Housekeeping

I sent the link to my last blog out by email to about a hundred people and I received 25 undeliverable messages. That means that in the last year, I've managed to lose (at least electronically) a fourth of my friends.

How can you lose a quarter of your friends in the course of a year? I know we're a transient society. I know email addresses are easy to change and that spam chases us everywhere we go.

If you consider yourself a friend, would you send me your email address so I can update my address book and keep in touch?

2007 - The Year in Review

January - I started the year by accepting the task of reviewing fiction for New Wineskins magazine. Books started arriving in the mail and, for the first time, I had more to read than I could keep up with. Tabitha celebrated birthday #5 with a few friends.



February - Our home school co-op, First Class Clark County (West) gives the kids a place to take elective classes. I pitch in by teaching beginning French. I also teach violin to a little boy in exchange for piano lessons for one of the twins. The other twin took harp lessons.



March - I was privileged to receive a scholarship to attend the Mount Hermon Christian Writers conference in March. It was a great place to hone my writing skills and network within the Christian writing community.



April - As part of a push to re-awaken missions involvement at our church, we hosted a Mission Sunday. I tripled the size of my vegetable garden this year and also started a small berry patch and a perennial flower bed.



May - I volunteered to teach at Outdoor School so the twins could attend. We spent a week at Camp Yamhill learning about different aspects of biology, geology, and chemistry. The highlight for the kids was their time on the challenge course, especially their flight over the river on the flying squirrel.



June - Our big trip of the year took us up the Al-Can to Alaska. Beautiful as the voyage was, the best part was watching my baby brother get married. Edwin's parents joined us in Juneau, then traveled back south for a week in Washington.



July - We were adopted into a family this year and enjoyed a few days with them on their property for their 4th of July campout. 4-wheeling, fireworks, and lots of good food and fun. The twins turned 12 and celebrated by hosting a movie night/campout in the back yard with 26 of their best friends. We also took a couple of camping trips at the Washington coast.



August -the end of the summer means harvest (we had some terrific tomatoes this year - wish I had some now). It also means gearing up for the new school year, which means pulling together the year's curriculum. A couple more camping trips and the Portland to Coast walking relay rounded out the summer.



September - Everything seems to swing back into gear with the beginning of school. This is the first year I've had to handle 2 different grade levels and it's been a challenge. Both my writing critique groups continue to challenge me to write, write, write. Edwin closed in on 2 years as a foreman for Shaffer, Inc.



October - We were able to attend the Together for Togo conference in Dallas as a family. Several of our former teammates were also there and we had a wonderful, tear-jerking reunion.



November - The kids and I spent a week on the Olympic Peninsula with friends. It was a whirlwind of visits for me with my friends and the kids with theirs. We spent Thanksgiving with my parents and older brother and his kiddos.



December - Our 20th anniversary came and went with little fanfare. I spent a weekend at the coast having some much-needed quiet writing time. We're spending Christmas in New Mexico, where the sun actually shines. Edwin has gathered all the tools he needs to build a boat in the garage, but that will be news for next year.

Christmas Tag

1. Wrapping paper or gift bags? paper for fun and beauty, gift bags for convenience

2. Real tree or Artificial? pre-lit articificial

3.When do you put up the tree? around the beginning of December

4. When do you take the tree down? right after Christmas (Though this year it's already down.)

5. Do you like eggnog? yuck

6. Favorite gift received as a child? a hamster

7. Do you have a nativity scene? no, but I wish I did

8. Hardest person to buy for? My brother's family

9. Easiest person to buy for? my new sister in law

10. Mail or email Christmas cards? Blog them... watch for it

11. Worst Christmas gift you ever received? I plead the 5th

12. Favorite Christmas Movie? While You Were Sleeping

13. When do you start shopping for Christmas? I pick up sale items all year, but begin in earnest in November

14. Have you ever recycled a Christmas present? probably

15. Favorite thing to eat at Christmas? Satsuma oranges

16. Clear lights or colored on the tree? clear

17. Favorite Christmas song? O Come, O Come Emmanuel

18. Travel at Christmas or stay home? I always choose travel if I've got a choice!

19. Can you name all of Santa's reindeers? Yes

20. Angel on the tree top or a star? Star

21. Open the presents Christmas Eve or morning? 1 gift on Christmas Eve, the rest have to wait.

22. Most annoying thing about this time of year? My favorite radio station does only Christmas music from Thanksgiving until New Years-- enough already!

23. Favorite ornament theme or color? angels playing violin

24. Favorite for Christmas dinner? I don't care about Christmas dinner, but I love to have fondue on Christmas Eve

Horseshoes and Hand Grenades

As I watched my husband's chances to win the ATV shrink from 1 in 200, to 1 in 21, to 1 in 12, to 1 in 5, to 1 in 2, I caught myself thinking, "this isn't such a lame way to spend an anniversary after all."

A bowling contest was not at all what I had in mind for my 20th anniversary, but an ATV wouldn't be a bad memento.

Alas, when he missed the 3-10 split by an eighth of an inch, the ATV went to someone else.

Close only counts in horseshoes and hand grenades. It definitely doesn't count in bowling. But we didn't walk away empty-handed. After all, we got a picture and a story to rival my parents' honeymoon at the crocodile farm.

Milles Bornes

Milles Bornes is the name of a French card game. It means "a thousand milestones." That's what I've lived with my husband in the past 20 years. A thousand milestones and more.

Moves from Arkansas to Missouri to France to Africa to Washington.

Wearing a path on I-40 between school and home.

Blasting the heat on a car trip in 105 degree weather to keep the engine from overheating.

Trudging through the icy blast of Shamrock, TX in sub-zero weather to find shelter.

2 labors, 3 deliveries.

Culture Shock

College, Internship, Language School, Boat School, the School of Life.

We've grown up together, almost raised each other. (Can't you tell from the picture that we married at 13?)

Love has a way of getting you over bumps and through dips in the road. Here's to another 20 years, and then another.

Here's to another milles bornes.

Retreat!

In the midst of holiday bustle, I can't think of a better gift than 24 hours of peace and quiet. In a wonderful God way, things fell together this weekend for me to spend a day and a night at the coast to concentrate on my writing.

24 hours.

285.5 miles round trip.

1 friend (also concentrating on her writing).

1 cottage to use, donated by benevolent benefactors.

8 cups of tea.

1 fire in the fireplace.

30 pages written.

2 satisfied writers.

The Golden Compass

If you want my take on The Golden Compass, check out www.wineskins.org.

Like Yesterday

I remember those painful good-byes, those "we're off to deep dark Africa and we don't know if we'll ever see you again" moments with our families.

14 years ago this month we pulled out of Vancouver with our little yellow Subaru loaded with boxes, our heads loaded with plans, and our hearts loaded with all the apprehension and excitement we could fathom.

Yesterday Andrew and Aimee Martin boarded a plane with the same hopes and fears and faith, off to change the lives of people on the other side of the continent I love so much.

There were so many things I wanted to say.

• It feels like forever, but it's not. You'll see your family again in the blink of an eye. There's nothing like a grand child to help get loved ones to visit.
• If things don't all work out according to plan, it's okay. There's no such thing as failure as long as you place yourself in God's will.
• Culture shock may be the worst thing you ever experience, but just remind yourself that craziness is the norm and you'll make it through.
• Jeff and Cheryl are going to be a blessing to you... and they'll be blessed by you.
• Learn the language. It will give you window into hearts.
• Take Anaiah out. She'll be an instant conversation starter.

Oh, and there's so much more. But part of the adventure is in the discovery. I love you and a huge part of me wishes I was on the plane with you right now.

Blocked Arteries

Imagine if you only had one artery leading from your heart to the rest of your body. Imagine if that artery got blocked. Things would start looking pretty bad pretty fast.

I've always wondered why there's only one major road, I-5, connecting Seattle and Portland. One artery to carry over 50,000 vehicles a day between the heart and lungs of the Northwest. (Sorry Olympia)

Turns out, if you cut off the artery (or flood it, as is the case right now), life in the limbs is affected.

My friend, who lives on the other side of the freeway closure, is supposed to come down tomorrow, but there ain't nothing flowing through Chehalis right now except a bunch of muddy water.

It's time for a stint!

Law Abiding Family

When I was young, I picked up a feather on the beach. An eagle feather. Who knew keeping an eagle feather is a federal offense? Mom and Dad bundled me and feather and took me to the Federal building to turn myself and my feather in.

Lesson learned. Now I'm a rule keeper.

And I married one.

My husband caught a salmon yesterday.

In the road.

Under his truck.

Here in the west we're experiencing the great flood of ought seven and, while we're feeling the pinch of lost land, mudslides and closed interstates, the salmon are having a heyday exploring new and exciting rivers.

This little lady was lucky. She was released into a field/lake by my law-abiding husband.

Something for Nothing

Wineskins is free! Anyone and everyone can now read the articles, search archives and catch up on their favorite blogs.

In debt

Bouncing a check is one thing, but Joe Martins received a letter in the mail from his bank saying he was overdrawn $211,010,028,257,303.00.

That’s $211 trillion.

I can't even imagine that much money. I bet Joe can't either. More than the federal budget, more than the combined fortunes of all the rich people I can think of.

It reminds me of the parable Jesus told about the man who was forgiven his huge debt only to turn around and demand a few pennies from someone who had borrowed from him. Can you imagine if Joe Martin's debt was real?

No debt is too big, no sin too great, no heart too hard that the grace of God can't cover it.

WWJB?

There's a new movie coming out by Morgan Spurlock, the guy who made Supersize Me. It's called What Would Jesus Buy? Just looking at the ads, I'm not sure I relate to the Reverend Billy with his white suit and platinum blond hair or to his Church of Stop Shopping Gospel Choir. But then, I'm not his target audience since I own neither flat screen TV nor ATV.

Just the question What Would Jesus Buy? brings up questions in my mind. Was Jesus concerned with global economics or the hearts of men? Would he be disappointed in the way we've turned a holiday in his memory into a commercial extravaganza? He overturned tables in the temple, upset that God's house had been turned into a den of thieves, yet he paid taxes and told others to do so, too.

I have another question for you, much less thought provoking, but we'll call it research for a current project.

If you had $8000 fall in your lap that you could blow any way you wanted to, what would you do with it? Don't be responsible here-- no paying down the mortgage or helping out the poor. You have to blow the whole wad on yourself.

How would you spend $8000?

Non-verbal Communication

My husband and I don't always get a chance to talk about news stories that interest us. Instead, we leave CNN blips open on our shared computer desktop. There's no telling what type of story will greet me when I wake up in the morning.

It was through this sort of non-verbal communication that I learned that Bai Yun and Gao Gao's baby will be named tomorrow.

It's also how I learned about the man who is suing God, the legless chihuahuas, and the dog who adopted a litter of squirrels.

Admittedly, not earth shattering news.

In return, I leave open pictures of derelict boats that need rescuing, free stuff from craigslist, and blogs of interest.

My brother got in the act this week with a gross story about a hairball. If you really want to see it, you'll have to look it up yourself. Yuck!

I have a grandmother who still clips articles from the newspaper and sets them aside to share when I visit every 5 years or so. Sharing news via Internet is just an instant twist on an old tale.

Giving Thanks Around the World

aciu akpe arigat asante chokrane cies danke dankewol dankie dhanyavad enkosi faleminderit gr graci gracias hvala kiitos mahalo marahaba merci milesker misaotra murakoze nanni paldies saha salamat shukriya si sobodi spas stuutiyi takk thanks toda xi xie

created at TagCrowd.com

Ain't Rejection Sweet?

I just got the nicest rejection. It made me feel so good. Someone from a major publishing house read my chapters and liked them. She can't use them, but she liked them and wished me the best finding another house for my work.

Ahh... sweet rejection.

Skipping Thanksgiving

My 5 year old has big plans. She's been counting down to Christmas since there were 52 days to go. She's down to 38 now. I'm not sure if that's right or not, but it's what she says.

She's been through the wish book and circled something on every page. She NEEDS a remote control parrot, not to mention a mermaid doll that converts to one with legs, a roller coaster kit, and anything with dragons.

"Did you know," she asked the other day, "that Christmas is Jesus' birthday?"

"I've heard that somewhere," I said.

"Why is he always a baby in the Christmas pictures? Why aren't there any grown-up pictures of Jesus on Christmas?"

"Good question."

It's not like she's seeing commercials on TV that tell her Christmas is coming. It's just in the air. I hate to break it to her that there's a whole 'nother holiday before Christmas. She must have picked up on the subtle vibe that holiday season starts in August when the stores put out the holiday displays.

I, for one, refuse to wrap any presents or sing any carols until Friday. House Rules. I want to spend the week being thankful, not greedy.

Fa la la la la la la la la.

Dragons and Dreams

Last night the kids and I attended a talk by Bryan Davis, author of the Dragons in Our Midst and Oracles of Fire series of books. He spoke on fantasy writing and detailed his own journey from computer geek to fiction writer. A couple of things he said stuck out to me.

1. He spent 7 years writing his first book 24 times before it was published.

2. He received over 200 rejections before he got an acceptance.

3. When his first dragon book was picked up by a publisher, the publisher came to him to ask for it.

Writers are a stubborn bunch. It takes pretty thick skin to put yourself out for criticism and rejection again and again and again. You've got to believe in your book: you've got to believe in yourself.

Or you've got to be driven by something that you can't control, a story that burns within you that you must release.

When I sit at my computer and agonize over the fifth draft of a book, it's not because I love failure... it's because I can't NOT write this story.

A Close Friend of a Close Friend

Jay was a special guy... a guy who loved life and people and fun. He took in strays and he had the gift of making every person who came through the door of Gary's Auto feel like she was his most important customer.

He died too young.

I wish I had a copy of the letter Jay had tucked away inside his address book to be read in case of his death. He told people not to grieve, but to have fun remembering him. Everyone should write such a letter.

Something about the things people shared at Jay's memorial today reminded me of Anna from Mr. God, This is Anna. Curious, loving, outspoken and a tease.

I wasn't close to Jay at all. I only knew him as a close friend of a close friend. But watching the faces of those who scattered his ashes in the bay, I was struck by how much influence one man can have if he shares his enthusiasm for living.

God bless you, Jay. And God bless those who loved you.

Magna Carta and the First Amendment

For those of you who would like to follow along in your history texts, we talked about the Magna Carta yesterday. For those of you who don't remember why this document was so important, here's a quick review and a current event that brings its importance to the forefront again.

The Magna Carta was put into effect in 1212 by a very reluctant King John (the bad guy of Robin Hood fame). It limited the power of king and offered rights to citizens, including the famous "no taxation without representation" law that was so important in our own revolution.

Fast forward 550 years.

Our founding fathers borrowed the ideas of the Magna Carta while drafting the Constitution and, especially, the Bill of Rights.

Pop quiz time.

Q: What rights are granted by the First Amendment?

A: Freedom of religion, speech and the press.

An e-acquaintance shared a struggle with me this week that hit on all three of these rights. She's marketing a book on homeschooling by offering a free seminar at her county library.

"FOUL!" cried the mayor of her town. "You can't host a homeschooling event at a public library because homeschooling takes monies from the public school system."

He cancelled the event.

A city mayor cancelled a homeschool event at a county library, reportedly because it stepped on the government's toes.

The event has since been "uncancelled" and the mayor has backed down from his alleged strong wording, but it gives me pause.

Freedom of speech, religion, and the press are messy things. But they were worth fighting for in 1212, in 1776, and they're still worth fighting for in 2007.

Reformed Dirt Eater

Something I've noticed about my new floor is that is doesn't eat dirt very well. In fact, I find myself sweeping twice a day and mopping almost every day, trying to keep the new looking new and fresh and clean.

I've heard it called the halo effect, that urge to paint the next wall, to polish the next floor in order to keep the old from looking shabby next to the new.

Isn't there a halo effect in life, too? When you're made new, dirt shows up more starkly against the pure background of forgiveness. What used to blend in is now revealed as ugly and stained.

I love it that my life can be swept clean every morning, that God's mercies never end.

dirt eater

This photo does does show the full character of our old kitchen floor - brown and orange linoleum in all its 1978 glory.

The one redeeming quality of this floor, which I didn't realize until too late, is that it ate dirt. I don't know if the dirt disappeared into cracks into the linoleum or was absorbed into the pits of its texture, but I rarely swept the floor when it was brown and I almost never mopped it.

Dirt disguises dirt. Deep down ground-in sin makes surface sin seem okay.

But redemption changes everything...

Chai

Before Starbucks offered it in a blended latte...

Before Oregon chai was ever conceived...

Before I'd been introduced to the subtle flavors of true Indian chai...

...chai was the gift of Kenya. A blend of whole milk fresh from the family cow, an extraordinary amount of sugar, the black tea leaves of the Great Rift Valley, and whatever ashes and smoke drifted down into the pot, Kenyan chai is more than just a drink.

It says "welcome" and "We don't have much, but we'll share what we've got." To drink a cup or twelve of chai says "thank you for welcoming me" and "I trust you."

Chai in the states is not quite the same. I don't have an enamel tea set, nor an open fire, nor a cow. But I do have dear friends to whom I love to say "welcome" and "let me share with you another piece of God's world."

I've had chai twice this week - once as receiver, once as giver. And both times were sweeter than the raw sugar that filled my cup.

Flannelgraph

Ahhh... flannel sheets.

They're so warm and cozy, just right for those nights when frost is forming on the ground and windshields outside.

Off with the cotton, on with the flannel and the wool blankets.

The problem is, my pj's are flannel, too. Which in essence turns me into a human flannelgraph, velcro-ing me in place for the night.

For some reason, this idea reminds me of Flat Stanely.

The Difference Between Men and Women

I had a flat yesterday. I stared at it for a minute and muttered "bummer" to myself, emptied the truck of the van so I could get at the spare... then had second thoughts.

I walked back toward the building I had just left and found two men.

"Who would like the opportunity to change a tire?" I asked.

Both jumped up right away and hustled to my rescue. One grabbed the jack, the other the lug wrench and off they went.

I suspect if I'd asked these men's wives (or any of my other female friends) for help, they would have helped by pulling out cell phones and rounding up a guy for the job.

Not that women can't change a tire. I believe I could. I just don't want to. It would be a hardship to me. The guys, though acted like it was no trouble at all.

Thanks, Jay and Alex. You're a blessing.

Lurking

I'll admit, I'm a lurker. I belong to couple of email groups that I rarely contribute to. I read people's blogs and don't leave comments.

Not too long ago, lurkers were mal-intentioned peeping Toms who hid in the bushes of suburbia. No longer. Now we can be ultra-busy soccer moms who want to gather information or have a good read without commiting to a project.

Are you a lurker? Which cyberspots do you frequent without commiting to them? What would it take to draw you out of the bushes?

Nice Surprise

I received a package in the mail today.

"Periodical Mail" read the label. I don't subscribe to any magazines that come in a box.

I opened the box to find 3 copies of a women's magazine... next month's issue.

An article I wrote and sent off months ago is right in the middle of the magazine. I didn't even know they were going to use it. It's my first article in a print publication.

It's a nice surprise.

p.s. I've also got an article out in Wineskins Magazine this month, so it's a big month for me.

California Burning

No puns, no clever observations, no turns of phrase today. Just a sincere concern for the million or so who have already been evacuated from their homes in Southern California and for those who may still lose their houses.

I have friends and family (as do many people) spread from Thousand Oaks to Malibu to San Bernadino to Torrance to Escondido to Chula Vista.

Suffering is so intangible. A similar disaster in a country without infrastructure might yield many times more injuries and deaths. In third world countries where insurance does not exist, fire destroys not only the past, but hope for the future. Even in the midst of devastation, America offers hope to its citizens.

Or does it?

I could launch in to a diatribe against the injustice that still hangs over New Orleans, the poverty linked with ethnicity, apples rotting on trees from lack of laborers.

But not today.

Today we pray for California.

What is it about Midnight?

11:29 p.m.

Hungry. Looking for something tasty.

Why is it that the things I don't eat in the day look so appetizing late at night?

Fruit Loops squeak out my name from the cupboard. An "old maid" cookie begs me to rescue it from its lonely existence.

All the good foods went to bed hours ago. Apples and carrots tucked themselves in at dinner time. But the cheese, that little rascal, keeps trying to crawl out of its chilly bed into my warm tummy.

Even the popsicles, the kind I buy because I don't like them, tease me. "So what if we don't taste good? We're made with SUGAR."

You know me. I don't like to disappoint.

Petrobrusians

Yesterday we learned about a guy named Peter Bruis. He lived in the 1100's in France. He had this crazy idea that people should have access to the Bible, that they should be able to read it for themselves instead of letting the higher clergy of the church tell them what it says.

Radical.

So radical that he was burned at the stake for heresy.

This morning we're going to watch a family perform a play of sorts where all the lines are memorized scripture.

We've come a long way. Let's not forget the price of our freedom.

The Middle Child

It's my job as the middle child to make sure everyone is happy. I hate conflict, fights, discontent. I'm more likely to pull myself out of a situation than to allow any negative energy to focus on me. I may not be good at my job, but it's my place in the family.

Yesterday, a friend asked me to send out one of those emails that turns into a prayer tree, a network of people across the country praying blessings on each other. My first response was to push delete. I don't like sending anything to friends that requires action on their part, especially something that may or may not have originated with friend #1.

So I went back to her and, indeed, she confirmed that the email was part of her nephew's class project. Now what to do? Should I stick to my "policy" and push delete? Or should I help a poor kid (and his poor aunt who was also roped in)?

I sent it out, as several of you know. I hope it was an encouragement to some of you. I know a couple of you just pushed delete. And couple of wrote back to me to say either "This is bogus" or "I don't do this kind of thing."

I stewed about this thing all last night. It's that middle child in me that wants everyone to be happy. That's why I sent the message out. It's also why I felt guilty about it and felt like I was bothering people.

I hate bothering people. But I also hate letting people down.

10-20-30

An acquaintance in the writing community, Mary DeMuth, is doing a blog experiment to see how far-reaching blogs can be. She tagged 12 people and asked them to tag others to see how far this can go. If you decide to answer her question, either leave it as a comment on this blog or answer it in your blog and link back to hers. (http://www.relevantblog.blogspot.com/)

The question is, what were you doing 10, 20 and 30 years ago? Here's my response:

10 years ago-

I lived in Togo. The hot season was just beginning. This is the week of the year when the heat rolls in with sweaty splendor. The bright-hot sun burned overhead, but only we Englishmen and the mad dogs knew it. Everyone else sat in the shade of palm-thatched paillottes.

20 years ago-

This one dates me. 20 years ago I was a sophomore in college in Arkansas, which was of secondary importance since I was also engaged and about to get married. I wore a trench in the sidewalk between my dorm and my (now) husband's. I would pace from his ground floor window to the bike rack by the front door and back again, waiting for him to emerge and walk me to class, to the library, to dinner... anywhere he wanted to take me.

30 years ago-

Let's see. I would have been in Mrs. Norm's 4th grade class where I learned to do the bamboo dance and got to be in the Chinese New Year parade. I'm sure the termination dust was well down Thunder Mountain, a sure sign that another Alaskan winter would soon begin. Was 1977 the year we had snow on Halloween?

How about you? I tag Sandi, Cheryl, Mom, and whoever else wants to participate.

Sub Culture

Apparently blogging is passé. Or something the older crowd does. Or something.

I was dragged by necessity into the land of Facebook. Not sure the difference between Facebook and Myspace except that, as yet, I haven't been stalked and haven't had any strangers approach me.

There's something junior highish about these networking sites (I might have just dated myself there - I think I was in the last jr. high class before it got changed to middle school). Passing notes, writing on walls, poking each other, posting updates every ten minutes about how I'm feeling or what I'm doing... it seemed like a lot of effort for shallow communication.

Turns out, though, I've got friends. Not as many as some, but more than I would have thought. And some of them go way back. It's easy to find friends since people tend to use their real names and network within interest groups, geographic locations and alma maters.

I've reconnected with a few people I thought were lost to me forever.

So, drop on by.

Travesty

I had a teacher in France, Madame Weille, who would have fainted at the thought of throwing out a piece of bread. Every morsel, every crumb of each baguette was used either as pain perdu (French toast) or as bird food. "Jamais," she would say, "Never throw bread away. It would disrespect our memory of the war, when our bread kept us alive."

I smiled inwardly at her passion over bread. I knew then, as I do now, that throwing away a piece of bread or a bowl of rice or a half-eaten serving of salad does not really affect the soldiers of WWII or the starving children of India, China or Africa.

Still, when I made too much Akume (Ugali, cornmeal mush) tonight, I could not throw it away. If I have to eat it for breakfast, fry it into chips and introduce it to my dog, it will all get eaten. Because really, when it comes down to it, I am tied to the hungry people of Africa. I can see their faces as I eat their food.

And to throw away their sustenance would disrespect their memory. It might not affect them, but it affects me.

Deep in the Heart of...

... Texas? Yes, in a physical sense. Together for Togo 2007 met in Dallas.

But it is deep in the heart of missionaries past, present and future that I spent my weekend. When I surround myself with those who have shared in the mission of God on a foreign field, I know what it means - in a limited way - for deep to call to deep. God planted something in these messengers that I cannot put words to. All I know is that it is my privilege and honor to be counted among them.

Thank you to all who came - Bryan, Matt, Crowsons, Neals, Jana, Kennells, Baileys, Hollands, Bunner, Koonces, Hausteins, Mark, Parkers, Amy, Tom and others I don't know yet. You revived my spirit.

You awoke what was sleeping in the depths of my heart.

Small Sky

I traveled today with my family to Texas for a missionary conference/reunion. Since there are five in our family, we always sit 3 on one side of the aisle and 2 on the other. Which means we always have a stranger in the row with us.

On our flight from Houston to Dallas, I shared a row with a flight attendant on her way back home after getting off work. We chatted through several subjects during our 43 minute flight - Why she became a flight attendant, To Kill a Mockingbird, modesty for young girls, Beth Moore.

As our plane started its descent into Dallas, she noted that she could tell I'd traveled with kids before. What gave me away? The snacks? The coloring books? The toys?

"We were missionaries in West Africa," I said, intending to explain that we were headed to a missions conference. But she didn't let me.

"I was a missionary in East Africa!" she exclaimed.

"Really? What part?"

"Uganda."

"Really? What city?"

She told me. As it happened, I knew some people who used to work there.

"What group were you with?" I asked.

"Well, there are lots of denominations in Uganda, but I worked with a Church of Christ team."

You could have knocked me down by blowing on me. I started naming people I knew on that team. You guessed it. Same team. In fact, we even attended the same retreat in Kenya 6 years ago.

Small Sky!

October?

One month down, eight to go until summer vacation. What happened to September? It trickled away in a flurry of soccer shoes, museum visits, and math tests. "We'll start that later" turns to "We should have started that by now," and time moves on.

October.

The month of pumpkins and corn, of hay and falling leaves. The month of apple pies and candy corn and wind. I know March has a reputation, but October's wind has something to say, too.

last october

Yesterday's News

I've been so busy this week with my own stuff, I've failed to comment on some news items that caught my interest, items that have already lost their punch.

That's the fleeting of nature of news in a country with ADD,

Some things I would have commented on if I'd had the time -

• The Senator who is suing God as a statement about frivolous lawsuits.
• O.J. Simpson, Britney Spears, and Mike Tyson and the danger of fame and notoriety.
• The bridge in Ketchikan that will not be built.
• Flooding across West Africa (I may return to this one as I hear more).
• The local family who had their children taken away because their house was too messy.

nectar

God's made a lot of good fruit and I'm a fan of most of it. But I've got to say that he was pretty smart to leave the asian pear for last. This morning I took my harvest of asian pears from Dad's tree and turned it into pear butter. The sweet fruit mixed with spices has livened my tastebuds for fall. At last, a reason not to dread the end of summer.

Judge Not...

Last Tuesday I sat around a table with a bunch of moms talking about how inconceivable it was that a teen from our youth group got left behind on an activity. How could the van driver not count the children? How could the kids in the van not notice she was gone?

Shocking.

Fast forward 3 days.

I was sitting in a circle with my prayer group when a police officer walked in with a friend's child.

All the kids were running and playing outside. What trouble had this one made?

No trouble from the kid, turns out. He was using the bathroom at my house when his family and mine loaded up cars and left. I assumed we were driving the same kids we'd had earlier. His mom assumed he'd hopped in my car instead. The other kids noticed an empty seat, but no one said anything. They played hide and seek for an hour and didn't notice he wasn't just hiding well.

Lest I ever say, "I would NEVER do that..." I've had yet another dose of humble pie. As, I think, has his mother.

The funny thing was, one of the first things this child said when reunited with his mom was, "I knew that was going to happen some day."

Thank you officer for reuniting this family. Thank you neighbor for calling the police. Thank you God that nothing horrible happened and for the reminder that I should never say I'll NEVER do that, for each one of us is capable of doing all those things we think we'd never do.

Pies, Pies, Pies

Last night was our Karen Kingsbury event. We didn't have anywhere near the 800 we were hoping for, but about 120 showed up and I'd say the evening went well. Karen spoke, sharing special memories about her dad. Her whole family was there to support her. She sold and signed boxes and boxes of books.

So was the evening a success?

I'd say so.

Though I can never measure what went on in people's hearts, I must believe that God was faithful to bring in the people who needed to be there. I know he worked on me in the process of preparing the event and I suspect he worked on others, too.

And we've got enough dessert left over to serve 680 of our closest friends!

Congratulations!

Congratulations to Lori F., visitor #10,000! Because of her impeccable timing (and the fact that she managed to be the 10,000th visitor despite the fact she might be the last person in America still using dial-up internet- a dedicated reader indeed!) she has won a MAJOR PRIZE!

Actually, Lori, I'll send or bring you Karen Kingsbury's latest book, Summer (auotographed, I hope) for your personal collection.

Balloon Effect

Wouldn't it be great if Karen Kingsbury would speak to the Mom's group at our church, to 20 women or so?

Sure, it would be great, but let's dream bigger.

What if we open it up to all the women of the congregation?

Bigger, but not big enough.

What if we spread the news around a little and turn it into a fund raiser?

Okay, but dream bigger still.

What if we pray to fill every one of the 800 chairs in our building, offer dessert and coffee and throw in a book signing for good measure? And what if all the proceeds could go to missions?

Now you're talking.

This Thursday... Vancouver Church of Christ... we're praying for God to answer prayers beyond what we can imagine.

Though I guess he already has.

On the Ropes

Oh I wish I had a picture, but the camera was tucked safely away so no evidence could be gathered. We couldn't help ourselves-- we had to try out the new ropes element out at Camp Yamhill.

You know how sometimes you read a book that changes your life and someone else reads it just for fun?

That's how the course was for me. We'd already observed the church planters and assigned all sorts of personality and relationships traits to them based on how they handled the ropes. But when the four of us climbed up there, all the learning was over and we were out to have fun.

Okay, I'll admit, I did learn something...

1. I am NOT Tarzan. Elements that involved swinging on ropes were the hardest for me.

2. There is a series of muscles under my arms and across my shoulders that have been on vacation since 1984.

3. Tree hugging is not all bad, especially if the tree just saved your life.

4. Church secretaries can be a stubborn breed.

5. A little exercise in the great outdoors is a good thing.

Discovery

I took part in a unique process this week - Kairos Discovery Lab. During the 5-day retreat, couples who are exploring the possibility of becoming church planters submit themselves to the following processes:

1. Telling their life story

2. Presenting a devotional (both for worship and to be judged)

3. Completing a battery of personality, aptitude and behavioral tests

4. Developing a strategy for a new church plant (teams, data, and target city are chosen to make the candidates the most uncomfortable possible).

5. Submitting to probing interviews and follow-up interviews

6. Completing challenge course elements as a team

No big deal, right? Now consider that during the entire five days, these couples are under a microscope. A team of 12 interviewers (I was one of them) follow them around, observing what they do, say, writing down their body language, their angst, their dreams. Also consider that these couples voluntarily submit themselves to this level of scrutiny because they want to use every tool they have available to make them successful in planting new churches, or in whatever ministry God leads them to.

With the kind of humility and openness I saw from these budding church planters, I can't wait to see what God's going to do in the next few years.

Found!

Well, one advantage of losing your wallet is it's a good chance to clean under chairs and couches.

The lost wallet has been found, exactly where I thought it might be, the only place I visited yesterday.

Sigh of relief, faith restored, another opportunity for God to answer insignificant prayers fulfilled.

Frustration

I've lost my wallet.

It had $1 in it.

I can picture pulling it out this morning, but I've called that place and they didn't see it.

If I call the bank to cancel my card, the wallet will show up 10 minutes later. If I don't call to cancel, I'll probably never see the thing again.

Groan.

Milepost

It's taken a while... almost 2 years... but my counter is going to reach 10,000 in the next week or so. Keep an eye on it.

If YOU are reader # 10,000, leave me a comment and I might just have a surprise for you.

Perceived Value

What determines the worth of an object? Is it the price tag? Or the illusion of a bargain? Is it the status that is gained by owning the object?

Isn't value determined by how much a person is willing to pay? Take the housing market, for instance. A house that might have sold in a few days for $300,000 a year ago sits on the market for months, not because it has decreased in quality or size, but because a buyer is unwilling to shell out the money for the house. Thus, its value has decreased though no physical factors have changed.

Or take the iPhone. In June, people were sitting in line for the privilege of shelling out $600 for the new phone. Were they paying for the technology, the status or bragging rights as the first users of this newest trend? If the latter, they got their money's worth. If the former, then I understand their gripe when Apple upped the gigs and cut the price by $200, offering a superior product for less cash.

What is the worth of a person?

There's a corny Polynesian movie about a man named Johnny Lingo who offered an outlandishly large bride price for a woman no one else wanted. "Six cows! Why would you pay six cows for her?" his friends asked. "She's shy and ugly. You could have got her for 1 cow, or maybe a goat." But Johnny insisted on paying 6 cows, though even the girl's father tried to talk down the price. Johnny went away and returned later for his new bride. She met him, beaming and beautiful, transformed by the fact that she had worth to him beyond the value anyone else had ever placed on her.

"Johnny made a good bargain," the people decided. "He was right to offer so much for such a beauty." But her beauty grew out of her perceived value, not the other way around.

I want to look at people like they're worth more than the world may think. I want to learn to look beyond a person's quirks or size or tone of voice and see them as God sees them.

Only 17 Years to Go

My new kindergartener, on her first day of "real" homeschool, did about half a page of math and put her pencil down.

"Mommy!" she called. "I'm quitting school!"

Farewell to Summer

Four months ago we packed our books,
tucked pencils into boxes
recycled scads of paperwork
and went in search of foxes.

First outdoor school, then trav'ling north
in camper, van and ferry.
A week of fun in the old home town
to see a brother marry.

A flight back home with grandparents
to a garden overgrown
with radishes as big as beets
and cukes and beans full blown.

Three times we camped out on the coast
and once in our own grass,
though that time lasted 6 whole weeks
for B, our bonny lass.

A birthday bash with 26 guests,
a movie on the lawn,
and fun and games and baptisms,
Oh where has summer gone?

The books are dusted off once more;
The pencils are all sharp.
The math CDs are in their place,
as is the montrous harp.

Even the kids are set to learn,
to put their sloth away.
Is it just me or did this summer
pass in one short day?

Denial

It always works this way. I never take pictures of the people I spend the most time with.

I see her all the time. If I want to know what she looks like, I'll just drop by.

I should know by now that life doesn't work that way. The person I see every day may move tomorrow.

I never took pictures of Shelli until I moved away and went back for a visit. Now I've got a nice little collection of photos proving we've done fun stuff together. I guess I'll have to do the same with Sara. Because, despite the fact that we've been prayer/Goodwill/tea/hang out buddies for the last year and a half, I don't have a single picture of her, except the one we took for the church directory. And, trust me, that doesn't count.

Okay, I know I should have seen the warning signs like the FOR SALE sign in her front yard, her husband's job interview in another town, and the fact that she kept stacking packed boxes in her garage. But I was in denial.

So now she's gone, not from my life but from my town. I can still pop up and see her from time to time, but I'll miss those spontaneous trips to dumpster dive, those lazy cups of tea, the way she breaks out in prayer without even missing a beat, the way she always seems to know exactly what punishment to meat out for every circumstance.

Sara, I miss you already. I'll be up there soon.

And I'll have my camera in hand.

Back to Walking in the Dark

Not to Yada, Yada through 11 legs of the race (including Christine's incredible feat of shaving almost two minutes off each mile, David's sub-eleven minute miles, Rici's walk in the dark with nothing to light her way but the moon, and Kathy's cheerful six miles), but let's get back to me.

I had the team run me ahead to my relay station so I could spend some time in the port-a-potty. A combination of nerves, heat, motion, an odd assortment of food, and the fact that it was 3:30 a.m. left me feeling more like finding a bed to crawl into than going on a trudge in the dark. Bonnie, our fearless driver, even offered to walk my leg if I didn't think I could do it.

"I'll try..." I said, promising myself I'd take it easy.

It was the strangest feeling, walking away from the relay station with its handful of generator-powered lights. A motorcycle patrol up ahead shone its headlight across the pavement and, beyond that, total darkness.

As I approached the motorcycle, I noticed a sign pointing off the the left.

Elk Reserve. I was supposed to pass the elk reserve, but I thought I was supposed to stay on the same road. With no walkers in sight in front of me, I made the decision to keep going straight. As soon as I crossed the Elk Reserve Road, the lines on the one I'd chosen disappeared. No white line edging the street. No center yellow line. More than once I wandered off the side of the blacktop into gravel.

I glanced behind me. The light from the relay station had disappeared. No walkers, no vans, no anybody. I hoped I'd gone the right way. If I hadn't, how long would it take my team to find me and turn me around?

I had chosen to walk with a headlamp. Its small circle of light illuminated a gray circle of pavement in front of me, but beyond the reach of its beam, total darkness. Frogs chirped in the surrounding woods. Twigs snapped and set my imagination to work. A van zoomed by, but not a race van. I looked back again. Where was my team?

Finally, a pair of runners approached and passed me from behind, the first of many involved in The Portland to Coast high school running challenge. I breathed a sigh of relief and quickened my pace.

Funny how time stretches out as your imagination is at work. I couldn't have been on the road more than 7 minutes before my van approached and my team shouted encouragement. Bonnie paced with me and lit the road ahead for a while. Then, with a mile and half to go, the van pulled out ahead to prepare the next walker for his leg.

That last twenty minutes of walking was my favorite part of the race. I knew I was on the right road; I was feeling pretty good; and I saw another walker up ahead -- someone in striking distance. I passed her with a mile to go and covered the rest of the distance in the dark again.

This time, though, I reveled in the darkness, enjoying its peace on solitude for its very uniqueness. Those twenty minutes made the whole trip worthwhile for me.

Walking in the Dark, Part III

When I pictured the race, I imagined walking in a pack all the way from Portland to Seaside, but that's not how it happens. Race officials send off about 20 teams every 15 minutes to avoid congestion. By the time your team has covered a few legs, racers are pretty well spread out.

I walked the last miles into Scappoose, a distance I was used to covering, but never in the middle of the day. The 85 degrees reflected off pavement and sidewalk to feel like 185. When Joanne handed me the baton, I stepped out with great confidence that I could catch the walker 200 yards ahead. As I walked, though, he grew gradually smaller and smaller in the distance.

Another walker passed on my left. I quickened my pace to try to keep up, but she was much too fast. Then another, an older lady with a long gray ponytail, raced walked past so quickly that I could almost feel the breeze she created.

Good thing my team wasn't competing to win.

There was plenty to see on the route. Cars and trucks zoomed past on the highway. I could catch glimpses of the river to my right between the trees. As I approached the town, I passed a beautiful nursery and a not so beautiful ling cod processing plant. Other teams had scrawled encouraging messages on the sidewalk in chalk. The most entertaining activity by far, though, was watching the race vans leap frog along the road.

Support vans are not allowed to follow their walkers, but they can pull to the side of the road wherever there's space and shout encouragement, offer water and advice. One of the vans that kept passing me had Dorothy sitting on top of it with "Follow the Yellow Brick Road" emblazoned in window paint across the back. Another had a huge red plywood high-heeled shoe on top and still another sported the skull and crossbones.

But my favorite van by far was the gray one that read "Salt and Light Power Company".

One more person strolled past me as we neared the finish line. I only saw four racers on my leg. I was road kill three times.

Bummer.

But my team still cheered me in as I passed the baton to Ron.

A Walk in the Dark, Part II

Let me back up just a little and fill you in on why I was walking alone in the dark.

17,000 participants.

127 miles.

12 walkers on our team.

29 hours and 43 minutes.

The Portland to Coast Relay, the walkers' counterpart to the Hood to Coast running relay is the largest walking relay in the world. I'd considered joining our church team before, but several factors prohibited me.

Until this year.

Our start time was 8:30 a.m. on Friday. Our van held the first 6 walkers. I would walk the 4th and 16th legs, just 4 miles a leg. No big deal. Except that all the unknowns and expectations I place on myself started building up a ball in my stomach. Would I be able to beat my regular time? Would I drag the team down. No, they assured me. It wasn't about how long it takes, but about building friendships, facing challenges, supporting each other.

At 8:29:50, we started the countdown.

10...9...8...7...6...5...4...3...2...1...Go!

Our first walker, Chelan, took off along the Portland waterfront and mounted the Hawthorne bridge. We made the first of many visits to the port-a-potty, jumped in the van and headed off to cheer on our first walker.

(to be continued)

Walking in the Dark

Many times, at many phases of my life, I've walked in the dark.

My earliest memories of the dark are of standing outside the ferry terminal, stomping my feet to keep warm and waiting for guests to arrive in the middle of the night. Times when the northern lights were visible were always worth a trip outside, especially when the dancing green and purple sky curtains reflected off our snow-covered yard. Trick or Treating meant a dark time stroll through the neighborhood.

When I was older, I walked to school in the dark. But not pitch dark since a string of orange-yellow streetlights hummed out their droning tune.

I used to meet a friend, Tina, to walk in the dark around Harding park in later years. Then again, we always had bluish street light filtering through the trees.

In Africa, a night time walk could remind me of how different I was from those around me. Darkness should have blacked out the difference between black and white. But with my glow-in-the dark skin, I had a distinct disadvantage.

Even though I've taken all these night time walks, I've never walked in complete darkness, all alone, with no person, house or vehicle in sight.

Just me and the dark and a back country road.

Never, until last night.

(to be continued)

summer smells

In the cartoon Rose is Rose, it doesn't take much to turn mother to child. A water sprinkler, a wad of cotton candy, a pretty flower all have the power to shrink her down to a time when life was new, fresh and exciting.

Nothing pulls me back in time like a smell from my past. Creosote and salt water, wood smoke, mossy banks holding in the moisture of life...

For some reason, my strongest smell associations remind me of my grandparents. The scent of fresh tomatoes and dirt and hot pavement conjures memories of Grandpa Hugh. Granny Ruth smelled like fabric and starch. Just to brush past a juniper shrub floods my mind with memories of Grandpa Wyatt. Grandma Alta smelled of fabric, salt water and green onions.

Then, of course, there was Old Spice and Soap on a Rope.

What smells conjure memories for you?

My Long Lost Twin

When I was in High School, I had a twin. It didn't matter that she was 3 years younger and Chinese. We did everything together for a season. We dressed alike, hung out, even sang some pretty ridiculous songs over and over and OVER to learn the harmony.

I moved away, she moved on. We both got on with our lives and lost touch with each other.

She called yesterday. She just moved to my town.

I wonder, will it be one of those relationships that doesn't diminish with the passage of time? Or will we have an awkward start? Have we grown in such different ways that we won't have anything in common? Will she be so busy with her life and I with mine that we won't see each other or will we be twins again.

Honestly, I can't imagine buying matching outfits, but maybe we'll have to try out a chorus of "We're Melody and Harmony and Harmony and Melody and everything we say and do is sweet just like our song."

The difference is this time we'll be annoying our kids instead of our parents.

Those Dirty Fingernails Were Worth It

A Year Ahead

As I celebrate being 39 for the first time, I don't feel too much impact. Maybe it's like Sara says - it's just a number. Or maybe it's that I've spent the last 10 months already thinking of myself as 39.

My husband is 10 months older than I am and, for some reason, when he has a birthday, I feel like I'm that old, too. I think I just can't hold too many facts in my head at once, so it's easier to round up to the next year. That way I only have to remember one number.

Most years my birthday comes and goes without much fanfare. This year, though, I'm happy to say that I'll be spending the evening with friends and family, indulging in a feast of fresh Alaskan seafood and group games. I think the last time I had a party was almost 10 years ago when my team kidnapped me and took me out to Alt Munchen, a fabulous German restaurant in Lome. (Thanks, guys!)

39's not so bad, but in 2 months I'll think I'm 40!

State of Fear

Why does the media feel the responsibility to provide daily reasons for mass hysteria? Everyone on the news is either "Devastated", "Outraged", or completely shocked to find out the nice man next door is a serial killer.

It seems to me that with the "shocking" and "horrifying" news about massive toy recalls, anchor men and women are slightly delighted underneath their masks of concern. What a tremendous opportunity to expose the incompetence of big business, question the wisdom of buying imported goods, and give parents yet another reason to lie awake worrying.

I'm neither shocked nor horrified that toys with lead paint have entered our market place. What does shock me is that parents are surprised that some of those toys have magnets in them. Have these parents never touched their children's toys? Of course they have magnets. That's what makes them cool and interesting. Don't all those toys with small parts and magnets also say, "Contains small parts. Not for children under 3 years of age"?

A little prudence can go a long way, but I think we're being fed so many lines about all the things we should fear that when something big comes along that we really SHOULD fear, we'll be too desensitized to react appropriately.

Nice To Know

I'm not much of a daredevil so I don't tend to get myself in sticky situations very often. Still, it's nice to know that if I did, chances are someone would rescue me.

For all the bad things people can say and have been saying about America, there are still a lot of wonderful aspects of living in this country. One is that we place a premium on the worth of a human life.

I watched a rescue yesterday, what I suspect was a training mission. For over two hours, this helicopter hovered beside the North Head Lighthouse. Its rotors flattened the water below and forced back the tide. From time to time a rescuer in orange would descend to the cliff where two men clung. Finally, the two stranded men were lifted to safety. Then the helicopter started circling over the waves, first in low tight circles, then in widening, higher ones.

Not that I would ever be tempted to climb the cliff at North Head (no comments, Lori F.!) but isn't it good to know that if I did, someone might see me and come for me? On the other hand, perhaps we Americans rely so much on our safety nets that we feel we can get by with anything.

Then again, isn't that human nature? It seems like the apostle Paul said something about people sinning more so they could get more grace. As if God is some giant rescue helicopter who will swoop in at the last minute and save us from our own stupidity again and again and again.

Oh wait. He will.

It's nice to know.

Stories that Change the World

Story is a powerful tool. I can't quote much of what Plato, Aristotle, or Caesar said, but I could recount fables by Aesop all day. The words of the prophets get a little muddled up in my mind, but Jesus' parables are there to stay.

Great stories can change the world. Here are a few that have done just that:

Uncle Tom's Cabin put a face on the cruelty of slavery. It did what years of debate and analysis could not do and ushered in the Civil War.

To Kill A Mockingbird, likewise, exposed the voicelessness of the downtrodden and became a story the civil rights movement could rally around.

The Good Samaritan tells, better than any theological textbook, what it means to be a Christian, a neighbor, a lover of mankind.

On a smaller scale, there are the books that shaped me personally-- stories like Tisha, Deadline, The Trouble With Jenny's Ears (seriously), The Great Divorce, and Anne of Green Gables. Little pieces of these stories lodged in my soul and found a place to grow there.

Some might add 1984, Animal Farm, or the Lord of the Rings Trilogy though many of these classics gave more commentary on the situation of the day rather than seeking to change it.

IYHO (In your humble opinion), what stories have changed the world? Did they change the world at large or just your own corner of it?

A Blessing or a Curse?

I don't plant zucchini. Never have. Never will.

It might be because of the canned zucchini Mom made us as kids (the kind in tomato sauce that makes your teeth squeak) or perhaps it's because of the mysterious qualities of the gourd.

Consider how zucchini grows. It hides under leaves until it's the size of a city bus. In a single day, a zucchini can grow to 27 times its original size. As a gardener, you never want to look at a sweet, succulent small green zucchini and say, "Oh, look how cute. I'll pick that one tomorrow." Tomorrow it will be bigger than your dog.

Then there's the way zucchini multiply. If you pick 3 and use 2, you will have 7 left over. I promise.

Also, zucchini has a way of sneaking around. It likes to curl up in paper grocery sacks with its friends and hide in obvious places like the front seat of your car, on your front porch, or on your kitchen counter. Neighbors ring your doorbell and run, leaving a whole flock of the green torpedoes behind. That way you can't refuse them the joy of sharing their garden produce with you.

Share with me all you like, but please hold the zucchini.

(I don't know if it's rubbing off or if it's an inborn trait, but my cucumbers are starting to show some of these same sneaky qualities as their cousins)

Self-discovery du Jour

I would make a terrible migrant worker.

1. I don't like working in direct sun (a remnant of a time when only mad dogs and Englishmen...)
2. I can only lean over for about 20 minutes at a time.
3. Wet plants make my arms itch.
4. I like to nibble as I harvest.
5. I like having my own house with my own stuff.

Witness

It's Twins!

Last night was a joyous occasion as 2 of our children decided to commit their lives to Jesus. We gathered around them on the banks of the river to witness their baptisms. It is so good to be surrounded by friends and family who raise up our arms as parents and who will do the same for our children. One of my favorite moments was when an 11-year old friend (who was baptised 1 week ago) said, "Now we can really be spiritual sisters."

We'd love to get pictures from one or all of the many cameras. Thanks for recording this special moment for us.

The Kiss of Oscar

Have you heard about Oscar the Cat, the nursing home tabby who's better able to predict death than any doctor? For the past two years, this feline has wandered from room to room in a Rhode Island nursing home, never staying long in one place... unless a patient is about to die. Then he curls up on her bed and waits. 25 times this cat has predicted a death and stayed around for it, making doctors wonder if he's sensing an increase in hormone levels or some kind of electronic energy.

What I wonder is how the nursing home residents feel about this cat. Can you imagine as Oscar makes his rounds? Would you happy to see him? Or terrified? Would you ever try to encourage him to stay around for a cat nap on your bed or would you wish for a quick hello and good-bye?

I read a proverb this week. "You can't swap jokes with the angel of death."

But maybe you can love on Oscar.

Questions from a five-year old daughter

Are you looking at those words 'cuz you don't know what you're doing? (regarding the recipe while I was making cookies)

How old was I when you met me? (um, you're my child... you were pretty young)

Was I already in your tummy when you and Daddy got married? (We'd been married 15 years before she was born!)

Remember when I was playing on my tire swing, the one in Africa? (This child never lived in Africa - how can she remember the tire swing?)

When are we going to the playground. (Ah, that one's easy. Let's go right now!)

Out of Season

Red delicious apples and naval oranges were the only fruit we could buy in the winter. No peaches, no apricots, no plums. Once in a while, someone would come back from Hawaii with a pineapple and we would ooh and ahh over the sweet, juicy flesh. To get a piece of fruit out of season was either a treat or an overpriced disappointment.

Now we're spoiled with all produce all the time. We use freighters and import agreements to ship in peaches from Chile, peaches that taste like they we picked as they formed on the branch, peaches so long off the tree by the time they reach our homes that there's not much use calling them peaches, or paying $4 a pound for them.

In some cases, though, the out of season tidbit is a gift, a mouthful of succulence made more sweet by its very rarity.

That's how I'm feeling about the July rain. We're on our second day of drizzle which, in February, would have pulled me down, but today offers a soothing touch. Its odd timing is what makes it good, a rain that cools the earth and quenches its thirst without threat of lingering on and on.

Reclining on the Freeway

The beige la-z-boy leaned back, its crushed velour stretching from head to foot rest in a yawn, as if taking a break while its owner went to the kitchen for a soda.

Cars, trucks and motorcycles whizzed by at 65 miles per hour. And the chair sat on the interstate's shoulder and watched, unperturbed by the noise, an observer on the highway of life.

"Slow down. Kick back," it called to me. "Take a seat and enjoy the view. You're moving so fast you can't focus."

"Can't stop now," I called in my rear view mirror. "I've got to keep up with the flow of traffic. Putting on the brakes now would be dangerous."

"Have it your way," the chair replied. "But I'm going to sit here just a little longer."

dinner and a movie... yawn!

I'll admit it... we've gotten in a rut. Whenever we have a date night, it seems like we end up either going to a movie or renting one to bring home.

Boring!

I'm trying to compile a list of other ideas for date night-- nothing too extravagent, just good fun. Here are some of my ideas. Do you have any others?

Play miniature golf
Roast marshmallows and make smores
Go bowling
Watch the sunrise or sunset together
Read a book aloud together
Take a class
Buy the ingredients to make an ice cream sundae, and create it together
Visit a museum
Movie night
Go house viewing
Do something new in the city
Take a hike
Volunteer at a soup kitchen
Ascend to the top of the highest building in town
Make a picnic in the park
Rent canoes and paddle around the nearest lake
Take a cooking class together
Drive to a nearby town you have never visited before
Take a scenic drive
Take a bike ride

Acclimation

Perhaps all those years in the tropical sun addled my brain. Or maybe they just reset my thermostat. Considering I grew up in a place where 70 was a "scorcher", I'm a little surprised the 101 temperatures this week haven't bothered me at all - I've been able to get my chores done, inside and out, take a 5-mile walk, even cook a meal or two.

I have discovered a new hot weather treat - blended chai tea (like a tea milkshake). Do you have any favorite ways to beat the heat?

of dust

Adam and Eve left their garden paradise, shoulders bent, heads down, longing to return to the land God had granted them.

The Joads packed up their last belongings and said good-bye to the useless red and gray dust of Oklahoma. Useless, but home.

Scarlet O'Hara returned to Tara when all had left her, staking her tomorrow on the place that would not forsake her.

My family has no ties to the land. As generations moved westward, then northward, each generation leaving the home of its fathers, we lost our bond to the dust under our feet.

This week I slept, my face separated from clods of hay and dust only by the thin canvas of my tent and the thinning air in my mattress. The land on which I slept has belonged to the same family for many decades. As I observed the four living generations, I caught a glimpse of what I've missed. When a family shares the land for so long, they put down roots. They know each other and they know their history. Stories of old are told and retold and the children learn what it means to belong.

I think it's a blessing, this belonging, a blessing no longer enjoyed by so many among us. It was an honor to be witness to a family who knows what it is to be a family, for better or worse, in sickness and celebration. Thank you for sharing your dust.

...and today...

8 hours of labor, magnesium therapy, about a hundred nurses, interns, NICU specialists, and doctors. It was a full day.

Some of my favorite memories of the day the twins were born are the people who came to visit-- Mom and Dad, of course, and Jeannie Stinson and Clark and Avis Hanna.

The nurses said I had a ways to go, but when I felt a certain pressure, they did another check and wheeled me off to delivery so fast that my parents, who had just gone down the hall for a drink from the vending machine, came back to find an empty room-- no bed, no pregnant woman, no Edwin-- just a pile of Edwin's clothes where he's dropped them when he changed into scrubs.

The first one was born about 15 minutes after I went into delivery. The second flipped around wrong way round. 4 minutes later, with lots of help, all 2 pounds, 15 1/2 ounces of her was born breech. 7 pounds of baby all together, in two perfect little packages. I'd never seen their dad look so happy.

Their eyes were so blue, so dark. It was all I could see of them since their mouths were covered with ventilators, their arms with tubes and wires, and their heads with hats. Two pair of dark blue eyes asking for me to hold them, but I couldn't... not yet. Holding would come later, after they were stable.

I remember a day about 4 years later when we were trying to cross a busy street. I scooped up one child in each arm and hurried them across. I reminded myself to remember the last time I could do that. Now, both girls stand eye to eye with me and I can't remember the last time I could pick them both up at once. The days fly by so swiftly.

12 Years Ago Today

Funny how a couple of months on bed rest addles your brain. Twelve years ago today, I was laying in a bed in the hospital, eating as much as I could keep down and dreaming of the lovely time I was going to have once my two angelic babies were born. A doctor (not mine) came in and announced, "We're doing a c-section in the morning!"

Tomorrow morning?! First of all, I'd already worked out with my doctor that I wanted these babies to come as naturally as possible and that didn't include any scalpels or operations on my part. Second... tomorrow? After all the excitement of flying back to the States, then getting transferred to a high-risk pregnancy hospital with a top-notch NICU, the weekly, then daily ultrasounds, the careful monitoring of both babies, the panic over their size discrepancy and some other warning signs, could tomorrow really be the day?

I didn't sleep that night. The last night without children and I couldn't sleep. Sure, I knew I needed the rest, but I was excited and scared and nervous and delighted. Besides, you can't actually stockpile sleep, can you?

I talked the unknown doctor out of the c-section, alerted the expectant grandparents, and waited for morning...

Hushhhhh

When is the last time you were quiet enough to hear the whisper of shifting sands?

When did you last stand outside in darkness deep enough to reveal the Milky Way?

When did you last startle a deer? Or stand face to face with a raccoon? Or look down on the outstretched wings of a bald eagle?

In contrast to Saturday in the city, Monday I planted my feet on the same bit of beach Lewis and Clark stood on 201 years ago. I looked out over the same ocean and marvelled, as men have for eons, over thousands of yellow reflected bits of sun skipping across rippling seas.

My cabin fever has been banished once again in the celebration of summer.

Heartbeat of a City

The city breathes its own air, in and out in unique rhythm. The suburbs, where I live, we suck in canned air from the big box stores where every aisle in every town in every state sells the same products at the same "low price."

But in the city, you never know what you'll find, what you'll hear, who you'll meet. Maybe it's the automaton in his white make-up and brocade tails who waits for a coin to drop in his cardboard box before he moves. His mother must be so proud.

Maybe it's the Swedes in the seat in front of me on the streetcar... or the Koreans behind. Or the musician named Hillbilly who beats out his own tune on an oversized yellow gourd.

Maybe it's the flagship store for a major department store or the joke shop overflowing with magic tricks and glow-in-the-dark you-name-its. Or the corner store that used to be run by Mom and Pop, but has changed management a time or two.

Life in the suburbs is quieter, greener, but I love a day in the city.