You just don't understand

Photo by Erik Mclean on Unsplash

During the last year of my mom's life, as both her health and her enthusiasm for living declined rapidly, I repeatedly encouraged her to keep fighting. She didn't have a serious or chronic illness. She was simply giving up, and no amount of antidepressants, doctor visits, changes of scenery, pep talks or sweets could snap her out of it. "If you would only have a better attitude, do your exercises and eat more, you would feel better," I told her, over and over. 

She wouldn't listen. Instead, she would look at me sadly, turn and gaze out the window in her room. "You just don't understand, Cheryl." I don't know if she could have said anything that frustrated or annoyed me more. It seemed like such a cop-out. 

But she was right. I didn't understand. I didn't know what it was like to be 85 years old and dependent on my child to care for me. I didn't know what it was like to have lived for over 20 years without my spouse. I didn't know what it was like to have constant nagging aches and pains, to be cold all the time, and to struggle to control my bodily functions. I didn't know what it was like to be her.

I still don't know. But as my own years advance, I think I am starting to gain a little more insight into the perspective that comes with old age. It's a mixed bag. You have greater experience and, one hopes, greater wisdom. But because you have less strength and less energy, the world is less likely to listen to you. 

For all our talk of respecting old age, and appreciating the wisdom of years, and listening to our elders ... I don't think we're very good at it. The world is interested in strength, not weakness; pizzaz, not thoughtfulness. Youth moves quickly and loudly, commanding attention; age is slow and soft, easy to discount. I realize these are generalizations. Young people aren't all dynamic and fast and loud; old people aren't all introspective and slow and softspoken. But it's not merely a cliche that age begets something that youth doesn't have. God tried to tell us as much in the Fourth Commandment. We would do well to listen to Him.

For all the times I didn't get it, Mom and Dad, I am sorry. I wish I could go back in time, knowing what I know now, and do a few things differently. I wish I had slowed down, asked you more questions, taken time to listen to your answers, and benefited more from what you had to say. 

Of course, I can't go back. On the contrary, the years seem to be racing by as I get closer and closer to being that old person that someone else doesn't understand. But maybe, by writing this, I can encourage someone else to take time, stop and listen. Maybe, if you are reading, you will some day be the one sitting with an old person, and you'll remember these words, and try harder to understand. 

Visit to My Brother

Rusty's place

This past week, after attending a conference in Seward, Nebraska, Phillip and I drove up to Cody, Wyoming, to see my brother, Rusty, and his wife, Chris. This is my oldest sibling on my mom's side. He is 16 years older than I am, so I never got to know him well or spend much time with him growing up. But he was always this larger-than-life figure, a real live cowboy, soft-spoken and shy and sparing with words, who would drop in from time to time and make a huge impression on me.

As the story goes, when he was 12 or 13 years old, Rusty had to step in and save my mom from her first husband, who was strangling her and, my mom believed, would have killed her had Rusty not stopped him. After my mom divorced her first husband and married my dad, Rusty pretty much headed out on his own, working various odd jobs, sometimes on his own and sometimes with his dad. He was drafted at the age of 20 but because of bad feet did not get assigned to the infantry or sent to Vietnam. Instead he was sent to Europe. I still have a picture postcard he sent me from Germany when I was about 6 years old. It was a picture of a beautiful German castle of some kind, and he wrote that he thought I would like it because it looked like something out of a fairy tale. When I mentioned this during our visit, Chris was dumbfounded. She said Rusty never writes to anyone. 😉 (That's actually not true, as I know he wrote to my mom periodically over the years, having seen some of his letters among her things after she died.)

Rusty and Chris have a farm in Cody, where they have lived for over 30 years. Rusty works on a nearby ranch (still doing stuff like riding fence and branding calves even though he is 76 years old), and Chris is a semi-retired registered nurse. We got to their place late Monday and left Wednesday morning. Rusty had to work Tuesday, and being a true cowboy he is up and out for work early and returns late, so our hours together were few and I never got a picture, which makes me sad. The last time I saw him before this visit was at my mom's funeral in 2016. Will I see him again? I would like to think so, but at the ages we both are now, considering the distance that separates, and life being what it is, I don't know. But oh, how thankful I am for this brief visit.

I love you, Rusty.

Nos Lamentum

Photo by Mary Sill on Unsplash

Tonight for our midweek Advent service at my congregation in St. Louis, we had a service of lament, otherwise known as "Nos Lamentum." It was a fitting way to observe the fourth Wednesday of Advent, which also happened to fall on the winter solstice, the shortest (and darkest) day of the year. As we look toward the Nativity of Our Lord in just a few days, tonight's service was an opportunity, in song and prayer, to hear God's Word as we laid our laments before Him. We know that, in His love and compassion, He hears them all, and we can trust that He is working in our trials and directing them all for our good. 

Tonight's litany was particularly well-suited to the present time, so I thought I would share it here. I pray it blesses you as it did me.

O Lord,

how long?

O Christ,

how long?

O Lord,

how long?

O Christ,

hear us.

God the Father, in heaven,

have mercy.

God the Son, Redeemer of the world,

have mercy.

God the Holy Spirit,

have mercy.

Be gracious to us.

Spare us, good Lord.

Be gracious to us.

Help us, good Lord.

By the mystery of Your holy incarnation;

by Your holy nativity;

by Your baptism, fasting, and temptation;

by Your agony and bloody sweat;

by Your cross and Passion;

by Your precious death and burial;

by Your glorious resurrection and ascension;

and by the coming of the Holy Spirit, the Comforter:

Help us, good Lord.

In all time of our tribulation;

in all time of our prosperity;

in the hour of death;

and in the day of judgment:

Help us, good Lord.

We poor sinners implore You

to hear us, O Lord.

We lament the global pandemic

Its death

Its despair

Its division

Its fear

Its isolation

Its alienation

Its confusion

How long, O Lord?

We lament those things the pandemic has taken

Lost loved ones

Lost opportunities to mourn

Lost joys

Lost celebrations

Lost time together

Lost friendships

Lost trust

Lost faith

How long, O Lord?

We lament divided communities and peoples

Divisions by politics

Divisions by race

Divisions by class

Divisions by wealth

Divisions by sex

Divisions by ability

Divisions by belief

How long, O Lord?

We lament evil in our community and nation

Greed

Selfishness

Injustice

Violence

Wantonness with life

Arrogance

Cruelty

Attempts at self-definition

How long, O Lord?

We lament the persecution of our brothers and sisters

The violence done against them because they bear your name

The intimidation of their families

The restrictions on their practice of faith

The political pressure on their communities

How long, O Lord?

We lament that there are those who don’t believe in your Name

Mothers

Fathers

Brothers

Sisters

Sons

Daughters

Friends

Others near

And those far off

How long, O Lord?

We lament failings in Your Church

Abuses of power

Abuses of people

Division and disunity

Compromise with the world

False and impure doctrine

Unwillingness to forgive

Deafness to suffering

Indifference to injustice

Arrogance

Anger

Suspicion

Fear

How long, O Lord?

We lament failings of body and mind

For chronic pain and illness

For cancer

For incurable disease

For depression

For anxiety

For addiction

For eating disorders

For thoughts of suicide

How long, O Lord?

We lament abuse

Of children

Of women

Of our elders

Of the poor

Of the weak

Of those with no voice

By those in positions of power

By those in positions of trust

By those who should do better

How long, O Lord?

We lament broken families

Broken by death

Broken by selfishness

Broken by anger

Broken by violence

Broken by distance

How long, O Lord?

We lament death

By abortion

By miscarriage

By stillbirth

By accident

By malnourishment

By natural disasters

By disease

By murder

By war

By suicide

How long, O Lord?

We lament loneliness

from infertility

from isolation

from the death of friends or family

from singleness

from exclusion

from disillusionment

How long, O Lord?

We lament doubt and despair of your promises

Because of sin from within

Because of sins of others

Because of abuse and trauma

Because of the cares of the world

Because suffering

Because of loss

How long, O Lord?

We lament our sin

The sin we welcome

The sin that chases after us

The sins we commit again and again

The sins by which we hurt and harm our neighbor

The sins by which we hurt and harm ourselves

The lack of faith we often show

How long, O Lord?

We lament the persistent work of Satan in our midst

His works

His ways

His exploitation of our weakness

His stoking of division

His attacking of our insecurities

His attacking of joy in ministry

How long, O Lord?

Lord Jesus Christ, Son of God,

we implore You to hear us.

Christ, the Lamb of God, who takes away the sin of the world,

have mercy.

Christ, the Lamb of God, who takes away the sin of the world,

have mercy.

Christ, the Lamb of God, who takes away the sin of the world,

grant us Your peace.

O Christ,

hear us.

O Lord,

how long?

O Christ,

how long?

O Lord,

how long?

Into Your hands, O Lord, we place our laments, trusting You to answer them according to Your mercy, and awaiting Your final deliverance in the day of our Lord, Jesus Christ.

Amen.

Collect for Peace

O God, from whom come all holy desires, all good counsels, and all just works, give to us, Your servants, that peace which the world cannot give, that our hearts may be set to obey Your commandments and also that we, being defended from the fear of our enemies, may live in peace and quietness; through Jesus Christ, Your Son, our Lord, who lives and reigns with You and the Holy Spirit, one God, now and forever.

Amen.

This is great literature

By Grandmother's Sickbed, Michael Ancher, 1879, Wikimedia Commons

I'm currently reading Rebecca by Daphne du Maurier. It's my first time to read it. I am not finished with it, so no spoilers, please. I'm enjoying having a fairly easy, accessible but engaging Gothic-style mystery to take my mind off our vexing national and world events. I relate to the narrator. She's highly introverted, to the point of getting lost in the twisting, turning hallways of her own home because her new husband is not around to greet some unexpected guests and she is afraid to do it herself. That's one way to discover that your new house may have some secrets. 

Last night in my reading of Rebecca I came across a passage of the sort that, for me, takes a work of literature from the level of "good" to "great." It's a passage that can stand on its own in capturing something that rings universally true about the human condition. It's possible to read this passage out of the context of the entire story and still appreciate it. The language, setting and characters come together in a way that makes the reader say, "Yes, that's just how it is."

See if you agree.

I felt rather exhausted, and wondered, rather shocked at my callous thought, why old people were sometimes such a strain. Worse than young children or puppies because one had to be polite. I sat with my hands in my lap ready to agree with what anybody said. The nurse was thumping the pillows and arranging the shawls.

Maxim's grandmother suffered her in patience. She closed her eyes as though she too were tired. She looked more like Maxim than ever. 

I knew how she must have looked when she was young, tall and handsome, going round to the stables at Manderley with sugar in her pockets, holding her trailing skirt out of the mud. I pictured the  nipped-in- waist, the high collar, I heard her ordering the carriage for two o'clock. That was all finished now for her, all gone. Her husband had been dead for forty years, her son for fifteen. She had to live here in this bright, red-gabled house with the nurse until it was time for her to die. 

I thought how little we know about the feelings of old people. Children we understand, their fears and hopes and make-believe. I was a child yesterday. I had not forgotten. But Maxim's grandmother, sitting there in her shawl with her poor blind eyes, what did she feel, what was she thinking? Did she guess that we had come to visit her because we felt it right, it was a duty, so that when she got home afterwards Beatrice would be able to say, "Well, that clears my conscience for three months."

Did she ever think about Manderley? Did she remember sitting at the dining-room table, where I sat? Did she too have tea under the chestnut tree? Or was it all forgotten and laid aside, and was there nothing left behind that calm, pale face of her but little aches and little strange discomforts, a blurred thankfulness when the sun shone, a tremor when the wind blew cold?

I wished that I could lay my hands upon her face and take the years away. I wished I could see her young, as she was once, with colour in her cheeks and chestnut hair, alert and active as Beatrice by her side, talking as she did about hunting, hounds, and horses. Not sitting there with her eyes closed while the nurse thumped the pillows behind her head. 

"We've got a treat to-day, you know," said the nurse, "water-cress sandwiches for tea. We love water-cress, don't we?"

"Is it water-cress day?" said Maxim's grandmother, raising her head from the pillows, and looking towards the door. "You did not tell me that. Why does not Norah bring in the tea?"

"I wouldn't have your job, Sister, for a thousand a day," said Beatrice sotto voce to the nurse.

"Oh, I'm used to it, Mrs. Lacy," smiled the nurse, "it's very comfortable here, you know. Of course we have our bad days but they might be a great deal worse. She's very easy, not like some patients. The staff are obliging, too, that's really the main thing. Here comes Norah."

The parlour-maid brought out a little gate-legged table and a snowy cloth.

"What a time you've been, Norah," grumbled the old lady.

"It's only just turned the half-hour, Madam," said Norah in a special voice, bright and cheerful like the nurse. I wondered if Maxim's grandmother realized that people spoke to her in this way. I wondered when they had done so for the first time, and if she had noticed then. Perhaps she had said to herself, "They think I'm getting old, how very ridiculous," and then little by little she had become accustomed to it, and now it was as though they had always done so, it was part of her background. But the young woman with the chestnut hair and the narrow waist who gave sugar to the horses, where was she?

From Rebecca, by Daphne du Maurier, Chapter 15

Edited to add: I didn't like the way this book ended. But I still appreciate the writing in many parts of it. 

An Ode

Back in March, my son wrote a poem for his freshman English class. It was a summary, in verse, of Harper Lee's To Kill a Mockingbird. You can read it here.

Last week, he wrote another poem for English class. The assignment this time was to write an ode. I would have predicted an ode to dogs, or video games, or ice cream, but instead, he wrote an ode to odes. His English teacher thought he did a very good job. I think so, too.

An Ode to Odes

Oh, how I love the odes!

Blessings you bring to all you speak of.

Oh, how you tickle the senses!

In your words I hear glorification

To that of which you speak.

An ode to popsicles, a sweet

Taste to my tongue.

An ode to the viola, a

Lullaby to my ears.

An ode to red hair, long, flowing

And beautiful to my eyes.

An ode to water, washing past

My fingers.

An ode to spices, a wonderful

Aroma from the Caribbean.

Odes, odes, never ending odes,

Thousands, millions, infinite words

Brought to life by the writer's quill.

Wonders you bring, eternal words, like

Eagles that soar full of that wonder.

An ode to odes.

By Evan Magness

Memory Lane

I'm doing some unpacking & organizing today--almost 18 months after moving into this house we still have so many boxes to sort through--and came across some boxes of pictures, which is not good because it slows down the unpacking as I pause to look at pictures. :-)

But it got me thinking about how it's been years since I have had any pictures printed--photos are almost all digital now. My two oldest regularly used to look through family photo albums; my youngest has experienced that less, because I don't put pictures in albums anymore. Looking through photo albums leads to telling stories about the people in the pictures and fosters one's ability to remember family events. I'm sorry my youngest hasn't experienced that as much as his siblings. One of my favorite things to do as a kid was to go through the family photo albums. I'm convinced that there are memories I have of my childhood that I have held on to because I had pictures of them.

Then there's the cultural impact of the digitization of photography--20, 50 or 100 years from now, it is much less likely that people will stumble on old boxes of pictures sitting in their grandparents' attics. That's kind of sad.

On the other hand, I guess digital photos are forever, impervious to damage from light or spills and more accessible/less likely to get forgotten in a box somewhere. And they're probably more likely to be tagged with dates and names and places, so I guess that's a good thing. I have so many photos from my parents that have no names or dates, and I have no idea who the people are. Even among my own photos, I sometimes have trouble remembering exactly when the picture was taken or who all the people in the photo are.

As usual, change and progress are a mixed bag, with good points and bad. Photos are so much easier to take and share and preserve these days, but if, like my 15-year-old, you don't have a smartphone and aren't on social media, you may not see many pictures at all, including of your own family.

(Photo by Roman Kraft on Unsplash)

Note to readers

This morning I happened to look at my comments in the blog settings, and I found more than 10 comments over the last couple of years that I don't ever remember reading or getting notifications for. I just assumed people weren't reading and commenting on blogs anymore, but apparently I need to pay more attention! For some reason, Blogger has not been notifying me of comments. I apologize if you felt ignored!

Hmmm, I wonder if I should take comments out of moderation since probably the only people reading these days are my husband and a few friends and family.

Thinking.

So Sing the Mockingbirds

Northern Mockingbird/Wikimedia Commons

My son wrote this poem for his English class. The assignment was to write a summary, in verse, of To Kill a Mockingbird. He also set it to music. The English teacher liked it so much he put it on the test.

So Sing the Mockingbirds

by Evan Magness

In Maycomb's nest live many flocks;

Hawks, Blue Jays, Robins, Finches too;

And many more, make here their nest;

So sing the Mockingbirds this morn.

Finches, they say, fly from their ways;

Hatchlings, they say, migrate today;

'Tis not to be a Finch they say;

So sing the Mockingbirds this morn.

The Mockingbird, He do they mock;

But leave them gifts by tree he does;

And lure him from his nest they try;

So sing the Mockingbirds this morn.

The chick they say, must learn this night;

Just how to live her life just right;

Or fall the pit of shame tonight;

So sing the Mockingbirds this morn.

The Robin calls to Finch for aid;

Fly to his aid, the Father does;

Oppressed by Hawks are they this day;

So sing the Mockingbirds this morn.

Opposed by Hawks, Blue Jays and Wrens;

And Family calls, "Shame us you do!"

"His debt must pay, but still you stand."

So sing the Mockingbirds this morn.

The father weak, the children think;

His only skills, in pen and ink;

He cannot save the Robin, he;

For weak is he, and frail is he.

Yet from the hound he saves his nest;

His gunmanship, by this he's blessed;

Weak be he not, hound dog he's caught;

So sing the Mockingbirds this morn.

Against these winds, the birds still fly;

Against the Hawks, their heads held high;

The Robin save from death, they try;

So sing the Mockingbirds this morn.

So sing the Mockingbirds this morn.

I Heard the Voice of Jesus Say

Today in church we sang, "I Heard the Voice of Jesus Say," Lutheran Service Book 699.

I heard the voice of Jesus say,

  “Come unto Me, and rest;

Lay down, thou weary one, lay down

  Thy head upon My breast.”

I came to Jesus as I was,

  So weary, worn, and sad;

I found in Him a resting place,

  And He has made me glad.

I heard the voice of Jesus say,

  “Behold, I freely give

The living water: thirsty one,

  Stoop down, and drink, and live.”

I came to Jesus, and I drank

  Of that life-giving stream;

My thirst was quenched, my soul revived,

  And now I live in Him.

I heard the voice of Jesus say,

  “I am this dark world’s Light;

Look unto Me, thy morn shall rise,

  And all thy day be bright.”

I looked to Jesus, and I found

  In Him my Star, my Sun;

And in that light of life I’ll walk

  Till trav’ling days are done. (Horatius Bonar, 1808-89)

I think it was the first time for this congregation to sing this hymn. I heard a gentleman behind me say that he didn't know it but that he thought it was really nice. It has been one of my favorites for a while now. Three years ago yesterday, I sang it to my mom (Barbara) in the nursing home. It was just a few days before she came home for hospice care. Today I went back and found an old email that I had written to a friend at the time who was offering a virtual shoulder and ear.  It reminded me of a few things I had forgotten.

It is a rollercoaster. This morning I woke up at 4:30, couldn't go back to sleep, so went on over to the nursing home. When I saw her I thought it could be today. She just looked so drawn. :( I prayed Morning Prayer, read Romans 8, sang Jesus Loves Me and I Heard the Voice of Jesus Say, and cried all over her. And then the nurse came in to give her her pills and I told the nurse she wouldn't be able to swallow those and then she did, the stinker. :-) I was there much of the day and siblings were calling (yay) but she isn't able to talk much. She will say hello and say "I love you" when told "I love you" so we do a lot of that. :-) She did ask me repeatedly today to take her to California. I didn't know what to make of that but one of my brothers said that maybe she's remembering a time when she was still married to her first husband with her six babies and they lived in a pretty nice place in a very pretty part of California (I am not sure where). Tonight after choir I took Evan over with me to tell her goodnight and pray with her and she seemed so much more herself. She asked me, "What's this all about?" meaning, I guess, why am I in this place with all these people around. And I tried to explain why she was where she was. There are these little flashes of clarity and I think maybe we're gonna get her back. The problem is that she only weighs 74 pounds. She is too thin for an IV. So she is only getting what she can get in through her mouth. :-( :-( :-( I hated leaving tonight because I'm afraid there's going to be less of her in the morning when I go back. 

They were such hard days, but also beautiful in the way they distilled each moment, bringing into focus what was important and what was not. Less than a week after I wrote the above, my mom died in her room in our house. My husband, youngest son, and I were with her. The next day I wrote the same friend again. She had asked about sending me something to read since I was in vigil mode.

I was going to write back this morning and say yes, please send it, but last night my mama went home to Jesus and my eyes are not good for much right now. Thank you for being on call for me. It was a blessed end and I will be forever grateful for the gift of these three days with her at home and that I was able to tell what was going on to the extent that I called Phillip and Evan to her bedside and we were able to sing and pray over her in her final minutes. Well, they sang. I held her hands and felt their last squeezes this side of heaven. The strife is o'er, the battle done.   

Our former pastor's wife sang "I Heard the Voice of Jesus Say" as it is in LSB, to the tune SARAH-ELIZABETH, as the Prelude at my mom's funeral. When we got home from church today I went looking for a video I thought I had of her singing it when we were first teaching it to the congregation in Oklahoma, but I can't find it. She sang it so beautifully. It's still her voice I hear in my head when I try to sing this hymn today. 

Bianca, if you're reading, maybe the next time we see each other (this summer???) you can sing it, Phil can play, and I can record it so I can have it for listening in the future because I don't know if I'll ever be able to sing it again myself. Well, maybe in heaven, when my mom is there to help. 

I am baptized!

"Should the Christian stand all day long at the grave of all joys which he enjoyed in past years? Through Holy Baptism a great stream of joy has been conducted in his heart, which does not drain away, but streams forward with his life until its waves carry him into the sea of a blessed eternity. Should the Christian be reminded all day long that the flowers of his youth fall more and more? He stands planted by God in the water of his Baptism as a palm tree which becomes greener and greener and whose leaves never wither. Yes, his Baptism makes death for him like a short winter's nap, out of which an eternal spring--an eternal youth--follows. . . .

"Now then, all of you who believe in God's Word, let your watchword for entering the new year be this: 'I am baptized!' Although the world may laugh at this comfort, the enthusiasts vex its confidence . . . nevertheless, abandon any other dearly held pledges and speak only throughout the entire year to come, in all terrors of conscience and necessity through sin and death: 'I am baptized! I am baptized! Hallelujah!' And you shall prevail! In every time of need, you will find comfort in your Baptism; on account of it Satan will flee from your faith and confession; and in death you will see heaven opened and will finally come into the joy of your Lord to celebrate a great year of jubilee, a year of praise, with all the angels forever and ever. Amen!" - C. F. W. Walther

In the Blink of an Eye

I couldn't sleep Friday night. It was my first bad bout with insomnia in some time--the kind where your brain goes in circles and just won't turn off. I am never sure what brings it on, but in this case I think a contributing factor was news of the death of a young woman of my knowledge. I didn't know her personally, but I knew of her, as she was on staff at a news outlet for which I have written. Her death was a huge shock, as she was not only young but seemingly strong and healthy. According to what I have read, friends saw her a couple of days before she died, and she seemed fine. Early reports attributed her death to complications from H1N1 influenza. She was found, unresponsive, by a friend, who called 911. She later died in the hospital.

I am once again reminded of how tenuous is our grasp on life. It's a cliche, but it's true: at any given moment, we are only a few heartbeats/inhalations away from death. The young woman who died is the same age as my firstborn. At the age of 26, she had already achieved a remarkable degree of success, fame and respect, at a level most of us will never attain. And now, in the blink of an eye, she's gone. I think of my own children, and how well they're all doing in their respective pursuits, and how healthy and (mostly) happy they are. Could something like this happen to one of them? Could they go from peak productivity and well-being to death in a matter of two days? Could my husband or I?

The answer is terrifying to ponder. It's so easy, when things are going well, to take life and its blessings for granted. Our family has had its rough patches, but compared to what some people have had to contend with--are contending with--we have had it pretty good. As I reflect on how good--and for how long--I find myself thinking that it's just a matter of time before Something Bad happens. Why should we be free of trouble? There's no reason we should. We are no more deserving of smooth sailing than the next wretched sinner. We live in a fallen world. Death, the devil, and our own sinful natures are always lurking, plotting to snatch the joy and beauty that are to be had this side of heaven.

What is to be done? Does it help to stay awake analyzing and planning and worrying all night long? Does it make it less likely that Something Bad will happen?

Of course not. Then why do I do it? Why do you?

Because we are faithless. We don't trust that God our heavenly Father is really and truly holding us in His hands. If we did, why would we worry or fear for anything?

Thank God that when we are faithless, He remains faithful. Thank God that He forgives me for too often allowing pointless worrying and obsessing to drown out the peace and comfort that are to be found in His Word. Thank God that even when we can't seem to see, hear, feel, or find Him, He is nonetheless at work, turning all things for good for those who trust in Him.

Please say a prayer today for a family that is facing a kind of pain and loss many of us blessedly can't even begin to imagine. Lord, let them know your love, and grant them your hope and comfort.

Raking Leaves, Then and Now

So, you know that thing people do where they re-stage old photos years later?

Pics on left are from Nov. 4, 2009, in Bolingbrook, Illinois.

Pics on right are from today, Nov. 22, 2018, in High Ridge, Missouri.

Some things have changed.

A lot has not. :-)

We are thankful for it all.

Evan

Caitlin

Trevor

Mom and Evan

Mom

Trevor and Caitlin

























Willard and Dad weren't there that day in 2009 (Willard wasn't even born), but here they are today.

Here's the post from 2009.

Happy Thanksgiving!

A Happy Baptismal Discovery

I was baptized when I was an infant, but I did not grow up knowing or being reminded of my baptismal birthday the way my husband and I have always reminded our own children of theirs. I'm sure I must have had to look up the date when I was confirmed as a Lutheran in my early 20s, but I pretty quickly forgot it again.

A few months ago, as we transferred to a new church after moving to Missouri, I had to look up the date for our new church's records. I don't remember having to do this for other times we have transferred. Perhaps the date was somewhere in my membership record and other churches simply shared it with each other.

Anyway, what a happy discovery it was to go looking for my baptismal birthday only to find out that I was baptized on November 1, 1964. November 1 is not only All Saints' Day, but it is also the date my oldest child was baptized in 1992.

Trevor, we have the same baptismal birthday!

I will never forget this date again.

"We share by water in His saving death.
Reborn, we share with Him an Easter life
As living members of a living Christ.
Alleluia!"
("We Know That Christ Is Raised," Lutheran Service Book 603)

Still growing up

Over the last few weeks I have on two occasions behaved in a way that made me stop and think, "Wait, was that really me?"

In the first instance, I was on a road trip with the kids, attending a wedding in Nebraska and then circling back through Iowa City so that Trevor could check on his apartment and we could all attend the dedication of a new pipe organ at his church there.

After the organ dedication service, we went to eat at a place we've been to before. It's a small, "crunchy" establishment with delicious wraps, sandwiches, soups and salads. We ordered and received our food and were about halfway through our meal when the background music suddenly took a turn and we found ourselves listening to a song that repeatedly used the "F" word.

I got up, went to the front counter, asked the worker to change the channel, and told him why. To his credit, he quickly and politely complied.

In the second instance, I was again out with the kids to see a movie this past weekend. Without going into detail, let's just say I found the ticket-taker highly lacking in courtesy. He responded to us extremely rudely not once, but twice. Young Cheryl would have most likely moved on but grumbled about his sour attitude. Older Cheryl told him, "You are being very rude."

Twenty years ago, I would not have found it so easy to assert myself in either of these situations. I am not sure what has brought about the change, but it's kind of nice to know I can still learn a new skill!

Future pastor?

A couple of weeks ago Evan and I were watching a TV program when an Amber alert rolled across the bottom of the screen. I shook my head in sadness and went on watching the show. A few moments later I noticed that Evan was not looking at the screen but was bent over with his head in his hands. I asked him what he was doing. "Praying," he said. Oh. Of course. That would be the thing to do at such a time, wouldn't it? Funny how my 14-year-old thought of it and I didn't.

More recently, Evan and I had supper at the home of friends--a pastor and his family. Another pastor was also present for the meal. When we arrived at the home, Evan asked if he could take his Bible in and ask a few questions. I said of course--pastors live for such times! So while I hung out in the kitchen with the lady of the house, Evan sat in the living room, Bible in hand, grilling not one, but two pastors about theology.

In the past when people have asked Evan what he wants to be when he grows up, the answer has been something related to computers or video games. Lately, though, it's been "maybe a pastor."

I am not sure whether to feel proud or terrified.

All moved in

One week and one day after we moved in, I finally have a free moment to write an update. It is a rainy Saturday here in High Ridge, Missouri. Saturday! I suddenly have a new appreciation for Saturdays.

If you are on Facebook you may have already seen a few of these pics, but there are also a few new ones.

We had our closing last week on Friday morning and then, keys in hand, drove straight to the house. Shortly after we arrived, so did the moving van.

Move-in went well. We had a very good team who worked hard to get us settled.

These next three pics are actually from the walk-through the night before closing. The previous owners left us flowers and a handwritten card with much helpful information. Our realtor gave us wine and chocolate-covered strawberries!

You aren't really moved in until the piano is moved in.

New peek-through spot.

Happy Evan and Willard.

Welcome committee. (Hunting friends, just so you know, the deer in this neighborhood are not the edible kind.)

After a week, the kitchen is almost unpacked! These things take a bit longer when you're working full-time!

Last night was the first night we actually slept in the house! Since we didn't have appliances yet, Evan and I spent the week sleeping at the rent house. The appliance situation has been somewhat frustrating. The laundry room is not large. It also has a utility sink. That, plus the fact that the dryer hookup is on the left and the dryer door opens to the right, necessitated this arrangement for me to be able to access the dryer. 

Although it doesn't look like it, there is sufficient room for me to work. The problem is that, as arranged, the line to connect the dryer to the washer's water supply (to enable the dryer's steam function) did not reach. So I have no steam on a dryer that is supposed to have a steam function. I haven't given up, though. I'm wondering if a plumber might be able to provide a longer line. 

In other appliance woes, the refrigerator I bought is too wide for the freezer door to open without quickly hitting the wall and limiting access. 

I had measured to make sure the unit fit the space, but failed to think through the ramifications of the refrigerator being against a wall. So this fridge is going back and a 3-inch narrower one is coming. Lowe's is being great about letting us use this one in the meantime. They will pick it up in a week and trade it out with no restocking fee. And in an unexpected turn of event$ for a narrower unit, we are getting a little more cubic footage in a French door model with a utility drawer. Oh, darn. 

This morning I was feeling very frustrated facing all the appliance issues (did I mention that the valve for the refrigerator water line is now dripping?) while preparing to take my husband back to the airport after he was here for barely 24 hours. (He was supposed to come Thursday but didn't come until yesterday due to his flight's being cancelled for weather.) How quickly thankfulness can turn to exasperation. 

Reflecting on the morning, though, it occurred to me that had I bought the narrower refrigerator right off the bat, we would have gone another week without a fridge, as the replacement is having to be ordered. As it turns out, I have a fridge that I will be able to use in the meantime while I'm waiting for one that will fit better. I found my exasperation turning to thankfulness as I observed yet again the Lord's capacity for taking the difficulties in our lives and working them out for good. Then I found myself wondering if that is a rather self-centered way to look at it. As if God cares about my refrigerator when there are parents mourning children who went to school last week, never to come home. 

Yet I know that God cares about every aspect of our lives and that indeed He is present, working out all the details for the ultimate blessing of those who trust in Him. I don't know if He had anything to do with our appliance struggle. But I do know that we are called to cast all of our cares, large and small, upon Him, knowing that in all things He cares for us, and that because of that knowledge we are able, in all situations, to give thanks. So thank you, God, for a new house, a crowded laundry room, a refrigerator that doesn't fit, a home warranty to provide a plumber, and a husband that is fulfilling his call as both a cantor and a husband and father. It is good to be home. 

Last Night

A little over 26 months ago, just a few days after we moved from our Oklahoma rental home into what we thought would be our Oklahoma forever home, I took this picture:

Tonight I took this one:

"Forever" is looking different from what we had planned, and tomorrow we will leave this place behind. How fondly we will remember our time here. That view!--oh, that view. What a salve it has been to weary hearts. How many mornings and evenings we have passed just sitting, gazing, basking in sunrises and sunsets more beautiful than we could have ever envisioned, drinking coffee, or wine, or caipirinhas as we watched a boy and his dog romp among the fireflies or head across the common ground to feed the neighborhood horses some apples.

I'm sad to think of leaving a home we have loved as much as any place we've ever lived, but in a few years that boy is going to be headed off to college, and his dog is going to feel less like romping, and as much as I pictured this view with grandchildren in it some day, I think maybe it's better that on Wednesday morning we will be turning over the keys to a family of 7 who needs the space and yard a lot more than we do at this time in our lives. I am so thankful for the short time we had here, even as I trust that God has wonderful times in store for us about 375 miles up the road in a place called High Ridge. I think the grandchildren, if and when we have some, will be able to find us there, don't you?

I'll be back in a few days to post our first pics of our new home. :-)

From Texas to Illinois to Oklahoma to . . .

Almost 25 years ago we packed up what little we had and moved from Texas to central Illinois. We took a baby with us, but not a piano. The piano had to be sold because we needed the cash and also because the tiny place we could afford in Illinois had no room for a piano.

About 7 years later we moved again, this time from central Illinois to the Chicago suburbs. In a turn of events my husband and I would have never predicted when we were growing up and attending school in Texas, that house in the Chicago suburbs ended up being the longest place either of us has ever lived in our lives. We spent 14 years there. We gave ourselves, heart, mind and soul, to building a life there. We (mostly) reared our children there. We got a lot older and tireder there.

Then life took an unexpected turn. In another development we would have never predicted, we wound up in Oklahoma. Oklahoma?

Yes, Oklahoma. God knew exactly what we needed, and he brought us to a place of love and rest and patience and beauty. It ended up being the place my mom died. She is buried here, in a quiet, peaceful location, and for that I give thanks. Oklahoma, how good you have been to us. We hope we have been half as good for you.

Now we prepare for one more move, one we hope and pray will be our last for a very long time. In a few weeks we will pack up our Oklahoma house and move to Missouri, where I have been working in a job I love for the last six months. We are excited but sad. We will miss this place. We wish we could take the house, church and people with us. We will always be grateful for our time here.

For the foreseeable future my husband will continue working in Oklahoma, staying with friends and making regular trips to Missouri. He is working with our church to help them find a suitable replacement and to aid in the transition. In the meantime, Evan will join me in Missouri and prepare for his own new adventure: Lutheran high school! He is so excited about the prospect, if a little nervous about the changes coming.

We would appreciate your prayers for this transition, for our family's eventual arrival together in one place, and for my husband's vocation as we wait upon the Lord's direction for how he can best serve his neighbor in the years to come.

 P.S. We're taking the piano with us.