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.
 

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.

Updates on SIngingOwl's Life

This is my husband, Ken (in blue), and his younger brother, Kevin. I took the picture two years ago at a picnic spot by California's Lake Isabella. Some of you who read this blog have known me for a long time, so you may remember the story of when Kevin, who we had not heard from in over 25 years, suddenly called us one night about ten years ago, I think. After a long conversation with Kevin, Ken and I cried, and we rejoiced, and we wondered, and we prayed, expressing surprise and gratitude to God that this brother who was lost had now been 'found."

Kevin was a handsome and sweet little boy who became a rebellious, drug-abusing teen. He lived with an older sister after Mom and Dad couldn't handle him anymore. And when his sister kicked him out of her house, he came to ours. There were good moments, but mostly it was not a pleasant time, and Kevin left with much anger and bitterness. Ken saw him once, several years later, at their sister's funeral, and then not again. Attempts to reconcile or even talk were fruitless. We eventually gave up--though we heard bits and pieces about him now and again. His life has been a rather tragic one, and eventually he ended up homeless for many years. He should never have survived, but (I think solely by God's grace) he did. We would have taken him in if he had been willing, but we never managed to contact him.

He is a diabetic, and after losing a leg, and suffering greatly, he gave his life to the keeping of God and he forgave us, and others. Thus, the phone call. We have been in touch, off and on, for several years now, and about four years ago he was able to come visit us. Two years ago we were finally able to visit him for a short time in California. Seeing him after all those years broke our hearts. What a change--he is frail and in almost constant pain, but he has once again become quite like the little boy we knew years ago. It is very strange. For quite some time he has been living in a situation I will not describe, and a few days ago he called to tell us he was at the end of his ability to survive without help. He will be coming here very soon to live with us. My mother's little "suite" will be Kevin's now, and we will see what comes. This will be challenging for all of us, but we never hesitated in asking him to come. I know this is a bit personal, but Kevin is not shy about sharing the story.

My mother is continuing to slowly deteriorate. I spent Mother's Day afternoon at the nursing home with her. It was very sad.

My brother in law is getting married! I wish I could meet his wife to be. I am happy for him, and he has been without his beloved Darlaine for a long time, considering the Alzheimer's. Somehow though, this sent me into a very sad place of missing my sister more than I have for a long time. It seems, perhaps, truly final now.

Since my "unresignation" things have been both very good and very bad at church. I am still waiting and praying to see what will come.

Ken is facing a physical problem which is potentially very serious, and it may require surgery. We will know more later this week.

I'm okay, and I'm looking forward to attending the Festival of Homiletics next week in Minneapolis. I will stay with the family, and I'll meet many of the Rev Gals and Pals, and I will hopefully return feeling like I will be a preaching dynamo. I'm still singing, which is always a good sign for me, but I'm feeling a bit topsy turvey, doncha know? ;-)

Life is so strange, sometimes.

My Continuing Quest

I greatly appreciate those of you who have sent me emails or otherwise have inquired about what I am doing these days and if anything is happening on the employment front. It truly does mean a great deal to know that I'm in the thoughts and prayers of friends near and far!

Here is a brief update. I have not exactly received an enthusiastic response to the brochure I made--though I will continue to contact pastors and others. Not sure whether this is a closed door or just a creaky and slow one.

I did have an interview last week for a job that I could do but increasingly feel I should not do. Mainly I'm hoping they just won't call me back, because part of me does not feel at all good about turning down employment of any kind when the mortgage is needing to be paid.

Ken's brother Kevin is here and settling in fairly well. Ken is out of town for a few days but this Sunday Kevin and I will be visiting a church. This is a stable, charismatic, non-denominational congregation in a town fairly nearby (about 40 minutes away) so it would be possible for me to be a pastor there and Ken still to stay where he is as a chaplain. I did not think I would be pastoring a church, but their long-time pastor took a new ministry position and resigned rather quickly....so...

I'm not sure how to feel about this. I suspect that a resume from a female was likely a surprise. As for not being an Assemblies of God church, if they did extend a call to me I would need permission from the district office--no reason to think that would not happen however. I am NOT counting my chickens before they hatch, so to speak, but I decided that "nothing ventured, nothing gained." Ha--no more cliches. Sorry. ;-)

Kevin and I will be visitors on Sunday just to get a flavor of the place. I have been there, but it was many years ago.

If I have an interview I'll let you know.

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.

Pie-ola Friday Five

Songbird shares a fun post-Thanksgiving Day Friday Five:

Please answer these five questions about pie:

1) Are pies an important part of a holiday meal?
We had pear, pecan, chocolate and pumpkin pies, and only seven people at the table (one of whom is only three). Absolutely essential at Thanksgiving and Christmas! So essential that yesterday Kris and I were discussing the merits of a pie crust made with shortening or oil with a crust made from lard. (Lard!) Lard really does make a better, lighter, flakier crust. Good thing we don't eat pie all the time!

2) Men prefer pie; women prefer cake. Discuss.
Ken (my spouse) and Kevin (my bro-in law who lives here) weighed in on this one. Ken prefers pie. Kevin prefers cake. (But that didn't stop him from having multiple helpings of pie yesterday. I like cake...but I don't know as I prefer it. Like comparing apples and oranges or coffee and tea. Hard to say. Well...maybe if I could only eat one for the rest of my life...cake.

3) Cherries--do they belong in a pie?
If it is a cherry pie.

4) Meringue--if you have to choose, is it best on lemon or chocolate?
I'm not a meringue lover, but lemon would be my choice. Our son, who didn't make it home for Thanksgiving this year, has already requested that his sis make one for Christmas, however. So I guess it's lemon meringue for Christmas this year.

5) In a chicken pie, what are the most compatible vegetables? Anything you don't like to find in a chicken pie?
I love chicken pie! Carrots, onions, peas, celery and corn if you want to use it up. I make one that isn't in a crust but is topped with biscuits. Yum! Turkey pie is good too, and beef pie. KFC's chicken pot pie is delicious on a cold day, but I probably don't want to know how many calories it contains. The crust is fabulous!

First a Little Fun, then a Little Update

A bunch o' chicks have arrived at Trinity's home.

Here is Kris, teaching Trinity to "pet very gently."

And Daddy, who has transformed an old chicken coop into what we are calling "The Chicken Hilton."

A little "Rhode Island Red." These are -- or will be-- the laying hens who will hopefully produce lots and lots of eggs for the family to sell.

And the pretty little yellow ones will be...ulp...dinner some day. But not for a long while. Aren't they just the cutest little things?

Now the update. Ken is slowly continuing to improve. His appointment with the infection specialist was delayed, but he is off the IV antibiotics (though the IV line, called a PICC is still in place) and taking two different oral ones. It has been over a month since we first visited the Emergency Room. He is hoping to go back to work part time soon.

First, however, comes a visit to the Veterans Administration Hospital for a whole day of evaluation for disability payments. We leave tomorrow, spend the night, and he will spend all day Tuesday getting poked, prodded, questioned, viewed and reviewed. He has received a small check from the USMC for years now, but there is a good possibility that this will be greatly increased because of long-term diabetes-related issues and consequences of a knee injury incurred while working for Uncle Sam. You know, bad news and good news. This is "good," because...

I am still unemployed. Still looking daily. Still praying "fervently"about minsitry opportunities and trying to trust God and do what I can in that arena...but mostly, right now, just needing to work somewhere. The situation is getting drastic. Wal Mart? Maybe. Nuff' said.

It seems that Ken's brother Kevin, who I wrote about here, will be coming to live with us in about a month. We thought this was going to happen just about a year ago, but he had a heart attack and was unable to travel, and other things changed. This time it looks pretty certain. He is an amputee, and there are lots of other issues. We look forward to it, but it will be challenging for all of us, especially considering our finances. Kevin gets disability, but...

Well, see you when we get back from the VA.

God Loves People

John 3:16-17 (King James Version)
For God so loved the world, that he gave his only begotten Son, that whosoever believeth in him should not perish, but have everlasting life. For God sent not his Son into the world to condemn the world; but that the world through him might be saved."

God loves us.

You knew that, right? Me too. So why is it so easy to start thinking and acting like God is condemnation, or God is anger, or God is snobbish?

Last weekend we went to one of our favorite "Rendezvous" sites. (That's "rondy voo" as in fur-trade era playing), not a romantic tryst. I've posted about this site before. This is the third time we've been to this one, which is mostly a smallish group (20 lodges or so) of friends and friendly acquaintances. It is the place where I was asked to do something I never expected, the place where I baptized someone I normally wouldn't have, where I met The Mandolin Man, and where I took pictures of musicians in the twilight.

Each year we've been there we have been aware of God's presence in some way, particularly on Sunday in the little church service. This year was no exception. Something had subtly changed in attitudes towards us, not that they were bad before, but this time people were more relaxed. They remembered our names, talked about previous rendezvous there, admired little Trinity (who was with us without Mommy and Daddy and did fine). They also graciously welcomed Kevin, Ken's brother, like a long-lost friend.

This rendezvous was quite enjoyable partly because there were a number of really good musicians. The man who plays the washtub bass like a pro was there again, an old man who literally made music with a pair of spoons, another interesting guy who used a washboard for percussion (Zydeco style), a fiddler, and a couple of guitarists. Ever since the baptism experience, we are asked to have a worship service on Sunday. It's always interesting. This year several of the musicians agreed to play for Sunday worship.

They were a motley crew, I tell you! I wish I had a picture. (I would have except I forgot to put the memory card back the last time I used the camera.) Picture all of the people dressed in 18th Century garb.

The bass player plucked his one string, with facial expressions and body language that eloquently said, "I love making this music." He is extraordinary, and I can hardly believe the music he makes with a washtub, broom handle and one string. It makes me smile just to watch and listen to someone enjoy themselves so much in such a simple way.

The man with the spoons had a long, grizzled beard and his hard life showed in the deep wrinkles of his face. The one with the washboard was white-haired and smiling and wore red suspenders to match his voyageur-style red striped long socks.. The guy with the guitar, who loves Dylan songs, was younger.

They played and sang "Swing Low, Sweet Chariot," "I'll Fly Away," and "Keep on the Sunny Side." It might seem funny to think of singing those songs at a worship service, but they were very sincere. As they played Trinity smiled and clapped her little hands and bounced on her wooden camp chair. Others sang, smiled, or just nodded in time. Kevin sang from his wheelchair next to Trinity, wearing his late father's Stetson hat that he had flattened out "mountain man" style. A beautiful little girl with long blond hair sang and smiled in the front row, her boot tips peeking out from beneath the hem of her long skirt.

Something happened. I became intensely aware of God's love. Pure, unalloyed, constant--God loved the spoon player with the deep wrinkles who had probably imbibed too much the night before. God loved to see the washboard bass player having so much joy in his music. God loved the beautiful little blond girl, the cute black children who were dressed in fringed buckskin, the grandparents of the little boy who'd been baptized a couple of years ago. God loved the circle of simple worship. And God loved the ones who, in spite of our efforts and our friendly invitation, did not attend but stayed away, as they have each year, for reasons only they knew.

I wanted the simple moment, the simple and sentimental music, the blue sky and sunshine to go on and on. Truly, my spirit seemed to swell with a deep awareness of the boundless love of our Creator God to his fallible and fickle creation, humankind.

A chance jest from the organizer of the rendezvous, "No need to pray for _________, he's going to Hell no matter what" had turned into a sermon idea. I ended up talking about John 3:16-17. Several of the church attenders probably had little to no understanding of God's "good news." So I kept it very simple. I spoke of God's love and how so many of us think God is eager to condemn us--when the opposite is true.

Afterwards, the grandmother of the baptized boy (I don't know how else to identify him) came up to me and softly said, "Thank you so much" as she hugged me hard. I'm not sure what she was thanking me for, but I knew the Holy Spirit was with us in that moment. Her little grandson, now almost four, appears to be autistic and to have other problems.

Her husband, who tends to be bombastic, hugged me as well and joked, "That is the first time I ever hugged a lady preacher. I used to be scared of you. Maybe some of the holy will wear off on me." Another man quietly said, as he shook my hand, "Thanks for helping me think about God in a different way." Another said, "I liked your sermon. The only time I go to church is here or at other rendezvous. Don't misunderstand, I am a Christian man. I just don't like church. Thanks for making us feel welcome.."

Thank you, God for people. Thank you, God for being love--so amazing, so holy, so beyond finding out. And thank you, God, for the chance to share a simple sermon and to be reminded that you did, indeed, call me to preach the word. Send someone to water the seeds planted, to love, to smile, to be you in this world. Have your way in the hearts and life of each person who was with us last weekend. Continue the good things you have begun, I pray, for the sake of the Kingdom. Amen

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!

About Sunday

UPDATE: Just received a "thanks but, no thanks" email. Will be interesting to see who becomes the new pastor. Still planning on visiting the Episcopal church in that town.

Ken was out of town, so it was Kevin and I who visited the church. Very different in some ways than any church I've been a part of before. Very similar in other ways.

Betsy, the church I visited, after sending in a pastoral resume and application, is right around the corner from the little Episcopal church that I talked to you about in an email. I still haven't been there, and I still know I will...eventually. How strange, however, it seemed that I passed their lovely little building as I was looking for the other church. The town is one that I've said more than once I'd like to live in, and our favorite restaurant is there. Important stuff! LOL

First, the building is a former grocery store, and that is apparent. So no lawn, no flowers, no steeple....and so on. Just a "box" in a parking lot, but nicely painted in green, which went with the church logo (three leaves) and theme of "growing." K. and I sensed a good atmosphere as soon as we got out of the car. People were calling greetings to each other, smiling, walking briskly. We were greeted by seven people between the parking lot and the auditorium, all genuinely friendly and welcoming. There was instant awareness of (the phrase we both used in the car on the way home) "positive energy."

The building was originally designed to be a center for their large youth ministry, and that is still quite evident in the colors and appearance when you walk in, but I think this is a good thing. The entry leads into an inviting "cafe" where many people were having a (free) donut and coffee before church. Again, lots of smiles, conversation, etc. K. and I had a cup of coffee and looked around. Great kids church area...very high tech...but in a good way, it seemed to me. Off to one side near the cafe there is a small basketball court! And video games, ping pong and pool tables, an old pinball machine. Wow!

The "auditorium" (not sanctuary or worship center?) was a little over half full. Someone moved a chair so K.'s wheel chair would not be in the aisle, something he hates, so they made points with K. right off. There was pre service music playing, but very non-traditional, very upbeat praise music. The worship team was YOUNG....really young, but really good. Their worship and media leader is leaving as well as the pastor, so I wonder who will step in? They have a new youth pastor. He and his wife will likely do very well there. I've know them a long time, both attended the AG church we did before we went to Jubilee.

I noted that everything they did seemed to be done well. The words lined up properly on the big screens (oh, of course they had screens!), the bulletin was well-done and colorful and coordinated with the pastor's sermon series logo, no English errors (yay). Everything was contemporary, crisp, clean....and this was good except I found myself wondering if there was any way under Heaven that one could have a candlelight service, an Advent wreath, anything remotely traditional. What I call the "latent Lutheran" part of me would be a bit sad, sometimes, in this auditorium.

There was nothing to indicate that this was a worship space. No symbols, not even a cross, anywhere. But when the worship service began it was "church." Good. Something I liked a great deal was that the worship music included both contemporary praise songs and hymns. Nicely done, and I was aware of God's presence in the place. Very comfortable.

The sanctuary was youthful. At first that was okay, but after a while I found the black and reddish orange walls, the bright yellow and turquoise light panels behind the platform, and the Chinese lanterns to be distracting. The youth group, which is large, does meet in the same space during the week, but I found myself thinking of ways to make the space a bit less garish and still inviting to all. How about shades of green, which would emphasize the theme of "growth" that is part of their mission statement? And I was envisioning a way in incorporate the "leaves" logo into the worship space. Ah, the interior decorator in me is alive and well.

There were many young people, young families, but also some middle-agers and some elderly folks. More than one wheelchair. All in all, it was a very positive experience, though different. Could I be happy there? I think so. I'm okay with many kinds of church experience. Kevin loved the place and wants to go back. :-) He loved the music and the sermon too, though of course their long-time pastor is about to leave.

At one point, however, he looked at me with his hand placed palm-down in front of his face and moved his hand downward saying, "your hope sinks." Later he told me that there were two times he wanted to say something loudly...thankfully he resisted the temptation! (And I knew exactly when those times were, because I felt the same.) Depending on what happens, or doesn't, I may share about that later.

They have received nearly 50 applications. I'm not sure how that all works, since they are a non-denominational congregation.

I think they have a bright future and it is going to be very important who leads them at this point. Praying about that, and for God's will in all of it...

A Fall Friday Five

The Autumnal Equinox has just come 'round again. I took a look back at our Friday Fives and noted that it always seems to make the Rev Gals and their Pals think of changes.

There is something so nostalgic about this time of year, at least in the Northern Hemisphere. The nights grow cooler, crops are harvested, for some of us the leaves are beginning to change colors. The scent of smoke is in the air, pumpkins are in the stores (or on wagons, or in roadside stands for those of us in the country). I'm thinking of putting away my summer clothes and pulling out the sweaters. And I have a tub of Fall-themed items that my husband just lugged up from the basement. I'm looking for my scarecrow.

For this week, let's share some memories along with some hopes and expectations.

1. Share a Fall memory.
My mother loved Fall, and it's not a season that happens much in California where I grew up. Sometimes we would take a trip up the the mountains where the air was crisp and the leaves were showing some color. I remember one Autumn weekend at Yosemite National Park, roasting marshmallows (which I do not like, but like the smell) with my sisters, singing songs, smelling smoke and pine trees. I experienced an all-too-rare sense of peace and serenity. It was one of the last fun times we had as a family.

2. Your favorite Fall clothes--(past or present)?
Fall was when the Spiegel catalog arrived. Californians don't really need warm clothes, but I loved looking at the wool coats, hats, scarves...who knew that one day I'd live in snow country? I still like getting out the fall clothes, sweaters, boots, my brown corduroy skirt. I just wish that the need for fall clothes did not turn so quickly into needing WINTER clothes.

3. Share a campfire story, song, experience...etc.
One of the things I love about reenacting is what happens around campfires at night. People talk, sing, reminisce--there is something very companionable about sitting around a fire. Think of how many generations people have been doing that!

4. What is your favorite thing about this time of year?
The changes happening in nature are very evident here. I'm starting to take the camera with me in the van--there are so many beautiful things to see. The fields are ripe--corn, beautiful golden soybeans, wheat, bright orange pumpkins. The grasses are taking on the hues of fall, and the sounds are changing too. The Canadian geese are getting excited and starting practice flights, honking excitedly in small "Vs" which will grow larger as the time to depart arrives. I love the sound of geese in the sky! I do not love being in the north (still a bit of a California hot-house flower, I suppose) but I do love this time of year.

5. What changes are you anticipating in your life, your church, family...whatever...as the season changes and winter approaches?
Kris and Daryl are busy harvesting from their garden and their apple and pear trees. Kris is loading her basement shelves with canned things. She recently made pickles. Yesterday she made jam from the Concord grapes that are on their property--beautiful things as the grow purple in the sun. Next comes salsa making. It's fun watching them on their little hobby farm, and seeing the fun Trinity is having as she learns about life in the country. I don't know what is ahead for me...still hoping for ministry opportunity but enjoying the work I'm doing for a small financial firm. As always I'm thinking of change as the season turns cool. I do not know what to expect. But it will be good to celebrate Thanksgiving with Kris and her little family, Ken's brother, Kevin, maybe our son Josh. Fall seems to be a "gathering in" time, doesn't it?

Bonus: What food says "AUTUMN" at your house? Recipes always appreciated.
Apples! Kris and Daryl have LOTS of apples. It is lovely to see them ripen on the trees, to smell the applesauce cooking, to think of pie baking, apple bread, other things that call for cinnamon and spice!

F of H and Life Intruding

I am in Minneapolis enjoying Trinity and my kids. The Festival of Homiletics is wonderful and fascinating and I'll blog about it later. I've briefly met several RevGals and one Pal and am excited about meeting the rest later today. I sat with Questing Parson last night, and I was fortunate to have Sue come up to me this a.m. and quietly ask, "Are you SingingOwl?" So I sat with her for the morning's offerings at Central Lutheran. We are packed in like sardines, with an attendance of around 1,200!

I'm also distracted and distressed. My brother in law, Kevin, who I wrote about a few days ago, will not be flying here after all. He has had two heart attacks and is in ICU on a ventilator! So far Ken has been unsuccessful at getting any more information than that.

Secondly, my mother is becoming increasingly agitated and difficult for the staff at the nursing home to manage. Today my cell phone went off in the middle of a lecture (eek, I thought I turned it off, really!). It was the nursing home, and that is never good news. Turns out they want to discharge her to one of two other nursing homes that have specialized dementia units.

One is about a 1/2 hour drive from my home and the other is nearly an hour. I am quite familiar with both of them and not happy with either of them. I told the nurse I spoke with that we'd talk when I get home. I hate this. I want my mom at home with someone who loves and can care for her while I am working. I feared this day would be coming.

I am about to take a break and go swimming with Trinity and the family at a health club. Then back to the Rev Gals meet up.

Aaarrrgggh! Okay then, deep breaths in and out....

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!

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.

December 20th

It was December 20th that my dad went home to Heaven. It has been about two decades since that happened, but I still miss him and wish I could hear his voice. I inherited his love of teaching, his compassion, and his loyalty.

Ken's sister, Karal, died early in December about thirty years ago. Yes, she was young, and yes it was a sad and distressing tragedy. Earlier today I got out my mother's little wooden recipe box for the first time since she died (last January) and seeing the box full of recipes in her handwriting with notations like "really good" or "Mama's" (my grandmother, gone for nearly sixty years) or "Pauline's." Pauline is my aunt, the best cook EVER, who was the last of eight children to pass away, just a few months ago. And one of my sister Darliane's recipes popped up as there well. I think I will never stop missing her.A couple of my sister Paulette's too. She is still alive and well and living on Planet Earth, but circumstances of our lives have made it so we rarely see one another.

I'm heading to the kitchen to make our family's traditional holiday bread. Find it here. I'm going to try adding craisins to one of them...my mother is probably rolling over in her...well...you know!
And in a few days I'll make Ken's mother's famous Julekaga...and I'll miss her too.

It made me sad and nostalgic and lonely for those I love who are no longer here--also thankful for people in my life. What a blessing to have a husband who loves me, Kris and her little family living only 10 miles away, and to know that our son, Josh, will be home for Christmas. This is our first Christmas with Ken's brother, Kevin, for more than thirty years. He is fragile, but he is here, and there was a very long time when we thought we would never see him again. Maybe someday his other brother, Keith, will decide he wants to have family. We continue to pray for him.

We've also recently heard from two neices we had lost contact with: HI KANDICE and KIMBERLY!

Give someone you love a hug soon!

Christmas is HOPE of life and love eternal.

Time to Get Up and Play the Friday Five

Where I am it is dark, and it is cold, and it is snowing. I really wanted to stay in bed with the electric blanket cranked this morning. Share five things that made getting out of bed worthwhile for you today!

1. The cat. I don't know if she exactly makes it "worthwhile" but about 6:00 a.m. she starts hurling herself at the bedroom door as if the house is on fire. She is a very quiet cat, most times, but in the a.m. (if the door walloping fails) she meooooows and yowls in the most pitiful manner imaginable. If I didn't know better, I'd think she was dying. I can only stand it so long, and then I must get up. It's a great motivator, all things considered.

2. The coffee. Brother-in-law Kevin usually is up well before the sunrise. He is a coffee fiend, so he usually has the second pot brewing by the time I pry my eyes open and finish feeding the cat. Sometimes, now that he knows I am not a morning person, he even pours my cup of coffee while I am feeding the cat, bless his heart.

3. Someone has to turn the thermostat up around here, or we'd all freeze and they would find us about April. Husband Ken would be happy to leave it at fifty degrees year round, but...did I say it is COLD and snowing here?

4. If it is a tough morning, I recall the words of Gospel singer, Lillie Knauls, who sang at my husband's ordination service years ago. She says that each morning she throws the covers back and asks (loudly and with enthusiasm), "What exciting thing do you have in store for me today, Lord Jesus?" Lilie is single. She can get away with that happy crowing in the a.m. Me, not so much. I recall the words. I don't say them aloud, and I never throw the covers back unless I'm late, but I THINK them, and often that is enough to help me get moving with a good attitude. I mean, seriously, each day of life is a gift to be treasured.

5. This doesn't happen every day, but often enough. Ken doesn't like to cook unless it is over a camp fire...or is BREAKFAST. He really makes the most delicious omelets, full of onions and peppers and olives and cheese and who knows what else. Smelling his breakfast offering, along with the coffee, makes getting up seem like a very good thing to do. Even when it id snowing and the floors are like ice and I didn't get enough sleep. Bacon...gotta love it.

How about you?

Last Summer Days

We just returned from the last fur-trade rendezvous re-enacting camp we will be at this summer. We had such a good time with Kris, Daryl, Trinity, Kevin and good friends Eric, Darla and Bob, and Cindy and Tommy.

The weather was wonderful (actually a bit hot, so maybe Kris and Daryl can have ripe tomatoes after all), and the company was good. Ken was in pain, but he says he'd be in pain anyway so he might as well be having fun...I'm not so sure, but he did win the archery competition. Meanwhile Kris won the woman's tomahawk throw. was 2nd in the skillet toss, and she came in third in the firestarting--and pie baking competition. I came in second, edged out of first place by ONE point....an upstart first-time pie baker received 100 pts. to my 99! Imagine! Actually, it was fun to see her surprise, and we all hooted and hollered and whistled. Here is a picture of Kris and me on our way to the competition. Kris' pie was apple/pumpkin and mine was strawberry peach. (The winning pie was apple. Go figure.)
A good hot shower felt great, and now I'm going to have a bowl of sherbet and climb into bed!

P.S. I'll go over to The Owl's Kitchen and post the pie recipe. It will prove that sometimes simple recipes are best. I made it up on the spur of the moment. :-) But I'm going to make one again while I can still get fresh peaches and strawberries.

Autumn Round These Parts

The feed corn is brown and drying in the fields; the soy beans are about ready for harvest. The trees are beginning to show more color, and the wind is usually blowing. We've reluctantly turned on the furnace and I have pulled out my sweaters from the chest in the basement.

Yes, autumn has arrived. So today we decided to get out our fall lawn decoration and add some corn stalks and pumpkins. Squash and pumpkins grow very well in the upper portion of the USA, and all around in our area are wagons loaded with beautiful varieties for sale. Usually there is a box somewhere for depositing cash.

Trinity came along to help us check out the best ones. Here she is with Uncle Kevin.

How 'bout this one, Grandma?

Papa selects a pie pumpkin, and Trinity picks out a few of the colorful gourds.

Back home, I start a pot of stew on the stove while Papa and Trinity work on a Lion King puzzle.

Oh yeah, football is on TV, of course. It IS Autumn, after all.

When is the last time you fell asleep with your feet in the air? This is Trinity's toddler size bed, snagged at the local thrift store.


I love the color in the fields and trees, the pumpkins, the scent of smoke, the warmth of a cozy sweater, snuggling under the weight of more blankets on the bed. Tonight I am feeling a bit at a loss. I still feel like I should be working on a sermon on Saturday. I am missing my mother (who absolutely loved Fall) and I am missing my sister too. Something about this time of year always makes me feel a bit melancholy, even though there are many things I love about it.

I miss fellowship and fun with certain close friends. I miss prayer with a group of others who longed for God's will to be done. I miss the sense of expectation and anticipation for what God was doing and would do.

Lately I keep thinking of Darlaine, and the odd thing is that for a millisecond I forget that she died. I always think of her being somewhere. I know, she is. But I mean somewhere in this world that just does not happen to be the same place as I am--not difficult because we never lived in close proximity after I got married.

So for a moment I think of her at her stove, or sipping a steaming cup of tea as she reads a book...or...and then I realize I will not see her, or hear her voice till eternity. I miss her with a sharp pain of loss. Strange time. I wonder how long it will before I realize she is really gone?

This will be the first Christmas since my mother died, though she was not really "present" last year and did not enjoy the season. How long before I do not feel guilty for using anything that was hers? I mean, I can feel guilty using a towel or a basket or anything that belonged to her. Not rational, I know. Doesn't matter.

I am missing things I always did at this time of year: decorating the sanctuary with fall flowers along with my secretary and friend. Doing our annual prayer walk around the towns of our area. Beginning to think seriously about what I will do for the annual Christmas Eve candlelight service.

How long before I am feeling comfortable in my own skin again? How long before certain worship songs do not make me teary-eyed? Or how long before I stop feeling out of place and a bit lost? How long till I am genuinely at peace with God--and with myself? How long until I am aware of God's presence or become aware of God's "voice"?

I don't know. Autumn is a strange time. Especially this year. But it was, nonetheless, a lovely day. And God is still good.

The Psalmist knew this too, and Psalm 13 reminds me that I can make a choice to praise God and be thankful, even when I do not understand.

How long, O LORD?
Will You forget me forever?

How long will You hide Your face from me?
How long shall I take counsel in my soul,
Having sorrow in my heart daily?
How long will my enemy be exalted over me?

Consider and hear me, O LORD my God;
Enlighten my eyes..
Lest my enemy say,
“I have prevailed against him”;
Lest those who trouble me rejoice when I am moved.

But I have trusted in Your mercy;
My heart shall rejoice in Your salvation.
I will sing to the LORD,
Because He has dealt bountifully with me.

California Dreamin' (Last Post) -- This World is Not My Home

This was our ocean view from the balcony. The brown field will be covered with flowers in the springtime. I'd love to see that!

We didn't make it to the big red trees. If we had continued north from Lake Isabella we would have come to them in another fifty miles or so, but we needed to get Kevin back home.

We returned from Bakersfield late. It was a drive like I've never experienced. Ten lanes of traffic on I - 5, five each side, completely solid with cars for hours. The sheer volume of people now packed into Southern California is mind-boggling. In a bag in the back seat were fresh corn tortillas (still warm when we purchased them), a bag of avocodos and some oranges. Now that is a beakfast in the making!

Next day I felt a little ill, waking with a sore throat and a badly congested head, but I spent a little time at the pool and Ken took a last dip in the Pacific--the day sped by. Next morning my sister and family flew north and we flew east.

I dislike the word "closure." But I experienced a bit of it, I think. It was good to realize that in some ways I still am a Californian even though I moved away a very long time ago. I could still drive in stop-and-go freeway traffic...eek...and felt quickly comfortable with the culture. I have a broader point of view than several of my Wisconsin neighbors about many things, and I believe it comes from growing up in a metropolis on the coast. I was reminded, once again, that I love diversity. I awoke in colors I love, and I realized that some of the color palate I prefer comes from my California roots. Califorornia looks like Florida at first glance, because of the beach and the palms. But California, unlike Florida, is full of bright colors. (Florida is full of pastels.) I loved the blue, yellow and green beadspreads in our condo, the paintings of turquoise blue sea and sky and bright flowers, boats or buildings. I loved the food--fresh and beautifully prepared with lots of flavor.

I also realized anew that no place is home for me. California is not my home. It was fun visiting places in the San Fernando Valley, but it was not home. It was fun to realize that part of me still says "Made in Los Angeles" but I would no longer want to live there, nor in the valley. I am not completely at home in the city anymore. But than again, Wisconsin is not home either. I like many things about Wisconsin, but there is a part of me that will never be a small-town person, no matter that the town in which I currently live is under 4,000 in population.

For that matter, I never quite seem to fit anywhere. I do not fit neatly into the Evangelical nor Pentecostal Church models. I do not fit into the Republican Party, and I do not fit in the Democratic Party. I do not fit in many women's groups, though I am a woman. I do not fit neatly into either the Pro Life or Pro Choice camp. I like loud and happy woorship and being joyful in church, and I love candlelit silence and stained glass windows too.

Perhaps I am just a mutt, as my profile says. Or a misfit! Or perhaps we are designed to find our home in God.

Philippians 3:20-4:1 (Today's New International Version)

"But our citizenship is in heaven. And we eagerly await a Savior from there, the Lord Jesus Christ, who, by the power that enables him to bring everything under his control, will transform our lowly bodies so that they will be like his glorious body. Therefore, my brothers and sisters, you whom I love and long for, my joy and crown, stand firm in the Lord..."

Could it be that for those of us who belong to Christ, we will only be 'at home" in His presence? Ever since returning from our short trip, I have had the words to an old gospel song in my mind. "This world is not my home...I'm just a passin' through..." I believe it is a little trite but nonetheless true, and perhaps I should just rest in that. Not the song, the awareness.

California Dreamin' Part VI - The Valley

My California Home

We woke before dawn and headed for Bakersfield and Ken's brother, Kevin, planning a stop in "The Valley" on the way. About 40 miles NE of Los Angeles, the San Fernando valley is a sprawling bowl of many small cities crammed together. Sylmar, Pacoima, Mission Hills, Granada Hills, Van Nuys, Panorama City, Pasadena, Canoga Park, Northridge--and the list goes on. When we lived there no one much cared, or could find, boundaries between the cities. It was just, "The Valley." We drove around looking for familiar places, calling out street names as we went, trying to get our bearings. Their Spanish syllables rolled off our tongues like water over rocks. El Dorado, Terra Bella, San Fernado, El Camino Real, Buena Vista, Playa del Mar. We recognized the streets as if they were old friends. We didn't recognize much else.

The Valley has changed from mostly Anglo with pockets of Mexicans, Cubans, Asians and African Americans. It is now almost completely Hispanic with pockets of Asians, Pakistanis and Middle Eastern folks. Anglos are few. We heard almost no English spoken. Spanish signs, Mexican music, and brick fences with wrought iron predominated.

We found my old church, First Baptist of Pacoima. It looked the same, and those drops of memory came...baptism...Sunday School...Pastor Stanley Polk...Vacation Bible School...youth camp...Ken finding faith in Christ and leaving the LDS church behind. The brick building with the white cross looked the same. I remembered the day we broke ground to build our beautiful new church. Now it had one of those fences added, and the name on the sign read, " Iglesia Bautista Hispanica del Valle." I was happy to see that what had been a dwindling church when I left it now seemed to be thriving. Down the street, Valley Christian Church was now Templo Calvario. I remembered a hot dog stand on the corner where the teens from the two churches sometimes chatted and flirted with one another. The corner stand was still there, much worse for wear, but now a yellow and red sign advertised TACOS!

We found my old house. It looked neat and cared for. The rail fence I used to sit on, watching cars go by and comtemplating life, was replaced by one of those brick and iron ones. It was much more attractive, I had to admit, even though it looked sharp. The big walnut tree still spread over the front sidewalk, and even though a wheelchair ramp changed the look of the house, I could see the front porch a bit. I was kissed for the first time on that porch. I hugged many visiting Texas relatives there. I cried there, and once I stood there screaming in frustration at my mother who was leaving, not to be seen again for several years. Drops of memory...good and bad...my dad working in the garage and listening to the Saturday Night Polka Parade...sunning on the patio roof...planting Azaleas...listening to the Beatles on the "hi fi."

We didn't stay long. We headed up the highway towards California's "high desert."