Zucchini and Boggle

What do zucchini and Boggle have in common? I'll get to that. But first, some breaking news...

Guess what Ethan and I made last night? Tortillas. Yes, our own 100% fresh-ground whole wheat, lard-free tortillas. I mixed up the dough in the food processor, formed it into 10 little golf balls, and let it rest on the counter for an hour. Then I proceeded to throw flour over every inch of the kitchen, including my purse:

I pressed each ball flat between my palms, sprinkled on even more flour, and rolled out little circles with a Pampered Chef pastry roller (a small wooden handle with tiny rollers at each end) that I had heretofore never used in the 10 years or so since I paid way to much money for it. It was perfect for the job! My circles were almost... circular.

As I finished each tortilla, I carefully peeled it up and handed it over to Ethan, who was manning the electric skillet. (We tried an iron skillet first, but the sides were too high and it was hard to get them flat and to flip them; we kept burning our fingers.) Ethan watched for the bubbles and then carefully flipped each tortilla.

Look at this lovely stack:

While we waited for the electric skillet to heat up, I devoured one of the rejects. "Oh, this is SO good," I raved. "You've got to try one, Ethan. Here, put on some butter and honey."

"Nah," he said, eying our misshapen, slightly holey first attempts. "Are you going to start making all our tortillas now?"

I nodded vigorously. "For sure."

"Why?"

"Because they're healthier, softer, tastier, and even cheaper."

"You know, sometimes things you buy at the store taste better."

I rolled my eyes. "Puh-lease. You've never even tasted a tortilla fresh off the griddle. Really, try one."

"Nah."

He stayed with me until the tenth and final tortilla, and then he was out of there. I was afraid the tortillas would be too thick to roll into enchiladas, but I was wrong. They were soft and pliable, and just the right size. (Actually, they came in various sizes, which was just fine.)

Chicken Enchiladas

And Ethan changed his tune at dinner time. He and Allyson devoured the two remaining rejects at the table and asked for more. Guess we should have made 20.

So Back to the Zucchini
Back up a few days to last Saturday. Ethan, a couple of friends, and Allyson were getting ready for their first swim of the season (actually Allyson's second). Meanwhile, I was making a cake that looked like a giant oreo for Ethan's 15th birthday party that evening.

Allyson asked me to help her put on her new swimsuit from Nana, but I told her she'd have to wait until I got to a stopping point. She pleaded and pleaded, but I kept telling her to wait a minute. At last she said, "I'll try to put it on by myself." And there were ten blissfully quiet minutes after she disappeared into the bathroom.

She emerged triumphant. "I did it! I'm wearing my new zucchini."

"I think you mean bikini," Ethan's friend Clayton said.

"Yes, it's my bikini. Will you hand me the boggles, please?"

Allyson's New Zucchini

Speaking of Zucchini
And in gardening news... For the past few years, planting The Family Garden has marked the beginning of spring. But this year spring came later for us because we've been horribly busy lately. Bill and Allyson had planted some seeds several weeks ago...

The Tall Ones are Green Beans

...and the cucumbers, zucchini, green beans, and cantaloupe were all thriving in our window seat. They finally got around to transplanting them to the garden last Sunday, just when I was afraid they would perish from lack of root space. Bill spent the whole afternoon lovingly tending to them while Allyson dug up worms and occasionally mounded up some dirt around a seedling. I wasn't even around to take pictures this time because I was busy cooking.

The very next morning, I heard Bill hollering in the backyard. "You stupid dog! Do you know how long I spent...? Four hours. FOUR HOURS. Go get in your pen. Yes, go before I... Git!"

I was pretty sure I knew what had happened. I pictured Lola cavorting in the moonlit garden, or skulking around in it at first light.

But I asked him about it anyway when he finally came back inside. Just as I'd suspected, Lola the Garden Wrecker had struck again. She'd jumped the fence, dug a bunch of holes, uprooted a few plants, and trampled the green beans flat, breaking some of the stalks.

"I can't believe she was able to get over the fence," he said. Now Allyson and I had told him several times before that we'd caught Lola in the garden, but I guess he just didn't believe us until he saw the evidence for himself.

"Do you think the plants will survive?" I asked.

He sighed. "Maybe. All I know is Lola's going to live in her pen for awhile."

And that's what she did, for about three days. She could only come out when Bill was there to watch her. Today he relented and let her out while he was at work. I'll keep you posted.

Speaking of Cruise Ships...

When I told you recently how I learned I was pregnant while we were on a cruise, I was reminded of another cruise ship story that I just have to share. It's a favorite with my family, especially my Aunt Becky, who always says, "Tell that story about the cruise" when I see her in Indiana. So here it is...
Back in the spring of 1998, my ex-husband Byron and I went on a Caribbean cruise with our friends Thomas and Julie. Eleven-month-old Ethan stayed with Aunt Emily.

It was a budget cruise line, on a relatively small refitted military ship that seemed gigantic to me. It was rather spartan, but the entertainment was good and the food was phenomenal. It was a smaller group than you find on the larger lines, more relaxed and personal. You could actually get to know people, or at least recognize them--as we would find out later.

Me (age 27) and Byron

I immediately developed a raging allergy attack or perhaps a cold. I paid a ridiculous sum for allergy medication in the gift shop and then spent the rest of the trip in a fog. For example, I fell asleep during a high-stakes bingo game where I could have won big money. Here's what I do remember about our trip...

One of the stops was in Jamaica, where we took a raft ride down a lazy trickling stream surrounded by lush greenery. The rafts were propelled by wiry, sweaty young men with long poles.

Thomas and Julie--I Suppose They Have the Matching Pic of Us

We rode docile horses and battled mosquitos on a trail ride in the blazing Mexican sun. We browsed through outdoor markets where you had to haggle over prices with proprietors who followed you down the street. I came home with a beautiful tanzanite ring; it was the first time I had ever seen that lovely purple stone.

The highlight of our trip was supposed to be the stingray excursion in Grand Cayman. We went out in a boat on the shallow water to a spot where a school of tame stingrays came for daily feedings. My heart pounded as I climbed down the ladder. I have an irrational fear of all fish, let alone fish whose sting can be fatal.

See that girl in the yellow bikini petting the stingray? No, that's not me. Are you crazy? See that other girl with both hands up, looking nervous? No, that's not me either.

Where was I? Back in the boat with the old ladies and the little kids. I'd made it about ten feet away from the boat. My legs almost went out from under me when I saw hordes of sting rays swirling around us. But it was all over when I stepped on one--almost, but it darted away, brushing against my foot with one velvety smooth wing. I would have drowned had the water not been waist deep. I spun around and tried to climb out of the water on an imaginary staircase. I might have even climbed over the nearest strangers in my scramble for the ladder.

So there I sat, woefully watching other people have the time of their lives while I berated myself for my cowardice. Byron tried to coax me out, but I wouldn't budge. He stayed out there until the guide shooed everyone back into the boat. He petted stingrays, swam with stingrays, and took lots of pictures of stingrays.

Just before we left, one of the guides lured one of the biggest rays over to the boat and held it while the tourists petted it. I watched one person after another take a turn, even the little kids and the old ladies. Just before it was time to head back, I forced myself down the steps and ran a trembling hand over the silky surface of that gentle sting ray. It wasn't gross or slimy at all. It felt like wet satin, and was not much thicker than satin at the wings.

As memorable as that experience was, it was nothing compared to what happened on the next stop. Each morning when we left for the excursions, the ship's staff would have us synchronize our watches to the latest time zone, and they would repeat the ship's departure time over and over. "Do NOT be late," they warned. "We will not wait for you, and you'll have to make your own travel arrangements to get to the next island or back home. It will not be cheap."

I shuddered at the thought of being left behind. No way I would ever let that happen. Usually, there was no worry anyway because if you went on an organized excursion, they brought everyone back to the ship in plenty of time.

But by the time we reached Cancun, we were running low on funds and decided to spend the day on our own. We did a bit of shopping and then lazed around at a famous bar whose name escapes me. The whole time, I kept eying my watch and getting more and more antsy as the 3:00 deadline approached.

Around 2:00, I insisted on heading back. "Relax. We have plenty of time," Byron said as he stopped and admired little trinkets in the street market. We bought a couple of things along the way and arrived back at the port by 2:30.

It took us a moment to notice that the port was empty. "This is the wrong place," I said.

Byron looked around. "No, this is where we docked this morning. I'm sure of it."

My heart started pounding, and my chest felt so tight that I could scarcely draw in a breath. "Wh-where's the ship?" I sputtered.

"I don't know," he said. He noticed some sort of guard hut at the water's edge, and we hurried over.

A uniformed officer spoke to us in Spanish.

"Where's the ship?" Byron asked.

"No hablo Inglés," he answered.

"The ship," I repeated, spreading my arms out wide and then pointing at the water. "Where is it?"

He pointed out to the horizon, where the ship was a tiny speck.

"What are we going to do?" I wailed, tears streaming.

"Un momento," the officer said, holding up one hand as he spoke into his radio.

A couple of minutes later, a tiny motorboat pulled up to the wooden dock, and the officer herded us over. He spoke to the driver and another officer, probably telling them about these foolish Americans who were too careless to get back to the boat before it embarked. The driver gestured to Byron, who clambered into the boat and held out a hand to me. I hesitated for a moment, but then the officer on the dock took my elbow and helped me down onto the bobbing boat.

I huddled next to Byron on the hard bench, my heart fluttering as we chased after the ship through the choppy water. Shouldn't we be wearing life jackets?

At last we pulled alongside the ship, so massive next to this toy motorboat. "How on earth will we get onboard?" I asked no one in particular.

Just then, a hatch swung open about halfway up the ship's hull, about 25-30 feet up. Next, a rope ladder unfurled down the side of the ship. No way!

Yes way. Our driver maneuvered the boat right up to the ship and pointed at the ladder, which moved up and down just like our boat, only not at the same time. I stood up on rubbery legs. "Wait!" I said, leaning to whisper in Byron's ear. "Do you think we need to pay them?"

"Vámanos," said the officer, taking my arm and nudging me toward the ladder.

I slung my shopping bag over my shoulder and grabbed a rung with both hands, my knuckles brushing against the cool metal. Holding my breath, I groped for a lower rung with one flip flop and then the other. I clung to the ladder for a moment, stock still against the solid, relatively stationary hull. 

"Come on up. You'll be fine."

I looked up into the eyes of a man leaning casually out the hatch and reaching a hand down toward me. And then I saw some fellow passengers watching us from the deck railing, laughing and shouting and pointing.

I inched up that ladder and into the hatch, almost collapsing in relief when I stepped inside. But the man didn't even wait for Byron to make it up the ladder before commencing his lecture. I honestly didn't hear much of what he said but it was something about "Do you know how much money you cost us?" and "Did you not hear that we were departing at 3:00?"

As soon as I could get a word in edgewise, I said, "B-but I don't understand. It was only 2:30. They said 3:00."

He looked at me like I was crazy. "No-o. It's Three-forty-five now."

I looked at my watch. "No, it's 2:45."

"You forgot to set your watches back this morning," he said as he led us through the bowels of the ship, past twitching boilers and humming gears, to an elevator.

"No one told us to set our watches back," I said. "And I don't think it was in the bulletin. How were we supposed to-"

Byron took my arm. "Come on, Sarah."

"But we didn't forget. No one told us," I repeated.

"Just don't let it happen again." The man turned on his heel and walked away without a backward glance.

I leaned against the side of the elevator and sobbed.

"It's okay," Byron said. "We're fine. We didn't get left behind."

"I just need a n-nap," I said.

After a nap and a warm shower, I felt ready to face dinner. But I was not prepared for our reception up on deck. Some passengers laughed and slapped us on the back while others just pointed and whispered. "That's the couple who missed the boat!"

Over dinner, Thomas and Julie explained that at least two other couples had been late for the same reason; not all the groups had been informed about the time change. They'd had to let the gangplank back down twice. This was very lucky for us; without that delay the boat would have been out to sea.

For the rest of the trip, we were greeted like celebrities. After I'd had a good night's sleep, I had to admit that I rather enjoyed the attention.

I wonder if even the captain knew about us. If he did, he didn't say so.

So now you know what it feels like to miss the boat. May it never happen to you!

She Took the Plunge

After an eternity of waiting (or maybe it was only a month), Allyson finally got her wish to be baptized last Sunday, April 1. As I was tucking her in on Saturday night, she piped up during bedtime prayers: "God, please don't let anything stop me from being baptized tomorrow."

I smiled. How sweet, I thought. All the plans are made, but Allyson's not taking any chances.

On Sunday morning, we caravaned out to my mom and dad's church along with our neighbors Elizabeth and Lexie (the ones who gave us the pumpkin pie) and my friend Gentle. My sisters Amy and Emily were there (with Emily's family), as well as my brother Rick and his wife Diane, who took all the photos. Of course, Dad and Mom were there too.

Before the service, we met with the pastor and with the elder who would baptize Allyson. Both of them stooped down to her level and explained exactly what to expect. She nodded vigorously when they asked her if she was ready for this step. She said she wasn't afraid, though she clung to my leg the whole time.

When I was seated alongside all my family and my dear friends, I breathed a sigh of relief. Nothing would stand in the way now. My heart was full as I enjoyed worshiping with loved ones on such a momentous occasion.

But when the pastor called forward anyone needing prayer, his next words sent a chill up my spine. He explained that the elder we'd just talked with prior to the service had fallen on his way out of the prayer room and cut his forehead. "He said he'll be okay, and he wants to stay for the service. But please stretch out your hands and pray for him, that he will heal quickly and suffer no ill effects from his fall."

Brother W. came in then, leaning on the arm of one of the other men. He had a band-aid on his temple, and his steps were tentative.

How could a man be perfectly fine one minute and bleeding the next? Was it a coincidence, or was this some sort of opposition to Allyson's baptism? Was this why she'd had the urge to pray the night before?

I prayed fervently for this dear man who had baptized me when I was 16.

At the end of the service, Emily tapped my shoulder and led me to Allyson's classroom, where my mom was teaching. (Nice!) I helped Allyson into a royal blue gown, and then we walked hand in hand to the baptismal.

Brother W. again stooped down and showed Allyson how she would cover her nose. Before he straightened to his full six feet, he kissed her cheek. I pressed my lips together to hold back my tears and followed him up the cement stairs, holding my breath and praying he wouldn't fall.

Allyson settled onto the seat in the warm water and immediately covered her nose. I could see her trembling, and my heart went out to her. All our family gathered around, with Bill, Ethan, and me lining the sides of the baptismal--close enough to feel the anointing when Brother W. spoke the name of Jesus over her.

Grandma and Aunt Amy

When Allyson came up out of the water, she scrambled straight up the stairs and into the towel I held out to her. She was radiant!

She changed straight into the T-shirt that the pastor's wife gave her:

I took the plunge!

We stood out in the sunshine enjoying the mild spring day and visiting with people I'd known since I wasn't much older than Allyson. When I told Brother W. about Allyson's prayer, his eyes filled with tears. "Thank you, Allyson," he said. "I'm so glad you prayed. I could have been hurt really badly."

Me, Brother W. (age 81!), and the Happy Girl With the Crazy Hair

I'm going to send him the picture above. He promised to keep it on his desk to remind him to pray for Allyson in her new faith walk. God, bless that man! And bless Allyson too.

Nothing Short of a Miracle

Here's the next chapter in my love story with Bill...
Excerpt from Allyson's Journal, 1/1/06
I think you are nothing short of a miracle. First, there's the fact that your father is from British Columbia, and I'm from Texas. Then there's the fact that we waited so long for your conception (19 months), and that my doctor didn't think I'd be able to conceive without drugs.

I'd taken an oral fertility drug when I conceived your older brother nine years ago, and I didn't want to go through that stress again. I'd prayed and asked God to give me the gift of a "surprise" pregnancy, but after a year and a half of waiting I just relaxed and asked for His will--baby or no baby, fertility drug or none.

At the beginning of October 2005, I filled a prescription for Clomid and then waited for the right time to take it. I had gone on a Caribbean cruise with your father and Ethan.

Ethan, Age 8

I was supposed to take the pills on the cruise, starting on cycle day 5, but my period was late. I didn't really believe I could be pregnant, but I was having a few symptoms, especially mild nausea; however, almost half the passengers were seasick because the ocean was pretty rough.

Still Wondering - 5 Days Late and Counting

On Friday, the last full day of our cruise, I used a pregnancy test I'd brought from home. Here is what I wrote in my journal that day:

Friday 10/7/05
I slept fitfully last night, waiting for the light, waiting to take my test. I got up around 7:30 and crept to the bathroom. I set the test stick flat on the lavatory and watched the fluid spread across the window. The reference line appeared immediately, but there was no test line at first. My stomach sank. [This experience had become far too familiar.]

But then I saw a second line, very faint, begin to materialize. I strained to see it, and yes, it got darker and darker. There definitely were two lines, though the second was lighter. I sat and smiled at myself in the tiny mirror. I didn't cry.

I climbed back in bed and snuggled up to Bill. I was too excited to fall back asleep, but I lay there for another hour enjoying my secret....

"No way! Really? For sure? Awesome!" That was Bill's reaction after breakfast when I told him he was going to be a father. We were standing on the ship's railing, looking at the water while Ethan ran around the deck. Bill gave an incredulous laugh, that little-boy laugh that I love. We kissed and hugged....

That Evening at Dinner

"Lord, how do I begin to thank you for such an unexpected blessing? You knew the desire of my heart, and you surprised me! I'm so thankful that I won't need to go through the suspense of taking Clomid.

"Thank you for all that you've taught me during these months of waiting, Father. I feel I have learned to trust you so much more. Thank you for ordaining my days. Thank you for knitting together this baby in my womb.

"Now I must learn to trust you even more. Help me trust you to keep this baby safe, to keep my body strong. Help me not to worry if the baby will be 'perfect.' I know you will form this baby according to your perfect plan, and you will make me ready to be everything my baby needs in a mother--by your grace....

"Thank you, thank you, Father, for giving us this precious gift. Thank you for blessing me among women. My heart is full today."

Allyson's Journal, 5/17/06
We learned our wonderful news at the start of October, and then we had to decide when to share our news. We wanted to tell Daddy's family in person, which meant we had to wait until Christmas. Daddy wanted to wait until then to tell my family, too, but I told him we could never keep it a secret for that long. So we decided on Thanksgiving, but it didn't work out that way.

A couple of weeks after we found out, we were all over at Aunt Emily's to help her move. I was feeling a little green that day, so I wasn't much help. And I was avoiding lifting and other heavy work like mopping. Grandma looked sharply at me and asked, "Are you expecting?"

I couldn't very well lie to my mother, so I just smiled. She and Aunt Amy shrieked with excitement and crushed me in a big hug. Then, of course, I had to tell everyone else: Emily and her girls, Uncle Rick and his family, Grandpa, and your big brother.

Ethan was busy playing when I told him, and I don't think he really heard me. He said, "Oh, that's nice." Then he went back to his playing. I was a littled disappointed at his reaction.

Later that day, he asked if I wanted to jump on a pogo stick. I told him I didn't think I should. He said, "Why not? The weight limit is 150 pounds. You don't weigh that much, do you?"

I said no, but it wouldn't be good for the baby. Ethan looked around and asked, "What baby?"

I laughed. "The baby in my tummy, silly!"

He touched my belly and said, "You have a baby in your tummy?"

I said yes, and from that point he has been very excited about your arrival.

We somehow managed to keep Daddy's family from finding out. We flew up just before Christmas with Ethan, your cousin Mindy, and my Little Sister Brandy. As planned, I wore a snug sweater and a loose jacket.

Mindy and Brandy at White Rock Beach, BC

When we got to the house, Bill introduced Brandy to everyone, and then he announced that he had another introduction to make. Everyone looked around, confused, because they'd already met Mindy the prior Christmas, and of course they knew Ethan.

I opened my jacket to reveal my growing belly, and there was lots of shouting, hugging, and crying. It was like they had won a car on a game show.

Itty Bitty Baby Belly

When we flew home a week later, we brought maternity clothes from Nana and baby clothes from Great Grandma Faye. Gram couldn't resist buying one girl outfit, just in case. I'm so glad you'll get to wear it!

DISCLAIMER: After the reaction of some of my readers to the last chapter of our love story, I want to point out that this story takes place in the past--back in 2005. No, I am NOT PREGNANT right now!

Not Without Grandpa

Back in February, my mom gave Allyson a gorgeous picture book, a children's version of The Lion, the Witch, and the Wardrobe. She promptly fell in love with the book, and we read it several times over a period of days.

One evening at bedtime, we started talking about parallels between this book and the Bible: Aslan (the lion) and Jesus, the white witch and Satan. We talked about how the witch deceived Edmund into betraying his siblings by using false promises and by appealing to his pride. "That's how the devil works," I said. "He makes sin look so fun, but really he wants to destroy us. But Aslan chose to take the punishment that Edmund deserved, not because Edmund was good, but because he loved him so much."

She nodded, deep in thought. "You know how Lucy and Susan watched over Aslan all night after the witch killed him?" she asked finally.

"Yes."

"They remind me of the disciples when they were looking at Jesus's tomb. They didn't know he was alive, just like Lucy and Susan didn't know Aslan was coming back to life."

I was so shocked that I sputtered when I spoke. "Allyson, you really understand the story of Jesus dying on the cross, don't you?"

"Yes. The book helps me understand it much better."

I felt a fluttering in my chest. Was it time? Yes. It was.

"Allyson, remember when you asked me what it means to ask Jesus into your heart?"

"Yes."

"I told you we would talk about it again when you were a little older. Did you ever ask Jesus in your heart?"

"Sort of. But I wasn't sure how to do it."

"Are you ready to do it now?"

"Yes."

So right then and there, I led her in the believer's prayer. She confessed her faith in Jesus and her need for a savior, and she proclaimed that Jesus is her Lord. And then she asked about baptism.

"Baby, I'm not sure you're ready for that yet. I don't know if you understand what baptism means. Maybe when you're a little older."

She brightened. "How about when I'm six?"

I didn't point out that four months might not make that much difference in the scheme of things. Instead, I resorted to the vagueness that surely frustrates her. "We'll see, honey. We'll talk again when you're six."

I kissed her and tucked her in, my heart light. Wonder of wonders, all was quiet in her room. There were no requests for drinks or more cuddles or second trips to the potty. She was out. Or so I thought. About ten minutes later, she called out, "Mama, I think I want to get baptized right away. As soon as I can."

I went back to her room. "Okay, we'll pray about it, and I'll talk to Daddy and see what he thinks." I leaned in for another kiss.

She yawned. "Okay."

At breakfast, her first words were, "Did you ask Daddy about me getting baptized?"

Bill looked at me in confusion.

"No, sweetie. I wanted you to tell him your news first."

She beamed. "I asked Jesus in my heart last night."

Over the next few days, she asked about her baptism continually. Meanwhile, I prayed and sought advice. I thought back to my own baptism at age 9, and how I did it again at age 16 because I felt I hadn't understood what I was doing the first time. How could a 5-year-old comprehend such a sacred decision? Then again, how would I have felt if my parents had made me wait when I was 9?

Ultimately, I decided I couldn't stand in her way. She was elated. And very impatient. I had to make arrangements with Ethan's dad to make sure he could attend, and I had to talk with the minister at my parents' church; I wanted her to be baptized by the same man who baptized me (the second time).

Everything was set for this past Sunday, and Allyson was beyond excited. She told her teachers, her friends, and not a small number of complete strangers that she was going to be baptized. She was downright radiant about it.

And then my dad got sick. He was admitted to the hospital on Friday afternoon with a small bowel obstruction. On Saturday morning, I broke the news to Allyson, who was curled up on an easy chair waiting for her breakfast. I rubbed her leg as I explained the situation. "So, if you get baptized tomorrow, Grandpa won't be able to come. And I know he would want to be part of your special day. But you've been waiting a long time. I know you'll be so disappointed if you have to wait even longer."

Her chin quivered, and she heaved a shaky sigh, her eyes downcast.

"What do you think we should do, sweetie?"

Her voice was barely audible. "I think... we should wait... as long as it takes for Grandpa to be there."

"I think that's the best choice. Grandpa will be glad." I rubbed her back. "Now you'd better eat your breakfast and get ready for soccer."

"Will you hold me?"

"You want me to carry you to the table?"

"No, I want you to hold me."

I pulled her onto my lap, and she wrapped her legs around my waist and buried her face in my neck. I squeezed her so close that I felt her rapid heartbeat against my chest. We swayed back and forth as I stroked her hair. I felt almost guilty to be enjoying her so much when she was hurting. Do you think that's how God feels when we go to him with our hurts?

Allyson in Kindergarten Classroom

The next day, we went to see my dad when he got home from the hospital, and we told him that Allyson had decided to delay her baptism. I wish I had thought to take a picture when she hugged him goodbye.

"I'm glad you waited," Dad said. "I want to see you get baptized."

She smiled at her feet. "I wouldn't want you to miss it," she said.

My cup runneth over.

We're Gonna Need an Equation

The first thing Ethan said when he got home today was, "When can you take me to Walmart?"
"Walmart?"

"I need to buy some cloth to make a flag."

When I raised my eyebrows, he explained that it was for a Social Studies project. "When's it due?" I asked.

"Tomorrow."

My eyebrows rose another half inch.

"Well, it's actually not due yet, but if I turn it in tomorrow I get an extra 10 points."

Those were the magic words. "We can go during Allyson's soccer practice."

Ethan said he'd rather go after dinner. "Don't worry," he assured me. "Some other kids said it only took about 20 minutes. You can buy some kind of sticky tape at Walmart and just iron the whole thing together."

"Good thing because you know I can't sew," I said. "But I wouldn't be too sure about the 20 minutes. Things have a way of taking a lot longer than you think."

In the Walmart fabric section, the clerk took one look at Ethan and said, "Making a flag?"

He nodded.

"What colors do you need?"

"Red, green, and white."

She informed us that they were out of kelly green, which apparently is a popular flag color all over the world. (Either that, or it's on the simplest flags; Ethan says most kids picked their countries based on the perceived difficulty of this flag project.)

Ethan pointed at a bolt of olive green fabric. "I think that will work."

She measured out 11 inches of each color. "That way you only have to measure the 14 inches," she said. "And you've got lots of extra fabric in case you make an error." (God bless that woman!)

She then led us to the iron-on tape, called Stitchery Witchery. She had clearly learned all the details of the project from the throngs of kids coming in over the last few days, which goes to show that procrastinating sometimes has its perks.

It all came up to less than $5. This was one of those days when I love Walmart.

Back home, we laid it all out on the kitchen table while Ethan looked up the Madagascar flag online. "It's three rectangles, all the same length," he read. "But they aren't the same width."

"We'll need an equation," I said with a big grin. (I'm always looking for chances to prove that you really do need math in real life.) I grabbed a tablet and drew a rectangle with three rectangles inside it. I labeled the big rectangle's sides: 14, 11. On the inside vertical rectangle, I marked an x.

"Mom, that side's 11," Ethan said.

"Oh, of course it is," I said, flushing a little. If we couldn't use algebra, at least we could use a little geometry. "Okay, if all these sides are 11, then the little rectangle must be 3 inches wide. And the other two must be 5.5 inches, right?"

I fetched the tape measure that Allyson gave Bill for his birthday last month. We marked out 3 inches on the white fabric and then stared at each other. "How are we going to cut a straight line?" I whined. "And what will we use to cut it? I don't have sewing shears."

"What about your scrapbooking stuff?" Ethan suggested.

I grinned as I trotted up the stairs. (I'm always looking for opportunities to show that my scrapbooking supplies can be used in real life.)

We used the rotary cutting tool, which served as a ruler, straight edge, and cutter all in one. But we soon learned that the fabric was crooked all around; that's how it came off the bolt.

"I don't know how we're going to make all this line up," I said. "And look at all those strings hanging off the edges. I wish I knew how to sew. What we need is a finished edge. Do you know what that means?"

Ethan nodded halfheartedly.

I tried to show him how you can sew an edge and then turn it inside out and iron it to make a sharp edge. "What if we cut the pieces longer and then fold over the edges?"

"But we've already cut the pieces. I don't want to cut them again," Ethan complained.

I sighed. "And how would we know how long to make them?"

He voiced my thoughts. "We need Bill."

"We're on our own tonight," I said. "Bill's watching hockey. Canucks hockey."

I cut out an 11 X 14 white rectangle to use as a base and then laboriously outlined the perimeter of each smaller rectangle with Stitchery Witchery tape. Next, I carefully laid each small rectangle in place and then covered the whole thing with a damp tea towel.

Ethan, Allyson, and I counted to ten in unison as I held the iron over each section. This was fun! But when I pulled the now dry towel off the flag, we groaned. Toward the right side of the flag, there was a thin line of white between the red and green rectangles.

"It looks horrible," I said.

"It's good enough," Ethan said. "With my extra 10 points, I might get an 80."

"You can't turn it in like this. It's pathetic." I sighed heavily. Time to call for reinforcements. "Bill!" I bellowed. "We need you."

He trudged downstairs and surveyed our (my) work.

"I can't do this-it's too hard-I can't cut straight-the fabric was all crooked and look at these strings," I wailed.

"Why are you getting so worked up?" Bill asked.

"Because I really tried my hardest, but look at this piece of... dog dung. It's horrible."

"Why did you put this little white piece on top?" he asked. "Why didn't you just use a big white piece and put the other rectangles on top? And why didn't you put the green on top of the red instead of trying to make two straight edges? And why didn't you cut some extra fabric and fold over the edges all around?"

I bit back my angry retort and did my best to mimic Lola's puppy dog eyes when she wants to come in out of the rain. "Could you please... I don't understand what you... Please?"

He sighed heavily. "I guess if you tuck Allyson in. And pause the hockey game."

"Thank you!" I called, already halfway up the stairs.

As soon as Allyson was settled, I started on this blog entry, listening to Bill and Ethan with half an ear. Every now and then I snickered; clearly it wasn't quite as easy as Bill had made it sound. "What the heck happened to our straight line?" Bill grumbled at one point. I looked down over the banister and exchanged a sly grin with Ethan, who was watching Bill iron.

Well, I don't know how he did it, but look how awesome the finished product looks:

Front

Back

And that's how both Bill and I ended up spending an hour apiece doing Ethan's homework. I can't complain, though. My sixth-grade Me-Doll comes to mind at times like these. On the night before it was due, the entire family slaved over that doll all evening while I just wrung my hands. Mom cut out the pattern and sewed it together while Amy and Dad made the clothes. As I recall, even little Emily helped. I think she drew the face. Even at age 8 she was quite the artist.

But I digress. Isn't Bill amazing? There really isn't anything that man can't do.

And The Lobster Award Goes To...

...you, of course! What's a Lobster Award, you ask? That's what I said when my friend Victor awarded one to me recently. To put it briefly, this unique award honors not the blog writer, but the reader. To use Victor's words:

This magnificent and rarely presented Award is only given to those tireless and hard-working Bloggers who, despite the many vicissitudes which life may throw in their way, despite the magnitude of the task ahead in their daily grind that is this vale of tears, despite every obstacle, every hardship, and every discouragements and temptations to just click and move on to another Blog; they still find time to visit your personal offering and to regularly leave a message there in the Comments Box.

I couldn't believe his generosity--to give me an award for doing something that I enjoy so much. It's always a joy to read Victor's blog, and it's fun to comment because not only does he reply to every comment, but he also faithfully visits the blogs of all his regular commenters. (I don't know how he finds time to do that as he quite a popular blogger.)

So, now that I've been honored with the illustrious Lobster Award, my instructions are to nominate the bloggers who comment regularly on this blog. I will leave a comment on their blogs and invite them to pass the award on to their faithful commenters.

Here's my list:

Victor (of course)
Gentle
Melissa
Jenny

I'd also like to give an honorable mention to all my readers, the vast majority of whom are not bloggers--like my sweet Aunt Donna, who comments on just about every post. (I'd list all of your names, but I'm quite sure I would miss someone.) I know you all have busy lives like mine, and that I am terribly long-winded, so I'm honored that you would spend the time to read what I have to say.

To those of you who comment via email, Facebook, or good old face-to-face conversations, thank you so much. Your encouragement is what keeps me writing. You see, blogging is an act of faith. It's rather like talking to myself. For me, there's no such thing as a quick blog entry; it's not unusual for me to spend two to three hours on a single entry, especially if pictures are included. Whether I'm sharing my heart or just telling a funny story, I have to trust that someone out there is reading. Getting comments in any form makes my heart leap, and hearing that something I shared touched your heart usually brings happy tears.

I'll make you a deal: you keep reading, and I'll keep writing. And if something I share makes you smile, or laugh, or cry, please consider letting me know. I love you guys.

My Life is a Book

Here's a story I've been looking forward to telling you since the day I started this blog. It's the next chapter in my love story with Bill. (Did you even remember that we had a love story?)

In the last chapter, I told you what I endured in order to get a clean bill of health so that we could start trying to conceive. It was such a relief to have the waiting behind me at last, and so exciting to wonder if this could be the month. During this time, I was memorizing Psalm 139, and I was in awe of the timing. As I slowly worked through the chapter, verse by verse, it seemed that the verse I was currently memorizing almost always was the perfect one for what I was experiencing at that moment.

Here is an email that I sent to my Thursday group back in 2004 that captures my initial anticipation...

4/9/04

I was having my morning break today, meditating as usual on the SAME passage I've been studying for months, when I saw something new.

As you know, now that I have passed the colonoscopy, we are free to start trying for a baby, and we are, though Bill doesn't technically know yet. (He's ready, so that's not an issue.) I quietly stopped taking my pill this month, and the knowledge that we could be making a baby is a precious little secret in my heart.

Well, I was meditating on my verses and I stopped on Ps 139:13: "For you created my inmost being; you knit me together in my mother's womb." I wish you could have seen the little smile on my face. I think it must have looked like Mona Lisa's smile, a private smile over a secret only she knew. It seemed so incredibly...INCREDIBLE and WONDERFUL that at this VERY moment, God could be knitting together a baby in my womb.

So I talked to God about that. I asked him for his perfect timing and his will, even if his will is no baby at all. At this moment, at least, I am feeling perfectly at peace with the waiting and the uncertainty because I know that God ordained all my days, and he knows what's best for me. I wish I could keep this moment forever.

Anyway, I thought I would share. Please be in prayer with me that I will continue to seek God's will in this and not become impatient like I usually do about everything else in my life.

Oh, how well I knew myself! Fast forward a year...

Here I Am on My 35th Birthday - April 2005

5/18/05

Hello everyone. I'm missing you a lot this week. I've been feeling sad, a deep sense of grief, really, as I've been trying to let go of the dream of having a baby. I just don't want to hope any more. It hurts too much when I start my period each month. This past month I didn't hope at all, and it still hurt when I started my period yesterday.

With each passing month (15 of them now), I feel more certain that Bill and I will never share that joy together. I have tried so hard to honestly give up that desire because I know that God's plan is best for me. Maybe we will have a baby, and if we do it will be at the perfect time, according to his plan. Sometimes I think I am at peace with just asking God for his will continually, and trying not to decide for myself what I want.

The problem with that is the not knowing. I keep thinking, "If I could just KNOW what God's plan is, it would be so much better." If I KNEW there would be no baby, I would grieve, and I would go on and be thankful for what I do have. And if I knew that in x months or years we would have a baby, I would spend the time preparing to be the best mother I could be, and just enjoying the anticipation. But I don't know what's going to happen, so I keep preparing for the worst. I keep telling myself how it wouldn't be so bad not to have a baby, how wonderful our life is already. I can almost believe that until I see a commercial or a TV program or a woman on the street who is pregnant or has a new baby, and then I just feel this deep sense of loss, thinking "I can't have that. That's for other people, not for me." Then I feel guilty for not being thankful and joyful about God's plan for my life.

All that to say... Today I was studying Psalm 139 for perhaps the 200th time (maybe more!), and I got something I hadn't seen before: Ps 139:15-16 "My frame was not hidden from you when I was made in the secret place. When I was woven together in the depths of the earth, your eyes saw my unformed body. All the days ordained for me were written in your book before one of them came to be."

What I saw today when I quoted that scripture was your book. When God ordained the days for my life, before I was even born, he wrote them in His book. It's a book about me and my days, but it's HIS BOOK. I'm not supposed to know what is in the book, only to know the Author of the book. Since he planned all my days, I know that it's going to be a wonderful, incredible, awesome book. But I can't skip to the end without reading the whole thing. I have to savor it page by page, enjoying the process of getting to the end of the book.

I want to approach my life the way I approach a really good book. I love to savor a good book. I'm always dying to know what will happen next, but I never "cheat." I enjoy seeing the plot unfold slowly. If it's an author I love, I know from the start that I'm going to enjoy myself.

Obviously God is the best author you could find. I want to feel that same way about my life. I guess if there is not a baby in his plan, then I don't need to grieve that loss. Because whatever He has planned is what is best for me. He KNOWS! So I need to have joy in knowing that he cares for me and has planned the best life there can possibly be for me. He is going to teach me incredible truths along the way, and he is going to let me experience joy and sadness and longing and everything else that makes this life so rich and amazing.

Girls, I GET IT!! At this moment, I really get it. Please pray that God will continue to teach me this lesson and that it can be mine to keep. Pray that he will remind me of this moment over and over, whenever I need to hear it. Thank you.

I can't wait to hug everyone.

Love,

Sarah Louise

Bill and I (Far Left) at His Brother Trevor's Wedding, Same Month as the Preceding Email Message

As so often happens in my life, once I finally learned the lesson, God soon gave me the desire of my heart. But that’s another story.

No Favoritism

For the last four weeks, I've been doing a new Beth Moore study called Mercy Triumphs, on the book of James. I've been dying to tell you about it. Each lesson seems to be specially written just for me: persevering through trials, believing and not doubting, being slow to listen and quick to speak, not only listening to the Word but putting my faith into action, looking after the poor and the widows. Two weeks ago, I finally came across a lesson I didn't think applied to me. I couldn't have been more wrong...
Excerpt from a letter I wrote to a loved one tonight:

...Allyson is vital part of what I consider my biggest ministry: visiting the nursing home. At first that was a chore, but it's turned into an enjoyable time that I actually look forward to. I was patting myself on the back about that, but recently I was humbled.

I'm doing a Bible study on the book of James. It's all about putting your faith into action by doing what God does: showing mercy. A couple of Sundays ago, I was reading about how we shouldn't show favoritism:

My brothers and sisters, believers in our glorious Lord Jesus Christ must not show favoritism.  Suppose a man comes into your meeting wearing a gold ring and fine clothes, and a poor man in filthy old clothes also comes in.  If you show special attention to the man wearing fine clothes and say, “Here’s a good seat for you,” but say to the poor man, “You stand there” or “Sit on the floor by my feet,”  have you not discriminated among yourselves and become judges with evil thoughts?
James 2:1-4

When I read that I thought I'd finally found a passage in James that didn't apply to me. "I don't give special treatment to the rich," I thought. But then I read on in my lesson and saw that we can show favoritism based on anything we value: intelligence, beauty, spiritual depth, influence, etc.

"Hmm," I thought. "What is it that I value?" I decided I like people who are most like me, people I feel comfortable talking to--because I am such a talker.

I thought of Jackee at the nursing home. "She's not like me. She can hardly even speak." I congratulated myself for pushing past the discomfort and building a friendship. Nope, favoritism was not a problem for me.

And then I clearly heard a quiet but authoritative voice in my head. "But what about those other patients that you walk past and pretend you don't see? The ones who can't speak, can't understand, can't keep from drooling?"

"Oh, yes," I thought. No argument there. "Please forgive me," I whispered.

I read on. One question had me list words describing how people feel when they are overlooked and neglected. "Unloved," I wrote. "Invisible. Alone. Worthless. Forgotten." As the list grew, my heart was pierced at the thought of those old folks lining the walls in their wheelchairs. Surely they could feel the loneliness and rejection even if they couldn't put it into words. And surely they needed a smile and a kind word more than anyone.

"Forgive me for not loving them," I said aloud, tears spilling down. "Help me see them as you do. Love them through me."

That day after church, Allyson and I drove to the nursing home. I told her what God had laid on my heart, and then we prayed that God would help us love everyone he put in our path. We agreed that we would be kind to all of them even if they couldn't talk back to us.

It was the most amazing experience! For that one hour, I felt God's love flowing out of me, and it gave me such joy. I could see the joy on Allyson's face too as she told everyone about her new hamster and gave out hugs all around.

We had the best conversations, including one with a woman who thought she was a little girl who needed to hurry home. The last man we saw was sitting in the hall in a wheelchair. I stooped over a bit and said hello. "What's your name?" I asked.

He smiled blankly.

"I'm Sarah," I said, "and this is Allyson. What's your name?"

He smiled and nodded. I smiled back and took his hand, which was soft and warm. "It's good to see you today," I said. I looked over at Allyson, and she stepped forward and wrapped him in a hug. His face was radiant, like the sun had come out in all its glory.

Tears sprang to my eyes. "We'll come visit you again," I promised.

On the way home, I told Allyson how proud I was of her. "We made that man happy, didn't we?" she asked. "And it was so easy."

Yes, it was easy. And to think we'd been missing out on that blessing all this time, just because I was afraid to talk to people who were different from me--people who reminded me of my mortality.

I'd like to say I've continued to pour out God's love on everyone I meet, but the truth is that it's sporadic at best. But my eyes have been opened. I am learning to yield my will to God's.

I ended my letter with a prayer request that I will pass on to you: Please pray for God to show me areas of my life where I haven't yielded. Pray that I will be saturated in his Holy Spirit. Pray that I will recognize the opportunities he gives me to share his love, and that I will love with actions, not just words.

Meet Fluffy, Crazy Little Thing

Allyson's dream of owning a hamster started a few months before Christmas, when she checked out a book on hamster care from the school library. She pored over that book, and for weeks she told us all about how the new hamster needs a week to adjust to its new surroundings, and it can have extra treats like bananas and oatmeal twice a week. No matter how many times we told her we weren't buying a hamster, her determination quietly grew.

It wasn't until after Christmas that she figured out how to make it happen. She'd received some money from our Canada relatives, along with a few gifts we could pack in our suitcases. "What will you buy?" I asked. "How about that Easy Bake Oven you've been wanting?"

"No-o, I don't think so." She furrowed her brows in concentration. "I don't know what I want yet."

About a week after we got home, it came to her. "I'm going to buy a hamster!"

I explained that Daddy would have to approve that decision.

"Oh, I've got lots of money," she said.

"Yes, but Daddy is the one who would have to take care of your hamster."

"I already talked to Daddy, and he said maybe."

"Well, don't get your hopes up," I warned.

I had to eat my words about two weeks later, when she and Daddy came home with a hamster cage complete with an exercise wheel, a tiny igloo hut, and a ramp up to the food bowl. Dancing with excitement, she hovered over Bill while he set it all up. "I bought it with my own money!" she exulted.

"Where's the hamster?" I asked.

Bill said we'd get it the next week, after everything was ready. It all looked pretty ready to me, but I didn't argue.

When Ethan got home that evening, Allyson showed him all the features of the tiny habitat. "Where's the hamster?" he asked.

"It's hiding," Bill said.

Allyson giggled, and I snickered.

"Is it really hiding? Can I see it?"

"You have to leave a hamster alone for a few days while it gets used to its new home," Bill said, his mouth twitching ever so slightly.

He turned to me. "Is there really a hamster in there?"

I shrugged and gave him the same answer I usually give to inquiries about Santa Claus and the Easter Bunny. "What do you think?"

Ethan looked pretty suspicious, but a little part of him wanted to believe.

Bill carried on the charade all week. "Shh, you'll scare the hamster.... Ethan, why don't you go clean the hamster cage?"

"Come on, Bill. There's no hamster in there... is there?"

The Big, Not So Big Day
I guess he'd figured it out by the next Sunday, when we all headed to PetSmart after church. Allyson looked at every rodent in the place before settling on a Russian dwarf hamster. The young man who helped us patiently waited for her to point out which of the identical thumb-sized females was the perfect one. When she finally chose one, he gingerly maneuvered it into a cardboard tube and then gently dropped it into a little box that seemed ridiculously large for the tiny hamster.

Can You See Why Allyson Named it Fluffy?

When we got home, Bill eased Fluffy back into the cardboard tube and lowered her into her new home. She made a quick tour of the facilities and retired to her igloo house, burrowing into the nesting material for a nice long nap.

All through the rest of the day, we kept an eye on the cage, which appeared just as empty as it had the day before.

"Remember," Allyson explained, "hamsters are noct-TURN-al. That means they like to sleep in the daytime." It seemed that Fluffy had not read the hamster book, though, because she slept in the evening, too.

"Do you think she's alive?" I whispered after we'd tucked our sorely disappointed daughter in for the night.

"Hopefully," Bill said.

Look at Her Go!
We were halfway through our Netflix movie when we noticed a very unusual noise, a sort of squeaky, rattly thumping that was somewhat rhythmic but also intermittent. At first we thought it was part of the video, but when Bill paused it to tell Allyson yet again to settle down, the strange sound continued.

Bill leaned over the banister and peered into the darkened living room. "It's the hamster!" he whispered. "Ethan, Allyson, come look at the hamster," he called quietly. "I think it's running on the wheel."

We all crept down the stairs and held our breath as we stared into the semi darkness. Sure enough, Fluffy was running madly.

"Wow, she's fast!" Ethan breathed.

"Look at her go!" Allyson exclaimed.

"Shhh, Allyson," the rest of us whispered.

Fluffy stopped running and stood stock still, her tiny nose twitching. She took two steps toward the safety of her house, but the lure of the wheel proved too strong. She did an about-face and climbed back on, running faster than before.

"It's such a strange sound," I said, wondering how I would describe it on my blog. "It sounds like something I've heard before, but what?"

"It sounds like coffee percolating," Bill said.

"Yes, that's exactly what it sounds like," I said, a little let-down that it was Bill who had found the perfect simile. (Coming up with similes and metaphors is not my strong point as a writer.)

We could still hear that coffee percolator when we climbed in bed a couple of hours later, and we've heard it every night since then, well into the wee hours of the morning.

"Crazy little thing," Bill muttered one evening as he turned up the volume on the TV.

Despite our occasional annoyance, we all love to gather around the cage and watch her. It's astonishing how fast she goes, legs all a blur. Sometimes she gets going too fast and goes upside down, landing in her paper nest with a muffled thud. Other times, she manages to go all the way around and just keep running.

I think the funniest thing is the way she periodically walks the few paces back to her house, goes inside, and immediately runs back out to the wheel. She seems to be thinking, "Oh, I'm tired.... Nope, not quite ready to sleep. Think I'll go back outside. Oh, look, is that a running wheel?"

Around 7:00 in the morning, when we all come down for breakfast, she usually has a bite or two from her tiny bowl, slides down the ramp, and retires to her house for the day.

In the evenings, Bill and Allyson lift up her house, making gentle clucking sounds to wake her. They gradually coax her into her pink exercise ball, where Allyson can pet her. She then runs all around the hardwood and tile floors, bumping into every obstacle in her path.

Fluffy's Claws Scratched Allyson Through the Cracks

Getting Tamer
Yesterday we tried something new: letting Fluffy run around in the bathtub on a towel. Allyson crawled in with her and tried to convince her to crawl onto her hands, but Fluffy was having none of that--until today, when she crawled all over Allyson's lap. When she ran over her bare feet, Allyson shrieked with terror and delight. (Her reaction was much milder than mine, years ago, when a mouse ran over my foot in the pre-dawn blackness. That was a different house, thank goodness.)

During her bathtub explorations, Fluffy climbed onto my hand a couple of times, but she's way too fast for me to pet her. I haven't had the nerve to crawl in the tub with her yet.

I never dreamed we'd own a hamster, let alone have so much fun with it. What's next? A rat, if Ethan has his way. He's saving up his money now. Oh boy!

A Quiver Full

Like arrows in the hand of a warrior, so are the children of one's youth. How blessed is the man whose quiver is full of them.... (Psalm 127:4-5)
On January10, my beloved grandmother, Verna Ellen Shank Bushong, passed away at the age of 94. She spent her last days in her own home surrounded by all her children. We were thankful that my mom was able to make it up to Indiana to share that time of closeness with the family. (Thank you, thank you to my cousin Darlene for not only giving Mom and Dad buddy passes, but also traveling up with them.)
Because Grandma required 24-hour care, it would have been easier to let her stay in the nursing home, but Aunt Cindi suggested that all her children could care for her at home. And that's what they did, for hours and hours, days and days. They did everything for her, even the unpleasant things. When Grandma apologized, my mom told her, "It is an honor to take care of you." I cried when I heard all of this. I pray I can learn from their example and serve so humbly if the need arises.
I flew up with all three of my sisters (Melody, Amy, Emily), Emily's baby Charlie, and Melody's son Stephen. We all stayed with my Aunt Sue and Uncle Jeff, which is always a treat. My favorite part of our stay was visiting in the hot tub late at night with my sisters and my aunt, and even praying together in the hot tub--a first for all of us, I think.

At the funeral on Saturday, several of the kids and grandkids spoke. We spoke of Grandma's love, strength, and enduring faith... and her cinnamon rolls (and peanut butter pie and milkshakes and chicken pot pie, and many other favorites). The thing about Grandma was that she knew everyone's favorite meal or dessert, and she always made it a point to serve it to us when we visited.

I didn't mention this when I spoke, but do you know what I miss most about Grandma right now? Her soft, warm hands. I loved to hold her hand.

Giant Family!
The best part of the eulogies was the poem that my cousin Jolinda read, in which she listed the name of every child, grandchild, great grandchild, and great-great grandchild, along with each of the inlaws. It was staggering to ponder how such a GIGANTIC family could come from just one young couple.

Children - Sue, Cindi, Judy; Mary, Charlie, Dolores (My Mom)

Grandchildren - 21 of 27

Great Grandchildren - 28 of 47

Two of the 14 Great -Greats

More Great-Greats

Lots and Lots of Us

I remember on one of my first visits up to see my inlaws in Vancouver, probably before they were inlaws, I tried to estimate how many grandchildren, great grandchildren, etc., were in the Bushong clan. I think I might have said 75. They thought I was exagerrating. But I underestimated! Counting children, the total number of their progeny was 94. Ninety-four! Can you imagine?

Her Favorite Hymns
I enjoyed singing Grandma's favorite hymns, not usually my style, but absolutely perfect for the occasion. The best was Face to Face; I wasn't the only one sniffling as we pictured Grandma up there in heaven, seeing Jesus face to face at last. What made the songs even better was the fact that my sister Melody was the piano player. She'd been practicing for days on Aunt Sue's very badly tuned antique piano, enduring a fair bit of ribbing over her dubious chords. But she sounded like a pro at the funeral. I know it would have meant so much to Grandma.

Thankfully I haven't had much experience with funeral sermons, but Grandma's was definitely the best I'd heard. I knew that the minister had visited her frequently over the last six months and that he came daily at the end. I also knew that his prayers had been a comfort to Grandma and her children. So it meant a lot to me to know that when he spoke warmly of her, it was from his own experience. He talked about her favorite verse and related that passage of scripture to her life. 

I know what it is to be in need, and I know what it is to have plenty. I have learned the secret of being content in any and every situation, whether well fed or hungry, whether living in plenty or in want. I can do all this through him who gives me strength. (Phlippians 4:12-13)

To illustrate those times of plenty and times of want, he shared stories from her autobiography, Our Journey Through Life. My favorite was the story of how she once told Grandpa off in their grocery store. At the time, she was taking care of two small children and was still nursing her youngest, Aunt Cindi. Grandpa wanted her to help out at the counter, but she was too busy.

"Your work can wait," Grandpa said.

Grandma stormed into the store and tore into him. "When you married me, you didn't want just a wife, you wanted a housekeeper and a work horse and a milk cow."

Imagine her humiliation when she realized they were not alone in the store! When she had finished her tirade, their friend Royal stepped out from behind a counter with a grin on his face. "Now run through that again," he said. "I want to hear just how that was so I can remember it."

"Oh, shut up!" Grandma said.

I half hoped Pastor Stan might tell the story of how they accidentally ended up in a nudist camp, but I guess that was too racy for a funeral. You'll have to buy the book to read that one.

Another highlight was the slide show that my cousin Callie compiled from hundreds of pictures that the family had emailed. I'm so thankful  for all her hard work and expertise. There were photos of all our families as well as photos of Grandma and Grandpa over the decades. Over the three-hour viewing period on Friday, I sat next to various relatives watching bits and snatches of the Bushong love story. What struck me most was our strong genes. The family resemblance spans multiple generations. 

Young Verna - Looks SO Much Like My Mom!

Here She Looks a Lot Like My Brother's Daughter Mindy

So Handsome! Here Grandpa Looks Like My Cousins Matt and Wes

Wedding Photo
They Sat Painfully Still While Siblings Tried to Make Them Laugh

Love This One of Grandma!
That's Mom (Who Looks a Lot Like My Sister Emily) and Aunt Judy

Laid to Rest
At the graveside ceremony, I wanted to solemnly contemplate the beauty and sorrow of "ashes to ashes, dust to dust." As it turned out, all I could think of was trying to stay warm in the snow which Pastor Stan said Grandma surely must have ordered. (I never knew she liked the snow.)

I had no right to complain; I was one of the lucky ones who managed to crowd into the tent. We were crammed in like circus clowns in a Volkswagen, but that was okay. I enjoyed both the togetherness and the body heat.

A Non-Stop Eating Fest
For five straight days, we gathered with my delightfully, unreasonably gigantic family and gorged ourselves on food and conversation. I particularly enjoyed getting to know some of my younger cousins better, such as the aforementioned Callie (Charlie's daughter).

On our last evening in Indiana, we went to Dad's sister Carol's house for some of her famous homemade ice cream and hot fudge. While we were there, I enjoyed a genteel political debate with Aunt Carol, my brother Rick, and my cousins René and Jenny. It was getting late, and we had to cut it off just when it was getting interesting. But I did learn that Aunt Carol shares many of my views. I'll have to talk with her some more about that sometime.

All in all, it was a most enjoyable celebration of the life of Verna Ellen Bushong. May her heritage live on forever.