I feel rather awkward starting this blog, as it's been a month since I last wrote one. Like anything else, it's difficult to get back into the routine.
I do have a good excuse for my silence, though. My mother-in-law, who has lived in a Memory Care facility just 16 miles from us, has required much of my attention these past four weeks.
On Mother's Day John and I took her out to lunch after the church service we hold at her facility. If you want people to clear a path for you, just take a 90-year old woman with a walker along with you! Everyone at the crowded restaurant moved aside to let her through, so of course I tagged along! Mother had a wonderful time. She smiled a lot, enjoying watching little girls in their crisp summer dresses. We knew she was tired when we took her back to her facility.
Several hours later, as we were getting ready to begin the service at our new church start, we received a phone call. Mother had fallen and was complaining of a lot of pain in her hip. So the facility called an ambulance and we were soon at the hospital with her. Thus began the saga.
Her hip was broken and she had sugery on it the following day. Her life, and ours, has not been the same since. Let me just say that 90 years, Alzheimer's, surgery, and narcotics do not make a good mix. For several days I was afraid we'd suddenly lost her, as far as her personality went. Mother was not there. She'd been replaced by some very frail woman who only spoke gibberish, no longer knew what to do with a spoon or a toothbrush, and couldn't chew her food. As a former nurse, I knew that the after effects of surgery can wreak havoc on the elderly, but it's different when it's your elderly!
Over the weeks she has improved some, but we know she will never be the same. She's been back and forth between the hospital and a skilled nursing facility. She had one very bright day last week when I walked in and hardly recognized her, as she was back to looking and acting like she had before the fall. But that improvement lasted only for a few hours. She's now pretty unresponsive to us. Seldom is there light in her eyes. There have been many times when we've thought the Lord was calling her to heaven.
And that's where she longs to go. Numerous times in this past month she has said, "I just want to go" or "Now when I'm gone, don't worry about me." We've told her she's free to leave us whenever God calls. We hope it will be soon and that she won't have to suffer more.
Even so, come Lord Jesus.
Saturday, June 9, 2007
Monday, May 7, 2007
Conferences and Golf--Both Are Hard Work
This past weekend my co-writer daughter Christina and I attended the Christian Writers Renewal held at Seattle Pacific University. I'm hoping the renewal part will hit in another day or two, as so far it's mostly been about feeling exhausted from being there! Simply said, it was a jam-packed weekend.
We talked our husbands into going along with us, as a sort of mini-vacation. "You guys can drop us off at the campus Friday at noon, and then spend the rest of the day golfing. We'll be back at the motel early enough to spend time in the hot tub before getting a good night's sleep. On Saturday you could go hang out at the Harley store and dream of screaminging down highways, the wind at your back."
They fell for our convincing spiel. (After all, we do write fiction.) Christina and Kevin took their two children to a friend's house late Thursday night so we could get an early start on Friday. By the time we got to Seattle around 11, the sky was beginning to clear and the guys were drooling at the thought of their upcoming golf game. We all ate an early lunch together, then they let us off on campus.
Christina and I were kept busy the rest of Friday and all day Saturday meeting with editors/authors and attending classes. We continued to learn more about the craft of writing and the book industry in general. Along the way we made some new friends and were able to spend quality time with people we've met at other writing conferences.
Turns out our experience was much better than the one our husbands had golfing. In fact, it was so bad that Christina's husband, Kevin, refuses to even acknowledge that they went golfing! And this from a man who loves to play. Turns out they went to a course that was right next to the airport and the jets were constantly flying overhead. It was so loud that John had to put earplugs in to protect his I-make-a-living-tuning-pianos ears. The greens were poorly maintained and nearly impossible to play. At least to play well. Kevin quit keeping score by the fourth hole. For some reason they opted out of going to the Harley store on Saturday, though I'm not sure why. The more I think about it, however, they probably couldn't bring themselves to brave the craziness of the Seattle traffic and streets. They kept telling us that "it's impossible to get there from here" no matter what "here" and "there" we were talking about!
Now we're back in our quiet little berg of Gaston. We're not sleeping next to the Space Needle at night, but I think the douglas firs crowning our hills are even more beautiful than that tourist attraction. And there's certainly no chance of getting lost on the way home.
We talked our husbands into going along with us, as a sort of mini-vacation. "You guys can drop us off at the campus Friday at noon, and then spend the rest of the day golfing. We'll be back at the motel early enough to spend time in the hot tub before getting a good night's sleep. On Saturday you could go hang out at the Harley store and dream of screaminging down highways, the wind at your back."
They fell for our convincing spiel. (After all, we do write fiction.) Christina and Kevin took their two children to a friend's house late Thursday night so we could get an early start on Friday. By the time we got to Seattle around 11, the sky was beginning to clear and the guys were drooling at the thought of their upcoming golf game. We all ate an early lunch together, then they let us off on campus.
Christina and I were kept busy the rest of Friday and all day Saturday meeting with editors/authors and attending classes. We continued to learn more about the craft of writing and the book industry in general. Along the way we made some new friends and were able to spend quality time with people we've met at other writing conferences.
Turns out our experience was much better than the one our husbands had golfing. In fact, it was so bad that Christina's husband, Kevin, refuses to even acknowledge that they went golfing! And this from a man who loves to play. Turns out they went to a course that was right next to the airport and the jets were constantly flying overhead. It was so loud that John had to put earplugs in to protect his I-make-a-living-tuning-pianos ears. The greens were poorly maintained and nearly impossible to play. At least to play well. Kevin quit keeping score by the fourth hole. For some reason they opted out of going to the Harley store on Saturday, though I'm not sure why. The more I think about it, however, they probably couldn't bring themselves to brave the craziness of the Seattle traffic and streets. They kept telling us that "it's impossible to get there from here" no matter what "here" and "there" we were talking about!
Now we're back in our quiet little berg of Gaston. We're not sleeping next to the Space Needle at night, but I think the douglas firs crowning our hills are even more beautiful than that tourist attraction. And there's certainly no chance of getting lost on the way home.
Saturday, April 28, 2007
Got Milk?
"So how are the twins doing?" I asked my daughter-in-law, Holly, during a recent phone conversation.
Kaylee (see my blog entitled "Where'd The Stairs Go?") and Johnathan will be four in July. This is an age where they seem to think they're capable of doing more than they actually can.
"You should have seen them the other morning," Holly replied. "I didn't hear the alarm go off, and the older girls had already left for school. The twins decided they were hungry and could get their own breakfast."
She went on to say that because of their large family (four kids) they buy those giant bags of cereal and empty them into big plastic storage containers. The twins had managed to get the gallon jug of milk from the fridge, the cereal from the counter, and bowls from the cupboard. Then, instead of pouring cereal into their bowls and adding milk, they skipped the middleman and poured as much milk as they could directly into the plastic containers that held the cereal. Holly arrived in the kitchen to see them dipping their bowls into the wonderful mix of milk and cereal.
I laughed. "That's pretty funny from this distance."
"Actually, I thought it was funny, too," Holly said.
I thought of how our perspective can change as we mature. If that had happened years ago when Holly's oldest (now 15) was little, I think Holly would have found it a frustrating way to start her day. But she's now a pro at this mothering thing, and has learned to see the humor in childish attempts at independence.
But she hasn't slept through the alarm lately!
Kaylee (see my blog entitled "Where'd The Stairs Go?") and Johnathan will be four in July. This is an age where they seem to think they're capable of doing more than they actually can.
"You should have seen them the other morning," Holly replied. "I didn't hear the alarm go off, and the older girls had already left for school. The twins decided they were hungry and could get their own breakfast."
She went on to say that because of their large family (four kids) they buy those giant bags of cereal and empty them into big plastic storage containers. The twins had managed to get the gallon jug of milk from the fridge, the cereal from the counter, and bowls from the cupboard. Then, instead of pouring cereal into their bowls and adding milk, they skipped the middleman and poured as much milk as they could directly into the plastic containers that held the cereal. Holly arrived in the kitchen to see them dipping their bowls into the wonderful mix of milk and cereal.
I laughed. "That's pretty funny from this distance."
"Actually, I thought it was funny, too," Holly said.
I thought of how our perspective can change as we mature. If that had happened years ago when Holly's oldest (now 15) was little, I think Holly would have found it a frustrating way to start her day. But she's now a pro at this mothering thing, and has learned to see the humor in childish attempts at independence.
But she hasn't slept through the alarm lately!
Saturday, April 7, 2007
Forget Me Not
She stared at the photograph, confusion clouding her eyes. "He told me to sit and wait on the cement," she said. "And then his wife died and we were . . . together."
My 90-year old mother-in-law, her mind riddled with Alzheimer's, brushed a finger across the glass covering the picture of her and her husband on their wedding day 22 years ago. They had both lost a spouse to death, and that April day was the beginning of a new life for the two of them.
Due to her illness, we moved her to Oregon two years ago so we could care for her better. Papa, as Leonard was called, stayed in Arizona so his daughter could tend to him. Separating the two of them had been a gut-wrenching decision, but had worked out well. They were able to have weekly phone calls to stay in touch, as well as exchange cards, letters and snapshots. Their love stayed strong, as well as their commitment to the Lord. Over the past two months, however, his deafness and her declining ability to string together a sentence that made sense had stolen their ability to converse over the phone. Because of Papa's advanced age (99) and Mother's frail mental and physical condition, they were unable to travel and see each other.
"I think I want to see him. Can I?" She looked questioningly at my husband as we sat beside her this week.
John reached for her hand. "You'd have to go to heaven to do that, Mom. He passed on yesterday."
I watched her face for a reaction. There was none.
"Oh." She folded the hand towel that was resting on her lap. "I've been busy today."
"Mom?" I said. Her wrinkled face looked up at me. "Mom, what John is saying is that Papa died yesterday. He had a heart attack, and now he's in heaven."
A quick sheen ran across her faded eyes. She turned toward John, as if needing him to confirm what I had said.
"Yes, he's in heaven now," John said. "Just think--he's not crippled or deaf anymore. And he'll be there waiting for you when you get promoted."
Her fingers stilled and she sat quietly, a far-away look residing in her eyes. "I might go soon."
The three of us reminisced, recounting the life they'd shared together; the many trips they'd taken throughout the States, the weekly luncheons with close friends, involvement in their church back in Arizona, and always, their daily prayers for their family.
"You had 22 years of marriage together," I reminded her.
"It wasn't long enough," came her instant reply.
The three of us joined hands and took turns praying. John led, thanking the Father for Papa's life as a godly man. I followed, asking the Lord to continue to take good care of Mother and to bring her comfort. Mother's prayer was filled with thankfulness that God was always with her.
We gave her tender kisses and left her alone with her thoughts, a CD of hymns playing through her earphones.
When I went back to see her the following day, she had no memory of our conversation from the night before. Even when I mentioned "your husband, Leonard," she did not respond. How thankful John and I were that for those brief moments her mind had cleared enough to understand at least a little of what had transpired. God had parted the clouds in her mind so she was able to honor her husband's life with her memories and a prayer.
My 90-year old mother-in-law, her mind riddled with Alzheimer's, brushed a finger across the glass covering the picture of her and her husband on their wedding day 22 years ago. They had both lost a spouse to death, and that April day was the beginning of a new life for the two of them.
Due to her illness, we moved her to Oregon two years ago so we could care for her better. Papa, as Leonard was called, stayed in Arizona so his daughter could tend to him. Separating the two of them had been a gut-wrenching decision, but had worked out well. They were able to have weekly phone calls to stay in touch, as well as exchange cards, letters and snapshots. Their love stayed strong, as well as their commitment to the Lord. Over the past two months, however, his deafness and her declining ability to string together a sentence that made sense had stolen their ability to converse over the phone. Because of Papa's advanced age (99) and Mother's frail mental and physical condition, they were unable to travel and see each other.
"I think I want to see him. Can I?" She looked questioningly at my husband as we sat beside her this week.
John reached for her hand. "You'd have to go to heaven to do that, Mom. He passed on yesterday."
I watched her face for a reaction. There was none.
"Oh." She folded the hand towel that was resting on her lap. "I've been busy today."
"Mom?" I said. Her wrinkled face looked up at me. "Mom, what John is saying is that Papa died yesterday. He had a heart attack, and now he's in heaven."
A quick sheen ran across her faded eyes. She turned toward John, as if needing him to confirm what I had said.
"Yes, he's in heaven now," John said. "Just think--he's not crippled or deaf anymore. And he'll be there waiting for you when you get promoted."
Her fingers stilled and she sat quietly, a far-away look residing in her eyes. "I might go soon."
The three of us reminisced, recounting the life they'd shared together; the many trips they'd taken throughout the States, the weekly luncheons with close friends, involvement in their church back in Arizona, and always, their daily prayers for their family.
"You had 22 years of marriage together," I reminded her.
"It wasn't long enough," came her instant reply.
The three of us joined hands and took turns praying. John led, thanking the Father for Papa's life as a godly man. I followed, asking the Lord to continue to take good care of Mother and to bring her comfort. Mother's prayer was filled with thankfulness that God was always with her.
We gave her tender kisses and left her alone with her thoughts, a CD of hymns playing through her earphones.
When I went back to see her the following day, she had no memory of our conversation from the night before. Even when I mentioned "your husband, Leonard," she did not respond. How thankful John and I were that for those brief moments her mind had cleared enough to understand at least a little of what had transpired. God had parted the clouds in her mind so she was able to honor her husband's life with her memories and a prayer.
Monday, March 19, 2007
Read My Lips
I'm getting older, and not afraid to admit it. Fifty-five is staring me in the face, and that face sure shows a different reflection than it used to. When did that happen? and how?
John has pictures hanging in his office of me as a twenty-year-old. "You were such a sweet young thing," he says, with just a hint of wistfulness in his voice. Is it time to call the plastic surgeon, I wonder. No, that's nothing I would ever do, partly because of lack of money and bravery, but mostly because I'm perfectly happy (except for those ten extra pounds that seem to hang around. And I do mean hang around!) with the way I look. Am I a perfect 10? No way! Just an average-looking woman with a wonderful life.
But the other day, I looked like I'd had a run-in with a quack plastic surgeon. Do you remember Goldie Hawn's HUGE lips in the movie The First Wives Club? The collagen injections had gotten out of control and her augmented lips covered nearly half her face!
I got the same results, but in a much cheaper manner. Ten days ago, for only 20 minutes, I chewed a piece of gum that contained xylitol as one of the ingredients. Later that night, I noticed my lips were very tingly. The next day when I looked in the mirror, I saw my lips were at least twice their normal size, and I have big lips to start with. That's when my daughter, Christina, reminded me that I'd had the same reaction a year ago when I'd had gum with xylitol in it.
The extra fullness has slowly faded away, leaving in its place cracked lips that are peeling and gradually recuperating. I should be back to normal in a day or two.
But for those of you who suffer from the terrible plague of thin lips, I suggest you go out and buy a pack of Extra! gum and see if you get the same result I did. I could be saving you thousands in plastic surgeon fees!
John has pictures hanging in his office of me as a twenty-year-old. "You were such a sweet young thing," he says, with just a hint of wistfulness in his voice. Is it time to call the plastic surgeon, I wonder. No, that's nothing I would ever do, partly because of lack of money and bravery, but mostly because I'm perfectly happy (except for those ten extra pounds that seem to hang around. And I do mean hang around!) with the way I look. Am I a perfect 10? No way! Just an average-looking woman with a wonderful life.
But the other day, I looked like I'd had a run-in with a quack plastic surgeon. Do you remember Goldie Hawn's HUGE lips in the movie The First Wives Club? The collagen injections had gotten out of control and her augmented lips covered nearly half her face!
I got the same results, but in a much cheaper manner. Ten days ago, for only 20 minutes, I chewed a piece of gum that contained xylitol as one of the ingredients. Later that night, I noticed my lips were very tingly. The next day when I looked in the mirror, I saw my lips were at least twice their normal size, and I have big lips to start with. That's when my daughter, Christina, reminded me that I'd had the same reaction a year ago when I'd had gum with xylitol in it.
The extra fullness has slowly faded away, leaving in its place cracked lips that are peeling and gradually recuperating. I should be back to normal in a day or two.
But for those of you who suffer from the terrible plague of thin lips, I suggest you go out and buy a pack of Extra! gum and see if you get the same result I did. I could be saving you thousands in plastic surgeon fees!
Monday, March 12, 2007
Where'd The Stairs Go?
The other day we had the joy of having three of our grandkids spend the weekend with us. They live over by Pendleton, OR, across the state from us. Before John and I moved to Gaston, the Ashcraft grandkids were only 12 miles away and we saw them several times a week. In fact, I took care of the twins every day until they were 18 months old and began ganging up on me. (There's a reason God doesn't make 50-year-old women bear children, especially when it's two against one!)
The twins, Kaylee and Johnathan, are now 3-1/2 years old. Their big sister, Brenna, who will be 15 next month, was here with them, and what a help she was! She's going to make a great momma someday.
As most of you know, we have two young grandkids who live upstairs, so the cousins were back and forth from one level to the other. Poor Kaylee had a difficult time finding her way back to the upper story. We have a long hallway with the stairwell near one end, and she would consistently head in the wrong direction down the hall when attempting to go upstairs. Then she'd stop, lift her hands in consternation and ask, "Where'd the stairs go?" Time after time I'd point her the right way, only to have to repeat myself the next time she came downstairs.
I realized there was a spiritual lesson in Kaylee's dilemma. Sometimes I wander around, knowing where I want to be, but unable to see how to get there. I throw up my hands in consternation and ask, "God, where'd the stairs go?" The path for my life and the answers to my questions may be right in front of me, yet I don't see them. And He patiently says, "This is the way, walk in it." (Isaiah 30:21)
How thankful I am for a God who cares about the details of my life. For a Saviour who longs to show me the direction I should go, and will whisper in my ear when I need to turn right or left.
The twins, Kaylee and Johnathan, are now 3-1/2 years old. Their big sister, Brenna, who will be 15 next month, was here with them, and what a help she was! She's going to make a great momma someday.
As most of you know, we have two young grandkids who live upstairs, so the cousins were back and forth from one level to the other. Poor Kaylee had a difficult time finding her way back to the upper story. We have a long hallway with the stairwell near one end, and she would consistently head in the wrong direction down the hall when attempting to go upstairs. Then she'd stop, lift her hands in consternation and ask, "Where'd the stairs go?" Time after time I'd point her the right way, only to have to repeat myself the next time she came downstairs.
I realized there was a spiritual lesson in Kaylee's dilemma. Sometimes I wander around, knowing where I want to be, but unable to see how to get there. I throw up my hands in consternation and ask, "God, where'd the stairs go?" The path for my life and the answers to my questions may be right in front of me, yet I don't see them. And He patiently says, "This is the way, walk in it." (Isaiah 30:21)
How thankful I am for a God who cares about the details of my life. For a Saviour who longs to show me the direction I should go, and will whisper in my ear when I need to turn right or left.
Friday, March 2, 2007
Northern Exposure
Last week John and I headed way up north to Vancouver, British Columbia. It was designed as a business trip, but ended up being a lot of pleasure, too. Other than an overnight camping trip last summer, it had been over a year since we'd been off together, just the two of us.
Oh, and 16 of our new best friends! We were all there for some intensive training on how to do church plants. No, it wasn't a horticultural forum, though there was a lot of talk about the importance of deep roots, core values, and a spreading outreach. Of vitality and growth.
The meeting focused on how to start a new church, from the tiny seed of an idea, to the mature growth that God brings about. Some of you may be thinking, "Aren't there enough churches around already? Why do we need another one?"
Good question! What I came to see more clearly than ever before is that each church has its own personality. Its own way of responding to the needs of the community around it. What you may like in a church may be unappealing to someone else. There is a need to have many visions of what the church can accomplish in our generation and culture. Some of these new churches will concentrate on how Christians can be involved in social issues. Others are reaching those with specific interests, such as the arts. Some are starting out as small study groups meeting over coffee at Starbucks. So many ways to reach so many people, while all are centered in the reality of the difference Jesus can make in one's life.
As John and I begin the new church plant, Master's Hands, in the small town of Dayton, OR, we are excited to be a part of a bigger picture. No two photos will look alike, nor are they intended to. The framing may be different, the focus varied, but the subject will be the same--Jesus Christ.
We're thankful for the exposure we received up north.
Oh, and 16 of our new best friends! We were all there for some intensive training on how to do church plants. No, it wasn't a horticultural forum, though there was a lot of talk about the importance of deep roots, core values, and a spreading outreach. Of vitality and growth.
The meeting focused on how to start a new church, from the tiny seed of an idea, to the mature growth that God brings about. Some of you may be thinking, "Aren't there enough churches around already? Why do we need another one?"
Good question! What I came to see more clearly than ever before is that each church has its own personality. Its own way of responding to the needs of the community around it. What you may like in a church may be unappealing to someone else. There is a need to have many visions of what the church can accomplish in our generation and culture. Some of these new churches will concentrate on how Christians can be involved in social issues. Others are reaching those with specific interests, such as the arts. Some are starting out as small study groups meeting over coffee at Starbucks. So many ways to reach so many people, while all are centered in the reality of the difference Jesus can make in one's life.
As John and I begin the new church plant, Master's Hands, in the small town of Dayton, OR, we are excited to be a part of a bigger picture. No two photos will look alike, nor are they intended to. The framing may be different, the focus varied, but the subject will be the same--Jesus Christ.
We're thankful for the exposure we received up north.
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