....who is otherwise known as my daughter, Jill. She found the Philip Yancey book that I got for my birthday and misplaced shortly thereafter.

I like to read Philip Yancey, but his books give me a headache if I read too much of them at one time. He includes quotes like this one from Martin Luther:

"Even in the best of health, we should have death before our eyes [so that] we will not expect to remain on this earth forever but will have one foot in the air, so to speak."

Such things are certainly worth pondering. But they are awfully deep.

I am not proud of it, but yesterday, my attention was on my feet. I am that way sometimes. I have had my quiet time today, and my goal is to set my sights higher. I would like to say that I was fixated on my feet because I was having my first ever manicure/pedicure, but actually, my feet have gotten my attention intermittently for a long time

See, my feet are big. I am tall, so you may not think that is abnormal, but back in the sixties, it was hard to find pretty size twelve shoes. I was teenage, and that is what I wanted. I had corrective surgery on my right foot in both seventh and eighth grade. The surgery was a blessing because it took away the pain when I walked, but the right foot ended up completely flat and, well....ugly. For a while I had to wear corrective shoes, and the only thing that was available in my size was red. My mom, knowing that I hated them, dyed them for me, but I sometimes limp when I walk, and I managed to scrape the dye off the heels so that the red showed through.

I have to say that my parents really tried. When I was about to start high school, we couldn't find any pretty shoes in Toledo in my size, so my mom ordered a catalog from New York that had large sizes. I had pretty shoes to start school. I didn't realize until I was a parent what a sacrifice those shoes were for my parents. I started high school in 1969. Those shoes cost $50. That was a lot of money even then.

I like shoes. It is summer, and people wear so many pretty sandals and slip-ons. My Sunday School teacher, who is just a little older than I and hails from California, has a whole collection of them. Plus, she always wears an ankle bracelet. Always. I like the ankle bracelet, but I never saw the sense in putting one above my ugly right foot.

Anyway, right before the pedicure, my daughter and I had lunch with my friend Donna. Donna is just a little older than I am, but she has had RA about ten years longer. I have to admit, sometimes I am fearful when I look at how the disease has ravaged her body. I wonder if that is what the future holds for me.

Donna has a lot of problems with her feet, and she was telling my daughter about them. My daughter works in a physical therapy clinic, and she knows a lot about such things. Donna still wears corrective shoes, not the New Balance that you see on so many people our age who are on their feet. I had a pair of slides on in preparation for the pedicure, so I stuck my right foot, the really ugly one out, and said, "Come on, Donna. It can't be worse than that." RA has caused the toes on my right foot to drift outward. The second toe actually manages to be under the big toe most of the time now.

Donna continued to explain. I listened. Maybe it was worse than that.

Soon we were on our way to the beauty shop. They weren't quite ready for me, and I told the other technician in the office that I wasn't sure a pedicure would help my ugly feet. She looked down and studied my feet, really studied them. "Honey," she said. "those aren't ugly feet at all. Not at all."

It was a young woman who worked on my feet, and she really did work, for almost two hours. The whole thing started with a foot soak. My feet were in and out of that soak several times. They probably had more lotion on them yesterday than I have put on in ten years. And how did I get to be fifty and not know that people actually use emery boards on their toenails? My feet were dipped in paraffin and then wrapped in plastic bags. My previous exposure to paraffin was to make candles before it was deemed unsafe and to top jelly before the boiling bath became the recommended method. Then this young woman, without any repugnance at all, massaged my feet, even the ugly flat one. And it was heavenly! I didn't think my feet were even particularly tired, but I felt muscles relaxing anyway. The pedicure ended with a careful application of not one, but three coats of brightly-colored polish to all of my toenails, even the toe that manages to hide under the big toe on my right foot.

All this brings back memories of another time I was fixated on feet. I was teaching junior high at a Catholic school, and I saw my first foot washing. Lutherans are not big on foot washing, although I know that some other denominations are. My school did a lot of dramatizations during the weekday masses, and this foot washing occurred during Holy Week.

The priest we had was a small man, well into his sixties. I never will forget how it felt to watch him take off his outer ceremonial robe and stand there in his tunic. He picked up a towel and draped it around the rope belt at his waist.

Before him sat twelve great big eighth grade boys.

Father Wilhelm knelt and got to work. Oh so gently, he picked up each boy's feet, left and then right, and dipped them into his basin of water. He dried them with the towel that was draped at his waist. When that got too wet, he began to use his tunic. The boys squirmed and looked decidedly uncomfortable. The small children in the mass were silent as they watched.

What is it that's so humbling about having another person care for dirty, smelly, downtrodden and sometimes downright ugly feet?

It brings tears to my eyes remembering the look on my daughter's face as she watched me watch what was happening. It gave her great pleasure to see me smile at a part of my anatomy I would usually rather not look at. For her, the pedicure was an act of love. Just like the foot washing was for Father Wilhelm and, of course, for Jesus. And just like the squirmy eighth grade boys and the dusty uncomfortable apostles, it was my job to receive. Therein, I am convinced, lies my lesson. Jesus, Father Wilhelm, my daughter. They all said pretty much the same thing. It is not about me. It is about Him, the Author and Finisher of all things.

Abba, help me to keep my eyes on You, the rock that is higher than I. Not on my feet.

I found this poem at 4to40.com

There sure were a lot of fireflies out when I took my walk tonight. I don't remember seeing wo many since I was a child. My children never caught them like I did. We were afraid the mosquitoes in the country would carry them away if we let them out after dark!


Poems: The Firefly who lost his Light

Freddie Firefly, late one night
Discovered he had lost his light.
And while the others danced about
He sat and cried, "My light's gone out!"
No one heeded Freddie's cry
As gaily they went flitting by.
Freddie sadly crawled along
And wondered where his light had gone.
The moon cast moonbeams all around
And saw poor Freddie on the ground.
She asked him why he fretted so,
And Freddie told his tale of woe.
"Don't worry," said the kindly moon,
"You'll get your pretty light back soon.
Just fly into the moonbeams' glow-
The light will stick to you," and so
Freddie did as he was told.
The moonbeam bathed him all in gold.
His light shone brightly in the sky,
Once more a proper firefly.
A little torch up in the air,
He danced away without a care.
Poems: The Firefly who lost his Light

"I'm But a Stranger Here"
by T. R. Taylor, 1807-1835

1. I'm but a stranger here,
Heav'n is my home;
Earth is a desert drear,
Heav'n is my home.
Danger and sorrow stand
Round me on every hand;
Heav'n is my fatherland,
Heav'n is my home.

2. What though the tempest rage,
Heav'n is my home;
Short is my pilgrimage,
Heav'n is my home;
And time's wild wintry blast
Soon shall be overpast;
I shall reach home at last,
Heav'n is my home.

3. There at my Savior's side
Heav'n is my home;
I shall be glorified,
Heav'n is my home;
There are the good and blest,
Those I love most and best;
And there I, too, shall rest,
Heav'n is my home.

4. Therefore I murmur not,
Heav'n is my home;
Whate'er my earthly lot,
Heav'n is my home;
And I shall surely stand
There at my Lord's right hand.
Heav'n is my fatherland,
Heav'n is my home.

Hymn #660
The Lutheran Hymnal
Text: Hebrews 4:9
Author: Thomas R. Taylor, 1836, alt.
Composer: Arthur S. Sullivan, 1872
Tune: "Heaven Is My Home"
The Lutheran Hymnal Online

I have had a lot of firsts the past few weeks. On Friday, June 10th, my right eye saw 20/20 for the first time probably ever. The next week, my left eye was only a little behind. There went the glasses that had been a part of my face for forty-four years! One of the first things I noticed, though, was that maybe a little cover-up (something I have never used, being a no make-up semi-hippie kind of person) would be in order. The blue under my eyes wasn't nearly as noticeable with my glasses.

The next thing I noticed was that pretty much everybody but me and one other much-older lady that I saw had nicely sculpted eyebrows. I had mine plucked, once, many moons ago, but I didn't think they looked too bad. Beside, behind the glasses they didn't really show, I didn't think, and I was waaaaaaaay too nearsighted to do anything about it anyway.

My daughter is visiting, and she knows that I have been noticing things about my face that I have never noticed before. On Sunday, we bought eye-shadow. This morning, she showed me how to put it on. She thinks I am going to use mascara too, but I don't know. You should have seen how my eyelids shook when I put on the shadow.

Then she decided that I should have my eyebrows waxed. She had to push me in the chair, and they are still red, but I think they look some better. They aren't any sorer than I remember the plucking being, and the whole process was a lot quicker.

Tomorrow, she bought me a manicure and a pedicure. We are going at 1:30. This is also something that I have never done before. I am thankful for her support. These are things that I would never have tried on my own, and although I realize most mothers teach their daughters about how such things work, that is just not the way it worked for us.

New bathroom accessories. New eyes. New eyebrows. Soon, I hope, a new job.

The second half of my life certainly is proving to be an adventure!

We are not really renovating, just sprucing up a bit. We eloped when we got married, so we didn't get a lot of fancy gifts like some couples do. The early marriage stuff worked, though, so we kept using it.

That was OK until recently when, knowing I am currently jobless, I watched the price of basically everything creep up. And up. I don't like to think of myself as cheap. Just frugal. But the fact of the matter is that I am here alone a LOT since my husband works long hours, and how the house looks does matter to me.

I never bought a new set of matching bedroom anything until we moved into this house six years ago. I remember telling a friend that it griped my soul to pay over $200 for what I wanted, and she laughed at me. I don't want those kinds of things very often.

Right now I am in one of those moods where I do want some things for the house, and so I have purchased them. I got matching ceramic accessories for the master bedroom bath, and I got blue rugs and accessories for the guest bathroom. Altogether they cost almost as much as the six year old bedroom set. I was going to put the ones in the guest bathroom out to cheer myself up, but my husband doesn't want me to put them out unless we have, well, GUESTS, so that might be a while. In Marion, everybody pretty much meets at restaurants; they don't go over to one another's houses. At least not the people that we have met since we have been here.

I am now in the process of cleaning so I can put the new things out. That is why I am glad that my daughter is visiting. She, like her dad, is a whole to parts person. My son and I are, I think, parts to whole people, so we look at big jobs and sometimes get overwhelmed. My daughter is giving direction to my cleaning efforts and overseeing what she calls my pack-rat tendencies. That's OK with me. We downsized when we came to this house, and we might again when we retire. I don't need a lot of junk.

But I'm looking forward to see my new "junk" set out!

This is my daughter Jill with her brother and RJ. It is easy to see that the red hair is a genetic trait. She, however, most often does NOT display the temper for which redheads are famous.

I was "bag lady" at Vacation Bible School this week. It would take too long to explain to you what that is except that it involves paper bags with handles and an efficient means of getting information and crafts home.

Our count was 130+ on Monday and 140+ the rest of the week. The ages of the children were four to eleven. I always like doing this job even though I don't work directly with the kids because many of them are hungry for just one smile, and sometimes I am the one who is lucky enough to deliver it.

Our church spends a lot of money on VBS T-shirts, which is something I had not encountered in Ohio. All of the staff wear them as a means of identification; the kids wear them off and on. You might think that this is not a witness, just a sort of advertising for the church, but that is not what I think. Here's why. I have been out in the community when a small child will tell me that he knows me. I look at the child, and most of the time I do not remember him. But what does he say? "You put what I made in a bag." Oh, I think. Bible School. The child connected me with the location. Did my behavior toward him help connect him to the message?

Matthew 18:10 says you should "see that you do not look down on one of these little ones. For I tell you that their angels in heaven always see the face of my Father in heaven." I think of this when I am working at Bible School. That one smile might be the one that wins a little one over.

If you did't have time to work in VBS as a mom, do it as a grandma. For, as Matthew goes on to say in Chapter 18:14:

"Even so it is not the will of your Father which is in heaven, that one of these little ones should perish."

The Strength of Solitude - Christianity Today Magazine


This article from CHRISTIANITY TODAY is really good, and it gave me insight, I think, into the spiritual things that have been happening to me since we moved to Indiana.

When I lived in Ohio, I taught junior high and lived near both my children and miscellaneous other family. When we moved to Indiana, the closest family was suddenly three hours away. As we got established in the community, I spent a lot of time alone. I didn't know anyone, and my husband was busy learning his new job.

Two years after we moved, just as I felt I was getting settled, I was diagnosed with a chronic disease and I took an itinerant teaching job, one in which I have often been hungry for adult interaction. An itinerant teacher, by definition, moves from school to school. I had not thought that anyone could be more invisible than a substitute, but I know better now.

The end result of this was that I had time to think. I also had time to listen. And although I thought I had been sensitive to spiritual matters, I began to see them in a new way. I had a lot of time to listen to Christian radio as I drove from school to school, so I heard a lot of good teaching. I also had down time, so I had time to pray. Lots of time to pray. And I was reminded that prayer is a conversation. You don't just talk; you listen for an answer.

Ruth Haley Barton says in her article that "the quietness of solitude and silence was becoming an inner condition within which I was able to recognize and respond to the stirrings, the voice, the very Presence of God himself." I would have to agree.

The most recent change I have noticed, which I pray is not fleeting, is a change in my speech patterns. This is what Ruth Barton has to say about that:

"Our speech patterns are refined by the discipline of silence, because growing self-awareness enables us to choose more truly the words we say. Rather than speech that issues from subconscious needs to impress, to put others in their place, to compete, to control and manipulate, to repay hurt with hurt, we now notice our inner dynamics and choose to speak from a different place, a place of love, trust and true wisdom that God is cultivating within us."

I have caught myself being ready to fly off the handle but instead wondering how I could get some perspective without upsetting anyone. Some things resolve themselves if you deal with them calmly. And I think that I am slowly learning to listen for the needs of others, rather than breaking in with my own. I still have a ways to go, but once you are in motion, things are easier. At least I hope they are.

Ruth Barton goes on to say that without solitude, we are "at the mercy of our compulsions." I think that is true. It is sort of scary to be by yourself. You can either learn how to handle it, or you can seek out busyness to cover the noise of the quiet.

I have a friend who was recently widowed, and she is experiencing solitude in a much different way than I am. I am sure the experience is unique to the individual. I am not God, but I wonder if the purpose of solitude is not to learn to like it.

Maybe it's to get closer to God.

I just heard a nasty rumor and of course no one is in downtown to answer it. I don't know if they are not in because it is summer and a Friday or if the superintendent has finally managed to get rid of everyone.

The rumor that I heard was that if you resigned before June 30th, you would lose your insurance. I don't really see why that would be because I had insurance into August last year when I didn't think I had a job, but with the "cost-cutting" measures that our superintendent has invoked, one can never tell.

I resigned June 6th because that was when my resignation was requested. Actually, it was more demanded, though that demand was delivered in terms of supposedly friendly advice, that being that it would look better if I resigned in case I return to teaching instead of being terminated. The director of human resources said she would terminate me when my license expired.

I don't see how things could go wrong here. I mean, I have letters that say the school system recommended my rehire. It is just that, with all of the power stuff that appears to be going on in our school system, I don't trust them.

I paid my union dues, although I have never called upon the union. If this turns sour, I might.

BUILDING FOR SUCCESS

Roy C. Start High School 


In 1965, the West Toledo YMCA built an outdoor, Olympic-sized outdoor swimming pool. I was ten. The pool had a shallow end, a deep end, a slide, an island, and a diving pool. It had Olympic race lanes where I swam many a quarter-mile. I walked to Bowman from my house, which was half a mile away, pretty much every day that it was open. The neighborhood kids and I would watch the weather report or call Time and Temperature to make sure that it had opened on iffy days. One of the nice things was that even when the weather was chilly, if it had been warm for a couple of days before, the water was still warm. I remember swimming at Bowman one fall weekend and hearing the cheers from the the football field at Roy C. Start High School next door.

I graduated from Start in 1973. I have to admit that high school was not a favorite part of my life, but still, I spent a lot of time walking to and from that school, attending classes and going to football games and basketball games. My older sister was a member of Start's first graduating class in 1965. She started high school at DeVilbiss High, from which our older brother graduated, but once Start was completed, our house was past the DeVilbiss line. She had to change schools.

Out of the two structures, I think I will miss Bowman more. It was a place to get away, a place where you could meet friends or be occupied all by yourself. The new, improved Start will have its own swimming pool. Will the kids who swim there hear echoes of the ones who swam at Bowman so long ago?

The Most Recent Male Addition to My Family 

Three of the Most Important Men in My Life 

The Great Blue Heron

I live by the Mississinewa River in Indiana, and I like to walk in the river parks. I was surprised to see a heron, and I had to ask some older gentlemen what it was for sure (I am fifty; old is relative).

My pre-cataract surgery 20/40 eyes may have noticed the bird, but not the blue. I was so impressed with the blue. I had not realized that I was missing so much color. I even saw it catch a fish. The older gentlemen told me that herons are patient fishermen.

Just like Genesis says: God saw what He had created, and it is good.

When I married my husband, he had four brothers. Seven years later he was down to three. This is what I remember about the day Tony died and the time that followed.

It was early April and it was chilly and gray, but I don't think it snowed. I was at my friend's house down the road when I saw a company truck pull in my driveway. I didn't think too much of it because my husband sometimes drove the company truck home; I just told my friend that was my signal to get going.

In a few minutes, though, the truck went past her house again and it was NOT my husband at the wheel. That didn't seem right. I hurried the kids into the car and went to investigate.

At the time we had a wood burning stove. When I entered the house, my husband was loading it. He did not turn to greet me as he usually would. That was odd. I asked him where his personal truck was, and he said that "they" brought him home. I told him I had seen the company truck and asked him again about his. Because he would not turn around, I imagined all sorts of things. You don't have to be a railroad wife for long before hearing the horror stories about injuries. The worst I could imagine was that my husband had been hurt and he wouldn't turn around because he was afraid I would freak when I saw. I was thirty; I probably would have. Not knowing was worse, though, so I went to him and turned him around.

"Ron," I said. "Where is your truck?"

NOTHING could have prepared me for his response, which was, "Tony got hit by a train today."

Most people think of railroad work as riding the trains, but there is really a lot more to it than that. My husband works in the track department, which maintains the tracks on which the trains run. He had been working on a production gang with his oldest brother, Tony.

As you can imagine, I was sort of in shock. My first question was, " Is he all right?"

My husband's response:"Oh, he's quite dead."

We were kneeling in front of the stove. With his announcement, my husband turned back to the stove.

Stupidly, I started with, "....Your truck....?"

His response: "They didn't think I should drive."

No duh!

At that point he couldn't talk about it. I asked him what I could do for him, and he asked me to find his father who had a bad habit of moving around to avoid his debtors. I set to work and finally, with the cooperation of a Florida sheriff and a Georgia sheriff, I found out where he was. The Georgia sheriff delivered the news.

I don't remember if I told the kids anything or not. They were five and six. I might have told them that Daddy needed them to be good. They always seemed to sense that, anyway.

About an hour later, Tony's wife called our house. She had just received the news of his death, and she knew that my husband was with the gang. She wanted to know if he had suffered. My husband thought it was quick. She wanted to know if he was in heaven. Tears ran down my husband's cheeks, although his voice never changed. Tony called himself an agnostic. My husband told his widow that no one knew what Tony was thinking in his last moments except God, so by the grace of God he was.

My father-in-law called from Georgia and told us he would be at our house the next day. So did the brother-in-law from California. I don't remember if the two local brothers called or not. They must have. Or maybe Ron called them. He didn't talk, though, and I didn't either. I just watched him and worried.


Tony died on a Monday. Ron did not sleep until Thursday night.

On Tuesday, because I knew he had not slept, I called our pastor, who came over. As they talked, I saw a tear run down my husband's cheek. He told our pastor that he should have been able to do something. After all, he was there. If he had blown the horn on his machine....

See, we had somehow gotten hold of these little powder blue circle stickers. That day, Ron had taken some in to work, maybe for Tony's oldest son Jay, who had just turned three. Tony had wanted some of the stickers on his hard hat to mark it, and Ron gave him some, which he very carefully stuck on. Did he know, somehow?

My sister-in-law wanted Ron to go with her to make the arrangements. I wasn't very happy about that because I knew he had not slept and he still wasn't talking, but he went. I had to take him to get his truck.

The wife of the California brother-in-law called. She wanted to know if Ron had cried yet. She said she kept at her husband until he did, and she thought I should do the same.

Her husband wasn't there.

The funeral was on Thursday, the first viewing on Wednesday. My sister-in-law, Tony's widow, wanted to see him. The funeral director was reluctant and said he would not open the casket unless someone would stand with her. My brothers-in-law, as always, looked to Ron. He turned green. The casket did not get opened.

The supervisor of the gang on which my husband and his brother were working showed up Wednesday night. By that time, I had found out some of what happened.

My brother-in-law was the foreman on this particular gang; my husband was running a piece of equipment. You know how tracks are often double, side-by-side? Well, they were lining (straightening) the track, and the piece of equipment that was supposed to do that had a malfunction, so my brother-in-law was on the side of the equipment between the two tracks, watching what the machine was doing. You aren't supposed to be on the side between the tracks, but he had a job to do and he was trying to get it done. Then a train went by on the other track. Most people don't know that two trains passing creates a sort of vacuum.

Somehow, that train caught Tony's sweatshirt and threw him. Fortunately, my husband was NOT running that piece of equipment. He saw the operator run by his machine and knew that something had happened, though.

I don't know where my brother-in-law landed; I have never asked, and it doesn't matter. I do know that his red sweatshirt, just like the one my husband wears, was up over his head. Or where his head should have been. I assume it was there, but there was a lot of damage.

When my husband went up to see what had happened, that is what he saw. Where he was, it was raining. He stood in the rain and stared at his brother's body. I think he said somebody covered it finally. Then "crazy" Ralph took my husband away to sit in a truck. I probably met Ralph at the funeral, but I don't remember. He is now a supervisor in the territory just south of my husband's. If I ever do meet him, I am going to thank him for what he did so long ago.

No wonder my husband couldn't talk.

I asked the supervisor why he hadn't taken my husband away from the scene more quickly, and he responded that nobody ever died on one of his gangs before.

OK. I can see that, I guess. But it was my husband's brother!

Thank God for Ralph.

We lived through the funeral. Tony's widow had his sons, Jay and Lee, with her. At the time they were three and three months. She was twenty-three. She didn't want any other children at the funeral, so we didn't take ours. I have always felt sort of bad about that because they liked their Uncle Tony. But it was what his widow wanted.

In the receiving line, one of the other railroad wives came up to me with tears in her eyes and said it should have been one of us. My mouth dropped open, and I asked her why. She said, well, Tony's widow was so young, and there was the new baby....

I wanted to scream, but I didn't. It shouldn't
have happened to anyone! Would we or our children have missed our husbands less?

After the funeral and the subsequent wrangle with the railroad for a settlement, Tony's widow, quite understandably, had some difficulty adjusting. Someone, I don't remember for sure who, suggested that she break contact with Tony's family. And she did.

Sort of harsh, but I could sort of understand it. What my sister-in-law thought she was going to have as a life and what she got were vastly different. She had to do whatever was necessary to cope.

Why do I bring all of this up now?

Well, a couple of months ago, we had a message from Tony's widow on our answering machine. She said that her oldest son, Jay, was getting married and wanted to invite my husband. I don't know how she got our phone number. She left a call-back number, though, and my husband called back and talked to his brother's baby, Lee. He gave Lee our address, but he said he wasn't holding his breath. He had wondered, often, how the boys turned out. Did they look like his brother?

My husband is a very deep man. I never knew he wondered that. He never talked about it. But it doesn't surprise me.

Today we got the wedding invitation. The wedding is August thirteenth. It was addressed to my husband and "guest". It came from Jay, who maybe doesn't know he has an aunt and cousins. He does not know he has a baby cousin who is named after his dad.

I am glad we got the invitation, but sort of wary, too. After no contact for so long, why now? Does Jay just want to see where he came from?

My husband and I have talked about what to give as a wedding present, and we have an idea. We have a family picture: his grandma and grandpa, his dad and all of his brothers. I doubt he has ever seen it.

As he starts his own family, would that kind of knowledge give him hope? Would it connect him to the dad he barely remembers?

It would at least be a start.

Today is my father's eightieth birthday. He lives three hours away, so while I will not be with him today, I was on Sunday, Father's Day, as were many members of his family.

I always enjoy hearing my dad tell stories about when he was younger. When we picked him up for dinner, he said he had a Navy picture from 1943 to show me, but somehow it got lost in all the family doings. I will have to remember to ask again.

In 1943, my dad turned eighteen in June, my mother in July, and they were married in August. Two weeks later, my dad left for boot camp.

I bring this up because on Sunday, my nephew was relating the story of how he waited until his dad came around to dealing with his intended before he married her. My brother-in-law is nice; he just has his own ideas. Anyway, that got Dad talking about when he asked my grandfather if he could marry my mother. Grandpa said yes; he just asked that they be married in his house. My mom was one of seven children and the only one that her parents saw married.

My husband made a comment about not being able to relate to waiting one or two years until your spouse's parents came around, and I told him that the reason he can't is because we wouldn't have. We didn't. My father objected big time to my marriage before it happened, although he has treated my husband like a son ever since. My father, in his patriarchal role, said it was always better to have the blessing of both families, and at that point, I could not help myself.

"Dad," I said. "Correct me if I'm wrong, but don't I remember hearing that you and Mom had an alternate plan if the grandparents said no?"

My father actually blushed, something I had never seen before. He said (as he looked at the top of his shoes) that he and Mom did have another plan and were glad they didn't have to use it.

Looking at my dad as he blushed, it was easy to see the eighteen year old boy in the eighty year old man. Obviously I did not enter the picture until later. I am so thankful that I have this memory to carry with me. Although I miss my mother very much, her death left a benefit I never imagined. I began to know my father as a person, not just as my dad.

I am richer for the knowledge.

I received the following in an e-mail and thought it was worth sharing.

A few weeks ago a woman was killed in an auto accident. She was
very, very well liked, so the office shut down for her funeral and it
was on the news and so on. On the day the workers came back to work, they found this poem in their e-mail that the deceased woman had sent on Friday before she left for home.


If tomorrow starts without me, And I'm not there to see,

If the sun should rise and find your eyes all filled with tears for me;

I wish so much you wouldn't cry the way you did today,

While thinking of the many things, we didn't get to say.

I know how much you love me, as much as I love you,

And each time that you think of me, I know you'll miss me too;

But when tomorrow starts without me, please try to understand,

That an angel came and called my name, and took me by the hand,

And said my place was ready, in heaven far above,

And that I'd have to leave behind, all those I dearly love.

But as I turned to walk away, a tear fell from my eye,

For all my life, I'd always thought, I didn't want to die.

I had so much to live for, so much left yet to do,

It seemed almost impossible, that I was leaving you.

I thought of all the yesterdays, the good ones and the bad,

I thought of all that we shared, and all the fun we had.

If I could relive yesterday, just even for a while,

I'd say good-bye and kiss you and maybe see you smile.

But then I fully realized, that this could never be,

For emptiness and memories, would take the place of me.

And when I thought of worldly things, I might miss come tomorrow,

I thought of you, and when I did, my heart was filled with sorrow.

But when I walked through heaven's gates, I felt so much at home.

When God looked down and smiled at me, from His great golden throne,

He said, "This is eternity, and all I've promised you.

Today your life on earth is past, but here life starts anew.

I promise no tomorrow, but today will always last,

And since each day's the same way, there's no longing for the past.

You have been so faithful, so trusting and so true.

Though there were times you did some things, you knew you shouldn't do.

But you have been forgiven, and now at last you're free.

So won't you come and take my hand, and share my life with me?"

So when tomorrow starts without me, don't think we're far apart.

For every time you think of me, I'm right here, in your heart.

Hi Russell,

Since you said you would like to discuss education, I thought I would get the ball rolling. When I was your age, I thought I would have most of the answers by the time I reached the grand old age of 50 but I don't. These are just my thoughts.

It may have happened before the eighties and I just didn't notice because didn't have kids in school, but educational philosophy has become one of a process that yields a product. That works OK when you are making auto parts and every starter for every Neon is milled and installed the same way, but human beings come in much more individual packages, so I don't think it works so well there. I think there is a need for standards, don't get me wrong. I just don't think that every person in the US can achieve them in the same way. So, while I do see some reasoning behind the No Child Left Behind Act, I think it is absurd not to exclude, for instance, people who are mildly mentally handicapped (IQ below 80). People with a mild mental handicap can achieve a lot, but much of their achievement cannot be measured by a proficiency test or a grade card.

I also think that the majority of responsibility for education rests with the parents and the home. Part of the problem in my town is that many of the parents cannot help their elementary children with their schoolwork since they were not educated themselves. And who do they blame when their children do not meet standards? Why, the school, of course. And they blame the school even if their child says outright that he or she has no intention of cooperating in class or doing the assigned work!

Having said that, though, I am not so sure where I stand on private education and home-schooling. I would not have home-schooled my children because we lived in the country and I felt that they needed social interaction. Your Uncle Ron and I supplemented their learning, though. A lot. I even got a call from college asking me how to write a paper. Seems the papers that got an A in high school didn't cut it in college. This kind of thing is an obvious drawback to public education, but if you go with private, which is out of reach financially for many people, how are you obeying the Biblical command to be in the world but not of the world? And if I, as a parent, solve the problem of education for my children by putting them in private school, don't I as a member of the body of Christ have a responsibility toward those children who, for whatever reason, are stuck in public education?

I think the world in which you and Melissa will raise your children is a much tougher one than the world in which I raised mine. If you put your children in public school, counteracting the influence of the world is going to be a lot of work for you. But if you put them in private or parochial school, those influences are still going to be there.

I guess I have rambled enough for now. Feel free to disagree. I am always happy to discuss, and like I said, I do NOT have all the answers.

Love,

Aunt Becky

The Jane Pauley Show: Show Info

One of the benefits of being temporarily visually impaired is that I watch a little more TV than normal. Today I turned on the Jane Pauley Show.

I have written before about the differences between men and women. I get a little annoyed, frankly, with women who want their men to be....women. That's not why I married my husband, and although we do occasionally have communication difficulties, I often learn from the differences between us and have become a better communicator because of my learning.

One of the women on the show wanted to know why her husband couldn't or didn't express more emotion. The brain mapper, Dr. Amen, said it was because men's brains were generally less active in the centers which register emotion. This I disagree with. My husband works in a sort of macho industry, that being the railroad, but the men with whom he works and he himself express a lot of emotion. You just have to learn how to read it. And you have to get them when they are ready to talk, which is often NOT when I am ready to talk.

Another woman noted that she should give her husband time to unwind when he gets home rather than hitting him with problems the minute he comes in the door. It seemed to me that she did really care about her husband. She did not want him to end up having a heart attack in his late fifties like his father had, so she wanted to destress the home environment as much as she could. This "wind-down" time is a complaint I have heard from a lot of men over the years. Many of them don't mind helping or talking; they just want time to switch gears.

Michael Gurian,a family therapist who wrote the book What Could He Be Thinking: How A Man's Mind Really Works made another interesting point; he said that there are "bridge brains" that are more capable of thought ascribed to the opposite sex than most are. Jane thought that Mr. Gurian, being a family therapist, would be a good example of a bridge brain.

Mr. Gurian and Dr. Amen thought that we could reprogram our brains to an extent by increasing both exercise and our intake of Omega-3 fatty acids. I have to admit that I missed the Omega-3 connection, but the purpose of the exercise was to keep everyone calmer. Besides, as Mr. Gurian pointed out, it is a lot easier to have your husband's complete attention when you are alone with him on a walk rather than in front of the TV. (I personally get more of my husband's attention in a moving vehicle, which may be why I like to cruise so much.)

And why do we women want our men to meet all of our emotional needs? Well, Dr. Amen said it started about a hundred years ago. Before that, women got their needs met by meeting with other women, but with the industrial revolution and the expansion of our society westward, somehow emotional fulfillment became the man's job. Dr. Amen said that the average man can fulfill only 30% of his wife's emotional needs, so in order to stay happy in a marriage, a woman needs other outlets. I think women need to be careful of what other outlets they choose, but I believe the statistic Dr. Amen stated that a high percentage of divorces occur because the wives do not feel that their emotional need are being met.

My own personal feeling? I think I married a guy with a "bridge brain" and I feel blessed to have found him. He is capable of translating things into womanspeak when he really wants to communicate, and I try to do the same with him when I see that I am not reaching him (prolonged efforts do tend to give me a headache). I guess I think we should all strive to act like adults and not make other people responsible for all of our emotional well-being since, as husband and wife, we are not wired the same way.

Aren't the differences what make marriage intriguing in the first place?

Proverbs 31:10,23 NIV

10 A wife of noble character who can find?
She is worth far more than rubies.
23 Her husband is respected at the city gate,
where he takes his seat among the elders of the land.


Sometimes being a respectful wife is hard for me, although I don't always recognize respect as being the problem right away. I know that I am supposed to respect my husband and I do. I really do. It is just that sometimes, as a supervisor and a Christian, he reacts in ways that I think are not respectful toward himself (if that makes any sense), and I get upset about it.

Take the assistant. Please. He is back to work after four weeks off for his back (which I know he couldn't help) and is up to his old tricks again. My husband is taking time off to spend with me after cataract surgery, and the assistant does not want to take weekend call. I don't know why. Most often he doesn't answer the phone, and most often he doesn't go out, so he could do what he does best....nothing....just as easily on the weekend as he does during the week.

However. As I was praying about this yesterday, the answer that I received was that I needed to let my husband do what he could live with in this situation and support him in his decision. When I see how tired he is because he does both his and the assistant's job, that is NOT my first inclination. I don't understand why the assistant still has a job except that somewhere in the world of manspeak, he hasn't messed up enough yet. Either that, or what my husband was told when he took this job is way too true. He was told that an officer of the company would never be fired; he would just be put where he could do the least harm. What better place to put him than with my husband, who will make sure the job is done and done right no matter what?

There are two men at work, the assistant being one of them, who from all outward appearances do their work the way their wives tell them to. This makes them the subject of ridicule among the other men. I don't ever want to make my husband an object of ridicule, so I know that I have to honor his decisions. I have made the mental decision, and I will do my best.

But why can't I slap his assistant too?

Yesterday in Bible class, we started watching TIME CHANGERS. This is a movie with a Christian theme that had played at our local theater, although it was not very well attended. In the movie, a seminary professor from the 1890s is trying to publish a book in which he says that we can and should teach about morals without using the name of Christ, as His name may offend some people.

An older professor in the movie makes the point that Satan himself is not against good morals. He is against the name of Jesus Christ, which is exactly why we have to tie Biblical teaching to the Bible, giving credit where credit is due like you do when you cite sources.

I have been thinking about this in terms of the Howard Dean flap over the GOP. Haven't you wondered how Christianity became a dirty word in our society? Seems like the movie gives a possible answer for the objection to the name of Christ.

I don't mean to oversimplify this, but there has to be a reason that, when Jesus was tempted by Satan in the desert, He responded with Scripture. Of course, to live out our lives this way requires that we know the Word, and at least in my case, I am finding that to be a life-long process. But I can't think of a better way to answer when the world questions. I'm not saying, either, that you won't be persecuted if you answer someone this way, but evidently as Christians we have to be prepared for persecution. We just have to trust the Holy Spirit, I think, to do His thing. As it says in Hebrews 4:12 (New International Version)

For the word of God is living and active. Sharper than any double-edged sword, it penetrates even to dividing soul and spirit, joints and marrow; it judges the thoughts and attitudes of the heart.

My glasses always hid the bags under my eyes. Who said, "Vanity, thy name is woman?" Guess I might have to do something about them.

My husband lent me his reading glasses so that, with my left eye closed, I CAN see the computer screen. I am thankful. I was feeling deprived.

I didn't feel any7thing when they worked on my eye, and I can see more than I imagined possible, but I am having a hard time with the computer screen. Don't know if that's glare, the clear shield I have to wear for the rest of the day, or my uncorrected left eye. Either way, I'll be back, but maybe not right away.

The rest of Chuck Swindoll's leadership points.

3. a discreet mouth, complete with tact

4. keen judgment

5. stability under pressure

Maybe I am a little more distracted by tomorrow's impending surgery than I thought. I am sure that posting pictures to your blog is easy, but I have downloaded Picasa 2 and Hello and I still can't seem to get the hang of it. My daughter says to wait and ask my son, but I thought I was intelligent enough to do this myself. I AM! Maybe just not right now.

I just had lunch with a friend, and we were talking about our adult daughters. Mine is twenty-five; hers is twenty-seven. Mine went through a bad marriage; hers has not yet married. What do we want for them? Happy marriages, of course.

This is an area where I really have to watch how I pray because I do want my daughter happily married, but I want what God has planned for her. I know His plan is way better than what I could plan for her.

NEVERTHELESS...I could not help but smile when she told me that her current friend called her and asked her to go walking at Maumee Bay State Park. That is my idea of a nice, romantic evening. I can't tell where they are heading, but at the very least they make each other happy. I do not always wait patiently for things to happen God's way, but I am thankful for the dash of happiness He added to my daughter's life today.

I enjoy my local Christian radio station, WARN, and this morning I heard a good program on leadership. It was on INSIGHT FOR LIVING with Chuck Swindoll. His definition of wisdom was this-looking at life objectively and handling it with stability.

He only gave the first two characteristics of leadership today, and here they are:

-a clear mind

-a cheerful disposition

My husband is in a position of leadership, and I think he has these qualities. I will be interested in hearing what else Reverend Swindoll has to say.

Rumor has it that the special ed director in a neighboring community will be calling me about a paraprofessional job. I hope so. The district is similar to the one in which I raised my children, and it would be nice to find a home there.

When we lived in Ohio, I worked at Our Lady of Perpetual Help, a Catholic school. One of the fifth grade teachers there resigned her teaching job and took much less pay to serve as parish secretary. Nobody else could really understand why she had done so, but I did. She told me that she liked having summers off when her kids were at home, but they were gone, and the full-time classroom was a lot of stress. She thought she would rather be dome with work when she left the job site and be free to spend time with her husband. Being parish secretary allowed her to do just that.

I know I could get a higher paying job than being an educational assistant, but there is hardly any other job that will allow me to take time off when my husband needs me, and I like to be available to do that. I would also like to spend time with him when he is home instead of grading papers, going to meetings and talking to parents (some of whom tend to scream back).

Money isn't everything.

I know. I complain and complain. Last Friday I got a phone call from the principal at the high school who wanted me to put it in writing that I was not going to accept the English position there. I did that. Can't blame the man. He just wants to get his staff lined up.

Today, I got a call from the director of human resources, with whom I had spoken before. I had told her that I did not intend to renew my license at this time. When I told her that, several months ago, she didn't mention anything about a letter of resignation, but boy did she want one today. I typed it. It was one line long.

This all wouldn't bother me so much except that I think it is a PR issue for the school. In actual fact, my job was eliminated and my transfer involuntary, but since I resigned, it can look like it is all my idea. Just like having all the clerical staff reapply; the public doesn't know that their time has been cut and so have their wages.

I know that economic times are tough, and I know that the school system is not the only one that suffers as a result. However, I would think it would be better to keep the secretaries that you have, the ones that know how to run things (and we all know that they DO run things) instead of spraying the dandelions.

Nobody who works for the school system will tell the public. And maybe they couldn't understand anyway. But a district that is more worried about top-end help (TWO assistant superintendent jobs at $95K a year were created) and less about the way actual schools are run does not, in my opinion, have the interests of the kids in this community at heart.

My salvation, which was freely given by a God who knows how imperfect I am and still wanted me with Him.

My husband, who works harder than anyone I know. He treats company resources as if they were his own. He is concerned about his employees and his family.

My children. My son is safely out of the Marines and establishing his own life. I am thankful that he did not have to go to Iraq, and I am thankful to know that his country means enough to him that he would have. My daughter works hard and is getting her life together after a bad marriage. About this time last year, her dad and I were worried about her mental health. Things are better.

I am thankful for my daughter-in-law, who is not the stereotypical daughter-in-law. There is an old saying,"A son is a son until he takes a wife, but a daughter's a daughter all of her life." My daughter-in-law has called me for advice and trusts me to take care of her sons. We have had words, but I think that she hasn't said anything about me to others that she hasn't said to me. And I am thankful that she loves my son.

RJ. I didn't think it was possible to forget the wondrous discoveries of toddlerhood, but I am having a blast seeing them again through his eyes. The other day he was talking to me on the phone and wanted to know if I was in there. How can you not be thankful for a boy who runs to you, arms outstretched, saying, "Hold me, Grandma."?

Tony, who is as good-natured a baby as I have ever seen. I am thankful that he made it here safely, that he is hitting milestones at a really fast rate, and that God allowed me the privilege of holding him and attending his baptism.

My dad, who will be eighty next month. He's not perfect, but he loves me and he loves the Lord.

My little sister, who finally got to get away without her kids for her 20th anniversary. She cares enough to call me, and she never forgets a birthday.

And while we are on birthdays, I am thankful for the mother I had who never forgot mine, who called me every birthday as an adult and sang to me, a tradition my sister struggles to uphold. My mom was one of the most gentle people I have ever met and a model of what a Christian woman should be.

My niece, Lillie. She cares enough to come to family events, which has not always been the case with her family. She is trying to live out her Christianity, and she too works hard. At eighteen, she has two years of college behind her. She cares enough about her mother to hang around and check on her.

I am thankful for how God works through doctors and medicines to sometimes make our lives better. I would rather not have RA, but since I do, I am thankful to have found a doctor who listens to me and has found a combination of medicines that make me feel, if not like my old self, a whole lot better than I did.

I am thankful for my job teaching visually impaired students, although I wasn't always. Dealing with the handicapped has given me new insight into humanity and a gentleness that I do not think I possessed before.

My dishwasher. I didn't have one until I had been married for more than twenty years. I was shy about using it at first, but I'm not now!

This blog. I have a venting outlet, and it is always there for me. I am a nicer person when I write.

This country, which I think is the most free in the world; the people who fight for it; my church; my friends; and my life.

Lord willing, I will use it wisely.

I am about to complain, so if you can't deal with it, don't read on.

I mind it when people tell me cataract surgery is no big deal I know that, and I am not worried about the surgery itself. I am worried about what I will be able to see in between the first and second surgeries and until I get my new glasses. I don't care if I need new glasses, really, although being able to go without them would be nice. My eyes are bad enough that I have "high myopia", and sometimes the correction on people like me isn't as great. I would settle for less eye strain and clearer vision.

I mind being without a job.

I mind not wanting to go back to school because I am so disgusted with the process of public education.

I mind the fact that pretty much everyone in the local school system, both certified and non-certified, is being treated poorly by the superintendent.

I mind being along a lot, although I am really grateful that I have not had to spend my life that way.

I mind living so far from my family.

I mind having RA and being concerned about using up my husband's and my retirement savings on my medicine.

Four days until the right eye. Eleven for the left.

CNN.com - Bibles 'may spread superbug' - Jun 3, 2005

To quote Iain Mair, executive director of Gideons International UK headquarters, this move against Gideon Bibles is indeed "political correctness gone mad". I have never really understood why the presence of the holy book of another faith would be offensive. If, as a Christian, I saw the holy books of other faiths, I actually might pick them up and leaf through them. I certainly would not find them offensive. Why is it that the Bible in particular is offensive? Would people complain so much if the Qur'an alone were placed?

According to the CDC website, "MRSA is a type of staph that is resistant to antibiotics called beta-lactams. Beta-lactam antibiotics include methicillin and other more common antibiotics such as oxacillin, penicillin and amoxicillin. While 25% to 30% of the population is colonized with staph, approximately 1% is colonized with MRSA." I realize that any staph infection is more dangerous in the hospital, but the CDC site goes on to say that the most frequent infections come from skin-to-skin contact. Sounds to me like the hospitals are not really worried about MRSA at all.

They seem more worried about the spread of salvation.

I noticed a long time ago that men and women often do not communicate the same way. When I read Deborah Tannen's book YOU JUST DON'T UNDERSTAND, I gained some valuable insight. Men relate in facts; women in feelings. Just because I tell my husband about a problem does not mean I want him to fix it necessarily; I just want to tell him about it. Believe it or not, although the translation into "manspeak" gives me a headache sometimes, I have become a more successful communicator because I acknowledge the difference.

I have heard other talks about the languages of love. I know there is a book out by Gary Chapman about it, but the talk I heard was given by June Hunt on HOPE FOR THE HEART. Her point was pretty much the same as Deborah Tannen's really: if you want to show someone that you love them, you had better figure out how they think love is shown. It has been a while since I heard this show, but I remember two of the "languages". One was that love was shown by gifts, and another was that love was shown by spending time together.

I personally am a spending time together kind of person, and I think my husband and kids are too. My father and my daughter-in-law, on the other hand, are "things" people. Bear in mind that I am not saying their view is bad. It is just different from my own. My father measures things in accomplishments. He is convinced that my younger sister is a better money manager than I because she has more money. I don't think that is necessarily the case, but I know that is the way he sees it. He is very attached to possessions. I have often thought his attachment came from growing up during the Depression, but I think maybe there is more to it than that. My grandparents both worked--hard--while he was growing up, and while they could not give him much time, they could give him some material goods.

My son's oldest son, RJ, I think is a time spender. This is why I think so. We spent last weekend at his house for his brother's baptism, and it seemed to me that RJ's greatest joy lay in getting someone's complete attention. I was trying to get dressed and did not really want his attention in the bathroom, but he was so insistent that I let him in once I was decent. He watched what I did, and when I was brushing my hair, he asked if he could brush it. I have long hair, and it gets tangled, but I can't resist my grandson, so I let him try. And he was just as gentle and careful as his grandfather would have been.

I think it takes a quiet spirit to discern how love is communicated to those that you love. Even if their way is not your way, you can be rewarded if you take the time to translate.

I have told the people here in Marion repeatedly that I would not be renewing my teaching license. I even told the director of personnel, but still they gave me an involuntary transfer to the high school. Now the principal wants something in writing stating my intentions. I don't blame him, but I haven't been shy about my plans and I just wish the right hand could communicate with the left!!

I received notice in e-mail to look at an article by Jennifer Warner published on WEB MD HEALTH
entitled SWEAT OR SWEET? WORDS AFFECT SENSE OF SMELL. I received the e-mail from one of my special ed buddies. The gist of the article is that the right word choice can affect whether a subject perceives an odor in a positive or a negative way.

I think that one of the things I have learned during my time in special ed is that word choice matters a lot (and this should have a lot of meaning since it is coming from me, a linguistics and English major). In special ed, you can often soften an inevitable and hard decision for a parent by your word choice. Hearing what a child can do is more meaningful to a parent than hearing what he or she cannot accomplish. And hearing why a certain placement is the right choice is often easier than telling them why a mainstream classroom would not be best.

Madeleine L'Engle, one of my all-time favorite authors, says that we should pick the simplest words we can to describe things, saving the more complex words for when nothing else will do. I think that as educators, and certainly as people, we should pick the most positive words as well.

Today I did something I don't remember ever doing before. I heard about a clerical job that interested me, and I called the person involved to let her know that I was interested. She just received the budget go-ahead and had told me that she was considering me for another position, but I didn't know if she would see this one as a possibility if I didn't bring it to her attention.

I did not seek my last two jobs; they sort of fell into my lap. And I am not complaining. I learned a lot from both of them. But now that it is time to move on, I am thinking about "expanding my horizons" so to speak. I read on the net the other day that one way to keep your mind sharp is to change jobs. This job would still be in education, but it would be serving behind the scenes. I told my husband it would be like riding with him when he patrols the tracks; he sees the same towns that he sees when he drives through them on the road, but from a different perspective.

We shall see, I guess. I don't want to hope too much. I got notice from the director of personnel today that my name was officially give to the board of education to teach at the high school next year, but she and I have discussed the fact that I have no intention of taking that position. I hope the posting does not eliminate me from the running for some non-certified positions in which I have expressed interest. And I hope the lady I called today did not think I was too pushy.

My husband came home really tired last night and did something I don't remember his ever doing before: he told me he needed to take a nap.

Part of the reason, I think, is the stress that he is under. We came home from a pleasant weekend celebrating our youngest grandson's baptism to find a message about something his assistant should have handled and apparently didn't. This is normal for his assistant, and I often wonder why he still has a job, but he does, and it isn't my place to decide otherwise. Anyway, my husband called the assistant and was told that the whole thing had been blown out of proportion and that the assistant had handled it. Good.

Only thing is that later the man who really assists my husband called him to tell him the real story, and that did not involve the assistant's "handling it." Actually, it involved the assitant's not being available when he was supposed to be yet again and my husband's immediate superior handling it. My husband got the scoop from the superior who, as of this morning is in a higher position in another state, so he knows the truth. And it doesn't surprise him. But what do you do with an assistant that lies? In this instance, my husband did not suffer repercussions from the lies, but he could have.

I know that in the male world you do not confront a liar, but I figure it is a lot of stress on my husband to double-check things that he knows are important rather than trust this man's word. I guess all I can do for my husband is listen and pray, but I wish I could do more.