Debra and her three little children started coming to our church several years ago.  A young women of exotic beauty and charisma with a quick smile, she exuded joy and love.  She was new to this small town but easily got a job at a local daycare.  She quickly became involved in church activities, joined the praise band and became friends with the youth pastor.  It wasn't long before she met a sweet young man, a plumber named Filandro and started bringing him to church with her.  He was very shy but she brought such joy and hope to his life.  He began to open up and also become involved, in his humble, quiet way. 

She soon moved in with Filandro and he treated her children as his own.  When this happened it was a bit of an ethical problem for the youth pastor since Debra had become role model for the youth and was teaching a Bible study.

The father of her youngest child, a baby, started coming to our church, too.  Debra was unhappy about that, saying he wasn't a good father.  Then it wasn't long before we heard about the custody battle in Texas over her oldest child, the four-year-old.  Lena's father was making some terrible accusations about Debra and also claimed that she had taken her from the state illegally.  She claimed that she had done so in order to escape from his brutality.  There was a fundraiser for them arranged by our youth pastor, so that she could fly back for court, hire an attorney.  Two folks from church flew themselves down twice to give testimony on her behalf.  Filandro kept the kids each time.

Well, one day Debra took off.  Disappeared.  Took her kids and was gone.  Left Fil with  alot of debt and no word at all.  We'd all been duped.  A con artist.  She moved on.

A lot of people felt betrayed.  The worst of it all was poor heartbroken Fil.  He had truly loved her and her children had become like his own.  He had love and a family and it had been taken away from him in the crueliest of ways.

Fil withdrew into himself, coming to church less and less often.  He decided to move back to Oklahoma where he'd grown up, where his mom still lived.  We lost track of Fil after that.

Yesterday at church it was announced that Filandro had taken his own life.  I gasped out loud and tears instantly came.  I was sobbing silently most of the rest of the service.  Fil was the kind of man who would never be able to recover from such heartache without deep and dedicated love.  Had we done all we could for him?  Did we love him back to life again?  Did we abandon him after Debra left?  Did we call and check on him?  Did we even notice when he fell away?  Did we all dessert Filandro? Did I?

Ash Wednesday ~ A time to remember that we are ashes to ashes, dust to dust.  To remember our fraility and our sinfulness and the sacrifice that was made for us.

Lent ~ The 40 days when we intentionally remember the sacrifice Jesus made willingly (his very life) and the love with which it was given.  We might even make a small sacrifice (willingly, lovingly give up something precious to us) in order to get a better idea of the difficulty and the grace involved in Jesus' sacrifice.  

I am feeling closer to that Lenten meaning today better than I ever have before.  I knew Fil pretty well.  I knew his character and, if I'd have given it much thought, I'd have known that he was a truly broken man.  He was a tender soul.  I failed him.  We all did.  We all thought or hoped that someone else was taking care of him or didn't even notice.  There are no excuses. 

Sometimes I think we think "Oh, I'm a good person."  Honestly, I don't even give sin much thought.  My sins "aren't that bad".  But maybe the sins of not doing are the very worst kind.  We know better, but we are busy, tired or lazy.  Selfish.         But......

God loves me anyway.

Wow.     

"Teacher, which is the greatest commandment in the Law?" Jesus replied: " 'Love the Lord your God with all your heart and with all your soul and with all your mind.' This is the first and greatest commandment. And the second is like it: 'Love your neighbor as yourself.' All the Law and the Prophets hang on these two commandments."                      

It was late the evening before New Year's Eve and I had a grocery list for our big New Year's Day dinner. As I set my grocery items on the belt I noticed that the customer in front of me was arguing with the store manager. She was waving coupons and I could clearly see the familiar red circles of the tegraT logo, although we were all standing in a small town grocery store. She was insisting that the store honor these coupons and the manager and my checker were adamantly defending their right to not honor them. The manager was frustrated and angry and the checker kept saying "We can't give you the money because we wouldn't get our money back on the coupon. It has to have our name on it." Eventually the customer left, leaving all her already rung up groceries behind. The employees, checkers, manager continued the diatribe, as if justifying their position to one another and to us.

My checker rolled her eyes and then checked me out. As I drove home I felt strangely bothered by the scene. I wasn't sure why, since I believed the store should not have to honor any coupon from other merchants and it is ridiculous to believe that all stores should. A little store like this would suffer greatly and would have to inflate their already higher prices to compensate. I get it. But... obviously the young woman with her handful of coupons didn't get it. She was never rude, probably embarrassed by the attention yet asserting her rights (as she understood them). I never heard anyone give her an explanation of why they couldn't honor them except "we won't get the money back", obviously some big stores do that anyway, they can afford to eat the diff, but no one bothered to explain that to her. Or the manager could have just explained that it is not this store's policy, and apologize. Or whatever, they could have been kind through it all.

No one was kind at all. They were so interested in being right that they lost sight of the person they were talking to. It was not busy, they could have taken the time. They could have handled it so differently. It bothered me so much, and has stayed with me these several days. I think because there have been so many times when I have been that manager. I have a need to be tight or to justify myself, forgetting or not caring how I have made another person feel. I want other people to give me the benefit of the doubt but I don't alwasy do that for others.

Kindness does not come automatically for me. I can be thoughtful and kind but it is a thinking thing, an affort. It makes me feel good when I do that and is usually worth the effort. I want my family and friends to be kinder, I want the kids and teachers at my school to show kindness, I want businesses to promote kindness among their staffs, I want strangers to show kindness, I want the world to be a kinder place. So, with that little grocery store scenario as one of my last memories of 2009, I walk forth into 2010 with the hope, desire and will for it to be year of kindness... starting with me.

I am not only going model kindness whenever I can, I am also going to promote it. I am going to recognize kindness whenever I notice it, whether it be a random act or an intentional one, because for me anyway, noticing the good things in life makes all the difference.

I'll try to post good things here and I hope you'll let me know when you hear, or see or experience a kindness that touches your heart.

They stood  there on the porch leaning into each other.  Ricky and Clarice.  They were definitely pleased that we had come to help them with repairs to their home.  They had expected the new dry wall but had gotten a solid floor, new sink cabinet and counter and a patched ceiling as well.  We had little gifts of pretty kitchen towels, oven mitt, dish cloths, slice rug, hanging flowers and a welcome mat for their front door which we had just presented to them.  They stood there together as people took  their picture, truly grateful but somewhat unsettled.  I doubt they much liked having their photos taken, obviously uncomfortable as flash after flash of our paparazzi popped in their faces.

I've been thinking lots about them and the whole mission trip and what I have learned and am taking away from it all. I've been on a few of these work-type trips and always come away feeling as if we could have done so much more, that there is so much need and we aren't doing enough.  But this trip has really thrown me a curve.  

Appalachia.  We've all heard stories about how some of the poorest people in the U.S. live there and until recent history, because of their isolation, greatly fell through the cracks in our system for helping them.  

We did see much poverty, horrible living conditions and bad health.  What I did not see was need.  When I say that I mean that they are satisfied with their lives, accepting of their condition and happy.  They help each other.  Their homes weren't much but I have never seen such fine gardens!  That is why I am feeling ambivalent.  

It made me uneasy to see our group taking photos of this sweet, loving couple whom we obviously pitied.  They knew it, too.  I could see it in Ricky's eyes.  I think we were self-righteous and judgmental of thei

r lifestyle.  Yes, we definitely improved their living conditions but I wonder if we really improved their lives.  Did we make them feel small? Were we condescending?    I pray that we were not.

Ricky had no teeth at all and his clothes were filthy. He had moved all the kitchen cabinets and appliances into the middle of the room out of the way, in anticipation of our arrival.  He was there almost always as we worked, not underfoot but ready to answer questions, eager to help in any way he could.  He got us a broom to sweep up, he found us a hammer when we needed an extra for pulling out all those nails.  "Grampa's crow bar" was indispensible.  He found us the phone number for the lumber yard when we unexpectedly needed plywood to repair the rotten floor beneath the sink and freezer areas.  

On our second work day we arrived at the house to find a hole in the corner of the  kitchen floor.  Ricky was moving the refrigerator more out of the way the night before and had actually gone through the floor!  Worried, I asked him how far he had gone through.  He replied "About half way.  But it was my bad leg."  Oh no!  But he said that was a good thing.  He was totally sincere.  He'd been hurt but it was on his already damaged leg and not his good leg, so no biggie.  The man has an attitude of gratitude that I can only dream of.  He looks for the good in life and he finds it.  Oh, how I need to learn from that man!

On day 3, an old woman called because her electricity and gone out the night before and she called Ricky.  He went over and figured out the problem for her.  He is also the church caretaker. The Settlement would have come and gotten the huge pile of old sheet rock, paneling and debris we'd hauled out of his house but Ricky's brother showed up with his pickup to haul it off.

Clarice was overweight with the dirtiest feet I have ever seen.  She has a gaping hole in her quick smile and gorgeous blue eyes surrounded by long dark lashes.  You notice their beauty in spite of her teeth. Her health is poor and there were several oxygen tanks in their living room for her.  She teaches a Bible Study for the teenagers that go to her church.  The day she went to the doctor she wore a pretty dress that I commented on.  I wish I'd taken of picture of her that day.  I wish I'd taken a picture of those eyes.  She has quick smile and a joie de vivre

 about her that can't be missed.  Do I value life that much?  

On the final day, we wouldn't let Clarice in the kitchen while we worked.  We wanted to surprise her.  We made Ricky promise to keep her out while we went back for lunch.  We painted all day and put in the new cabinet and counter.  I painted a quick border of vines and flowers.  Someone found an old wooden heart laying in their yard, cleaned it up and painted it white.  They brought it to me to "do something with" so I painted the same viney flowers and the words "God bless this happy home".  We hung it above the sink.

When we had finished it all, we led Vicki in for her surprise.  She was delighted with the border and gave me a big ol' hug.  She was thrilled with her "new" kitchen.  We gave them the gifts and a new broom which she handed right off to Ricky "I cook, you clean."  We got a good laugh out of that.  We blessed their home, gave hugs (Ricky got a little teary) and headed back to the Settlement.

We'd had a good week of hard work and tons of sweat.  There was lots of kidding and fun.  Lots of jokes about no teeth and Mountain  Dew and how the mountain folks just "make due".  There had been lots of comments about the incredulity of the living conditions.  Smug?  

I came away thinking I had learned SO much.  If we had never come along I don't think they'd be much worse off.  They seemed satisfied with the life they live.  Yes, they accepted the things we gave them gratefully.  They were glad to have it all but did they need it?  Not really.  They were happy.  They were in love.  They appreciate the smallest things and look for the good in life, in people.  And they find it.

The line to vote was long but the church was warm and the line was moving quickly. I was finally near the front and I visited with the friendly lady checking our names at the table. She commented on what at sweet little boy my toddler was. Suddenly it was my turn and as I looked to the polling booth my mind quickly assessed what to do with my son while I was in there. Was it even legal to take him in with me? (I was young and stupid) The lady must have read my mind as she said “Go on. I’ll watch him.”

So, I guess that’s how it happens. You are young and hopeful and new to motherhood or tired in motherhood and you are weak or weary or confused and, for just a moment, you trust. You trust someone, or you trust society or you trust fate. For just a moment. That’s how kids get snatched or squashed or baked or broken or abused.

I hear those stories in the news of those children and those mothers and I hear the blaming tones of we who hear them, the accusing chants of neglect. “How could she let that happen?” …throwing the first stone.

It ended well for us. When I came out of the booth three minutes later CJ was gone. Gone. The nice lady was talking to someone else totally oblivious to the fact that CJ was gone. Gone. The word strikes fear into my heart still.

The line of voters was orderly and lined up against the wall. The room was empty of one very small blond boy. Where could he be? I called him and got nothing but dumb looks from the folks in line. I began searching but there wasn’t much to search so I headed down the line toward the door. He couldn’t have opened that big heavy door, couldn’t have even reached the handle. But where else? My heart pounded and I was panicky but not yet ready to let all these strangers know how stupid I was, so I willed myself calm. I opened the door and there he was. My adventurous child just standing there waiting for me patiently. He had wandered past 30 people and outside without anyone stopping him. It would have been impossible to have not noticed him and someone had held the door open for him! These people were not busy they were just standing there waiting in line!

I still get angry when I think about it all. I was angry at the “nice” lady, angry at those strangers who must have known a 2 year old walking down a long corridor and heading outside to the parking lot alone was not right. Mostly though, I was angry at myself. How could I have been so stupid? So careless with the most precious thing in my life? I was able to chalk it up to another very valuable and well-learned life lesson.

But I know that it could have ended differently so when the news hits of another child left in a car or a bathtub for just a second or not taken to the Dr. soon enough or wandering out of a home in his PJs in the middle of a frigid night or taken at the mall or the park … well, you know the list goes on. It happens and we know, if we are honest, it could have been us. My heart goes out.

“You can’t be too careful”. I have heard that said often but I think you can be too careful. We should be diligently cautious for sure. But, as in all things, balance is the key. We trust. Sometimes we must. Without trust there is no hope. Without hope there is no life. Balance.

I work in a school and I see the parents that are too careful. They do not love their children more than others do but they think they do. Their kids are sheltered and often weak and, well, helpless and will remain so. Or they’ll be embarrassed, frustrated or angry and hateful to those same parents who love them so much. They don’t understand their need to try (and possibly fail) in order to succeed and build their self-confidence. You can be too careful.

I learned that from a very small blond pig-headed boy who was fearless from day one. Sometimes I was careless for a moment, or he was… or fate was. He was in the hands of God and an arrogant surgeon at the age of 6 months. With a skull split open from hairline to the middle of the back of his head he learned to crawl in the hospital bed… with a big grim on his face. At age one he walked over to the slide and climbed to the top while I was picking beans. I looked up just in time to see him standing there, looking down, deciding if he could go without me to catch him at the bottom. Ha. He barely hesitated, slid down and landed on his very padded rump. Looked over at me to see if I had seen him and was proud. When he was two, he survived wandering down the middle of the road looking for his Daddy mowing out there while I napped. The list goes on right into the teen years (but I didn’t hear about those adventures until much later.)

I guess you’ve got to know your kid. Figure out how much rope they need. By age 10 he was dying to be left home alone now and then. He was ready. He was so ready to be on his own to college and I’m sure didn’t have one minute of homesickness. He was ready. We learned. He was fearless. He fell a lot. He got back up. The UnderToad tried to snatch him away from me more times than I’ll ever know and yet he is still with us today. And now, he’s gonna be a daddy himself in a few months.

So I’d say to him - Be cautious. Be watchful. Be aware. Be prepared. Be careful… but not too careful. Trust… but not too much. Balance. Let him live! Let him feel the joy of accomplishment that comes from effort and sometimes even pain. Trust God. Pray often and love always!

I’m a bunny killer. Last week when I was weeding in the asparagus I startled a baby bunny. I thought how bold that wascally wabbit mama was to nest right smack in my garden but I just kept pulling the tall grass and didn’t give them another thought. My garden is big enough that I can share. The deer are also frequent unwanted visitors volunteering to prune the tops of my tomato plants and beans.

A few days later when I was mowing in the paths between my raised beds it happened. I heard a big thud and knew I’d run over something, a dirt clod maybe? Until I saw the chunks of …well, I’ll spare the details. I instantly stopped the mower and went in the house. I went to the sink and got a drink of water and told Zeke what had happened.

Here’s the bad part. I made him go out and clean it up. He didn’t want to and we argued. I said it would gross me out and he said it would gross him out, too. I told him I just couldn’t do it and he said neither could he. I told him I knew he could and then, well, I basically guilted him into it. I didn’t say it, but I implied that this kind of task is one of those things that men must do for women. He said he was going to throw up… but he did it anyway. …I’m so ashamed.

Today when I was mowing again, I replayed this horrible scene in my mind again. I don’t think it was the hunks of bunny remains that I couldn’t deal with but the guilt of having done it that made me feel that I just could not go back out in my garden that day.

I let my stupid guilt over the killing, even this purely accidental thing, rule my behavior in the way I treated my son. It’s not that it hurt him to clean up the mess (nor would it have hurt me). I was selfish and threw away my values there for a minute. That scares me. I teach my sons about equality and that guys must carry their household load, too, and that women work in the world now and can do man-stuff, too. Then I revert to the weaker sex when it is easier to do so. It was one of those hypocritical, do-as-I-say-not-as-I-do kind of things.

Guilt.

I hate it and I‘m not one that has much use for guilt generally. I let things go pretty easily …forgive myself and others, too, because I know God does. We are who we are. But now I’m thinking guilt can be a useful tool for change, can’t it? I learned a lesson here and it won’t happen again. Sometimes I think that is what life is about. The lessons.

They left without Zeke.

Our church put together a Mission Trip down to Abbeville, Louisisana for our college kids to help with the continuing need with hurricane relief down in that area. Zeke, Kevin & I went last year when we made a similar journey to Gautier, Mississippi. It was a life-changing experience for me so when I heard about this trip, with these kids that have known each other for years, some since preschool, I knew it would be a beautiful experience for them. ...only Zeke didn't get to go.

Last Sunday, a week ago today he broke his wrist. He's only been home a week and was already enjoying all the thing he's missed. He had set up a little sound booth in the basement so he could really get into his music making, he'd signed onto an indoor soccer league and a sand volleyball team, there were pick-up games, too, of soccer and ultimate frisbee. He was looking for a summer job.

But that's all changed now. It was at the end of his first indoor soccer game when he and an opponent collided and they both went down. He said he heard it crack. They gave him a bag of ice and he joined us a Gramma's where we were all celebrating Uncle Tim's birthday. (Kevin and Beau had are both on the team, too, so he didn't have to drive himself.) Everyone looked at it all swolen and there was debate whether it was just a sprain or a break and whether to wait 'til tomorrow and go to the Dr. or to go the the Emergency Room tonight.

I wasn't letting him spend the night in pain for nothing so after everyone had their say and had eaten I took him to the ER. They showed us the x-ray and it (scaphoid bone) was clearly displaced. They sent him home with a weird little temporary "thumb cast", a pain killer, a nice new ice bag and an appointment with a Hand Specialist the next day.

Surgery was Tuesday with a screw in the bone and a couple of pins for the torn ligaments (everyone was right! It was a break AND a sprain). The surgery went well although we were left with the warning that this bone is always a "problematic" break that has difficulty healing. It has to do with blood flow to the bone. But they got to it quickly, his bones are young and strong and he left us with a feeling of hope that Zeke's injury would be the exception and would heal quickly.

So ... he's been taking it really well. But yesterday was rough. The kids all left for the trip, including his best friend, Bella, and his brother, Kevin. Later, someone called to see if he was playing Volleyball last night. I think he is tired of keeping up the smile. His hand is still swolen and he still can't move his fingers and it still hurts.

I think he is weary of being brave. Yesterday I went to check on him and found him wearing his guitar and strumming it even though he couldn't hold the neck or make chords. Just the same sound over and over.

Okay, so I'm wading in the pity pool with him. Yes, he's so lucky it was his left hand. There are a lot of "lucky" things about it all. It's not a brain injury, it's not cancer, I was off work for the summer, his brothers were with him, we have health insurance, etc. etc. etc.... the "Lucky List" is never ending.

Somehow, thinking of how it could have been worse doesn't really help. I have no doubt that he will learn from this, that he will grow and be a better person. I know that God uses difficult times to strengthen us for what's to come. Now that helps.

Phillipians 4:13 I can do all things through him who strengthens me.

Do all bloggers go through this? I couldn't wait til I got a chance to get to the computer to blog. To type out my thoughts and share them with the world. I'd stay up late reading & writing. I'd get up early and was still sometimes late to work. I'd check blogs at work, too. I was trying to hide how much time I spending on my rearend in front of my pitifully slow dial-up computer. It was beginning to comsume my thoughts. If I wasn't writing I was thinking about what I would write.

I was craving comments, too, and I had never much cared before who was reading. I became prideful about it. I started writing less about my family and my life and what just spills out of me. I wasn't loving it anymore but it was consuming me. I started to worry about what "my readers" would want to see. ...My Readers.

What a joke I am!

Then suddenly I went all empty. Nothing I had to say seemed worthy of saying to "the public" ... so I stopped. One thing I know is that when you stop writing people stop checking your blog... and I stopped. How could I keep on with nothing relevant to say?

But today I am back... with a clearer head again, I think. Back to the joy of sharing, with the hope that there are still a few folks out there that will find my thoughts interesting but mostly just back to writing to help with my sanity.

If you are reading this, Thank you. I'm back down to earth where I belong. Plodding along and enjoying the journey. If I ever do that again; somebody smack me!

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Father God, Please keep me grounded in your love. Help me prioritize my busy life and guide me through it. Amen
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Psalm 131 ~ LORD, I have given up my pride and turned away from my arrogance. I am not concerned with great matters or with subjects too difficult for me. Instead, I am content and at peace. As a child lies quietly in its mother's arms, so my heart is quiet within me. Israel, trust in the LORD now and forever!

This morning I got up and headed down to do a load of laundry before work. I grabbed a fresh bottle of bleach and there was one of those safety tabs on it. I couldn’t get a good grip to pull it off. I was frustrated and needing my morning coffee. I finally gave it a big yank and off it came splashing bleach all over me.

I felt it on my face. My right eye was burning but it was just fumes from th bleach on my face. My glasses had saved my eye. I reached down to the piles of laundry on the floor and grabbed something to wipe my face and chest, dropped the robe and ran to the bathroom to rinse it off of me. I wondered if my eyebrows were bleached.

When all was said and done, my robe was totally ruined. The bleach that splattered to the floor mostly splashed the whites. It left a white trail on my garden pants and Kev’s paint pants… missed Angus’ work uniform by a quarter inch. I smelled bleach all day… I’m smelling it now as a matter of fact.

Okay, I’d been wallowing in a pity pool the night before, feeling under appreciated and taken for granted. I wanted to be over it but I wasn’t. Did God give me a bit of a wake up call this morning?

“HELLO! Don’t you know how good you have it!? Great family and friends and, look, I’m watching out for you! Nothing of value ruined... you weren’t in your work clothes. The bleach didn’t get in your eye... you aren’t blinded. Your hair didn’t turn bleach blonde either... just a few highlights. All is well. I was right there with you. Wake up! You think you are taken for granted… underappreciated... what about ME? I give and give and give and love and love and love and people, like you, don‘t even notice! But I just keep giving and loving anyway, hoping that someday you‘ll notice and give me the praise and gratitude I require of you. I still have hope for you.”

So, Father God, please forgive me for my self-pity and my selfishness and my self-righteouness. Guide me closer to you and reveal yourself to me. Thank you so much for all you have given because I know that it all comes from you. Thanks for sending beautiful reminders of your grace and your glory. But mostly thanks for never giving up on me. Show me how to follow your example when I am dealing with people that disappoint me. Help me to remember that you love them, too.
Amen

Today I saw the faces of the 8 students (A.J. Jackson, Michael Tompkins, Ryan Mohler, Michael Bowen, Katie Strunk, Michelle Wilson, Jamie Ann Vidensek and Peter Dunn) who lost their lives in the tornado that hit the high school in Enterprise, Alabama. I read the stories of the heroic acts of the teacher who threw herself over one of her students. I read about the students who had just survived the tornado themselves running to the collapsed hallway to get the injured out long before any authorities arrived with rescue units. I read about the finger pointing and second guessing regarding the administration’s decisions. As I read all of this the tears were streaming down my face.

I prayed for all those children and teachers, administrators and families, neighbors and communities that are all suffering from the aftermath. Lives forever changed. They are going to need a lot of prayers and assistance and support… and love.

I have a deep fear of tornados that goes back to my childhood. I have lived on the edge of Tornado Alley most of my life but have never seen one. You’d think having lived for half a century in a high tornado region and not ever having seen one I’d be pretty skeptical, but here’s the thing. We have all either seen one from a distance or seen the aftermath and destruction. We’ve all been through “close calls”, tornados that came down for a few minutes and then lifted back into the sky… tornados that run wild through a nearby trailer park or through a farm. They are real and they tease and threaten and veer off from where they are headed… they jump over a house and flatten the one next door… they will snatch up a man covering his nephew in a ditch and leave the boy there (true story)... They can drop out of the sky with no warning no matter how much the weather man thinks he knows. You don’t have to experience it to recognize the power. And, of course, there are always the annual tornado warnings.

There were no big sirens that blared out to the whole community. No, it was every police car in town driving up and down the streets screaming their sirens through the black streets of the night. You’d wake in the night and hear the siren… a fire? A crash? But then you’d hear another siren a bit farther away, then another and another from all different directions and you knew…TORNADO! TAKE COVER!

Here is the one memory that I can’t escape. I grew up in a nice suburban neighborhood. I am not sure how old I was…maybe 8 or 10 years old. I was awakened by my obviously frightened mother who grabbed my little sister and me out of deep slumber and told us to “Run to the Fulks’ basement. Don’t stop. There was a tornado sighted on North Oak.”

The Fulks were the only people in the neighborhood who had a basement. Everyone gathered there during take-cover warnings.

We ran! I was old enough to know that North Oak Street was not far from our house (about 8 blocks). We ran through the rain in our nightgowns in the dark all alone down the street. We ran for our lives. We ran while our parents gathered up our young twin brothers.

We were welcomed into the basement where others had already congregated and were huddled about. I don’t think I have ever been so physically frightened. Other neighbors arrived and soon my parents joined us safely, too.

The tornado did not come. We went home. But the fear remained.

I tell myself that I’m not into “having things” and I suppose by American standards it’s true. But by worldwide measurement, I know that I am a glutton for my comforts. I can rationalize all I want to but I am an American… and I am so grateful that I am. I sometimes feel guilty that I have so much… but not quite guilty enough to give much of it up. Last year I had these feelings big time after my return from the Hurricane Relief trip to Gautier, Mississippi… but those feelings of guilt faded over the months.

Two weeks ago my dryer stopped working…one minute it was tumbling and drying and all was well. I took the nice warm clothes out of it and put the cold wet sheets into it and pushed the button and …NOTHING. Just nothing. I called Angus at work and gave him my sad story. We decided it must the motor and discussed how expensive it is to have appliances worked on and how they charge $50 just to come out and look and just how old was that dryer anyway?

Our first dryer came with our first house. It lasted through three moves and thousands of cycles of cloth diapers and sleepers, jeans and sweatshirts and towels. I kept going for some twenty years or so with only a belt replacement. The only criteria I had when we finally had to replace the old dryer was that it have a buzzer on it. We can’t remember how old this buzzered dryer is but we do know it is nowhere near 20 years old….maybe five… or possibly eight.

The next day we went shopping for a replacement dryer. The first thing I noticed was that dryers, though very simple machines, are more expensive that I realized. The second thing I saw was that the warranty on most dryers is only one year!

We wandered around looking at all the fancy features that we didn’t need. We didn’t say much. We both had sticker shock. I’d already had to drape sheets all over the ping-pong table and the furniture in the basement to dry. I had also hung a load of towels out on the line on a nice 20° day. Not fun.

I was thinking that everyone was getting pretty low on clean underwear and we’d have to buy something. Suddenly Angus made a decision, “I think I’ll go home and take another look at that dryer. It might just be the button on the door is bad.”

The parts place gave Angus a couple of ideas and showed him how to look for the problem and tested some parts he brought in. They were so helpful! It turned out to be a fuse. Who knew dryers had fuses?! The cost was $6.00 and a couple of trips into the city and, yes, I had to wash undies and hang them out.

Yesterday I washed several loads of laundry with a new appreciation for the dryer. I take it for granted like I do most other luxuries that we, Americans, consider to be necessities. I think we walk a fine line. We want to help and I think we DO help out a lot. I give what I consider to be a decent amount of my income and time to help out those in need and to serve but I usually stop when it gets uncomfortable. I give right up to the edge of my comfort zone and then I stop.

Here’s what I mean. I give! but not so much that it will mean I’ll have to give up my ski trip. I give! as long as I can still have enough left over to keep my season tickets to the dinner theater. I give! but my friends won’t respect me if I’m not at least fairly fashionable. I give! If I have time, but my time is precious.

You get the idea. I don't feel rich. I think I feel scared. I'm scared if I give away too much I might have to hang out my laundry forever. Wouldn't that be awful?

I’m pretty sure God wants me to give beyond what’s comfortable for me. Why can't I trust that he will take care of my needs? Well, I do believe that... but will he take care of my wants? Don't I deserve a few nice things?

I’m pretty sure there are dividends for sacrificial giving. I’m trying to do better this year, to be better. I am impatient with myself even though I do see change. Do you think God will be satisfied with my baby steps? Does God use broken dryers and dirty laundry to help us regain our perspective? I can do more. I will.

I expected to feel all goody- goody after my return from work with the hurricane relief down South but... well, there have been so many feelings, thoughts, ideas, prayers and images banging around in my brain! It's taking me awhile to process it all. Especially when I get back home and am expected to, you know, take up the same place where I left off before I went. I don't feel good either, nor bad... just different... challenged... changed.

I sent out an email to practically everyone I know letting them know about the great need for volunteers since it is clear that is the only way the non-business,

non-wealthy folks are going to get help. The responses I got were diasappointing and disheartening to me. I'm hating all this "Oh, you did such a great thing." "Oh, it's so wonderful that you gave up so much to go do that." "Oh, I want to do something like that but I just don't have time." It makes me want to sccreeeeaam! I do understand how they are feeling and know that they are sincere. It is exactly how I felt before when I would hear about other mission trips our church has organized. But I don't want kudos; I want other people to step up and pick up where we left off!

I didn't do a great thing, I didn't give up anything, it wasn't wonderful, you CAN do something like that, you DO have the time.... I want to say that but I don't. I've been in their shoes. Maybe by going myself I did plant a few seeds among my peers. They can do it, too. Afterall, Lou is the one that showed me that it can be done. She went to Nicaragua!

I do feel good that 2 of my sons gave up their time to come with us. They were both hard workers, and Casey's friend, Chris, was, too. It would have been a much less productive group without the 3 young men that followed me down there. I feel good about that. I worked hard, too. I can feel good about that as well. The folks whose homes we worked on were sincerely grateful that it was finally their turn. We did a good thing for them. There is no doubt of that.

We worked together so well! The combination of young people and adults, male and female was perfect. Among us were those with strength and the vitality, those with knowledge and skill and experience, those with enthusiasm and a willingness to do anything. There was kindness and an honest effort to value everyone; find a meaningful job for everyone that wasn't just busy-work. I feel good about the group. I made many new friends. I learned a lot, too.

There were no slackers among us. We saw the almost unfathomable amount of work that still needs to be done and we just wanted to work, work, work in the samll amount of time tha we would be there. We did all we could, more than most groups that go, but it didn't seem enough. We didn't go shopping or eat out or take in the scenery. We just worked.

It was a good trip. A good group. Good work was done. And yet...

The feelings are still bouncing around. I'm still working on them. I'm letting God work on me.