Sisters

Do you have a sister?

Mine lives about an hour away from me. We were able to spend the day together yesterday, and that was a lot of fun. Jeanine is six years younger than me. As children, we always shared a room. We both remember lying in our twin beds at night, holding hands across the gap between us and singing songs. (She went on to become a very good singer. Must be because of all the training I gave her!)

Another memory that stands out in my mind is of when Mom and Dad gave me a brand-new bedroom set for my birthday when I was 15 or 16. Imagine my shock when I walked into my shared bedroom one day and realized my dear sister had scratched a VERY naughty word into the front of my desk! To this day, she has no idea why she did it. Her woodworking ability stayed with me for years, even after I got married. There was always fear in my heart that when our pastor or Sunday School teacher would come over to visit, the sunlight would illumine that offending word!

Now Jeanine and I are both adults. Not only that, but we're both grandparents! (When did THAT happen?!) Our conversations are filled with cute stories about our grandkids, how things are going with our families, self-disclosure, and challenges we're facing. She's a big supporter of my writing life.

So today I wish for you a special time with your sister. Maybe through a phone call or email if she's not close enough to visit. Reminisce about your life together. Plan to build new memories in the future. If you don't have an actual blood sister, ask the Lord to bring someone into your life who can fill that void. My mother had no sisters, but about 20 years ago she met a woman who slipped into that niche as though she'd been designed for it. And she probably was!

As women, we need other women in our lives. Friends who will walk with us through the bad as well as the good. People to share our tears and our giggles.

Happy Sistering!

As Time Goes By

It was only a week ago, though it seems much longer. I was an active participant in the Oregon Christian Writers Summer Conference Sunday through Thursday. My daughter, Christina, and I were the co-chairs of the hospitality committee. Usually the word "committee" leaves a bad taste in my mouth, but working with Christina was nothing short of joy. The theme for the conference was "Let Your Light Shine", so all the gifts we found for the editors and agents, as well as the centerpieces for the tables, were lighthouse-themed. I don't consider myself gifted in the area of creativity, but Christina and I managed to pull it off. We were also responsible for arranging transportation for people from the Portland Airport to Canby Conference Center. Then there were all the "angels" we had to find. I don't know about you, but I am not often aware of angels around me. But the summer conference was filled with angels--people who were willing to tape the coaching classes and workshops.

Christina and I were in editor/author Karen Ball's coaching class each morning, and what an amazing teacher she is. Karen is very open in sharing experiences in her life and how they effect her writing. I learned a lot from her and had fun in the process.

We had three editor appointments during the conference. These appointments last for 15 minutes and are an opportunity to present a proposal for a book and have the editor take a look at your writing. It's like a 15-minute job interview and can be very stressful. Christina and I have been at this business long enough to not dread them anymore. All three asked for us to send them more, so that was very encouraging.

We got back to Ashberry Lane late Thursday afternoon and our two families left Friday morning for a weekend at church family camp near Mount Hood. I did nothing but relax while I was there. Sat around and visited with many friends, watched other people play active games, read, and ate. It was just what I needed after the previous busy days.

Thought #25

In a little flip-chart book of sayings that my mother gave me for my birthday, I opened to this one the other day. It's penned by that over-productive writer, Anonymous. I've read many things written by this author and while some of them have been very good, others have lacked meaning. There have been times I've read something they've written and thought to myself, "Wow, if I'd written that, I wouldn't want to claim it!"

But this was a worthwhile offering: If you don't get everything you want, think of the things you don't get that you don't want.

You may, like me, have to read that statement a couple of times before the truth of it starts to sink in. None of us get everything we want, but how fortunate we are that we aren't given all the things we don't want. Cancer, death of a spouse or child, a house fire. We can immediately think of those things we don't ever want to have to deal with, though we all know of people that have.

It also made me ponder all those things I thought I wanted, didn't get, and then in hindsight was so grateful that I didn't get them. That boy I had a crush on in high school that turned out to be of a faith that was totally incompatible with mine. I remember after a series of miscarriages telling the Lord, "I just want a baby. Any baby. I'll even take one with all kinds of problems." And then he gave me Christina, a healthy, bright child who brought me nothing but joy.

What about you? I'd love to hear about things you thought you wanted and didn't get, or what things you didn't want and didn't get. Drop me a line!

Did You Miss Me?

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.

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.

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!

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.