Peter and Lucy spent the night last week. On Thursday at lunchtime, Peter and I were in the kitchen making lemon pudding with lemons, avocados, and dates. Peter watched me peel and chunk up lemons and avocados, and his job was to dump the fruit into the food processor. But he didn't recognize the dates. "What are those?" he asked. "Dates," I told him. "Dates? I thought dates were something you go on," Peter replied. "I'm going to ask Daddy if he knows about dates you can eat!"
Meanwhile, Lucy had the doctor's kit out in the living room. She kept running over with one tool or another. "Can I look in your ear?" she would say, or "Can I check your heart?" or "Here, put this [thermometer] in your mouth," or "Can I give you a shot in your face?" So I kept squatting down, hands covered with green avocado mush or dripping with lemon juice, and letting doctor Lucy do her work.
Winnie the Pooh is very popular these days, and Peter has taken up the role of Pooh. I have a firm position as Piglet, and Lucy is Mrs. Owl. Others are Eeyore, Kanga, and Roo as the mood strikes. Yesterday, Heidi and I took the children to met a friend and her two-year-old son for a play date. Our friend was introducing us to her son. "That is Peter, and that little girl is Lucy, and that is Julie, and that lady there is Heidi." Peter, still taking in the new situation, was standing back by the door, Lucy at his side. They were quiet, not responding to Jana's introductions, but when Peter heard Jana say "that is Julie," he spoke up in a clear, solemn voice. "Piglet," he corrected. When Jana had finished, she turned back to Peter. "Who is Piglet?" she asked. "Aunt Julie is Piglet," he clarified very seriously.
Wednesday, February 22, 2012
Friday, February 10, 2012
A Large Quiet Space
I had a lot of solitude last week. The home where I was house sitting was large, and there was plenty of room for me, their two small dogs, and a lot of quiet, empty space.
So I brought my sewing machine and sent yards of fabric under the needle, pulling skirts, dresses, and nightgowns out the other side. Hopefully they will end up clothing little girls far and wide after they sell on my Etsy shop. It was work, but to create satisfies me: to choose a button or cut a fancy pocket shape or add a ruffle to make each item unique.
And while I sewed, I listened to music. I couldn't hook up my iPod to their stereo, and I only had five CDs. So I listened to them throughout the week, over and over and over. I don't usually do that on the pretense that I am bored with an album after one go-round, but I found that good music bears repeating, and I went deeper into message of the songs as I heard them again and again. Fernando's impassioned prayer reminded me of our status as strangers here: "Heavenly Father, remember the traveler; bring us safely home, safely home." Keith and Kristyn Getty's Christmas album sang to me simply and beautifully of our need and God's supply: "O Savior of our fallen race." When the Psalter CD came on, Psalms washed over me. Sara Groves sang of pressing on through the darkness we find in the world: "When the saints go marching in, I want to be one of them," and "Even when your heart is torn, love is still a worthy cause," and "You say to yourself, 'It's been a while since I've felt this, but it feels like it might be hope.'" An old Twila Paris album took me back in time, and then right into the throne room: "Lord of my heart, Lord of my heart I offer praise from the shadow of your throne!"
I also turned the stereo on while I was in the kitchen, dishing up dog food and then making more appetizing and nourishing meals for myself. They were simple, but I took delight in making tasty foods that would feed my body and my soul: quinoa with black beans and chicken and cilantro; chickpeas and sweet potatoes; beef stroganof; kale salad with squash and pomegranate seeds.
And while I ate, I read. I did a lot of reading; setting appointments with different books throughout the day gave me a sense of companionship. In the mornings, besides the Bible, I read from St Augustine's "Confessions." Mealtimes, Dietrich Bonhoeffer was my companion as I read his conversational "Letters and Papers from Prison." (A beautifully photographed Italian cookbook also made its way to the table and took my attention for a few meals.) Parker Palmer's "Let Your Life Speak," a inward-turned book about finding and living your vocation, gave me opportunities to sort out truth from falsehood and hold up everything to the standard of the Word. Bedtime brought a novel: "If I Gained the World." I like the parallel stories of Daniel and Lenore turning to the truth, and the picture of what really satisfies. When I finished that, Madeleine L'Engle's "The Summer of the Great-Grandmother" took over as the bedtime story. It is a memoir of her mother, and of the last summer of her life when her mind was leaving and she was not herself anymore. I liked the picture Madeleine painted of the generations, telling stories from the time of great-great-great grandparents all the way down the line. Two things: life is fleeting, but it still matters.
I would light a candle or open the blinds to bring light into my home; I went for a run through the cul-de-sacs of triple-garaged homes each morning to get fresh air and perspective on the day; I spent one afternoon and evening with Heidi and the kids at their house and had visitors from home two other evenings.
And it was good. Good to have space to pray and think and remember the delight of being in love with God. And it was a reminder that (distracting and messy as they can sometimes be) I need people; I'm thrilled to have them in my life.
So I brought my sewing machine and sent yards of fabric under the needle, pulling skirts, dresses, and nightgowns out the other side. Hopefully they will end up clothing little girls far and wide after they sell on my Etsy shop. It was work, but to create satisfies me: to choose a button or cut a fancy pocket shape or add a ruffle to make each item unique.
And while I sewed, I listened to music. I couldn't hook up my iPod to their stereo, and I only had five CDs. So I listened to them throughout the week, over and over and over. I don't usually do that on the pretense that I am bored with an album after one go-round, but I found that good music bears repeating, and I went deeper into message of the songs as I heard them again and again. Fernando's impassioned prayer reminded me of our status as strangers here: "Heavenly Father, remember the traveler; bring us safely home, safely home." Keith and Kristyn Getty's Christmas album sang to me simply and beautifully of our need and God's supply: "O Savior of our fallen race." When the Psalter CD came on, Psalms washed over me. Sara Groves sang of pressing on through the darkness we find in the world: "When the saints go marching in, I want to be one of them," and "Even when your heart is torn, love is still a worthy cause," and "You say to yourself, 'It's been a while since I've felt this, but it feels like it might be hope.'" An old Twila Paris album took me back in time, and then right into the throne room: "Lord of my heart, Lord of my heart I offer praise from the shadow of your throne!"
I also turned the stereo on while I was in the kitchen, dishing up dog food and then making more appetizing and nourishing meals for myself. They were simple, but I took delight in making tasty foods that would feed my body and my soul: quinoa with black beans and chicken and cilantro; chickpeas and sweet potatoes; beef stroganof; kale salad with squash and pomegranate seeds.
And while I ate, I read. I did a lot of reading; setting appointments with different books throughout the day gave me a sense of companionship. In the mornings, besides the Bible, I read from St Augustine's "Confessions." Mealtimes, Dietrich Bonhoeffer was my companion as I read his conversational "Letters and Papers from Prison." (A beautifully photographed Italian cookbook also made its way to the table and took my attention for a few meals.) Parker Palmer's "Let Your Life Speak," a inward-turned book about finding and living your vocation, gave me opportunities to sort out truth from falsehood and hold up everything to the standard of the Word. Bedtime brought a novel: "If I Gained the World." I like the parallel stories of Daniel and Lenore turning to the truth, and the picture of what really satisfies. When I finished that, Madeleine L'Engle's "The Summer of the Great-Grandmother" took over as the bedtime story. It is a memoir of her mother, and of the last summer of her life when her mind was leaving and she was not herself anymore. I liked the picture Madeleine painted of the generations, telling stories from the time of great-great-great grandparents all the way down the line. Two things: life is fleeting, but it still matters.
I would light a candle or open the blinds to bring light into my home; I went for a run through the cul-de-sacs of triple-garaged homes each morning to get fresh air and perspective on the day; I spent one afternoon and evening with Heidi and the kids at their house and had visitors from home two other evenings.
And it was good. Good to have space to pray and think and remember the delight of being in love with God. And it was a reminder that (distracting and messy as they can sometimes be) I need people; I'm thrilled to have them in my life.
Thursday, December 8, 2011
A Goodbye Wave
After a full and happy visit with Peter's family, we usually stand on the covered front porch as they load into their van, get all the legs and arms and buckles and blankets in the right place, and slide their doors shut. Then we wave goodbye as they drive along the front of the house, not turning back to the warmth of the house until we see taillights. Sometimes, especially this time of year when the air is sharp and woodfire warmth beckons from the other side of the door, I wait to come out until the car is loaded so I can just give a quick wave and scurry back inside. Or I open the door a crack and bid farewell from inside.
But recently, Peter and company have been visiting on Sunday evenings. I leave at 6:00 to go to youth group on Sundays, slipping out in the midst of getting supper on the table, changing diapers, picking up toys, and story telling. I call a farewell to the busy, happy group and head to the laundry room to slip on shoes and get my keys. Peter comes running down the hall, arriving in the laundry room with open arms. "Kisses and hugs!" he reminds me, a twinkle in his eye as if he is delighted to have remembered something I forgot. We share a kiss and a hug, and then Peter runs back through the living room to the front door. "Let's wave to Aunt Jewey!" he calls into the hubbub, but his call goes mostly unheard.
When I get out to my car, coat zipped up to my chin against the chill, Peter is standing in stocking feet on the edge of the porch, hand cocked in readiness for a wave. "See ya, Peter!" "See you, Aunt Jewey!" we call to each other. He watches, waits, as I turn my car around, and then both hands come up for an eager double wave as I drive in front of the porch. I can't see when he goes inside; he waits on the porch until I am out of sight.
But recently, Peter and company have been visiting on Sunday evenings. I leave at 6:00 to go to youth group on Sundays, slipping out in the midst of getting supper on the table, changing diapers, picking up toys, and story telling. I call a farewell to the busy, happy group and head to the laundry room to slip on shoes and get my keys. Peter comes running down the hall, arriving in the laundry room with open arms. "Kisses and hugs!" he reminds me, a twinkle in his eye as if he is delighted to have remembered something I forgot. We share a kiss and a hug, and then Peter runs back through the living room to the front door. "Let's wave to Aunt Jewey!" he calls into the hubbub, but his call goes mostly unheard.
When I get out to my car, coat zipped up to my chin against the chill, Peter is standing in stocking feet on the edge of the porch, hand cocked in readiness for a wave. "See ya, Peter!" "See you, Aunt Jewey!" we call to each other. He watches, waits, as I turn my car around, and then both hands come up for an eager double wave as I drive in front of the porch. I can't see when he goes inside; he waits on the porch until I am out of sight.
Saturday, November 5, 2011
The Children
Can you crack this code?
Peter: "I don't want to wear my heart-car-wash pants today."
(Carhartts)
Lucy, overhearing discussion about whether she should go to Sunday School since she was a little sick: "I am not sick, I am a chicken, and I say, 'Bawk!'"
Lucy heard the organ prelude on Sunday, and wondered, "Who's singing that song?" I told her it was Mr. Whitman playing the organ, and helped her stand up on the pew so she could see him. She watched fascinated as Jim moved his hands from one keyboard to another, and said at last, "That man is shaking his head!"
Heidi called today to tell us the latest news: Peter and Lucy got married. While standing on the piano bench in the living room, Peter's arm around Lucy, they tied the knot. Announcements included the fact that they will have both their dinner and their children "here," that is, at home.
Peter: "I don't want to wear my heart-car-wash pants today."
(Carhartts)
Lucy, overhearing discussion about whether she should go to Sunday School since she was a little sick: "I am not sick, I am a chicken, and I say, 'Bawk!'"
Lucy heard the organ prelude on Sunday, and wondered, "Who's singing that song?" I told her it was Mr. Whitman playing the organ, and helped her stand up on the pew so she could see him. She watched fascinated as Jim moved his hands from one keyboard to another, and said at last, "That man is shaking his head!"
Heidi called today to tell us the latest news: Peter and Lucy got married. While standing on the piano bench in the living room, Peter's arm around Lucy, they tied the knot. Announcements included the fact that they will have both their dinner and their children "here," that is, at home.
Saturday, October 29, 2011
Need
I visited White Swan this week; it was like the summer, except there were not as many people buzzing around the Sacred Road headquarters since the Granberrys are on furlough and there are no interns right now, and the air had taken on an unrelenting chill.
But I stayed in Heather and Veronica's cozy house, like usual, and rode with them the three miles to the Granberry's house each morning. There I helped in the familiar kitchen, cut and copied and filed with Joshua in the children's ministry office, helped Heather with winterizing projects, and helped Veronica organize a closet in the office trailer.
On Monday afternoon we had kid's club at Totus Park. The kids flocked to the dirt field -- fifty-five of them. I spread out a tablecloth on the ground and sat cross-legged, helping them to make little ghost windsocks to hang in the tree. Miranda helped me pass out supplies and direct their little fingers, but still there were always voices calling out: "I need eyes! Where's the tape? Can you help me? What do I do next? I need another streamer! Can I make one?" Everyone who wanted to got to make a ghost, but I wished I could give each one of them undivided attention.
Jill made one ghost, then wanted to make another so she could keep sitting by me. Then she stood behind me, circling her arms around my neck, and said in my ear, "Can we go play together?" I told her I couldn't leave the other kids who were still making the craft, so she helped me pass out eyes and mouths and pieces of yarn, and then when it was time to clean up she helped me collect tape and bottles of glue, and fold the tablecloths. I carried her on my back for a few minutes, running through the windsocks hanging from the tree while she covered her eyes and laughed and said, "Again!"
Then we found a seat on the ground and she sat on my lap for the story. "I'm cold," she said, so I unzipped my sweater and let her snuggle inside, wrapping the cozy wool around her bare arms. She was distracted during the story, turning often to ask me if she could have more snack or if we could get up and play. When we stood up to sing, she slipped around behind me and held up her arms, silently asking to get on my back. She did the motions to "My God is So Big" from her perch.
When Joshua dismissed us, she swung off my back to give Veronica a hug. But when Leah and I got out the sidewalk chalk, Jill ended up back at my side. We drew pumpkins and people on the concrete, taking a break from our artwork to go over to the van to get treat bags for the girls. We returned to our chalk, and then I ended up back at the van with Gigi, who needed one of the winter coats that Heather was passing out. We found one that fit her, one of the last of Heather's supply. Then it was time for everyone to head home. Veronica and Chuck loaded up their vans. A few kids climbed into the van with us and we made a loop around the cul-de-sac to drop them off before leaving, going back to a warm shelter, a crock pot filled with pork roast and vegetables, a home of love and security and rest.
Tuesday night we had Bible study, and there was a bumper crop of attendees, about 100 of us including staff. Mostly children, with a good group of youth and a small handful of adults. It was too dark and cold for the kids to play outside before dinner, so they were in the longhouse for the whole evening, and keeping them occupied and under control was almost too big of a job for us. We managed to finish out the evening and only had to send six kids home for refusing to listen to direction.
During dinner I ate with Kalani beside me and Sindel on my lap; Heather and her crew were working hard to get food on all the tables and I worked to keep the kids patient while they waited and mannerly while they ate. When the gingerbread cake with buttercream frosting had been parceled out and eaten, and the kids had cleared and thrown away their dishes, we found seats again and Chuck tried to quiet the roar so he could lead us in a few songs. The background noise was at least dulled, and I sang loudly to try to encourage the kids to join while also trying to restrain Sindel from escaping (because I knew that left to her own devices she would prove a considerable distraction for others) and keep a gentle hand on Kalani, who had wanted to sit by me but was so quiet and sweet that she was in danger of being overlooked. The kids sang along on the last song, "Soon and Very Soon," and then Chuck took the adults and youth into the next room and the kids scattered to their groups.
I took the post by the door to the bathrooms (necessary to ensure appropriate use of the facilities) and helped out with the group that was closest to the door -- a passel of wiggly little boys, led by Miranda. They did their mazes, and then we lined up the benches in front of the flannel board so Joshua could tell us a story. First we sang "He's Got the Whole World in His Hands" with personal modifications which the kids loved -- "He's got Silas and Cynthia in his hands" or "He's got Devin and Cody in his hands." Then Joshua told the story of the blind man who called out to Jesus for mercy and was healed. Kalani sat in my lap, and Marie was beside me on my chair. When we were learning the memory verse, Marie's voice was loud and clear: "Have mercy on me, O Lord, for I am weak. Psalm 6:2"
We split back into groups, and in between manning the bathroom door I played with Abraham while he waited for the craft to be passed out. His delighted little-boy laugh, made more charming by his missing two front teeth, rang out as he tried to scare me. Then Veronica passed out white blindfolds for us to decorate, and Abraham handed me a fabric marker and spread out his strip and designated half for me to color. We made lines and dots and designs, and the other boys did too, and then they all wanted their blindfolds tied on and we had a table of hilariously laughing blind boys. There was still a little more time before Chuck and Veronica would pull up the vans to take the kids home, so we did one more paper pumpkin craft, and then Miranda and I tucked all the boys' papers into paper sacks for them to take home. The first wave left, and Joshua started a game of Heads Up, Seven Up to keep the remaining kids occupied until the vans returned for them.
I found Christian looking tearful on a bench towards the door and sat down beside him, asking what was the matter. "I want to go home too!" he said.
"Look," I said, "Briana [his sister] is still here, and Veronica will be back in a few minutes for you. She didn't forget you! You like Veronica, right?" (He nodded his tear-streaked little face.) "Well, I KNOW that she likes you too. She's coming back for you." He didn't seem quite sure about all this, and I pulled him into my lap. Della brought over a tissue for him, and he tried with diligence to blow his nose. I reached up a hand to help him, and then began to sing. "He's got the whole world in his hands, He's got Christian and Briana in his hands..." Then I put in the names of some of the other kids. "Who else does he have in his hands?" I asked Christian, who was quiet now.
A smile broke through. "He's got me! And Briana."
At last the vans returned and everyone was loaded up and on their way home. "That was CRAZY!" Joshua proclaimed. We set to work around the empty longhouse, wiping tables, sweeping and mopping, emptying garbage, and loading the trailer. At last we too, left for home, exhausted and hoping the chaos had been constrained enough that something good had been accomplished.
Wednesday was a rest day, and I cut some pans of dessert I had made the day before, packing them for the freezer so they would be ready for the Christmas Dessert in a few weeks. Heather, Veronica, and I made an hour drive to Ellensburg to meet a mother and daughter from the other side of the mountains who had collected about 40 coats and some blankets to donate to Sacred Road; we met at Dairy Queen and they treated us to lunch and a lovely visit. I worked with Joshua in the afternoon, mostly preparing crafts for the next couple of Tuesday nights.
Thursday I organized and counted t-shirts in the office trailer and we all met in the afternoon to make plans for the youth group outing to the corn maze that night. Chuck had careful lists of who was picking up each kid and also who would go through the maze together. He put Mary Beth and me together and gave us four sixth grade girls to chaperone at the maze.
Heather and I got there first and unloaded the food supplies to our rented fire pit area. The others pulled in soon after, except Veronica -- she was late because she was waiting for one of the girls she was supposed to pick up. The venue was quite crowded that night, and one boy disappeared for a while (I think he had found someone he knew and went to say hello). The temperature was around freezing, but the kids were just wearing light sweatshirts or sometimes only t-shirts.
Mary Beth and I did manage to emerge from the maze (which is completely dark and "haunted" by guys with spooky masks and other props) with all of our girls, and they were eager and delighted with the whole event. When we weren't in the maze we were roasting hot dogs and marshmallows, or going on a hay ride around the farm, or tromping through a smaller, lighted hay bale maze. And then it was time to round up the 30 youth and parcel them out to the correct vans and drive them from one side of the reservation to the other, back to their homes. The girls in the van with Heather and me spoke with casual expertise about custody and parents; one girl said she was living with her mom, but her permanent custody would be decided in December and she wanted to live with her dad. A couple of them said that their mom didn't like their dad. None of them live with both parents.
Again, we arrived home weary. And the next morning, after my drive over the mountains, I arrived home praying, hoping, pleading for these kids. They need winter coats, hot meals, help with school, medical care, training in responsibility and respect. They need parents who love them. They need Jesus. I'm glad there are people living in the community who love them, and I pray the Sacred Road team might continue to be the hands and feet of Jesus in that place.
But I stayed in Heather and Veronica's cozy house, like usual, and rode with them the three miles to the Granberry's house each morning. There I helped in the familiar kitchen, cut and copied and filed with Joshua in the children's ministry office, helped Heather with winterizing projects, and helped Veronica organize a closet in the office trailer.
On Monday afternoon we had kid's club at Totus Park. The kids flocked to the dirt field -- fifty-five of them. I spread out a tablecloth on the ground and sat cross-legged, helping them to make little ghost windsocks to hang in the tree. Miranda helped me pass out supplies and direct their little fingers, but still there were always voices calling out: "I need eyes! Where's the tape? Can you help me? What do I do next? I need another streamer! Can I make one?" Everyone who wanted to got to make a ghost, but I wished I could give each one of them undivided attention.
Jill made one ghost, then wanted to make another so she could keep sitting by me. Then she stood behind me, circling her arms around my neck, and said in my ear, "Can we go play together?" I told her I couldn't leave the other kids who were still making the craft, so she helped me pass out eyes and mouths and pieces of yarn, and then when it was time to clean up she helped me collect tape and bottles of glue, and fold the tablecloths. I carried her on my back for a few minutes, running through the windsocks hanging from the tree while she covered her eyes and laughed and said, "Again!"
Then we found a seat on the ground and she sat on my lap for the story. "I'm cold," she said, so I unzipped my sweater and let her snuggle inside, wrapping the cozy wool around her bare arms. She was distracted during the story, turning often to ask me if she could have more snack or if we could get up and play. When we stood up to sing, she slipped around behind me and held up her arms, silently asking to get on my back. She did the motions to "My God is So Big" from her perch.
When Joshua dismissed us, she swung off my back to give Veronica a hug. But when Leah and I got out the sidewalk chalk, Jill ended up back at my side. We drew pumpkins and people on the concrete, taking a break from our artwork to go over to the van to get treat bags for the girls. We returned to our chalk, and then I ended up back at the van with Gigi, who needed one of the winter coats that Heather was passing out. We found one that fit her, one of the last of Heather's supply. Then it was time for everyone to head home. Veronica and Chuck loaded up their vans. A few kids climbed into the van with us and we made a loop around the cul-de-sac to drop them off before leaving, going back to a warm shelter, a crock pot filled with pork roast and vegetables, a home of love and security and rest.
Tuesday night we had Bible study, and there was a bumper crop of attendees, about 100 of us including staff. Mostly children, with a good group of youth and a small handful of adults. It was too dark and cold for the kids to play outside before dinner, so they were in the longhouse for the whole evening, and keeping them occupied and under control was almost too big of a job for us. We managed to finish out the evening and only had to send six kids home for refusing to listen to direction.
During dinner I ate with Kalani beside me and Sindel on my lap; Heather and her crew were working hard to get food on all the tables and I worked to keep the kids patient while they waited and mannerly while they ate. When the gingerbread cake with buttercream frosting had been parceled out and eaten, and the kids had cleared and thrown away their dishes, we found seats again and Chuck tried to quiet the roar so he could lead us in a few songs. The background noise was at least dulled, and I sang loudly to try to encourage the kids to join while also trying to restrain Sindel from escaping (because I knew that left to her own devices she would prove a considerable distraction for others) and keep a gentle hand on Kalani, who had wanted to sit by me but was so quiet and sweet that she was in danger of being overlooked. The kids sang along on the last song, "Soon and Very Soon," and then Chuck took the adults and youth into the next room and the kids scattered to their groups.
I took the post by the door to the bathrooms (necessary to ensure appropriate use of the facilities) and helped out with the group that was closest to the door -- a passel of wiggly little boys, led by Miranda. They did their mazes, and then we lined up the benches in front of the flannel board so Joshua could tell us a story. First we sang "He's Got the Whole World in His Hands" with personal modifications which the kids loved -- "He's got Silas and Cynthia in his hands" or "He's got Devin and Cody in his hands." Then Joshua told the story of the blind man who called out to Jesus for mercy and was healed. Kalani sat in my lap, and Marie was beside me on my chair. When we were learning the memory verse, Marie's voice was loud and clear: "Have mercy on me, O Lord, for I am weak. Psalm 6:2"
We split back into groups, and in between manning the bathroom door I played with Abraham while he waited for the craft to be passed out. His delighted little-boy laugh, made more charming by his missing two front teeth, rang out as he tried to scare me. Then Veronica passed out white blindfolds for us to decorate, and Abraham handed me a fabric marker and spread out his strip and designated half for me to color. We made lines and dots and designs, and the other boys did too, and then they all wanted their blindfolds tied on and we had a table of hilariously laughing blind boys. There was still a little more time before Chuck and Veronica would pull up the vans to take the kids home, so we did one more paper pumpkin craft, and then Miranda and I tucked all the boys' papers into paper sacks for them to take home. The first wave left, and Joshua started a game of Heads Up, Seven Up to keep the remaining kids occupied until the vans returned for them.
I found Christian looking tearful on a bench towards the door and sat down beside him, asking what was the matter. "I want to go home too!" he said.
"Look," I said, "Briana [his sister] is still here, and Veronica will be back in a few minutes for you. She didn't forget you! You like Veronica, right?" (He nodded his tear-streaked little face.) "Well, I KNOW that she likes you too. She's coming back for you." He didn't seem quite sure about all this, and I pulled him into my lap. Della brought over a tissue for him, and he tried with diligence to blow his nose. I reached up a hand to help him, and then began to sing. "He's got the whole world in his hands, He's got Christian and Briana in his hands..." Then I put in the names of some of the other kids. "Who else does he have in his hands?" I asked Christian, who was quiet now.
A smile broke through. "He's got me! And Briana."
At last the vans returned and everyone was loaded up and on their way home. "That was CRAZY!" Joshua proclaimed. We set to work around the empty longhouse, wiping tables, sweeping and mopping, emptying garbage, and loading the trailer. At last we too, left for home, exhausted and hoping the chaos had been constrained enough that something good had been accomplished.
Wednesday was a rest day, and I cut some pans of dessert I had made the day before, packing them for the freezer so they would be ready for the Christmas Dessert in a few weeks. Heather, Veronica, and I made an hour drive to Ellensburg to meet a mother and daughter from the other side of the mountains who had collected about 40 coats and some blankets to donate to Sacred Road; we met at Dairy Queen and they treated us to lunch and a lovely visit. I worked with Joshua in the afternoon, mostly preparing crafts for the next couple of Tuesday nights.
Thursday I organized and counted t-shirts in the office trailer and we all met in the afternoon to make plans for the youth group outing to the corn maze that night. Chuck had careful lists of who was picking up each kid and also who would go through the maze together. He put Mary Beth and me together and gave us four sixth grade girls to chaperone at the maze.
Heather and I got there first and unloaded the food supplies to our rented fire pit area. The others pulled in soon after, except Veronica -- she was late because she was waiting for one of the girls she was supposed to pick up. The venue was quite crowded that night, and one boy disappeared for a while (I think he had found someone he knew and went to say hello). The temperature was around freezing, but the kids were just wearing light sweatshirts or sometimes only t-shirts.
Mary Beth and I did manage to emerge from the maze (which is completely dark and "haunted" by guys with spooky masks and other props) with all of our girls, and they were eager and delighted with the whole event. When we weren't in the maze we were roasting hot dogs and marshmallows, or going on a hay ride around the farm, or tromping through a smaller, lighted hay bale maze. And then it was time to round up the 30 youth and parcel them out to the correct vans and drive them from one side of the reservation to the other, back to their homes. The girls in the van with Heather and me spoke with casual expertise about custody and parents; one girl said she was living with her mom, but her permanent custody would be decided in December and she wanted to live with her dad. A couple of them said that their mom didn't like their dad. None of them live with both parents.
Again, we arrived home weary. And the next morning, after my drive over the mountains, I arrived home praying, hoping, pleading for these kids. They need winter coats, hot meals, help with school, medical care, training in responsibility and respect. They need parents who love them. They need Jesus. I'm glad there are people living in the community who love them, and I pray the Sacred Road team might continue to be the hands and feet of Jesus in that place.
Sunday, October 16, 2011
Content
Well, of course there are many things to appreciate about this season.
There is Time. Time to be quiet (if I can discipline myself to shut out the distractions); time to read and think and pray. Time to write, to polish that skill. Time to be a special guest at Heidi's preschool sessions, to give Peter and Lucy their evening bath, to snuggle with Annie, to sew with Heidi. Time to create, with sewing machine, or apples and butter and flour, or paper and paste. Time to run in the woods. Time to say yes to a drive over the mountains to pick up John, or designing a handout for an upcoming event, or a morning downtown visiting old friends at the bakery.
And there is Opportunity. What door is not open to me, what responsibility binds me, what factor limits my future? In great measure, I am free to choose.
But sometimes it is easy to wish away these days and look ahead to a time when I'll feel productive and purposeful, when I won't deliberate and wonder what to do with each moment. It's easy to think that if I could formulate and implement a perfect set of circumstances, THEN I would be content.
And also easy to believe that if I try instead to be content with and even grateful for this, for what I have today, then I would in some way be preparing myself for failure if my dream ever were to come to pass, or giving up hope that things will ever change, because I would be learning to love and live with what I don't hope will continue forever.
When really, after all, the best preparation for contentment tomorrow, whatever it may hold, is not being dreaming of how to be content with what you wish for but actually being content today, right in this moment.
There is Time. Time to be quiet (if I can discipline myself to shut out the distractions); time to read and think and pray. Time to write, to polish that skill. Time to be a special guest at Heidi's preschool sessions, to give Peter and Lucy their evening bath, to snuggle with Annie, to sew with Heidi. Time to create, with sewing machine, or apples and butter and flour, or paper and paste. Time to run in the woods. Time to say yes to a drive over the mountains to pick up John, or designing a handout for an upcoming event, or a morning downtown visiting old friends at the bakery.
And there is Opportunity. What door is not open to me, what responsibility binds me, what factor limits my future? In great measure, I am free to choose.
But sometimes it is easy to wish away these days and look ahead to a time when I'll feel productive and purposeful, when I won't deliberate and wonder what to do with each moment. It's easy to think that if I could formulate and implement a perfect set of circumstances, THEN I would be content.
And also easy to believe that if I try instead to be content with and even grateful for this, for what I have today, then I would in some way be preparing myself for failure if my dream ever were to come to pass, or giving up hope that things will ever change, because I would be learning to love and live with what I don't hope will continue forever.
When really, after all, the best preparation for contentment tomorrow, whatever it may hold, is not being dreaming of how to be content with what you wish for but actually being content today, right in this moment.
Monday, September 19, 2011
Emerald Park Jewels
It is night, and the moon hasn't appeared from behind the high hedge of mountain walling in our little campsite, but its light is already spilling over the mountaintops, keeping us from complete blackness. John is a strange shape beside me on the tarp, cavorting as he slides into his sleeping bag. Behind a duo of trees, Mom and Dad are nestled on their tarp, their voices a quiet ripple against the night. John and I laugh over many things, over everything and nothing, glad to be together and out on a night like this. It's our third night out, and perhaps the freedom and beauty are getting to us, sowing a deep-seated delight.
Over the past three days the sun has shone until we were happy to dip our dusty legs into a tiny mountain lake, still harboring snowy islands.
The flowers have brightened with each foot of elevation gained, nodding over the trail fresh and perky.
Mirror Lake beckoned to us from the ridge just above our camp at Emerald Park,
providing a quiet afternoon of fly fishing, reading, listening to a John Piper sermon. And a bit of slipping-off-the-log swimming for John. And an opportunity to bushwhack (essential to any enjoyable hiking trip, according to John) as we searched for the route on the way home.
John has spurred us on to new adventures and also kept us laughing.
John has risen early to build our fires, never donning anything warmer than his t-shirt even in the chilly morning air. We have feasted on meals Mom and I dehydrated at home: Teryaki Chicken with Peanut Sauce and Vegetables over Noodles; Beefy Beans and Rice with Salsa, Corn, and Cheese; Cous-Cous with Roasted Vegetables and Smoked Salmon. The apricots have all been picked out of our trail mix. We have documented the days with a slough of photos, Dad, John, and I all snapping shots with our Nikon DSLRs. We have listened to a sermon and discussed it together. We have quoted our current Scripture memory portions to each other on the trail. The moon, a mouse, and a doe have awakened us in the nights with a bright beam, a light scuffle in our hair, a tromp-tromp and a clatter of dishes. We have relished the beauty of the place and the joy of sharing it with each other.
The next morning, we are up early to pack up camp, tramp back down the mountain, and catch the boat. We are happy to have time to jump into the lake, sweat and dust giving way to cool, clean Lake Chelan, before the boat arrives. It is our fourth annual hike together, the four of us, and we hope the tradition continues!
Over the past three days the sun has shone until we were happy to dip our dusty legs into a tiny mountain lake, still harboring snowy islands.
The flowers have brightened with each foot of elevation gained, nodding over the trail fresh and perky.
Mirror Lake beckoned to us from the ridge just above our camp at Emerald Park,
providing a quiet afternoon of fly fishing, reading, listening to a John Piper sermon. And a bit of slipping-off-the-log swimming for John. And an opportunity to bushwhack (essential to any enjoyable hiking trip, according to John) as we searched for the route on the way home.
Around a corner on the way to Milham Pass we found a quiet basin, flower-filled and view-lined.
John has spurred us on to new adventures and also kept us laughing.
John has risen early to build our fires, never donning anything warmer than his t-shirt even in the chilly morning air. We have feasted on meals Mom and I dehydrated at home: Teryaki Chicken with Peanut Sauce and Vegetables over Noodles; Beefy Beans and Rice with Salsa, Corn, and Cheese; Cous-Cous with Roasted Vegetables and Smoked Salmon. The apricots have all been picked out of our trail mix. We have documented the days with a slough of photos, Dad, John, and I all snapping shots with our Nikon DSLRs. We have listened to a sermon and discussed it together. We have quoted our current Scripture memory portions to each other on the trail. The moon, a mouse, and a doe have awakened us in the nights with a bright beam, a light scuffle in our hair, a tromp-tromp and a clatter of dishes. We have relished the beauty of the place and the joy of sharing it with each other.
The next morning, we are up early to pack up camp, tramp back down the mountain, and catch the boat. We are happy to have time to jump into the lake, sweat and dust giving way to cool, clean Lake Chelan, before the boat arrives. It is our fourth annual hike together, the four of us, and we hope the tradition continues!
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