, and saying "Hi, Baby!" because he had a hard time remembering his name. I will always miss Kevin.

Kris, Daryl and Trinity moved in when Kevin moved out.  It has been crowded, but we made it work. Now we move on to what will likely be our last house, and a new chapter of life.  Part of me looks forward to it, and part of me fears it.  There are lots of unknowns and things to be concerned about. But for this morning I sat on the sun-dappled deck and sipped coffee and remembered.

I thought of my mother and of Kevin, of course. But I also thought of my friend Honey sitting in the rocker in my living room and praying for the church and for me.  I thought of many conversations in the back-deck swing with Pat as we pondered the meaning of life and talked about family and read scripture and prayed. I thought of beautiful Tara sitting on the lawn with me and sharing hopes and fears. A few years back I travelled to Tennessee to conduct Tara's wedding. She is now in Florida and her husband is starting the process to become a missionary pilot.  I thought of a birthday party we had in the back yard, celebrating my 60th and Kevin's 50th year of life.  I thought of Kelly and John and Steve and Donna and Gene and so many others who have been on my back deck and shared a slice of life here. 

With deep sadness, I remembered my sister, Darlaine sitting in that same deck swing, beautiful blue eyes filled with sorrow, holding her husband's hand as we talked about her Alzheimer's diagnosis. I thought of my other sister, Paulette, visiting me and our mother as things began to deteriorate.  I remembered our shared sadness and shock at our mother's anger and paranoia.

I thought of David and Mark painting Kevin's room.  I thought of Thanksgivings and Christmastimes and how glad we were when Keith, Ken's youngest brother came to see us here. I thought of sitting with Joshua, our son, as together we pondered the implications of his approaching role as daddy.

Living in this town has been somewhat difficult for me. There have been plenty of perplexing and even frightening moments at this address.  I have walked the floor, cried, prayed, and sometimes fumed.  I have wondered if Ken was going to make it.  I have wondered who I am and how I can go on. I have felt exuberance and hope and I have felt like a pathetic failure. I have answered the middle-of-the-night phone calls with my heart pounding.

But there has also been much discovery and growth and love and laughter and joy.

I have moved many times since marrying Ken.  We lived in military housing, couples housing as we studied for the ministry, parsonages.  When the movers come on Thursday it will be move number 15.  I hate packing, loading, unloading, the mess.  I have never gotten better at it, even after 15 opportunities to improve. 

It is good to have something different ahead and I'm more than ready to say good bye to my home and hello to a new one.  It is time.  Past time, probably.

But leaving a home is always a little nostalgic.  Today I took time to say good bye.

Remembering Kevin

Last Sunday, January 2nd, Ken's brother, Kevin passed away.  He was 54.

Kevin lived with us for almost five years.  The last few months, mainly because Ken has been so ill, Kevin has lived in a group home. We all knew that it was not likely he would live a long life, but the end came shockingly quick. 

When I think of my brother-in-law, Kevin, it is as one of three quite destinct persons. The first is the child.  My earliest clear memory of him was after going to 4th of July fireworks with Ken, his mother, and his two little brothers, Kevin and Keith.  Ken and I were just teenagers. We were all eating ice cream at the counter of a Howard Johnson's restaurant somewhere in California's San Fernando Valley.  Kevin (about  five years old) said, "Mom, is Ken going to marry Dorcas?"  I can still see him--dark brown eyes full of childlike innocence, and that mop of thick wiry hair.  Ken and I laughed self-consciously. 

I soon learned that the George household was not a happy one.  I saw and heard things that shocked me. I was young and I was horrified, and I did not know what to do about what I observed.

Both my mother and father in law have died.  I loved them, and I miss them.  They each had some wonderful qualities.  Mom and Dad were not bad people, but they were very bad parents.  They had no idea how to raise children. I think they loved their kids but were afraid that to show tenderness or affection would make their children weak.   It was impossible to know what would set one, or both, of them into a rage.  A Mormon family, the nice façade was on when needed, but it was quickly discarded at home.

Kevin was an average child with three very intelligent siblings.  The eldest, Karal, was the only girl and had left home by the time I met Ken. All of them endured physical and verbal abuse.  They were  demeaned constantly.  They were hit, sworn at and repeatedly told that they were stupid, dumb, or worthless  Kevin took it to heart the most perhaps. I sometimes wondered, "If the Georges act like that with me around, what must they do when they don't have company?"

Kevin was a good-looking little boy, a  tall, gangly, rather hapless kid. I can see his face when Ken graduated from Marine Corps boot camp. He smiled and smiled--so proud of his big brother. It was a rare good day with the family.  The child Kevin had a sweet smile and an innocent and kind heart. He made me sad.  I knew he was a child who needed affirmation and encouragement but rarely got it. 

Kevin tried to kill himself at age twelve. He was in a coma for a few days, and he was never quite the same afterwards.  A few years ago he told me that he started using drugs at 14. "The stoners," he said, "accepted me."

The second Kevin became an angry, selfish, rebellious teenager who landed in juvenile hall more than once. Mom and dad couldn't handle him, so he was sent to live with big sister, Karal--a  disaster that lasted only a few months and ended very badly.  Next stop to land was with us.  While longer than the stint with Karal (about a year and a half), it did not go well.  We tried, but we were young and Kevin was broken.  There were sometimes glimpses of the person he should have been, but they were rare.  He was too angry, too sullen, too bitter and hate-filled for anyone to deal with.  When I picture him during that time, his face is dark--and not just from his olive skin.  He was quite handsome, but he was always scowling.  He was a thief and an almost pathological liar. 

He did go to church with us, and there was a time when we saw a change which lasted a couple of months. Then he was worse than ever.  He ran away, missing finishing high school by a mere three credits.  After a few encounters here and there, one for his father's funeral and one for his sister's funeral, we did not see him again.   Years passed. Rarely, we heard a little about him.  He was a carnival worker down south somewhere. He was in the Army. He was tossed out of the Army. He was married and back in California.  He was divorced.  He was homeless. He was living with a cousin. 

All attempts to talk to him, including a phone call when his mother died, were refused.  We prayed for him, off and on, and we thought about him sometimes--less as two decades went by.  Sometimes we wondered if he was still alive.

And then one day the phone rang.  It was Kevin.  He was clearly strung out.  He couldn't stop talking.  The voice was unrecognizable.  But it was Kevin.  So I talked, or rather listened, for a while, tears running down my face and then passed the phone to Ken.  Afterwards, we hugged each other and cried.  There were no words to say.

I don't want to write much of what we learned about Kevin. The details of his life are gruesome and sordid.  He had endured eight amputations.  A diabetic who never took care of himself, he developed gangrene in his foot. His foot was amputated, and then, as the infection advanced, more of his leg.  But he said to Ken, "They told me they couldn't take off any more and if it didn't work this time I would die.  I left my anger on the operating room floor with my leg.  I love you and Dorcas.  I don't remember why I hated you so much.  I asked God to forgive me."  He sent us a picture--a scrawny shadow of his former self, with no teeth.  I threw it away. 

A few years passed with occasional phone calls, and two brief visits.  I wrote about one HERE.  He wanted to move here, I think because he thought living with us would help him stop the drugs.  We had no room for him, because my elderly mother lived with us.

Once he called after an extended hospital stay.  He had suffered a third heart attack and he realized that meth, which he had been shooting up for years, was going to kill him at last.  He told us, "I had been trying to talk to God ever since I forgave you when the last of my leg came off.  I just couldn't stop the drugs, and I knew I was going to die.  I never forgot what I heard when I lived with you guys.  I was desperate and I cried out to God to deliver me.  And God did!  I mean, I haven't used meth since.  It has been a month.  I haven't even wanted any.  It has to be the Lord."

Eventually, after my mother died, Kevin moved here with his dogs, Soo Lin the pug and Juanita the Chihuahua--the Most Annoying Dogs Ever--but enough about them.  That brings me to the third Kevin I think of.

Having Kevin at our house was not easy.  He had clearly done a lot of damage to his body and mind.  He had some annoying quirks, like talking loudly to the television.  His hygiene was sporadic.  He was often ill.  He had lived on little besides Ramen noodles for a long time.  Better nutrition and regular doctor visits helped.  There was no more smoking pot, and with the help of Chantrix he even quit smoking cigarettes.

Kevin was almost painfully polite and rather articulate.  Many people did not realize that this middle-aged man was vulnerable and childlike in numerious ways. He continued to make foolish decisions, such as refusing to drink water or really anything but highly creamed and sweetened coffee or diet soda.  It took more than one visit to the Emergency Room with dehydration to eventually convince him that he had to drink water.

He thanked us many times for bringing him to Wisconsin, saying he loved it here. It was so clean...so green...so friendly...so safe.  The first fall, with our beautiful trees, amazed Kevin, as did the first major snowfall.  He took pleasure in simple things.

He attended church at Jubilee AG for a while, even though I was no longer the pastor. In warm weather he could motor there in his electric wheelchair. He became a greeter--a very good one I am told.    Eventually he started coming to church with us, and he loved to sing.  He was baptized and became a church member, something of which he was very proud.    He loved it when Kris, our daughter, and her family moved not far away.  Trinity, his grandniece, often spent Friday night at our house, and many Saturday mornings found the two of them propped up on his bed, laughing together at cartoons.  When Noah, our son Josh's little boy, was born two years ago, Kevin rejoiced at another child in the family.  He often forgot Noah's name, so he usually called both Noah and Trinity, "Baby."  Having children around caused him to think of his long-ago family.  He expressed much sadness and regret about his failed marriage, telling me not long ago, "I will always love Michelle.  And I will always love Kenny and Kelly, my step kids. I did a lot of bad things.  I was not a good dad.  I hope they forgive me." 

He talked to anyone who would listen--the mail carriers, the garbage men, the neighbors, the grocery clerks.  He wasn't shy about sharing his past and telling people that God was the reason he was still alive.  Once he was invited to speak to a local youth group.  With help, he shared his story, telling the kids, "I am a wreck because of bad choices.  I did this to myself, and I am an example of what not to do."  I was later told, "It was probably the best meeting we ever had.  The kids hung on every word, and asked lots of questions.  Even the 'difficult' kids who sit in back were quiet and listened intently."

In the end, the Kevin I will choose to remember is the third one.  He was the affectionate child Kevin returned in a broken adult body.  Emotionally he seemed about 14.  But he was drug and alcohol free for five years, and he gradually laid down most of his bitterness and anger.  He once again became the sweet person he always was underneath.  He loved to hug us and was always glad to see any family or friends who visited.  We had a wonderful time Thanksgiving of 2012, meeting up with  youngest brother, Keith, and other family, our first time together in many years. 

Keith came to our house at Christmas along with Josh, Stephanie and Noah. Our house is small.  Ken, me, Kris, Daryl, Trinity, Josh, Stephanie, Noah, Kevin and Keith in our living room is about six people too many for comfort, but we had a good time.  Yes, Ken remains very sick.  Still, we laughed and smiled and opened presents, and ate too much and watched the two cousins play. There were jokes and hugs and remembering.  There was joy.  Kevin was loved.  All of us were.

Last week he got pneumonia and his kidneys failed and his heart soon gave out.  As the ICU doctor said, "The damage to his body has been great.  It is just too much to undo."

Kevin failed at many things. In the end, he succeeded at the most important things of all.  He gave his live to the keeping of God, he forgave, he loved, he accepted responsibility for his wrongs, he spent several years clean and sober.  He touched many people with his smile, his conversation, his honesty. 

As we talked to him in the ICU, the only part of his body that could move was his foot. He moved his foot at specific times.  We held his hand and told him we love him. We shared a few stories. Trinity was a little scared, but at the end she went back to say, "Good bye, Uncle Kevin.  I love you." 

We said good bye for others who couldn't be there.  We told him that Juanita would be cared for (not by us!) and we told him how glad we were that we reconnected and that he came to Wisconsin.    We told him we were proud of him.  We told him we will see him again.  We remember Kevin.
 

Time Keeps on Slipping: Unpacking the Pile of Boxes

That last post went in a direction I hadn't planned.  Now, isn't that ironic?  I just realized it and laughed as I typed that.

I've written about The OASIS at St. Nazianz on this blog. There is a link in the sidebar to OASIS posts, in fact.  It started just about one year ago.  Tonight will be our last meeting together, at least for a while.  Maybe it will be resurrected.  I have no plans.  I am sad, and I have many questions.  Many, many unanswered questions.  My deepest questions have never been answered.   In spite of the sadness and the questions, I feel peaceful about my decision.  There is only so much me to expend, and I'm stretched beyond what I think is healthy.  I know some precious people are deeply disappointed.  I would never have started The OASIS if I had known what 2013 was going to bring.  How good it is that we do not know the future.  As someone said to me recently, "If we did, we'd never get out of bed." There are other reasons to stop this ministry as well, and it is difficult but has to happen.

I am still trying to put together my teaching for tonight.  Feeling a bit blank about that.  I love teaching scripture and I love interacting with people...

Perhaps my official ministry days are ended.  I know, that doesn't mean there is nothing left of value for me to do.  I am grateful for that.

Our daughter, Kris, and her husband and kiddo are moving in today and tomorrow.  Our house is not large, so stuff has to go.  When I resigned as Jubilee AG's pastor, it was not my plan that I never pastor another church. I knew who I was, knew what my gifts were, knew I had more to do.  I packed up my books and "ministry stuff" and stacked them in the basement, figuring I'd unpack them when needed.  Lots of people told me things like, "God never ignores a willing servant.  You won't wait long."  Or, "Something is coming.  Something big.  You have so much to share."  Or, "It will happen.  God never closes a door without opening another."  Where is that in scripture?  I've come to hate those little "christianese bits of wisdom" that sometimes get quoted more than the things that actually are in the Bible.  Five years have passed and I have avoided the pile. 

This was the week I had to open those boxes.  That is why I found myself humming, "Time Keeps on Slippin'" off and on for days. 

So many memories.  So many decisions to make.  Life has happened while I was making other plans.

I tried not to get distracted by contents of the boxes.  Tried hard to just sort into piles.

Keep handy--I might need this. 
Keep in storage. 
Toss in the trash. 
Take to the thrift store.   

The trash pile grew the fastest, and that made me cry.  As I tossed lots of things in the trash and also watched my "thrift store" pile get higher, I almost felt (foolish I know) that I was throwing life away.  Cards and letters, notebooks from long-ago studies....An A in Dr. James Hernando's difficult but excellent Hermeneutics Class...still proud of that.  A theme paper about divorce and the church.  So many notebooks and class notes and papers that have travelled with us for years. An old edition of "Enrichment," the magazine for Assemblies of God clergy.  Why had I kept that for decades?  Ah, the title article is, "Women in Ministry."  A good article.  My transcripts and the bulletin from graduation.  Sermons written for  homiletics class, some preached and others not.  Resources I had collected to use for teaching or preaching, some utilized and some not.  It was hard to get rid of the ones I had saved for years.  I had lots of great stuff.  And now we have the internet and many ministers don't have much stuff anymore. 

My sheep collection had to go.  I kept two, but they went into a box for storage.  My kids will get rid of those sheep when they sort my stuff after I'm gone.  Ha!  My diploma, license to preach, ordination certificate and picture of me and Ken with then-superintendent Arden Adamsen and his wife Glenna--those went into storage.  Ditto what I said about my two saved sheep.

Hey, here was the copy of Mutuality magazine that featured my article, "Is the Church Feminized?"  I had a flash of the joy I'd felt at having my words appear in published print! Here were copies of my poem, "Father's Daughter" that was published online at Everyday Liturgy. 

The hardest things to eliminate were the books.  I'm a bibliophile from early childhood on.  Books bring back memories.  So many books and so much to learn and know and do.  A few of my really good textbooks had travelled with me for decades.  How had so much time passed in a blink?  They went to St. Nazianz Christian Center and I hope some aspiring preacher stops in to their thrift store. 

The books I couldn't stand to part with went into a box for storage.  They turned out mostly to be the books from Christians for Biblical Equality, my beloved and life-changing CBE.  When I found them, an evangelical organization all about women and church, my world opened up in an astonishing way.  CBE books are almost never found in your average religious book store, but they are some of the best books I have.  Here are titles for a few of them,

"Daughters of the Church."
"Men at the Crossroads" (just in case you think I don't care about men)
"Why Not Women?"
"What Paul Really Said About Women"
"Community 101"
"Heirs Together"
"Equal to Serve"
"Women in Ministry Today"

Ah, that last one was dog-eared, but it wasn't a CBE book.  Years before I ended up studying for a theology degree, I had purchased a book published by Logos called "Women in Ministry Today" by Helen Beard.  The book scared me. I was drawn and repelled at the same time, thinking it was interesting and thought-provoking but too radical for me.  I figured she was some sort of "women's libber."  I can still hear my mother's tone and see her expression the day she asked me if I was becoming one.  Oh no.  I put the book on the shelf and it stayed there.  But I kept it.  Her painstaking scholarship and her love for scripture was undeniable.  I smiled as I flipped through a few pages. I no longer find her book radical. 

I sat on a small love seat to give my back a break and I let my mind wander to days before Ken and I were ministers.  I was surprised but happy about Ken wanting to be a missionary.  I figured it would be difficult, but I am usually up for a challenge and I always wanted to do something significant for the Kingdom of God.  So off we went to what was then called, Trinity Bible Institute, Ellendale, ND, with visions of Europe in our heads.  I won't bother trying to explain why we figured it would be Europe for us. In the Assemblies of God, it was preferred that couples who planned on going overseas would have no more than two children.  So that is what we did.  We had Joshua, our second and last child not long before leaving the USMC to head for North Dakota.  Where was North Dakota, exactly?  Wasn't it terribly cold there?

When we were in North Dakota, I found another book that rattled me.  This one was by Kenneth Hagin called, "The Woman Question." Hagin's book stops well short of affirming many of the things I now believe, and it isn't even all that well-written.  Those CBE books are far better written and the scholarship is superb.  However, there was no CBE yet.  This was one of the few books in print on the subject.  I still have that one too. Not because it is a great book, but because it shook my world and started a theological battle in Southern-Baptist raised me.  I started thinking for myself. 

I've written on this blog in years past about the day that our instructor in a "Women in Ministry" class, Rev.Rosa Mae Wead, pointed her finger at me as she fairly shouted at a room full of women who were married to men studying for the ministry, "I asked about why YOU are here, and all I'm learning is why your husband is here.  Aren't any of you women called to preach?" 

"Sister Wead" had lived an amazing life.  She had been a travelling evangelist, a  church leader, an educator and much more.  She had asked us why we were in her class and in response everyone had explained what their husband was going to do and how they were going to help.  Our usually gracious and very ladylike instructor  got more and more frustrated and then she exploded, glaring and pointing right at me, who was seated smack dab in the middle of the front row of her class. 

When she shouted that question, almost every woman in the room sat in stunned silence and then burst into tears.  Imagine!  A classroom full of weeping women.

That class continued long past its scheduled end time. There was a genuine visitation of God's Spirit that I've never quite seen the like of since. Several of the women admitted that they had indeed felt such a call, but they did not want to be in competition with their spouses, had been told they were "unbiblical," had been patronized or minimized or shooed back to the appropriate place.  Some just stared as Sister Wead give us a short history lesson about women leaders and preachers.  It was a life-changing moment.  Sister Wead had cancer but most of us believed she would get better.  She had a powerful ministry and was a woman of great faith.   In fact, that evening was the last time she taught a class.  She died not long afterwards.

I was convinced, after years of praying and studying and questioning.  Women could be preachers.  Where were they?  Why hadn't I seen any? 

Later, when Ken was a pastor, I struggled with my own call.  I won't detail all of that.  But when clergy couples got together I tended to want to hang out with the guys.  I am sad to say that I found their conversation more interesting and thought-provoking than the women's.  I loved my husband and my children deeply, but I didn't want to just talk about my kids, or recipes, or what my husband was doing.  I don't mean to be proud about that.  I sometimes found myself wondering if some of the clergy wives I met  if truth be told, were like my classmates.  If challenged, would they weep and would I see a very different side of them?

That was over 30 years ago.  Eventually I came to peace about the whole thing, surrendered to a plan I did not understand, and obtained my clergy credentials.  I ministered alongside my husband, encountered some of those wrenching transitions.  We never did go overseas.  That is a long story that caused deep pain for a long time. 

Eventually Ken realized it was me, not him, who was cut out to be a pastor.  He did become a missionary, a "nationally recognized home missionary with the Assemblies of God" actually.  That's what the official certificate says.  As I've shared, he stopped working in December and has not been back.  He spent 22 years ministering to prisoners as a chaplain.  One of the other Wisconsin Department of Corrections chaplains recently wrote him a get-well note, saying he was saddened to hear of his forced retirement and adding, "That makes me the new senior among us.  I'd rather not be."

I need to stop writing and get something together to share with my friends at The OASIS.

Time Keeps On Slippin' and Transitions Keep Coming

I have been singing this Steve Miller classic all week.  In the 70s, when the song was a hit, I got married, birthed two children, moved away from California (never to return except on vacations) and embarked on a theological struggle.  I did not set out to do that last one.  It just happened as I matured and asked questions and became a more astute observer of the world.  I'll write more about that in another post.

What I did not do much in the 70s was think about aging or changing.

I was busy.  I thought about being a good wife to my Marine husband, about being a good mom, about work, about how to live reasonably on a tiny budget, about getting through the next move.  We moved from the San Fernando Valley to Oceanside's Camp Pendleton, then to Camp Lejeune in North Carolina, and in Ken's final duty station, to Washington, DC.  In the 80s we moved to North Dakota (what a shock to my California system that was!) and I earned a theology degree.  I hadn't planned that.

Come to think of it, not much in my life is what I planned--except being married to Ken, who I met when we were teens.

My life has been all about transitions.  They come to everyone, but for reasons that are a mystery, transition for me has been nearly constant.  Constant transition.  Hey, that is an oxymoron, but true.  I have often found myself envying those whose life seems to have been comfortably settled and stable. I am surrounded by Midwestern folks whose forebears came here and who today are happy to have their family all living within 100 miles.  As for me, I find myself homesick for a place that never existed, a stable family that never was, a life I never had.  I loved my family, but contrary to what many people seem to think about me, my family life was often unpredictable, bewildering, confusing and sometimes frightening.

When I married Ken, I thought my life path was pretty set.  I expected that Ken would, as he had planned, be a "lifer in the Corps" and retire as a youthful 40-something with a nice pension.  He'd go to work for some private company and make good money as a programmer or a systems analyst.  I'd be a stay-at-home mom.  I never thought beyond the "mom" stage.  That is what women did in my world. 

Change is constant for military families. It is what you sign up for if you are a service member or you choose to live life with one.  Making friends only to lose them, finding a church only to depart, developing something so you can turn it over to others--that was a given.  But it is change that is generally expected as part and parcel of military life.  So I expected transitions, but I never expected most of the ones that came.

A big one, early on, was that after nine years serving Uncle Sam, Ken decided not to reenlist .  His lifelong dream had changed and he had new goals.  He was going to be a missionary.  Some people, back in the day, found that amazing.  A Marine turned missionary?  So we went off to the praries of North Dakota.  Ken got a mostly free education in return for helping the school set up its first computer system.  Very primitive by today's standards!  And, as the spouse of a student, I got half off of my tuition.  An offer we couldn't refuse!

When I need to remember when something occurred, I first think, "Where were we living?"  followed by remembering when a child was born.  What was Ken doing at the time?  Was Ken the Marine who had a stellar computer programming career, or a student, or a pastor or a fuel truck driver, or a chaplain?  Was I working?  Studying for midterms?  Struggling through my purpose in life?  Working with teens?  With adults?  With children?  Was I teaching a Bible study, or was I preparing sermons?  Was I trying to forget that I felt called to something more than being a good pastor's wife?  Were we in Ellendale? Tomahawk? Luck?  Grantsburg?  Frederic, or Plymouth or New Holstein?  Was I an Elderly Benefits Specialist at the Department on Aging in Polk County?  Or was it at Legal Action of WI in Milwaukee?  A Long-Term care Ombudsman with the Board on Aging?  Was I a pastor's wife or was I the pastor?  I have "worn a lot of hats" in my life.  Sometimes several at once, making me think of a favorite book from childhood,"The 500 Hats of Bartholomew Cubbins" by Dr. Seuss.

Life has been a series of corners turned.  I mean unexpected, unplanned, sometimes bewildering, gut-wrenching corners.  The only constant of my life has been that a change would come soon.  Another transition.  Another time to regroup, rethink, remake and reform. 

The transitions were sometimes exciting.  I have never been a person who feared change.  I usually see change as a good thing, and I know that it is true that nothing lasts.  Since change is inevitable, I have chosen, most times, to embrace it and make the most of it.  I am adaptable, and I refuse to be "set in my ways."  I remember that when my father said that about someone, I knew it was a bad thing.  I have resisted being "set in my ways" all my life.

Along the way, as I tried to figure out who I was and what I wanted to do or be, time has slipped into the future.  A future I never imagined.  I got a big dose of time-slipping reality this week.

This time of change is a little harder.  More about that in a future post.  For now, my lunch is finished and I need to put on my Insurance Agent hat and make some phone calls.

Ken's Ordeal Part 4: "Out, out, Damned Pheo!"

If you wan tto start from the beginning, just click on the "Ken's Ordeal" link at the bottom of this page or in the sidebar and scroll down.

Difficult days passed while we waited for the day the surgery could finally take place.  The constant grey skies that were a hallmark of this past winter matched our spirits.  Ken was miserable.  His hands remained swollen and painful, and his shoulder and back pain was incapacitating.  Over the previous six months, Ken had lost over 60 pounds. His clothes hung on his much-thinner frame.  His complexion continued to have a grayish tinge. 

Things we take for granted as part of life, were difficult or impossible--things like eating with a fork, going for even a short walk, making love, rising from a chair, pulling up a blanket, driving a vehicle, shampooing hair...and the list goes on. 

The famous Shakespeare quote, "Out, out damned spot."(spoken by Lady Macbeth as she goes a bit mad and tries to wash the blood of murdered Duncan from her hands) was in my mind often, except I was thinking of the pheochromocytoma and how this unseen, undiagnosed tumor had been lurking in my husband's body for years, wreaking havoc. The urologist who would later perform the delicate surgery, a skilled surgeon with a down-to-earth bedside manner, said to Ken, "These pheos are just little balls of hate." He told us he was going to assemble a hand-picked team so he wasn't sure when surgery day would be. 

Narcotics that blunted the worst of the pain, the beta blockers, and the other life-saving medications that were stopping Ken's body from recognizing adrenaline, also made him light headed, weak, and sleepy.  We rose early so I could help Ken get ready for the day and then I headed off for work. 

It wasn't a time to stay home, however much I might have sometimes wanted to.  In December, I had left my previous employment and, along with a business partner had planned a new business which we would call Insurance Solutions. What a relief, looking back on it all, that I did not know what was coming for Ken on the difficult day in early December that I left my office in a financial services firm for the last time. Having something else to think about with all the myriad of issues that go along with a new business venture helped the time pass.

Additionally, there was the fledgling ministry at The OASIS at St. Nazianz to think about--a good thing--but something that deserved more attention. Ken was discouraged that he was unable to be of help.  It was good that Ken's disabled brother, Kevin, lives here because he helped with things like making lunch for the two of them and, in an odd role reversal, kept an eye on his brother.

Many people told us they were keeping Ken in their prayers and thoughts.  Ken said that knowing this helped him get through that long month. 

Surgery day, February 9th, finally arrived.  We drove to Milwaukee's St. Lukes Hospital in a mix of rain, sleet and snow.  Ken was nauseated and feeling really ill on the drive down.  The morning passed with the usual hospital protocols.  The anestheseologist told us that the fact Ken was feeling so dizzy and sick likely meant that it was time for the powerful medications he had been taking for over a month to end.  The timing for the surgery was just right, it seemed. 

Our pastor came and prayed with Ken before they took him to the operating room and we sat in the cafeteria and talked as we shared lunch. After he headed home, I sat in the waiting room and tried not to think too much about what might be happening in the operating room.  I had been told that the surgery could take 4 or 5 hours.  I felt mostly positive about the procedure, even though we had been warned that it was a dangerous thing to remove a pheochromocytoma.  I took a walk to the hospital chapel to pray, but I had already prayed so much that there were just no more words to say. For a while, I sat in the silence of the chapel and simply told God that I knew who was holding Ken.  I knew others were praying, and I pictured some of their faces, taking comfort in the thought that I was not really alone, however lonely I might feel. 

I returned to the surgery waiting room and read a magazine.  I played cards with a group of women, and we shared some relatively intimate details of life, as strangers sometimes do in such situations.  I liked the card game.  It was a simple one, and I decided I would teach it to Ken sometime.  I must have been a little distracted though.  I have no idea how the game was played. 

The surgeon came to the waiting room sooner than I expected.  Looking pleased, and making no effort to hide his relief, he said, "None of the things we anticipated happening did.  It went surprisingly well.  I'm glad you didn't have the surgery a month ago.  Even though it was hard to wait, I think it was the right thing."

Later, I went to the recovery room to check on Ken.  He was not awake, even though he had been there for a rather long time.  The friendly nurse who was monitoring him said with a smile, "With those rosy cheeks, your husband looks like a sleeping Santa Claus."  I looked at Ken.  She was right.  He did have pink cheeks.  I almost laughed out loud as I said, "He does have rosy cheeks, doesn't he?  He has been grey for so long I forgot what his face should look like."

I was so relieved to see that healthy color that I almost didn't notice much else.  I pulled up a chair to the bedside, and I reached out to stroke Ken's hand.  But something was strange.  I looked at the nurse. 

"Have his hands been like this since he came in?"

"Yes.  I noticed his hands.  I have never seen anything quite like it.  Probably it is just one of the effects of what he has been through."

Ken's hands had been badly swollen for six weeks, but now they were so engorged with fluid that they looked like they might burst.  His knuckles were invisible in a round mound of puffy skin. There were no wrinkles on his fingers or wrists. His hands looked like a baseball catcher's mitt.  I was shocked. 

After a while, I left a still-groggy Ken.  The pheo, the nasty little tumor that was"a ball of hate," was out, so the worst was over.  Surely now, I thought to myself, things will go back to normal.  Once he recovers from the surgery, he'll be like his old self, only better.    But that was not to be.

Odds and Ends of Life

 

First, my apologies for not getting all the prayers up that I pIanned leading up to Easter.  I badly need a new computer at home.  Hopefully soon.

Second, I think it is time to share a picture of my grandson, Noah, and his daddy, my son, Joshua.  I can hardly believe that Noah will be a year old in June!  My daughter, Kris, and granddaughter, Trinity (who turned five in January), and I will be visiting them next week.  So excited...I don't get to see them often.  I want Noah to know who Grandma is!

Third, a few people  who read my blog once in a while and are also friends on Facebook but don't know me in "real life" have asked what I'm doing these days.  When I resigned the pastorate of Jubilee AG (three years ago, not long before Easter) I expected that my "path" would become clear in a reasonable time.  Why did I think that?  I do not know.  Wishful thinking, most likely! 

I am still working at Veritas Financial Services, a small (but excellent) firm in Plymouth, Wisconsin.  I started doing data entry and a little office support and figured it would last for a few months.  I needed the paycheck, so that was fine.  Three years later, I am still here.  After I was working about 3 or 4 months I started doing more marketing, writing articles, setting up a blog and Facebook page, and other things too.  Last year I decided to get my insurance license so that I could market Medicare-related insurance (a natural fit for me, but I won't bore you with why that's the case). 

Recently, I decided, after much soul searching, that I would stop the marketing/office part of my job, so while I still have an office at Veritas I am not working "for" the company and not getting a salary.  I get commissions on policies.  It has been slow going and a "step of faith."  However, I want to be able to focus energy on other things.  I don't think that being an insurance agent is all God has for me...not that there's anything wrong with that. ;-)  

I am almost finished with my novel, "Finding Little Big Foot" and hope to get that finished up and start looking for an agent--or otherwise getting the book published.  Have ideas for two other books, and I would love to speak and travel. I have so much to share (at least, that's my story and I'm sticking to it).  Not sure quite what to do about that or how to begin.  

I think life is likely to change soon in another big way that I am not yet free to share, but I'm watching and waiting and praying.  Isaiah 64:8 says, "And yet, O Lord, you are our Father. We are the clay, and you are the potter. We all are formed by your hand."  He is the potter and I am the clay.  Feeling a little smashed and not very useful lately, but refusing to take myself off the wheel.

I had a wonderful weekend, which I hope to share a little about soon.   



My Beautiful Daughter is Forty Today!

This is not the most current picture I have, but you get the idea!  :-)  I simply cannot believe the speed with which the time has passed.  Forty years ago today I was in the Naval Hospital at Camp Pendleton, about to give birth to my one and only daughter, Kristina.  For a first labor, it was relatively short, only six hours.  But it was painful, made more so because while changes in how labor and delivery are approached were sweeping the country, they had not affected the military medical establishment.  Well, I don't need to share any more about that!

When Kris arrived on "the outside," her eyes were scrunched shut and she was yelling at the top of her little lungs.  My first thought, after the relief that she seemed healthy, was that she looked like a little "papoose."  She was red.  Very red, and she had a head full of black hair. It was so long in back that it curled up.

She refused to open her eyes for the three days we spent in the hospital.  She also refused to nurse (and I resisted the nurses' constant pressure to give her formula).  She just wanted to go back inside and be left alone, I think.  She still can be like that...not a morning person.  :-)

When we arrived home she settled right down and nursed happily.  Yeah, who wants to hang out in a hospital anyhow? 

Memories that stand out to me, all these years later, are her first day of school.  She was very excited, and came home a little disappointed.  She had expected to learn to read immediately, I discovered. 

There was the day I came out of the church building during Vacation Bible School to see my pretty little five-year old, dressed in a ruffled yellow dress with yellow yarn bows in her hair, draped with a boa constrictor--thanks to a visiting scientist.  Yow!  (Many years later she had her own boa, which she sneaked into the college dorm.  Ugh.)

She was a born evangelist and told all her friends that God loved them.  She loved the outdoors, books, animals, music and dancing  to her grandfather's "swing" music, much to his amusement.

She was a wonderful big sister to little brother, Joshua, when he arrived six years after she did.  Of course, little brothers can be a pain, but she was usually patient and all her friends loved sweet little Josh too, so that helped. 

Kris had an alarming way of getting into trouble without ever intending to, because she trusted everyone and loved life.  She frightened me many times.  Sometimes she still does.  We bought her a poster of a puppy with his head stuck in a knothole and the words "Just about everything is easier to get into than it is to get out of."  I don't think it helped.  She was always ready for  an adventure and to try something new, always trying to jump higher, run faster, see what was around the next corner.

There were sports, at which she was determined to be just as good as the boys (and she was the best player on the 6th grade football team), choir concerts, occasional plays, high school basketball, a badly damaged knee and the sadness of sitting with her in the hospital after a painful surgery.  

There were difficult times in high school, and there were some unhealthy relationships that caused her dad and me a great deal of anxiety, a few very long nights, many prayers and not a few tears as she struggled to overcome some very traumatic experiences.  Even then, our Kris had a faith that, while sometimes dimmed, never left her. 

She is a woman with a great big heart of love for just about everybody, a terrific photographer, a whiz on the computer, a minister with a rare gift of relating to people from all walks of life, a wife (finding a husband and life partner after she had decided to be contented being single), and a really wonderful mom.

Love you, dear Kris, and wishing you many more decades of life, love and ministry.

Happenings

It has been far too long since I've posted anything, and I hope to do better.  Life has sort of exploded.  

The BIG news for our family is the arrival of another grandchild.  Our son, Josh, is the new dad of a baby boy, Noah Kenneth George, born in June.  Here are a few photos.



Josh sheds a tear as he holds the new little guy for the first time.



Josh, Stephanie and Noah.

Trinity and her new cousin.

Isn't he sweet?

We saw Noah when he was three days old, but not since.  So excited that he'll be visiting on Sept. 17th!

More updates soon about other changes. 

Trinity is Four Years Old Today

Some of you may remember some of these pictures...

Just a few seconds into the world!

Four Generations

About to have the joy of dedicating her to the Lord

Bedtime

Two Halloween Fairies

How Does This Thing Work?

And Trinity Today!

What a joy and blessing this little one has been to her Papa and me! Four years ago today I was driving to the Twin Cities as fast as possible. Mommy was in labor for a while, but didn't go to the hospital quite as soon as she should have...and T. came into the world before Dr. arrived. Very exciting!

She is turning into a lovely little girl, very talkative (wonder where she got that from?), very polite, a lover of music and words (wonder where she got that from?) and seems to be good at numbers too. Today she is at our house while Mommy makes some changes to turn her room into something for "a big girl" but there's a sledding B'day party tomorrow with several of her friends. There must be some advantage to having a January birthday and living in Wisconsin! Oh yeah...snow! And a snowman birthday cake. And sledding. Yep.

Christmas 2010

This year I was acutely aware of Christmas past. I remembered good and bad childhood holidays, the year Ken was in the hospital, the year we had to move (in a show storm) right before Christmas, the year we took the kids to an almost empty hotel (all those Christmas decorations just for us). I missed my mother and my sister and my brother-in-law Larry, and others. I thought of many loved ones who are no longer on this earth. I guess it's a sign I'm getting old.

I am very grateful this year that we had both our children with us. We don't get to see Josh much, and we all wish that when we do see him it was for a longer time--still we weren't sure he was going to be able to make it at all and he did. We had fun.

The snow is deep this year, and it was almost story-like to arrive at Kris and Daryl's little farm in the country (looking like a Christmas card!), nice to have Trinity welcome us joyfully, "Merry Christmas everyone! Hurry, come in!"

Trinity, the Greeter of the DayKris and Me With Breads

The warm kitchen was inviting, the table set with Christmas red and white. We enjoyed three kinds of special bread, and sipped our coffee as Trinity and Kris distributed gifts. Trinity made gift giving and receiving all the more delightful--she was so sweet, thanking us all for her presents, and happily telling us what she bought us before we could open the package. Later we had brunch and then Ken and I dashed off to prison as Josh and Trinity went out to make snow angels.

Kevin

Today Ken and Kevin and Kris and Trinity and I went to see "Voyage of the Dawn Treader" (one of the Narnia films--by far they best). I got the Senior Citizen discount. Not sure how to feel about that. Now I'm looking forward to a week off.

I am acutely,sometimes uncomfortably aware, how quickly things can change. I wonder what will happen this year. Kevin's kidneys are not functioning well (yet another complication of diabetes combined with other things) and so he's going to see a specialist in a couple of weeks. We all know, however, that a long and healthy life is not in his future. I know he's a little scared. It is a matter of when and what...but today he said, "It sure has been a delightful couple of days hasn't it?" And yes, it has.

I am thankful for a year when many of those I love most were nearby. I know it will not always be so.

Happy Birthday to Josh

Thirty-three years ago today, I woke in the wee hours with some definite signs that labor was underway. This was baby number two, so I figured it wouldn't be long before we would welcome our new family member into the world. A while later I was at the hospital and nothing was happening. I paced. I paced some more. Once in a while something significant would begin, but then stop. Hours later, the dreaded Pitocin drip was started. More hours went on. Something was amiss, it seemed, but an x ray showed that the baby inside was not too large, so we waited.

Then things got exciting, but not in a good way. The fetal heart beat was too slow and there were signs that the little one who was on his way was stressed. I was prepped for a C-Section. The doctor was obviously concerned and things were a bit grim. He tried to gently warn me that all was likely not well.

Ken called our church's prayer chain, and before they could get things set for the C-section, Josh entered the world. Unlike his older sister, who entered the world squalling in protest, he only cried briefly. He did manage to send a healthy stream of urine onto the doctor, who laughed and said, "Well, we know his water works are functioning fine." I'm not sure what the doctor had expected, but he was clearly happy to see this healthy child. Josh was a beautiful newborn, with brown hair and the most intense blue eyes I had ever seen. When I held him those large eyes looked up at me. They weren't cloudy, as newborn eyes often are--they were clear and focused. He seemed to be gazing intently at us.

That is how I remember my baby boy most, a beautiful child who quietly watched the world with great intensity, often awake and usually watching the world closely.

He became a shy boy with a sweet disposition, the delight of all of us and the favorite person of his big sis, who was six years older. I can picture them, Josh doing his best to keep up. They were an interesting pair, those two, opposites in many ways (and that is still true). Josh was the cautious one, the saver, the neat kid. He works at night, so the morning person we all used to know has disappeared these days, but Dad and Sis and I all vividly recall how he often woke us up by singing church songs happily in the morning. His favorites were, "I'll Fly Away" and a Pentecostal standard I am sad to say doesn't get sung much anymore, "Not By Might."

He's not shy anymore. But he still cares about people, more than he sometimes wants anyone to know, and he still has a great voice.

Happy Birthday, Josh. I'm so glad you are in the world!

Thankfulness 2010 My Sisters

How do people make it through life without a sister? ~Sara Corpening

Having a sister is like having a best friend you can't get rid of. You know whatever you do, they'll still be there. ~Amy Li

A sister is a little bit of childhood that can never be lost. ~Marion C. Garretty

Is solace anywhere more comforting than in the arms of a sister? ~Alice Walker

If you don't understand how a woman could both love her sister dearly and want to wring her neck at the same time, then you were probably an only child. ~Linda Sunshine

You can kid the world. But not your sister. ~Charlotte Gray



I am the youngest of three daughters. The eldest sister, Darlaine, died much too soon from early-onset Alzheimer's disease. She is pictured on the left above, with our mom in the middle of the love seat and my sister's son and granddaughter behind us. It was a bittersweet visit a few years ago. She loved me unconditionally and I miss her so much.



The middle sister, Paulette, is on the left next to our late aunt Pauline. We are smiling, but it was a sad time. We were in Texas and on the way to my mother's home town to attend her funeral. Paulette lives much too far away from me, and I think of her almost every day, wishing we could share a cup of tea and a chat.

My two sister were very different from one another. Darlaine was the quiet bookworm and Paulette was (is) the outgoing one who liked being active. I am a mix of the two! How glad I am to have had them in my life.

Paulette, I love you and thank God for you!

Father's Day Thoughts

Happy Fathers Day!

I remember my father once telling me that as he aged he thought more and more about his long-deceased father, dreamed about him, missed him. How strange it seems today that I am about the age my dad was when he told me this, and I find it to be true for me as well.

My father has been gone for a long time. At the time of his death, more than 20 years ago, he was an active, healthy 72 year-old, teaching the Bible, visiting the sick and involved in life. My sisters and I thought we'd have our father for many more years, but an aneurysm turned him into one of those "healthiest guy in the cemetery" statistics.

Funny, 72 seems even younger these days than it did then.

My father was a bundle of contradictions. He was loving but could be hurtful. He was wise and he was foolish. His uncompromising and sometimes rigid attitude was frustrating, but we always knew where he stood. He was ahead of his time, and he was hopelessly old-fashioned. He once told me, in a surprising conversation, to dream big dreams, but he was distressed that I left the Southern Baptist fold, and even more distressed when he learned I thought women could preach. He was warm and funny and tender hearted, a man who cried easily. He was also a man who would speak up for what was right, or what he thought was right, without fear of consequences. And then he could be dangerously indecisive when it counted most.

He loved God, and he loved his children, and he loved people and he loved life. I miss him.

Here is a poem from Rev Abi, one of the Rev Gal Blog Pals who writes here. I'm using this prayer at the prison chapel today, where many of the men who will be at services will be struggling with memories of absent, abusive, uncaring fathers--and some will be struggling as they face the fact that they themselves were an absent, or abusive or uncaring father.

God,

We today pray for Fathers near and far.
We pray for Fathers alive and Fathers who are dead.
We pray for Fathers who were present with their children and those who were absent.
We pray for new Fathers and old Fathers.
We pray for those who loved well and those who did not love as well.

We pray for Fathers who play(ed) with their children and those who don’t.
We pray for those who take their fathering seriously and those who don’t.
We pray for biological dads and dads who raised us.
We pray for those who don’t get to be dads at all.

We pray for Fathers who were let down by their dads,
We pray for Fathers who were not loved by their fathers.
We pray for Fathers who missed out on the presence of fathers.
We pray for fathers whose fathers did not play with them.

We pray for Fathers who may be caught up in this recession and lost their jobs.
We pray for Fathers who serve in the military in far away places and lands.
We pray for Fathers who may be trapped by addictions.
We pray for Fathers who are serving in prison away from their children.
We pray for Fathers who are all wrapped up in their work too busy for their children.

We pray for our fathers.
We pray for them to have strength, wisdom and courage.
We pray for them to raise their children in the way that they should go.
We pray for them to love, laugh, play and live.
We pray for forgiveness for our fathers, for their shortcomings, their weaknesses, and their abuses.

And God we pray that we may then be able to pray to you Abba Daddy.

Amen

Trinity Goes to a Rendezvous Camp

Last weekend we did this --and Trinity came along. Four days away from Mommy and Daddy was a long stretch for a three-year-old, but she had so much fun she did not want to leave. Every Memorial Day weekend, we go to Frontiers Camping Fellowship Family Camp. This one is different than others I've posted about because it is leaders of Royal Rangers (an Assemblies of God boy's group sort of like scouting) and their families. FCF is a group not everyone chooses to join, but those who do are sort of like other rendezvous reenactors I have posted about.

We see friends we sometimes haven't see for a year, have lots of fun, spend time singing and having devotions around a camp fire, and eat too much.

It was great to see you, Tom and Cindy and Bob and Darla and Stew and Debbie, and Gerry and Debbie and Gary and Heather...and so on. Here is Trinity, having a great time.


Mommy made T.'s calico dress, a plains Indian style. Trinity made the "beautiful" beaded necklace and the candy bracelet.


I'm making up my bed, Grandma!

Papa bought me a beautiful new dress. Look at my beautiful skirt. It goes out! Do you like it? (T. likes the word "beautiful.)

I love it too! Thank you, Papa!


Here is another new dress, actually more Civil War period, but...whatever. Well, it didn't exactly go with the pink plastic Disney Princess shoes, but other than that she looked like a doll.

Ewww! That ant is eating that dead catta-piller. Don't step on it!

Back to camp. She refused to change into something cooler.

Dancing with glowy things at night! Blow out the lantern, Papa, so we can see!


Four days of nonstop fun with lots of other children, necklace making, "glowy things" each night, marshmallow roasting, learning new words and new songs and socializing with the entire encampment, and Miss Trinity was exhausted by Monday. This is about 8 a.m. She showed a very plucky side. She insisted on trying everything the big kids did, including bobbing for apples (I did NOT expect her to stick her head in the water), Frisbee tossing, and many other things she couldn't do--but don't tell HER that. I love her confidence. I love this kid. :-)

It is Finished

Ahem...don't mean to be sacrilegious.

If you have been on a journey with me during the days leading up to Easter Sunday, I appreciate the "company." I hope something blessed you in some way. I decided to blog every day mainly for myself, hoping to accomplish a couple of different things (and I did). I did miss, I think, three days. Not so bad! I hope to be a more consistent blogger going forward.

I enjoyed a wonderful Easter weekend, attending a community Good Friday service in the town where I work and now attend church, a nice day Saturday enjoying the unusual early spring warmth as we did some errands, shopped, and prepared food for Sunday. Then yesterday we attended Jubilee AG where I formerly was the pastor. B-I-L Kevin and daughter Kris' and family still go there. Kris (who will be an officially-recognized new Rev. later this month) shared a reflection on resurrection which was excellent. Then we dropped Trinity off with Uncle Kevin and the family went to prison for Easter services. Daryl read scripture, I preached, and Kris made me proud again with too wonderful dramatic presentations. Then home for egg hunting with Trinity (who was SO cute). She insisted on getting back into her new dress, and her glee at discovering the hidden eggs was as great as mine might be to discover hidden $100 bills. Then a nice dinner with the family, which doesn't happen all that often because of schedules.

I also made an important decision.

I hope you had a great weekend as well. Pastor Dee Anna will be back soon. And I'm pondering some things I'd like opinions about, but that will some of the 40 or so people who have been visiting lately will have to de lurk. Can you do it? Sure you can!

Thirty Nine Years and Counting!

Thirty nine years ago today, I walked down the aisle at the Rosewood Wedding Chapel in Burbank, California. My late sister, Darlaine, was the matron of honor, my friend, Pat, was a bridesmaid, and my niece, Joy, was the flower girl. She refused to walk down the aisle, but she did pose nicely for the pictures. Ken's friend Bill, was one of the groomsmen. That was particularly fitting because he had introduced the two of us.

We meet in high school--not the same one. Ken attended a public high school in Sylmar, and I attended Los Angeles Baptist High School in a nearby town then known as Sepulveda. My school was relatively small, so Pat and I had to take Driver's Training at another school. We went over to register, and the rest, as they say, is history.

Ken was a tall, very skinny (yes, really) basketball player with a crooked smile and kind eyes. I was only seventeen, but it wasn't long before I was wondering if this was the guy I would spend my life with. When we married, Ken was only 19 and I was 20. The big Sylmar earthquake of 1971 had just happened. Ken's parents had purchased a home just days before. They ended up sleeping outside on the front lawn. Sadly, they never lived in the house again. The shop where the guys had rented their tuxedos was in an evacuated area under the San Fernando dam and we wondered if they'd be standing up in jeans and tee shirts. Just a couple of hours before the wedding they were able to go in and get their tuxes.

Ken was late...fortunately for me I was unaware. He was in the US Marine Corps and wore the USMC's beautiful dress blues. They weren't ready when he went to pick them, and he was a two-hour drive away. He made a flying trip to Burbank and arrived just moments before time to begin!

Good thing I don't believe in omens, or we might never have tied the knot!

We moved to Oceanside, where we lived in a tiny apartment and then in awful military housing. We weren't too concerned about that. Just over a year after the wedding we welcomed Kris into the world. Then we moved to North Carolina (Camp Lejeune). Six years after Kris, when we were stationed in Washington, DC, Josh joined the family. After nine years in the USMC we went to North Dakota to finish college, then on to Wisconsin where we pastored churches in Tomahawk and Luck. A few years later we moved to the other side of Wisconsin where Ken became a prison chaplain and I pastored a church....and now life goes on.

Here we are about a month ago celebrating Trinity's third birthday. I'm on the left, next to me is a friend, Kristopher, next is Kris, her husband, Daryl with Trinity below, then Ken and next to him is Kevin.

Off we go to start a new life together.

We have had some wonderful times, and some sad and difficult ones. But here we are, both wondering how we got so old so fast. Yep, we'd do it again. And Ken is still my Valentine!

Remembering Larry: Sinner and Saint and Recipient of Grace

A recent picture of Larry in Arizona.

Most of you who have read this blog over the years know about my beloved sister, Darlaine, and her sad sojourn with Alzheimer's disease.  Not long ago I asked readers of this blog to pray for my brother-in-law, Larry. He had been diagnosed with lung cancer and about to be admitted to the Cancer Treatment Centers of America campus in Illinois. I had not seen Larry since Darlaine's funeral.  Ken and I travelled there and had lunch with Larry and his new wife, Earlene. It was a good day. Larry cried and hugged the stuffing outta me and told me I was like a sister to him. We ate Mexican food and laughed and just enjoyed being together.

After the cancer surgery, Larry and Earlene went to Arizona for his recuperation and things seemed to be going well. Then a short while ago, he had a sudden stroke and collapsed. A few days later he was gone, never having regained consciousness.

I have, of course, been thinking about Larry in recent days, and thinking of Larry has led me to thinking about people and about God and about grace--and what a wonderful mystery it all is after all.
There are many things I could say about Larry. His story is an interesting one. He was Jewish, but not religious, and he met my sister, Darlaine just as she was in the midst of a divorce and at a time when her own faith was pretty tattered, to say the least.

They were a little wild, and not a little strange. They had what I can only describe as a goofy hippie wedding. They put nude posters of themselves on the hallway and the bedroom wall (way too much information). My poor dad was horrified. Makes me grin to think of it now, but it wasn't funny at the time. They went to a commune in Tennessee for a while, called The Farm. Thankfully, when they discovered it was really a cult, they left. My sister shocked me with her increasing change from the youth group leader, singer in the choir and Sunday School teacher to pot smoking agnostic. Of course, we blamed Larry.

Over time Darlaine began to realize that she really did believe in her Christian faith after all, and later Larry, a professed atheist, had an unusual experience after which he burst into the room where she was, exclaiming, "Darlaine, God is real and just revealed himself to me!"

They started attending a small Christian and Missionary Alliance Church Bible study, and Larry deliberately antagonized them to see what they would do. Once, he later told me, he showed up at a home Bible study drunk and high and plopped his muddy boots on the coffee table. They loved him anyway, he said, and their love won him over. The first thing Larry got rid of in his new life was not booze, nor smokes, nor pot. It was his beloved Dr. Bronner's castille soap (with weird religious stuff on the label, much of it anti Christian). Yes, Larry was one-of-a-kind.

He was sometimes arrogant, often talked too much, and micromanaged everyone who would let him. He was a fairly autocratic and often patriarchal husband and father, and if you know me at all well you already know how I feel about that.

Even after Larry became a committed believer in Jesus, he could be infuriating (according to one of his kids, sometimes even more than before). He was a long-time Campus Crusade for Christ staff member, as was Darlaine. They mostly worked with Campus Crusade's prison ministry, and Larry had a hand in Ken's eventual interest in being a prison chaplain. That can be good, and I'm not dissing CCC, but in Larry's case it was also sometimes bad. His passion for Jesus was real, and he shared God's love with many people, but I think he also pushed some people away with his sometimes misplaced zeal.

Recently Tom, also a Campus Crusade staffer and Larry's long-time best friend, called me about some estate issues. One of the first things he said, with a catch in his voice, was, "The guy drove me crazy! But I really loved him, and I sure am going to miss him." I laughed. I couldn't help it. I told Tom I thought I was the only one who felt that way. Tom added, "Larry made me just nuts sometimes, but something I really appreciated about they guy was the he wasn't afraid to say, 'Please forgive me. I was wrong.' Sometimes he just couldn't see that he had made a serious mistake, but if he did see it he was quick to own up to it and try to make amends.'"

Larry and I became close about five years ago after my sister was diagnosed with early-onset Alzheimer's disease. It is my opinion that the disease began much earlier, but she was a very intelligent woman; her vocabulary was always extensive, and I think that fooled the doctors for a long while (and Larry as well). Not much would have changed, even if he had known the truth.

People with Alzheimer's usually can't express themselves as well as Darlaine did. Once I was visiting and she was searching for her shoes. She spent most of every day searching for her shoes or her jacket. She said, looking distressed, "This is such a frustrating conundrum." Then she turned to me, with her lopsided grin, and said, "I can't remember who I am and I can't find my shoes, but I still have my vocabulary!" I didn't know whether to laugh or cry, so I hugged her.

Anyway, when it became clear that she was genuinely ill and it wasn't going to get better, Larry turned to me for help. It seems I became the sounding board he had always needed and my sister had formerly been. We discussed Alzheimer's disease, finances, Larry's somewhat fragile health, living wills, long-term care arrangements, family issues, and much more. Larry, for once, was often at a loss, and I am grateful that he allowed me to help in at least some ways.

I made several trips to Washington. I brought my aging mother to visit while she and my sister could still enjoy one another. We also had fun, in bittersweet ways. Ken and I joined them and some other family members a couple of times at their time share condo in California. We sang songs (something my sister and I had done together since we were children), prayed, cried, laughed...and I found myself growing to love Larry to a degree I never expected.

He really didn't know what to think about having a sister-in-law that was a pastor, but he tried his best to be supportive. Once he said, "Well, I'm glad you were willing to go to a difficult place. Sometimes if men don't listen to God then God will send a woman instead."

Yeah. You already know how that went over. And when I told him that comment was rude and insulting he was genuinely shocked. I can't say he was ever enthusiastic about my role in the church, but he did modify his point of view--to a degree I found gratifying. He was insulted on my behalf when his pastor did not give me the respect Larry had decided I, as a fellow minister, was due. I was amazed.

I did not back down when Larry got bossy. I told him to stop--and he usually did.  I saw a kinder, gentler, side of him. I heard him express hope and pride in Jessica (his "daughter-in-love" as he called her) who cared for Darlaine with tenderness and wisdom for a long time. I heard many of his regrets.

I listened in surprise as he told me he now realized (too late) that he had not really known how to be a nurturing parent or husband. He grieved the estrangements that had happened in the family. He praised my sister. He talked about their combined family of children and some of the things he hoped for each of them. He agonized over some of his mistakes. I cried with him as he sobbed one day, facing my sister's imminent leaving home for a long-term care facility. We both felt guilty, even though we knew it was for the best.  At Darlaine's funeral he held my hand and tapped his foot to Mahalia Jackson music and grinned even as the tears pooled in his eyes.

He shared the love and forgiveness of Jesus with prisoners, foreign students, inner-city poor. He spent some time in jail for his work with the anti-abortion group, Operation Rescue. He sang country gospel off key but with gusto. He loved the sun and the beach and good food and the writings of his "friend and mentor" Oswald Chambers. He took pride in his Jewish heritage.

In short, Larry was like all of us. He was a mix of human pride and surprising humility, sinfulness and goodness, and love and fun and sorrow and wisdom and incredible foolishness.  His mix of traits were just more obvious than in some of us. He was who he was, for good or ill, and he just didn't seem to be able to modify or contain his feelings. Sometimes I wonder if the Apostle Paul was a bit like Larry. I suspect Paul might not have been the easiest person to be around, but all who knew him knew he loved his Lord, and that was true of Larry too.

It is not yet real that Larry is gone. There have been so many losses in my life these last few years that I'm having trouble taking this one in. As I ponder how it should be that this dear brother-in-law can be someone who made me furious and also someone who left a deep void in my life, I am compelled to thank God for the unutterable grace and mercy that he shows each of us.

From Romans 5
Therefore, since we have been justified through faith, we have peace with God through our Lord Jesus Christ, through whom we have gained access by faith into this grace in which we now stand. And we boast in the hope of the glory of God...But God demonstrates his own love for us in this: While we were still sinners, Christ died for us...For if, while we were God's enemies, we were reconciled to him through the death of his Son, how much more, having been reconciled, shall we be saved through his life! Not only is this so, but we also boast in God through our Lord Jesus Christ, through whom we have now received reconciliation...
those who receive God's abundant provision of grace and of the gift of righteousness reign in life through the one man, Jesus Christ!...But where sin increased, grace increased all the more, so that, just as sin reigned in death, so also grace might reign through righteousness to bring eternal life through Jesus Christ our Lord.

I too am both a sinner and a saint. What you hear about me depends on who you ask. Some people love me and some people do not. How glad I am that when I stand before God I will not need to depend on my own good deeds, or wisdom, or holiness. Neither does Larry. He can stand, free at last, in the robe of righteousness that Jesus gave to him. Rest in peace, my dear friend! I hope you enjoyed your reunion with my beloved sister, and I'll see you both soon.