Nimba

Childhood can be a magical time if you are lucky, and I was. I have so many happy memories to choose from, but our vacations in Nimba have to be at the top of the list. Being medical missionaries in rural Liberia could not have been easy for my parents, and life was pretty serious with a lot of hard work. But somehow the “powers that be” knew the toll that serving an impoverished population in a third world country could take on the missionaries and insisted that they take two consecutive weeks of vacation a year to recover, rejuvenate and re-energize for the challenges of the next year. Sometimes we went to the capital city of Monrovia and spent the time visiting with missionary friends and going to the beach, but our favorite place to go was Nimba.

Nimba was only about an hour on dirt roads from Ganta mission station where we lived, and was an area deep in the interior dominated by the Scandinavian iron ore mining company Lamco. It was an interesting combination of native Liberian structures and modern Scandinavian buildings and there was a house set aside for missionary vacations. I loved this this airy, open concept ranch, with its bunk beds and glass window panes, and there was hot water for a real bath! Mom and Dad could really relax here, and we kids would spend our time playing games and listening to records. Best of all, most days we would go to the pool - not just a regular pool, but a beautiful olympic sized pool with a regular diving board AND a high dive, a swing set, a terraced area for picnics and laying out, and a club house where on rare occasions we could get soda or snacks. To me this was the height of luxury and we never got tired of spending our days at the pool. These trips were an infrequent pleasure though, once a year if we were lucky.

I remember one Sunday when I was about nine years old, coming home from Sunday school at the Ganta mission elementary school and expecting to go right over to the church for worship. As we approached the house we saw Dad standing in the doorway, not wearing his usual Sunday clothes or even his doctor clothes, but a polo shirt and tennis shoes, with a smile of anticipation on his face. He told us that we were immediately going to Nimba for the day and I could tell how much he enjoyed giving us this unexpected news and watching our delighted reactions. I donʼt remember anything else about this day, why we went, how long we stayed, or what we did, I just remember the thrill of the moment when my relaxed and happy father said “weʼre going to Nimba”!

It makes me think of our Heavenly Father. When I come to the end of what I trust will be a long and happy life, and I approach the doorway between this life and the next, I imagine that I will see my Heavenly Father waiting for me with a smile of anticipation on His face, relaxed and happy, ready to take me on a wonderful trip.

Sekou Toure Avenue

For a very short time our family lived in a small apartment on Sekou Toure Avenue in Monrovia, Liberia. We had just spent a year in the states and had come back to Liberia to live in the city instead of returning to our rural Ganta mission home. Bill, Sandra, and I didn’t have much to do all day, since we had left our few friends and family back in the states, and our friends in Liberia were upcountry in Ganta or Phebe. Mom and Dad had been to a missionary conference at Lake Junaluska while we were on furlough, and they brought back a cassette tape of praise music called De Colores. Having little else to do in this new environment we listened to the tape frequently, and I especially remember the upbeat title song. We listened to it so often that De Colores has always seemed like the theme song of this interlude in our lives.

Although our stay was short it was eventful and memorable. I remember the violent tropical storm when a transformer blew outside our window in the middle of the night, with a blinding flash, and we children were frozen with fear until Mom and Dad came to us in our dark room. Another night we sat down to dinner and bowed our heads while Dad said grace. When the extra-long grace was done we looked up and Bill calmly said “there’s a fire in the kitchen.” We rushed into the kitchen to find the grease in the frying pan on fire, and while Mom and Dad frantically tried to find something with which to smother the flames Bill reached over and put the lid on the pan. The fire was out, but we were washing smoke off the walls for days. And Mom and Dad suggested to Bill that in the future he should feel free to interrupt the prayer for an emergency!

We soon moved into a more permanent house, started school, and life again took on the busy pattern of childhood. But I have always remembered that time on Sekou Toure Avenue, in between one season of our lives and the next, when it was just our family and the music of De Colores. Imagine my surprise many years later when I attended a Walk to Emmaus spiritual retreat, and for the first time in about 35 years I heard De Colores again. We sang it frequently throughout our weekend and I loved thinking about the connection of my faith journey between my African childhood and my American adulthood; and for a little while I was 11 years old again, playing with my brother and sister on the other side of the world, in that little apartment on Sekou Toure Avenue.

“De Colores and so must all love be of every bright color to make my heart cry.”

Starting Again

"Picking up the pieces, now where to begin? The hardest part of ending is starting again." Linkin Park Waiting for the End

It's been a year and a half of one medical crisis after another, with my daughter's wedding as the bright spot tucked into the middle of it all. I have been going from one appointment, procedure, event, celebration, emergency etc. to another for what seems like forever, but I seem to be at the end of the parade. What happens now? It's all over so I can put it behind me and start to get back to normal, right? Well, not exactly. I'm left with the residue of my many health issues and, not to be depressing, but they will be with me for the rest of my life.

After my breast biopsy last July we were thrilled and relieved that no cancer was found BUT... atypical cells were found and I need to be checked at the cancer center once a year, along with my routine mammogram, indefinitely.

After my brain surgery to remove a pituitary adenoma (a mass in my sinus cavity) last September we were happy that it was benign BUT... the doctors had to leave five percent in because it was too close to the arteries and optic nerve and I will need regular MRIs indefinitely to ensure that it doesn't grow back.

The cyberknife radiation treatments I had in January, though terrifying because of my claustrophobic tendencies, were not invasive and had few side effects BUT... there is no guarantee that the radiation will stop further growth of the tumor, and there may have been damage to healthy tissue - time will tell.

My endocrinologist has found little evidence of damage to my pituitary gland (yay!) and my hormone levels are normal so far BUT... radiation treatments cause progressive deterioration of the pituitary gland over time which may result in the need for hormonal replacement supplements - so I'll be making a visit to my endocrinologist twice a year for the foreseeable future.

The aneurysm behind my left eye has been successfully closed off from any new blood flow, thus protecting it from bursting, and I came through a dangerous surgery with nothing but a slight visual disturbance BUT... I will need follow-up angiograms (not fun) to monitor how the device is working and to check for more aneurisms.

That's a lot of follow-up appointments, tests, and procedures, and when you look at the big picture, that's a lot of stuff that could go wrong. I have to admit, it weighs on me. How does one move forward into a productive, satisfying life with this kind of baggage to drag around? I know I'm not the only one with health problems, and many people have much bigger challenges to face, but that doesn't help me figure out how to get out from under the burden of worry and dread with each new follow-up event. Am I a time-bomb or a miracle? All I know is that I am tired, apathetic, and it should be no surprise that I have daily headaches.

I know the answer. It's complete trust in God and His plan, His care, His love, His power, and His control. Somehow, with the help of God and "the great cloud of witnesses," I have to internalize this and live it.

"Therefore, since we are surrounded by such a great cloud of witnesses, let us throw off everything that hinders and the sin that so easily entangles. And let us run with perseverance the race marked out for us" Hebrews 12:1

Silent Night

It's 2:00 in the morning on Christmas Day. I sit in a dark living room basking in the colored, blinking lights of the Christmas tree. Our vintage train set with its more modern snowy village encircles the tree, and piles of presents are haphazardly strewn around the platform, looking enticing and mysterious. "Santa" has paid a visit and bulging stockings with wish-fulfilling presents propped against them are arranged on the couch, waiting for morning when they will be admired and enjoyed. In the dining room the table is set for our anticipated sweet roll breakfast with red, green, and silver dishes and decorations. The house is quiet, except for a ticking clock and an occasional sigh or snore from my sleeping family. I should be asleep too, because tomorrow will be a long and active day of gifts, food, and family. Usually I fall exhausted into bed on Christmas Eve when everything is finally ready for Christmas morning to come, but tonight I just want to enjoy this perfect time between preparing for the big day and diving into the festivities.

It's been a rough year for me with serious health concerns coming thick and fast for the last nine months. Most of it is behind me now and so many results have been positive, but I am worn out from the fight and it took an extra effort to get all of the Christmas preparations done this year. The kids and Ed have put up with enough anxiety about me in the last few months, I didn't want to skimp on any of our traditions or seem unable to celebrate the season with the usual enthusiasm. And anyway, I love Christmas and truly enjoy our traditions, most of which I started and have encouraged over the years. I didn't want to miss any of it. And now I want to stay right here, savoring the perfection of the moment, knowing that whatever happens tomorrow and in the coming months I will have the memory of this time in between preparation and celebration. But sleepiness is overtaking me so I make my way to bed, looking forward to similar Christmases, each with their own unique perfection, for many years to come.

Imagine No Malaria

Testimonial as shared with the Oakland United Methodist Church on Sunday, October 31, 2010

Good morning. We’ve been talking a lot about Malaria recently, and I wanted to share some of my experiences with malaria and why this issue is so close to my heart. Most of you know that I grew up in Africa. My parents were United Methodist medical missionaries in Liberia, which is on the west coast of Africa, and it was our home from when I was 3 until I was 14.

We don’t hear much about malaria in this country, except in conjunction with helping people in other countries, but when I was a kid it was a part of our everyday lives. It was kind of like the flu is here, pretty common and every now and then someone would get it and be sick for awhile, then get better. At least that was the way it was for the missionary families, because we took anti-malaria medicine every week the whole time we were in the country to protect us from a severe case of malaria. The Liberians didn’t have this protection - there wasn’t enough money or resources to deal with the issue - so malaria was much more likely to be deadly for them.

I probably had malaria a few times, but I only remember one, when I was about 8. I just remember a bad headache, body aches, high fever, and a sick stomach (kind of like the flu). But with medicine and the anti-malaria protection I had in my body I got better pretty fast - I was probably only sick for a few days. My sister Sandra wasn’t so lucky. She got malaria when she was about 4 and she kept getting it over and over again. My parents watched Sandra getting paler and thinner each time she got sick, and they had a hard time getting the medicine into her. It was camaquin, this huge yellow pill that had to be cut into quarters for children, so it was crumbly, and bitter, and hard to swallow. They tried it in Coke and in food but she kept choking it back up. I remember my father getting angry with her for spitting it out, and even at my young age I knew that he was only angry because he was afraid of what would happen if they couldn’t get the medicine into her. My mother remembers the two of them going into Sandra’s room when she was asleep and praying over her because they were so afraid that she would die. Well, the cycle finally ended and she got better and stayed well, but it was a frightening time for us all. Sadly, my main recollection of this time was that she kept getting all the paper dolls and coloring books that my mother set aside for us for when we were sick, and I was jealous. Kids!

As scary and serious as this was for our family it would have been much worse for a Liberian family - in spite of the medicine the child would probably have died. As a matter of fact, when we were there the mortality rate for children under 5 was 50% - in other words half of the children died before the age of 5, for a multitude of reasons. My father was one of 3 doctors at the mission hospital at the time, and with their limited time and resources they were dealing with more critical diseases like tetanus, cholera, leprosy, small pox and various tropical diseases. Dad spent his first few years there working at the hospital and learning the local dialect. After awhile he realized that he was treating the same diseases again and again, and what he really needed to do was prevent these diseases, so he came back to the states and got his degree in public health. Back in Liberia he spent the next few years traveling into the rural areas to vaccinate children, talk to the chiefs about digging wells for clean water (instead of drinking the water they bathed in and washed their clothes in), set up rural clinics, and teach clean childbirth practices and other prevention techniques. The last few years we were there he worked with the Liberian government to oversee health clinics and hospitals all over Liberia so health care could be more accessible to the people.

Why is his story important to eradicating malaria now? I was talking with Laura Meengs recently - she is the field coordinator for the Imagine No Malaria effort in our conference. When I asked about Liberia she told me that they were targeting Sierre Leone now, but that Liberia was next on the list. I told her about Dad and the clinics and said I thought they were probably all gone because of the long civil war Liberia has had. She said no, they are still there, and Imagine No Malaria was going to use those clinics to distribute medicine, bed nets, and education in the rural areas. So a project funded by the United Methodist Church over 30 years ago is going to be central in the effort to eradicate malaria now.

We were recently told by Dad’s doctor that he will probably only live a few more months. He has had Parkinson’s disease for over 25 years and is now losing weight quickly. But at the end of his life, the work he was called to do for God, and for the Liberian people that he loved so much, is gaining new life. And the clinics that he set up will be instrumental in saving the lives of countless people. The cycle of life continues. There were many missionaries that came before Dad to lay a foundation for his work, and many missionaries and Liberian Christians came and will keep coming after him to provide health care for this struggling people. We can be a part of the progression of this God ordained ministry by supporting the Imagine No Malaria effort, and help remove this huge health obstacle so that the people of Africa can be more productive, creative, and free to energetically serve God and each other.

Blessed Be Your Name

"On the road marked with suffering, though there's pain in the offering, blessed be Your Name"

The last few months have been a medical nightmare for me, not to mention for Ed and the rest of the family. I know I was run down from the stress of moving and adjusting to a new church and community, and of course the frustration of my inability to find a job in a library - my sense of self was severely effected. But come on, this is ridiculous!

It all started with a simple cold, that turned into a sinus infection, that turned into severe hives from an allergy to the antibiotic. After a trip to the emergency room I literally was turning blue from the intensity of the hives, couldn't walk because of the many hives on the soles of my feet, and couldn't bend my fingers - frightening. Steroids helped until I started having crazy side effects like a racing and pounding heart, extreme sensitivity to light and sound, fogginess, shortness of breath etc. In the middle of all this I had a routine appointment with my gynecologist where she found a large cyst on my ovary, which led to an ultrasound, and a recommendation for a hysterectomy because of possible cancer - no way was I jumping into something that serious! Off to Pittsburgh to my former doctor, another ultrasound and other tests, and a recommendation that nothing was seriously wrong and only a follow-up ultrasound was necessary. Whew, I dodged that bullet! So I went for my routine mammogram and lo and behold abnormal readings, a needle biopsy (inconclusive), another possibility of cancer and a surgical biopsy. This also came out negative (praise the Lord, but I was really freaked out at this point) though I am high risk and have to address that. I'm done, right? Wrong! Congestion immediately set in, another trip to the emergency room for a severe headache, exhaustion and lots of meds. Will it ever end? Hopefully the sinusitis will clear up, the followup ultrasound will show that the cyst is gone, and the high risk appointment at the Hillman Cancer Center will give me a good plan of action. But seriously, enough is enough. I've about had it with emergencies, cancer scares, and pain.

Well, the high risk appointment went well. Only a 2% risk of cancer in the next 5 years - I can live with that (no pun intended)! No such luck with the ovary though - it has to come out. But they are sure the cyst is benign so that is good. Things seem to going my way - only an outpatient surgery and all of this craziness is over. Or so I thought. I finally saw an ear, nose, and throat doctor about my constant congestion and sinus infections and got the scariest news so far. A CAT scan showed one sinus cavity is blocked and filled with what might be a tumor. Two surgeries later I am minus one ovary and and most of the tumor and still no cancer. Amazing! But the pituitary tumor is still partially there, fast growing, and will require radiation treatment and a lifetime of monitoring. I don't even know how to respond to this; I feel a combination of numbness and dread and my future is filled with unknowns.

All through this progression of events I have been really scared, and felt very alone. Ed has been with me every step of the way - every doctor's appointment, treatment, surgery, and symptom - but in the end it is my body that is betraying me and he can really only be my support and advocate. The hugs and loving words of my family have been invaluable but ultimately this is my battle. It reminds me of the old song:

We must walk this lonesome valley,

We have to walk it by ourselves;

Oh, nobody else can walk it for us,

We have to walk it by ourselves.

You would think that during this time I would draw closer to God, spending more time in prayer and leaning on Him through every trial. But instead I feel abandoned by Him - up until now my life has been pretty much filled with blessings and I can't help wondering what I did wrong to cause this avalanche of poor health and why God has withdrawn His blessings from my life. Of course I know, intellectually, that He is still there loving and taking care of me, and so I reach for Him and try to pray, but I just don't feel a connection. And this is where the power of the community of faith comes in.

Through it all one thing has become very clear - I have a great support group! I have been blown away by the way those around me have responded to my troubles. Our new church has been concerned and supportive with meals, cards, rides for Jonathon, calls, and many prayers. Our former church has also rallied around me, with calls, emails, texts, cards, and still more prayers. The library where I worked before the move has been great with emails, phone calls, a group get well card, and a wonderful surprise cookie/chocolate get well basket - I am touched by their generosity, and all I was expecting was prayer. My first surgery happened when we were at Jumonville for CAT Camp and we were surrounded by a loving Christian family with hugs, sympathy, advice, and an outpouring of prayer. And of course my close friends and family have been with us all the way, supporting us in any way they can, including many, many prayers. We are so blessed - I am humbled by the love that has been poured out on our family. Everywhere I look I see the face of God.

You see, by myself I couldn't find a connection to God, so He came to me in person. He has sent literally hundreds of believers to minister to me and my family in ways over and above anything I could imagine. I am so weak, and I still get lonely, depressed, and scared, but the strength of the community of faith is carrying me. Don't tell me God does not appear to us anymore - I know He is here among us because I have seen Him again and again.

"You give and take away, You give and take away, My heart will choose to say, Lord blessed be Your Name."

The "C" Word

The "C" word. It's scary to even think about it, let alone say it. It all started with a routine annual mammogram. No anxiety, just get it done and don't think about it for another year. Then I got a phone call to come back for a follow-up mammogram - no big deal, this has happened before and I am in a new, smaller facility this time. The anxiety grew when I was told that there were some suspicious areas on the film and I needed a stereo-tactic biopsy (needle biopsy) - just the word "biopsy" gives me a cold feeling. Anxiety quickly turned to anger - did I really need this hassle, or were they being overly cautious because the facility was smaller and less advanced? Off we went to the best women's care facility in Pittsburgh for a scary, high-tech procedure that left me nervous and sore - this was getting serious! But I really did expect to get the news that all was well and nothing abnormal was found. Wrong again! I got a call from a nurse who (I thought) said that nothing abnormal was found but there was an overgrowth of cells in that area, which had to be taken out so they didn't become cancer (there's that word), and I should see a surgeon. I made the appointment, focusing on the good news - no cancer was found - this was preventative action; but the prospect of surgery was frightening. In spite of my deliberate positive attitude there was doubt lingering in the back of my mind. Isn't the overgrowth of cells the definition of cancer? (that word is starting to come up more often) Back to Pittsburgh for the surgical consult and reality set in - the surgeon clarified that the biopsy was inconclusive and they needed a larger area of tissue to test for cancer (the word has now exploded like a bomb into my world). The odds are in my favor - 80% of these biopsies come out negative - but I only heard 20%. I might have cancer. It's a small chance, and if I do the cancer is in the early stages and very treatable. But I might have cancer.

Images start flowing through my mind: the woman in the waiting room at my first biopsy with a head scarf (chemo? will that be me?), the woman in the wheel chair and the woman in the hospital bed who were also in the waiting room (what horrors were they dealing with? will that be me?) My grandmother died of cancer, one friend was terribly sick from chemo, another was weak and burnt from radiation, and the list goes on. We all have many heart-breaking memories of friends and family who have fought this disease. Have I become one of them? Our church supports a "Relay for Life" program that raises money for cancer research and treatment; it's an amazingly active community effort that culminates in a 24 hour walk/festival/celebration. The highlight is luminaries representing cancer survivors and victims lining the 1/4 mile track and up the bleachers. Will I be included in that glowing tribute next year, and will I be celebrated as a survivor or mourned as a victim? I know that is morbid and counter-productive - I have to stay positive and, after all, the odds are in my favor right? RIGHT?! Could someone please keep telling me that over and over again because I can't seem so focus on that fact!!

No matter what happens I know God will be with me and my family through it all - I felt His strong and comforting presence during my first biopsy, and I felt covered with the prayers of my loved ones. I KNOW He is with me and I will actively draw on his strength through the whole ordeal (it's already an ordeal even though nothing is conclusive). But I am weak. And I am scared. And the "C" word hangs like a cloud over my head, and sits like a lump in my gut.

Movie Madness

I am very picky about the type of movies I choose to watch. I don't like anything too scary, violent, gruesome, profane, or explicitly sexual and that doesn't leave much! Society seems to need a higher and higher level of shock value to really enjoy or be entertained by any type of media and my tastes have been left far behind. Part of the reason for this is my personality - I tend to be very sensitive and thin-skinned about anything and everything in my life - but a greater part is some traumatic experiences I had as a child.

When I was in fourth and fifth grade I attended a Lutheran boarding school in rural Liberia (my parents were medical missionaries), and in most respects it was a good experience in spite of how young I was. But I dreaded Saturday night. Saturday night was movie night and regardless of what was being shown we all went to the nearby college campus to watch - it was probably a nice break for the house parents (Uncle Ron and Aunt Elaine - I have very fond memories of them) and most of the kids had a great time. I don't remember many movie titles but I have clear pictures in my mind of certain scenes from various movies and what I remember is intense and frightening. The one that stands out in my mind was a "cowboys and indians" movie and all I remember is the various ways the indians tortured people to death - I can't give examples because it is still too horrifying for me to put into words. I have hardly ever watched a western movie since then and I can't see a wagon wheel without getting a sick feeling - I told you I was thin-skinned! I tried to get out of going to the movies but the one time I refused to go Aunt Elaine had to stay behind with me, and we were alone in the big dormitory, and I knew it was a huge inconvenience for her. I couldn't bear to ask again.

I have passed this sensitivity to intense images on to my children (sorry guys). One of them had to be taken out of Beauty and the Beast during the wolves scene at age seven, another had to be taken out of Parent Trap during the ear piercing scene (she screamed, he screamed, and we left), and the third had nightmares after seeing Pay it Forward.

All of this is probably the reason that I have such strong feelings about the move The Passion of the Christ. I never actually watched it because I knew that I was not strong enough and would never get the violent images out of my head - I have a hard enough time on Good Friday when that part of the Gospel is read and discussed! But I have read reviews, watched certain scenes, and looked through a book of images from the movie, and I feel like I have seen enough to justify my strong disapproval of the film. The phrase "gratuitous violence" comes to mind and I feel like the violence depicted in the movie far exceeded what was necessary to make the point or even be historically accurate. I have heard medical professionals comment that the blood lost during certain scenes would have caused death before Jesus even got to the cross - are we supposed to believe that he was super-human so he was able to stay alive longer? What about him being "fully human and fully divine," therefore subject to the frailties of any other human? Or do we think that God kept him alive so he could suffer more and longer - what kind of a God do we really believe in? And was it necessary to add the part where Jesus is on the cross and the cross falls forward slamming him into the ground - that is purely a fabrication, and to what end?

I know that "shock value" is often necessary to get us to really think about things we have long taken for granted, but I still think this movie goes overboard. It's almost as if we are supposed to revel in the agony of Christ, and to me that is sacrilege. How many people watch the movie and get pleasure from watching the gruesome scenes, just like those who enjoyed watching lions attacking Christians in ancient Rome, public executions in medieval Europe, and horror movies in modern times?Just knowing that Christ was crucified is enough to convey the horrific nature of the sacrifice he made for our salvation - the Bible tells us what we need to know, we don't have to live through it vicariously by watching Mel Gibson's version.

That brings me to another point of contention - who is telling this story and why? Mel Gibson has long been known for his inclination for violence; we see this in The Patriot and Braveheart, but he really took it to new heights in The Passion and apparently went even farther into the "dark side" in Apocalypto, his movie that followed The Passion. This is a man who when he was stopped for drunk driving made anti-semetic remarks to the police, a man who left his wife of twenty-some years and mother of his 7 children for his pregnant girlfriend. Nobody is perfect but this is not the kind of person I want to represent such an important aspect of my faith.

The Christian community has enthusiastically embraced this film so I am definitely in the minority with this opinion. Many family members and friends have watched The Passion and were moved by it. When I express my vehement disapproval of the film they don't agree, but they listen politely and sometimes smile indulgently (Susan's on another of her tirades). That's annoying but I do know that I am over-sensitive about movie violence, and I do tend to get riled up about certain issues and subject those around me to my strong opinions. But I still think my opinion about The Passion has some merit. I don't think we should dwell on the agony of the crucifixion but on the awesomeness of the resurrection and I don't need to see Christ suffer to know that he sacrificed more than I can imagine for me.

Gone!

"It's a quarter after one, I'm all alone and I need you now"

Everything seems worse in the middle of the night. During the day we are busy with our routines and responsibilities and the sometimes overwhelming details of our lives get drowned out by our adrenaline charged activities. The problems are there but they seem manageable or we can push them to the back of our minds. But in the middle of the night it is quiet and there is nothing to distract us from seeing the magnitude of the situations we are facing; we are worn out and don't have any energy left for solving problems. Everything is out of proportion and discouragement looms over us like a dark cloud. Lady Antebellum's song "I Need You Now" is referring to a romantic relationship, but that's not what I hear - when the stresses of life keep me awake and threaten to overwhelm me with despair only turning to God can give me comfort and perspective. When we read or remember the strong and timeless promises in the Bible we can see the bigger picture and trust that God has an ultimate plan for our lives and the lives of our loved ones. Trust, that's really the key, and it's not easy!

It's human nature to want to control and plan every detail of our lives, it seems like the only responsible way to live. If we work hard enough this works pretty well most of the time, but then we somehow end up in a situation that is completely out of our control. Sometimes there is just no good solution to a problem, no obvious direction to go in, and every decision seems like the wrong one. We can expend a lot of energy struggling to regain control or we can take a step back, "let go and let God". We can't always see beyond the next step so we just have to pray, trust God's guidance, and step into the unknown. This reminds me of the Four Spiritual Laws that I learned as a child - we were supposed to learn them so we could easily witness to non-Christians and would always know the right thing to say. At one point I knew them all (though I don't ever remember using them to witness in any way) but now I only remember the first one: God loves you and has a wonderful plan for your life. That is a pretty powerful statement to base your life on! He has a plan - it's not all up to us! So those overwhelming problems that we just can't figure out how to solve - hand them over to God and wait for guidance because his plans are so much better than we can ever imagine. It will take patience and it will take trust, but in the end it is the better way and often the only way. And that despair that threatens to overwhelm us? Gone!

gone

How did I get here? I'm in way over my head and I'm floundering. A year ago I was in a comfortable routine of work and home. I love my family and my church, but with three kids and a husband busy with an active church life could be chaotic! My job at the library was a welcome haven for me. I was confident in my abilities and loved the challenges of the reference desk and developing and maintaining my collections. The library was well run, the bar was set high for quality service and productivity, and my colleagues were responsible, competent, friendly, and fun-loving. I really couldn't have asked for a better work environment! And then we moved.

As I slowly eased myself out of my job, distributing my duties to various staff, I kept feeling like I was erasing myself from the library. Little by little I removed myself until I was gone. I told myself that surely I would be able to find a library job in our new rural home, but after nine months of job hunting nothing has turned up. And I feel lost. Every professional possibility that has appeared has been completely out of my comfort zone, and even those opportunities have been few and far between. So I'm contemplating applying to be an adjunct professor of Library Science at a nearby college. But every time I come close to applying I think "you haven't been in an academic setting in 25 years" and "what makes you think you can teach?" and "what about all the new databases you've never used?" Paralysis sets in and I don't call. Where did that confident professional go?

I'm volunteering at the local public library because I can't stay away from libraries - I love it so much I will work for free! Then the director suggested that I work on a grant proposal to update the health resources - great, I can do that, it's something I can really sink my teeth into! We met with a few community leaders and suddenly the project becomes about teaching youth how to evaluate the collection and choose new material - what the heck? This new direction makes no sense to me and I really don't want to work with a bunch of kids (not my strength). The director is vague on how to carry this out but keeps adding new people to the mix. Since when is collection development a group activity? But by now I am in too deep and I am committed (I should be committed!) So I am in way over my head. Where is my beloved career and my confidence? Gone. And there is a huge void. And I don't want to get up in the morning.

(Part 2 will be about how to snap out of it and trust God)

Friends

Facebook is an amazing phenomenon. At first I wasn't very interested in it; Megan created a page for me when she went to college so I could keep up with what she was doing and see her pictures, and I figured that I would check it once a week or so to see what she was up to. I quickly found out that facebook (or FB as we veterans refer to it) is not just for kids! New people were finding me and friending me every day, not only Megan's friends but my friends from various areas of my life - work, church, family, old friends, and new acquaintances - who knew I had so many "friends"!

I struggle with the idea of friendship. I am blessed to have many good friends but I don't know if I am a very good friend to have. Most of my childhood was spent in Africa as a missionaries' kid, and while this was a great experience in many ways, it meant that the friends I had were only in my life for one or two years at a time, not really enough time to form any kind of lasting relationships. By the time I hit high school in New Hampshire the list of friends made and lost was pretty long and I shied away from friendship of any kind. I did have one good friend in high school (thanks to her friendliness and persistence) and going to college together made the adjustment easier for both of us. College was a whirl of new friends and social activities for me, and I remember my senior year being a culmination of great experiences and relationships, but in the back of my mind I knew I would soon lose it all. A popular song at that time was from Michael W. Smith with this chorus:

And friends are friends forever

If the Lord's the Lord of them

And a friend will not say never

'Cause the welcome will not end

Though it's hard to let you go

In the Father's hands we know

That a lifetime's not too long to live as friends

I tried to believe it but in my experience once your friends are gone they are out of your life forever. And for awhile that was true.

Once I was out of the secure college environment I again struggled with finding and making friends - I tend to keep everyone at arm's length and I find it difficult to connect with anyone on more than just a surface level. I prefer to be in the background, watching the social interactions going on around me - I am naturally a shy, quiet person (publicly anyway - my family has had a different experience) which causes social awkwardness, which makes me more reticent... well you can see how this becomes a vicious cycle. I love the idea of being a "fly on the wall" - observing the social interaction around me but not having to participate in it - I'm a people watcher!

Which brings me back to Facebook. What a perfect social environment for someone like me! You can see what's going on in your friends' lives, observe the interactions with their friends and family, and you can choose to participate or not. It's fun to look at their photo albums, check out their interests and opinions, and read their status updates. And you know all of those friends that I lost track of over the years? I have re-connected with many of them, including friends from college, high school, the international school in Liberia (ACS), and even the Lutheran boarding school I attended in 4th and 5th grades in "up-country" Liberia (Phebe). We recently moved and Ed is serving a new church, and although it has been hard to leave friends and colleagues behind I can keep up with some of them on Facebook, and at the same time get to know some of my new church family in the same way! It truly represents a cross-section of my life, spanning the years of my life, places I have lived, and people I have known. Of course I still have to live in the real world and strive to develop and nurture friendships in person, but Facebook has added a whole new social dimension to my life and that can only be a good thing.

Mary's Boy Child

Christmas is a time for remembering. While driving to a family Christmas party today I heard one of my favorite Christmas songs on the radio - "Mary's Boy Child." Whenever I hear this song it brings me back to my childhood - I am 9 years old again, and at boarding school. As Methodist missionaries' kids in Liberia, West Africa, our best option for a good education was a Lutheran boarding school about an hour away from my home at the Ganta mission station, and my parents made the difficult decision to send my brother and me there at a young age. There were about 30 kids at the "hostel", as we called it, between the ages of 7 and 14, mostly missionaries' kids from around Liberia. We were cared for by our house parents, Uncle Ron and Aunt Elaine, and were bused to a school on a nearby college campus. Every night before bed we would all meet in the common area, a large living room between the girls hall and the boys hall, and have devotions. Sometimes a local teacher would come and tell us stories, and we would hang on her every word, eagerly waiting each night for the next installment of her story. Sometimes we would have music - I remember one night before Christmas vacation a young Peace Corps man came with his guitar and shared his music with us. "Long time ago in Bethlehem so the Holy Bible Say, Mary's boy child Jesus Christ was born on Christmas Day..." I had never heard this song before and I sat transfixed, soaking in the beautiful words and melody. "And man will live forevermore because of Christmas day." Such powerful words, and as young as I was I really felt the power of them that night. Thirty boys and girls, sitting in a circle in their pajamas on a warm African night, with the tropical sounds of frogs and fruit bats outside, quietly listening to a young man share the Christmas story. I will always remember the peace and purity of that moment and each Christmas when I hear "Mary's Boy Child" I am a little girl again, realizing for the first time the true meaning of Christmas.

The Promised Land

"I believe man was made for joy, Some men must find it in pain, some rivers flow in caves beneath the ground, sometimes there's sun in the rain." I recently rediscovered a favorite music group from my childhood - no, it's not a 70's heart throb group (the Partridge Family, anyone?) or a music icon like Michael Jackson or Bruce Springstein - my inspiration comes from a little known group called the Medical Mission Sisters. Yes, they are nuns, okay! Growing up on the mission field exposed me to many out of the ordinary experiences - I don't know what the typical American kid was listening to, but in my house the Medical Mission Sisters were often on the record player and I absorbed Bible stories and trust in God from their folksy, faith-filled music. Recent life changes have made stressful adjustments necessary, and when I needed something to lift my spirits their music came to mind. Listening to it again has been a joyful experience!

Joy is a hard concept for me to grasp. When everything in life is good it's easy to be joyful - it comes naturally - but when the hard times come (and they always do) joy can seem out of reach. It should be easier for me because I have had the best teachers on living a joyful life through serious adversity. Mom and Dad have struggled with the ravages of Dad's Parkinson's disease for over 20 years and they have often been frustrated and discouraged, if not despairing, but through all of their ups and downs (more downs than ups) they have never lost the joy that their faith in God has given them. Their friends and family feel terrible that Dad has been afflicted with this terrible disease, but I don't think anyone has lost sight of Mom in the background as wife, mother, caregiver, advocate, comforter, chauffeur, nurse, secretary, financial planner, personal shopper, family liaison, counselor, you name it, if Dad needs it she does it. What a toll it has taken on her! Her health, energy level, lifestyle, and moods have been drastically effected in spite of all of the positive steps she takes to care for herself. She begins each day with devotions, carefully plans nutritious meals, tries to exercise regularly, visits her doctors and counselor as needed, visits friends and family, participates in church activities, and keeps in touch with her support groups which include her Bible study group and her family. What more can anyone do?

A few weeks ago I reread the story in the Bible of when Joshua and the Israelites crossed the Jordan River and entered the Promised Land. The priests carried the Arc of the Covenant to the edge of the river and as they stepped in, the waters parted, leaving a huge wall of water on one side and a river flowing away on the other. The priests stood in the middle of the river while all of the Israelites (thousands? hundreds of thousands?) crossed safely to the other side. Of course the priests weren't holding the water back - God was doing that - but he used them to accomplish it and to give the Israelites the confidence to cross. This is a very compelling visual if you think about it, and when I think about it I see Mom. There she is, standing in the middle of the river of her and Dad's life while the waters of disease, stress, and fear pile up on one side of her and life flows away on the other. Meanwhile Dad slowly, laboriously crosses the river towards the promised land - and when he sees the overwhelmingly high wall of water he knows that Mom is there to stand between him and the fear and despair that threaten to engulf him. Mom is not holding the waters back, God is, but he chose her for the difficult job of helping Dad with his daily struggles. It's a life of sacrifice and anguish but she has also filled it with love and joy. People often say I look like my mother and that is a compliment, but it is more important to me to BE like her - to have her dedication and quiet, patient strength. And to somehow find the inner joy that shows through her life. Of course the answer is faith, and trust in God's ultimate plan for us.

To quote the Medical Mission Sisters: "Is there a song to ease our sorrow, to lead us along into tomorrow, to show us how to live in our now, Father thy will be done, Father thy will be done."

Diamonds

I watched the "Great Pumpkin" Halloween special the other night and I was struck again with how dark those stories really are. Good grief, Charlie Brown is a seriously depressed kid! In this one show he got rocks in his trick-or-treat bag when everyone else got candy, he got a party invitation by mistake - he was really on the "do not invite" list, he was taken in by Lucy's football gag again, and his friend Linus was laughed off the stage by his schoolmates. And yet we continue to watch these holiday specials every year and have a real affection for them - why is that? Maybe Charlie Brown represents something in all of us - our fears, our insecurities, our feelings of isolation, and even our tendency towards depression. If we can watch it on TV or read it in a comic strip then we can laugh at it and those feeling don't seem so terrible anymore.

I never thought much about depression until a few years ago. I had the usual ups and downs of life but nothing too serious or disturbing. My unstable childhood included moving every few years, many different schools, and never being able to maintain friendships (if I didn't move then my friends did), which resulted in shyness and insecurity. But because of my loving family and our Christian faith I was happy through all of the upheaval, and that provided a solid foundation to bring into my adulthood. Life swept me along through college, graduate school, marriage, three children, the ministry for Ed, and library jobs and I thought I was coping with everything pretty well. As the kids got older and moved towards college age the demands on my time multiplied and my ability to keep up started to slip, but how could I complain? I had no more on my plate than anyone else I knew, so I just kept trying to stay on top of everything and the pressure kept building.

Of course I finally reached a breaking point - I woke up one morning with the world spinning and thus began a nightmare of dizziness and exhaustion that lasted for months. I had to let go of everything because I was barely able to function - it was like I had been holding onto a bunch of balloons that got bigger and heavier until I got sick and had to let go of them all. What was left was a useless shell of a person, at least that is how I felt (my family says otherwise). And that is when depression came into my life. Maybe I was depressed before my illness - is being stressed and overwhelmed a kind of depression? I don't know, but it certainly eventually resulted in depression. I went for walks every day during my illness because only when I was walking did my head feel close to normal, but I always knew that I would have to stop walking eventually and the horrible dizziness would be back (I've heard it described as going up and down a spiral staircase under water). No one knew how close I came to stepping in front of a car during those walks - I couldn't bear the constant dizziness and I was sure my family would be better off without me - I was just a burden. That's how out of touch with reality I was because of course it would have been devastating to my family! Three things stopped me: I couldn't bear to do that to the driver of the car, a deep seated survival instinct, and the protective hand of God.

I finally emerged from the dark tunnel of illness and slowly gathered up the pieces of my life but I was not the same as before - I had a new awareness of the dark side of life and of how depression can creep up on us. I didn't want to shy away from the reality of depression, I wanted to look it in the face and acknowledge its existence. I was drawn to the song "Child Psychology" by Black Box Recorder with the line "Life is unfair, kill yourself or get over it" - I had to stop playing it because it was freaking the kids out! On the show Gilmore Girls Rory says she likes the song because it makes her "gloomy" but to me it is more about fighting against despair - the implication is that killing yourself is not an option so get over it.

Another song that struck a chord with me was "Into the Ocean" by Blue October, especially the lyrics in the chorus:

I want to swim away but don't know how

Sometimes it feels just like I'm falling in the ocean

Let the waves up, take me down

Let the hurricane set in motion, yeah

Let the rain of what I feel right now come down

Somehow these words express how I felt before the vertigo hit, and how I still feel sometimes when life is too overwhelming and I'm having difficulty coping. Sometimes it seems like it would be a relief to just let go of all of the stress and worry, and allow myself to be swept away in a wave of feelings. And in a lot of ways that is exactly what I should do. Of course I still have to fulfill my responsibilities to my family, my church, and my career, but I need to let go of the stress and worry and trust my future to God. He says "come to me all ye that labor and are heavy laden and I will give you rest" and that is what we all have to do - rest in the knowledge that God really is in control and does have a plan. In other words "let go and let God!" It sounds too simplistic and it is not easy but it is the only way to keep from falling apart.

Depression is pretty widespread in our culture, and this is evident by how often we see it in pop culture, which is another way to say I found a third relavent song! A recent song by Rob Thomas addresses depression from a different point of view - that of those effected by the depression of a loved one. "Her Diamonds" expresses the helplessness of watching someone you love struggle with depression, at least that's what I hear in it:

By the light of the moon she rubs her eyes

Sits down on the bed and starts to cry

And there's something less about her

And I don't know what I’m supposed to do

So I sit down and I cry too

And don't let her see

And she says oooh I can't take no more

Her tears like diamonds on the floor

And her diamonds bring me down

Cuz I can't help her now

She’s down in it

She tried her best and now she can't win

It's hard to see them on the ground

Her diamonds falling down

There are a couple of things that struck me with this song. The line "And there's something less about her" is heartbreaking to me, because that is how you feel when you are sad and hopeless - like you are less than you were or you should be, and obviously that is how others see you as well, whether or not they admit it. "Her diamonds bring me down cuz I can't help her now" shows how agonizingly helpless it is to watch someone you love shut themselves into their sad world where you can't reach them to help, and the comparison of diamonds to tears emphasizes the preciousness of our relationships.

When things aren't going our way and our future is uncertain it is easy to wallow in sadness and apathy, but this behavior is a slippery slope that can lead to depression and a point of no return. We have to remember the ripple effect our actions have and focus on the positive things in our life and what we can do to change our situation. In other words don't give in - fight the negative thoughts! We can and must acknowledge the things in our lives that make us sad and stressed, and we can express our feelings in music, art, humor, writing, talking, and whatever else helps take the fear and stigma away. But most importantly we must cling to our family and our God for strength and security, because shutting them out is the worst thing we can to. Let's laugh at Charlie Brown, cry with Rob Thomas, and ride the waves of life knowing that God will always catch us when we fall, if we let him.

Gratitude

Dad doesn't have very many good days. Sometimes it seems like every time we visit we have to witness a new nightmare for him, whether it is mealtime messes, bathroom mishaps, mobility issues, or psychotic symptoms, just to name a few. It's hard to remember that this man was in charge of health care for the country of Liberia, then for the state of New Hampshire, and finally for the state of West Virginia. He needs round the clock care and he doesn't often express gratitude for the care he gets from the nursing home staff or his family - why is that? Maybe it's because after managing a staff of professionals for so many years he expects people to simply do their jobs; maybe it's because it takes so much of his energy to perform day to day functions that he has no energy left for gratitude; or maybe it's because when you need help for every little thing you do, every moment of every day, the burden of gratitude becomes too great, and he can't think about it anymore. Never-the-less I know it is disconcerting for my mother, who has done so much for him on a daily basis for over twenty years.

A few weeks ago Mom and I arrived at the nursing home to find Dad bent over double in his wheelchair, unable to move or call for help. We quickly went to find aides to help him into bed (it takes two people and a lift), and we realized that the medicines he had been given almost an hour ago were still in his mouth - he had been unable to swallow them. We called the nurse who insisted that he HAD swallowed them, while we tried to explain that we had found them in a wad in his mouth - confusion reigned. Until a quiet, authoritative voice from the bed said "what are you going to do about it?" We all paused and looked at the broken, helpless man who had calmly taken control of the situation. There he was, the man who had supervised the opening of clinics all over Liberia, who had worked with Liberian government leaders and New Hampshire and West Virginia governors and legislators, cutting right to the heart of the situation, as he had always done.

The nurse got him more medicine and we settled down for a visit. Dad could hardly move or talk, but when I showed him the candy I had brought him from Granite State Candy Shoppe, his favorite sugar mints, his eyes lighted up. He indicated that he wanted a piece, and opened his mouth as I placed a pink sugary disk on his tongue. He closed his mouth and his eyes and smiled ear to ear, looking completely content. Gratitude? Maybe. I know I was thankful to catch a glimpse of the father I grew up with and who is buried in his disease, and I treasure the memory of his contented face as he enjoyed a simple piece of candy.

WOW!

I grew up without any understanding of what an American fall was like. My mom used to say that fall was her favorite season and I could never understand why. Wasn't it just cold and gray, with dead leaves falling off the trees? In Liberia we had two seasons, rainy and dry, and it rained often during the rainy season and rarely, if at all, during the dry season. I don't remember the trees changing much from one season to the other - I guess leaves did die and fall off the trees, but I never paid much attention. Our visits to the States didn't help much. We lived in inner city Baltimore when I was seven and in Atlanta when I was eleven, but neither city really highlighted the attributes of fall.

We moved back to the United States when I was fifteen, and settled in New Hampshire. Imagine my amazement that first year when the leaves began to change - wow! I had no idea that trees could have such a variety of vibrant colors - there was hillside after hillside of this beautiful color palate; I couldn't get enough of it. I kept thinking "why didn't anyone tell me about this? How could I have not known?" but of course there are no words to really describe it.

I was reminded of this awesome discovery the other day. We recently moved from just outside of Pittsburgh to rural Pennsylvania, and instead of being surrounded by parking lots and businesses we see woods, fields and rolling hills out of our windows. It has been hard to adjust to the isolation but the beauty of the area sure does compensate! I am loving watching the leaves change all around us, but when I took a ride on route 8 from Franklin to Barkeyville the other day I was awestruck! Mile after mile of colorful hillsides greeted us, and around every bend was a new discovery. I remember hearing a sermon by Bishop George Bashore years ago, in which he described driving on the Kangamangus Highway in New Hampshire one fall day, a route that is famous for its beautiful fall foliage. He said they would go around a bend and say "wow!" then go around another bend and say "wow!" as the scenery continued to be more and more beautiful. I can't remember the point of the illustration (sadly), but I imagine it had something to do with God's majesty. Since then I have wanted to take a ride on the Kangamangus Highway during the peak of the fall foliage, but now I don't need to - it can't possibly be more beautiful than that stretch on route 8! It is with a sense of wonder that I watch God's autumnal fireworks this fall - what a gift. All I can say is WOW!

The New Kid

I had forgotten how hard it is to be the new kid in school. I certainly have had a lot of experience with it after seven schools in twelve years. It's something you struggle through when you have to and block out as soon as you can. Watching my eighth grade son experience being the new kid for the first time has brought back a flood of memories, and you'd think with all of my experience I could say or do something to help. But that's not possible - each person has to figure it out alone - and I do mean alone, because no matter how friendly and welcoming kids are (or aren't), you are still the only person going through this particular adjustment and no one can possibly understand what makes it so hard.

We recently got a GPS and have had fun using it. When we take a route unfamiliar to or not recommended by "Garmin" she says "recalculating...recalculating...recalculating..." until we are back on track. Being in a new school is a constant series of recalculations - walking down the halls where every face is unfamiliar, sitting in a classroom where groups of friends are chatting - except you, going to lunch in the hopes that there will be someone to sit with, riding a bus through unfamiliar roads with rowdy and unfriendly kids...etc. It's exhausting! You can never relax during your day because every conversation and action takes extra effort to "fit in" and not draw attention to your differences. The end of every day is a relief and you think "that wasn't so bad, I did pretty well today" but when Mom says "tell me about your day" you don't even want to think about it, you just want to forget it, and it feels harder to do it again the next day. It's not one specific thing it's the constant readjustments, small and large, that wear you down. Like Chinese water torture.

Of course time makes everything better. Things become easier in small, almost unnoticeable increments, and suddenly you can look back and remember how much harder it was those first few months. Eventually (if you are lucky and stay long enough, which I never did) you feel like you belong and this is your school. And the memory of those first few month or years fades until years later when you have to helplessly stand by and watch your own child fight his own lonely battle. But I am wrong, we can help - we can make home a sanctuary to come back to, we can resist underestimating how hard everything is for them (because we really don't want to relive it ourselves), and we can make sure our children know that Jesus walks with them wherever they go, and no one understands loneliness better than him.

Class of 1979

My 30th high school reunion is this weekend (am I really that old?)  A few classmates have contacted me on facebook, the event is being held at one of my favorite restaurants, and it sounds like fun - but there is no way I will go to this or any high school reunion! High school was not a happy time for me - in fact, it was horrible!  This is not a reflection on my school or classmates - it was a small town school (my graduating class was about 75), the kids were nice enough, and a few of them really tried to be friendly and include me. The problem was definitely and exclusively me. 

I know I am not the only person who has bad memories of high school - it's so common it's cliche, and we all have different reasons for this.  My problem was culture shock. Up until 10th grade I had lived most of my life in Liberia, West Africa, as a missionaries' kid. My schooling consisted of a mixture of homeschooling, Liberian school, boarding school with other missionaries' kids, and an American school with embassy kids, "army brats", wealthy Liberians, and a variety of kids from other cultures. None of this in any way prepared me for high school in a small New England community - I was a fish out of  water! I often wonder if it would have been easier if I had been a different color or had an accent. On the outside I looked and sounded like everyone else, but really I was clueless - I had no idea how to relate to the people around me. I didn't know how to dress and I could barely have a conversation with the other kids - not only was I painfully shy, but I had no frame of reference to draw from for conversation. I just didn't know what to say or how to say it. Everything I said sounded awkward, inappropriate, irrelevant, or just plain stupid to me, and I often felt like people were looking at me like I had two heads (in actuality they probably weren't paying much attention - we're all pretty self-involved in high school). 

I've come a long way since high school; I had a great college experience where I made good friends and met my future husband. I have spent the last 30 years raising a wonderful family and gaining confidence in my career as a reference librarian. I love my family, I love my career, I love my church, and I'm very happy with the person that I have become. So why would I have a problem with going to my high school reunion? Because for some reason whenever I encounter anyone from my high school days I immediately revert to the tongue-tied colorless person that I saw myself as back then. I haven't actually seen very many of my former classmates over the years, but the few times that I have I invariably say something idiotic - in other words, everything comes out in "moron"! What's up with that? What on earth makes me instantly regress to 30 years ago? I don't know and I can't seem to stop it from happening. It would be interesting to see everyone and hear about how their lives turned out - I would love to be a "fly on the wall" and watch and listen. But there is no way that I will be there - I'm just not strong enough to get beyond my high school hang-ups. I hope they have a great time catching up and celebrating together, and I hope they take lots of pictures and post them on their facebook pages, but as for me I will keep a safe distance!

Slipping Through My Fingers

We watch her walk away, laughing and chatting with her travel companions, and her father and I marvel at our beautiful daughter's relaxed confidence as she approaches the airport security area. She is setting off on a European adventure, spending the fall semester at the University of Maastricht in the Netherlands. We have been planning and preparing for months - dealing with all of the confusing aspects of going to a foreign country.   Tensions were high during the last week as we shopped for last minute items (a good umbrella, neck pillow, toiletries etc.),  and packed and repacked her two suitcases and two carry-ons. Does she have the right converters and adapters? How many Euros will she need to start with? How can she get minutes for her international phone? (This turned out to be much more complicated than we thought it would be.) In the end we just had to take our best educated guesses, zip up the suitcases, drive her to the airport, send her off, and leave the airport feeling very empty and helpless. It's hard to let go.

But isn't that what parenting is all about? We have to start the process of letting go as soon as our children are born. Remember how hard it was to even let someone else hold our first child? This is quickly followed by leaving them with a babysitter for the first time, the church nursery, preschool, and then the school years.  Each year they gain more and more independence, and we have to back off and let them develop their own personalities while keeping a careful watch for problems.  In middle school, suddenly they are embarrassed to be seen with us and constantly frustrated by our lack of understanding.  In high school their busy lives leave us far behind and we have less and less knowledge and control of their activities. But through it all we have to be available to them for sympathy and advice (whether or not they take it).

 As they venture out into a sometimes unsympathetic world we must be the pillar they can hold on to, the sanctuary they can return to.  They are our most important purpose in life, but they are not ours to keep.  God gave them to us for a little while to nurture and care for, but most importantly to let them go to find their place in this world. In the end they belong to God, and they have to find out what his purpose is for them, regardless of what we want.

We know that Megan will have a great experience, meeting new types of people, seeing a different way of life, and visiting wonderful places.  There will be difficulties but she is so capable and determined that we know she will figure it all out, and will be stronger because she did it herself.  And a different person will come back to us four months later - a little more mature, a little more independent, and with a different view of the world, but when we look at her we will still see our little girl.

 

Crossroads

“Standing calmly at the crossroads, no desire to run. There’s no hurry anymore when all is said and done.”  I’m an ABBA geek, I can’t help it.  I loved them in the 1970‘s when they were moderately popular in the U.S. and phenomenally popular in Europe. I bought  as many of their albums as I could get my hands on and knew all of their songs; when our turntable died I bought a greatest hits CD and for many years had to be satisfied with the few songs (20?) on this one disc.  Imagine how thrilled I was when Mamma Mia became a musical - finally this wonderful music was getting the appreciation that it deserved!  I loved both the broadway show and the movie (although I did question some of the casting decisions for the movie - Pierce Brosnan singing?) I was reintroduced to ABBA songs that I hadn’t heard for years, but the one that resonated the most with me came near the end of the movie - “When All Is Said and Done”.  

Our family is at a crossroads in our lives.  Ed has a new and challenging church with different needs and expectations, I am searching for a way to continue in my career after having left what I thought was the perfect job, and the kids all have adjustments to make as well.  But after 25 years of marriage Ed and I can find the strength to meet these new challenges together.  When we started dating our friends were incredulous - it didn’t make sense to them, we just didn’t fit together! I was quiet and studious with a little bit of feminist spunk thrown in, and Ed was a country boy (and proud of it) and a reluctant student marking time until he could get into an art school.  We met through Christian organizations that we both participated in, and I was initially attracted to his laid back nature and his sense of fun, but as I got to know him better it was his strong integrity that impressed me the most. We dated though most of college and married as soon as Ed graduated.  

Together we have weathered graduate school for me, seminary then a doctoral program for him, three children (I was pregnant on our first anniversary), a miscarriage, illnesses, estrangement, and death within our extended family, and serious health issues within our immediate family, career changes, and always strained finances. We haven’t always been very patient with each other through all of this, but when one of us really needs the other the strength of our love for each other kicks in.  I will never forget how well Ed took care of me when I was so sick with an endlessly long and terrifying bout with vertigo. He shouldered all of my responsibilities as well as his own, and tirelessly took me to every doctor’s appointment while confidently reassuring me that I would get better. He was my rock then, and when I struggle with the residual effects of this illness I can still draw strength from him.

"Stand at the crossroads and look; ask for the ancient paths, ask where the good way is, and walk in it, and you will find rest for your souls" Jeremiah 6:16  We are standing at a crossroads together, but we have the God-given strength of more than 28 love-filled years together to stand on, and holding tightly to each other and to our God, we can go into an unknown future unafraid.