MY FATHER'S FOLDER: The Work of Providence

Dad with his parents in front of house where he was born

Aaron, (Pop), did not have much to offer his bride, Helen, (Mom) in a material way, however he had a great spiritual heritage, a faith in God and a personal commitment to Christ since an early age.
Aaron’s father, Solomon, had given each of his sons (eight in all) one thousand dollars as they became adults to invest in their future.

 Aaron had used his as a down payment on  25 acres of farm land with a young prune orchard which he purchased from his older brother, Henry near Dallas Oregon.

There was no house on the property so they temporarily moved into an already furnished house that his brother owned near by.  It was this house in which Dad was born in August of 1921.

Desiring to learn more about the Bible, the Lord laid it upon Pop (my grandfather) to attend BIOLA in Los Angeles for the fall & winter sessions and to return a subsequent year.
This trip was made in one of the first Model T Fords and took a week.
The story goes (News clipping confirm) that they made this trip in the fall when dad was just an infant.  Along the way (Roseburg Ore.), another vehicle crashed into them, knocking the wheel off.  The impact sent Dad flying out the open window, across the road landing in a field.  He was picked up unharmed still wrapped in his blanket. (contrary to what the news article reported.)
The second trip down to Los Angeles was a trying one for Dad.

  His parents could not figure out why he was crying so much only to find out that his cousin Harvey, then about three had been pinching him.  (Dad recalling story from his mother and archival article for 60th Wedding Anniversary of Pop & Mom.)

The time spent at BIOLA proved to be a time of great spiritual growth which later led to  years of ministry as an elder, teacher, and Sunday School superintendant.  So truly, I have a great heritage.

MY MOTHER'S NOTE BOOK: The Sound of Angels Wings

The summer of 1976 marked the beginning of a two year extended furlough for my parents due to my dads continuing health problems.
As the two year extended furlough came to an end so did 30 years as missionaries to Mexico.
The doctor felt it not wise for them to return to the damp climate in the village and the high altitude of Mexico City.

Their ministry, however, did not end there as they continued to serve in various capacities, primarily with the influx of refugees in the early 1980’s and others attempting to learn the English  as a second language as well as Bible classes.
In 1988, life appeared to be going great in their cozy little apartment in Castaic.  Mother was a teachers aid at the local school and Dad was the apartment manager.

The Apt. In Castaic

They had just celebrated their 40th wedding anniversary with a trip down to Mexico for two and a half months which they had thoroughly enjoyed.
The local fire department, being around the corner from the apartment, one day, rushed my dad to the ER with a heart attack.  The Lord was gracious and spared his life with no lasting affects after 20 days in the hospital to resume life back to normal with new appreciation for God’s hand in his life.

The 2nd Story Apt.

I saw how my mother cared deeply for Dad during this time and I am sure she wondered if she would lose him.
I saw how this may have deeply influenced the choice of poems in her note book and the Bible.

1987, Ready To Celebrate the 40th Wedding Anniversary

I found the poem “The Sound Of Angels Wings” to be one of those poems.  The context for copying this is unknown to me, however, Dad did tell me that when Mother found something that was particularly meaningful to her, she would write or copy it somewhere.
I believe this poem sounds resonant to those who have lost a loved one although it is in the context of a spouse.

Washing Clothes By Hand In Mexico

THE SOUND OF ANGELS WINGS~Norma
                                                           Rupp
                                                           
It happened so suddenly.
Our lunch-table conversation so ordinary.
Then in an instant,
Without warning,
The face of my beloved
was drawn and pinched.
Time stood absolutely still.
(How often “tomorrow” fills
our speech but the time comes
when there are no tomorrows
at all.)
The words of the doctor,
after endless waiting;
A turn for the worse.
How can that be?
He is my life.
I am not whole without him.
Finally they let me see him,
touch him,
kiss his beautiful face.
Another room, more tubes,
more machines, more waiting;
His eyes respond to me and
tell me that his love is
deep and eternal.
His fingers grasp my hand
and squeeze as I whisper,
“I love you”.
We will fight this together,
He and I.
We will win.
Other battles in our many
years together have been fought
and now,
now they seem like nothing.
Friends came to comfort
and encourage and
I am grateful.
God is able, and I am
finding that is true.
But as I enter his room
and see his dear sweet face,
I seem to hear the gentle brush
of angels wings,
And my heart knows that
for this battle, God has
another victory in mind.
The surrender does not
come easily.
It is not easy to let go
of my beloved,
even into the loving arms of God.
I want to keep him
here with me always.
But it is not to be, and
the angels are anxious to
get on with the work
God has sent them to do:
transporting my beloved into
the presence of his saviour.

He is home now.
The angels are rejoicing.
Love ones gone on before
are rejoicing
are enjoying a great reunion,
and my husband is beginning
his new work in Heaven.
But I am finding
that surrender is a daily task,
not a once-for-always
commitment.

The pain is so incredible,
The pain of not hearing
people speak his name,
of no more “ordinary”
lunch-table conversations.
No more verbal or physical
reassurances of his love,
no more hearing his key
in the lock.
No seeing him walk
across the lot to our back door.
The pain of loneliness,
because half of me is gone.
Yes, the “better” half.

Lord help me
in this surrendering.
Your grace is sufficient,
you are truly trustworthy.
Thank you for giving him
to me for all these years.
Thank you for the
beautiful memories.
Thank you for the sound
of angels wings.
Thank you for the knowledge
that you are God,
and your way is perfect
always.

MY MOTHER'S NOTE BOOK: A Quiet Reverie

A Quiet Reverie

Seasons of life come and go.  I often find myself in a quiet reverie, reflecting on past countless blessings.
I marvel at the ways God has led me.
I find signs of godliness and commitment to God on both sides of my heritage, traced back to several generations.
Every significant life event has shaped my perspective in life.
Each season has brought about something exciting, fresh challenges.  Time has gone by so quickly.  I owe every “work of mercy” to the hands of God.
“Lord thou hast wrought all our works in, or for, us.”  Isa. 26:12
I am often drawn towards the words of the Puritans and enjoy many of their works.
Borrowing from Richard Baxter as to a good reason to recall and blog about past memories:
“If thou be a Christian indeed,I know thou hast, if not in thy book, yet certainly in thy heart, a great many precious favors upon record.  The very remembrance and rehearsal of them is sweet.  How much more sweet was the actual enjoyment.”

Struck with the prospect of growing older and retirement looming around the corner I feel an urgency to record past blessings.

Somewhere along life’s continuum, my mother was struck with the prospects of growing older too.  I gather this thought as I continue to find copious poems penned in her Bible relating to such seasons.
Upon further investigation, I found a piece of paper all rumpled up in the bottom of the front pocket of her Bible.  With these words penned by Amy Carmichael, one of my favorite poets and authors, that "Expresses The Joy Of Growing Older":

My Mother's Bible

“Gone they tell me, is youth,
 Gone is the strength of my life,
 Nothing remains but decline,
 Nothing but age and decay.

 Not so, I’m God’s little child,
 Only beginning to live,
 Coming the days of my prime,
 Coming the vision of God,
 Coming my bloom and my power.”

Seasons come and most of them go.  How are you treasuring up those memories of God’s providence in your life?

MY MOTHER'S NOTEBOOK: Coffee Break

Coffee Break With My Mother

"It is the old apple trees that are decked with the loveliest blossoms.
It is the ancient redwoods that rise to majestic heights.
It is the old violins that produce the richest tones.
It is ancient coins, stamps and furniture that people seek.
It is the old friends that are loved the best.
Thank God for the blessings of age and the wisdom,
patience and maturity that go with it."
—Sister Mary Gemma Brunke 

 Taking another tour through my mothers Bible and taking note of some of the poems that were copied onto those empty pages in the back meant for notes, I took note of the above poem.  She added at the end of that poem "Old is wonderful!"

In My Mom' Own Handwriting

On checking some dates and as to the time that this Bible became hers, it appears she was in her 60's when she copied these poems onto those pages.  I was very busy raising my family and had little interest in what was going on in her life beyond infrequent visits. Conversations very rarely if ever turned to the deep issues of life.  She had lost her own mother a few years before suddenly and her father many years before that.

However, in leafing through her Bible, I took note of the many notations left and underlined passages, leading me to believe that she loved God's Word.

It is good here to note, that I also find solace in God's Word and find comfort in that His Word  never changes.

I am inclined to think that she found solace in Gods Word as her nomadic-like lifestyle found her in many locations where she had to adapt, finding that God's Word never changes.

 

 

MY MOTHER'S NOTE BOOK: #1 GEMS FROM THE PAST

My most recent discovery, finding the Bible that my mother took over from a gift that we kids had presented to my parents as a token of their love for each other on their 25th wedding anniversary, June 1972.

This bible is worn, a little tattered, and kind of falling apart and was well marked.  The blank pages in the very back were filled with many meaningful poems and quotes, all written in my mothers handwriting.

 

Poem," I Will Go" Written In My Mother's own handwriting.

What makes this poem so special is that it was written by Doris Puckett and author of the book "IN THE HOLLOW OF HIS HAND".  The Pucketts were fellow missionaries along with my parents and Dad went on many village visits with her husband Larry.  After reading that book, I felt that we did not live as primitive as they had.  Our family is referred to in that book as part of their missionary adventures.

"Doris (Kinzie) Puckett grew up in the small coal region town of Ashland, Pennsylvania. She felt God's call upon her life at the age of 16 when she gave her heart to the Lord. After high school, she enrolled in the Philadelphia Bible Institute where she met and fell in love with Larry Puckett, a young man from Tennessee who shared her deep devotion to Christ. At the Bible Institute, both Doris and Larry felt God's call to the remote Sierra Madre mountains of Mexico to take the gospel to the Totonac Indians who had lived for centuries in superstitious fear, under the bondage of witchcraft and poverty. This is Doris' account of their amazing years in the protective hollow of God's hand. It is a remarkable story of more than forty years spent on the mission field, enduring incredible hardships, overcoming impossible obstacles, witnessing astonishing miracles and experiencing God's faithful protection and peace in the dangerous difficult place they came to love as home" 

(I believe this review was written by Rene Zapata, an evangelist we knew in Mexico.)

They lived in a very remote village that later they were encouraged to learn to fly and eventually obtained a small plane, they called "The Sparrow"

Dad on right with Uncle Larry with the Sparrow

When I was young, I thought she was one of the most awesome of women around and so beautiful.  All of us girls wanted to look and be like her.  One year the Pucketts got to be the house parents of the boarding school that we attended.

Just a little side story off of this from some of Dad's accounts, I was around five yrs old.  This missionary adventure happened before the Pucketts came to Mexico but to the village that they would be assigned to.

Several villages had carved airstrips on the side of the mountains to facilitate the transport of coffee by plane from the isolated villages.

On this visit to Mecatlan,  

Dad and Mother took us three children at the time and a months worth of supplies.  The airstrip was located in the valley and required an hours trek up the mountain to get to that village.

We stayed in a home opened up to us.  According to Dad it was only a shack of tied together board walls and dirt floor.  News papers lined the walls to cover the cracks to keep out the wind and cold.

My mother had taken her accordion and they had services at night and Bible and literacy classes.

When it was time to leave that village we trekked  one hour down that mountain to the airstrip to wait for one of the planes, however, we waited all day and no plane came.  Evidently air conditions were not favorable so no plane came.  It was decided to camp out on the airstrip till morning and build a fire to keep the mosquitos at bay.

We all survived the mosquitos except my sister who was a baby at the time.  The next morning her little face was a solid mass of bites and she got very sick.

Following is the poem I found in the back of Mother's Bible:

 I WILL GO ~ by Mrs. Doris Puckett

As I knelt in His presence and heard His call,
He summoned me to give Him my all
To the regions beyond-or wherever may be,
I knew that God had a place for me.
The promise was made many years ago,
“I’ll go, dear Lord, where you want me to go.” 

“To the land of Mexico”--the Savior replied,
“You’ll go in My stead to tell them I died.
There are souls that perish who have never heard.
So you take to them My precious Word.
I heard Him call to the Indians--strong and clear
And I answered, “Oh,yes, I’ll go, my Savior dear.

Easy to say “yes”, but the test was to follow.
The cost is great!  Pride I must swallow.
The mountains!  They’re rugged and oh, so steep!
Live there among sickness and filth so deep?
To raise my children in a heathen place???
Should I really go to a people so base???

With eyes off the Lord and in temporal things,
I felt Satan’s darts with burning stings,
Endure such hardships and suffer cruel pain.
While wicked men will only scoff at His Name???
Too dangerous!!  Out there I am told that murders abound.
“I can’t go.”, my heart cried as fears did surround.

Then softly, He spoke as I knelt in prayer,
“My child, these are souls I love out there,
Their hearts are empty for want of My love.
In distress they cry out for help from Above.
Who’ll take to them the story of grace.
That one day “redeemed” they may look in My face?”

He spoke and assured me of His strength divine.
He spoke and in weakness, His strength was mine.
Firmly and sweetly I felt upon my life, His touch!
Oh, compassionate Savior, you have taught me so much.
Those Indians, waiting~the peace of Jesus to know.
“Dear Lord, in me fulfill this burning desire to GO!”

I went, yes, I went to that forsaken land,
Not once did my Savior withdraw His hand.
Oh, what glory and joy did His blessing unfold!
The half of His goodness could never be told.
What treasures, what triumphs could have been lost,
Had I said to the Master, “Too great the cost!”

I am inclined to think that my mother may have felt the same way and was witness to many of the treasures and triumphs that would have been lost had she and dad not followed the call.  Because of them many Indians and their families were won. 

 

CHILDHOOD MEMORIES: DOLLS

My memories of first grade and early childhood have been reduced to isolated, random moments.
This post is dedicated to my precious three so far grand daughters.  

First Grade, age 6

I loved dolls, and I loved to provide them with clothes.  Although by State side standards, I did not have very many and only once had two at once.
Mother once told me that when I was a toddler, my doll was left on a bus we had been traveling on and had just disembarked.  I often wondered what kind of home that doll found.
I do not recall receiving the two dolls shown in the pictures when I was six.  I was boarding with a family that had three boys at the time but spent much time playing with my three school mates that were sisters.

She Looked Like This

When I was around eight or nine, I was given a 36" doll.   We all thought she was awesome!  I could put my hands on her shoulders and make her walk.  She had long hair that I enjoyed combing.  But the best thing about her was her blue eyes with lush eyelashes that opened and closed when you tipped her and her dress was absolutely gorgeous!  All of us girls were enamored by her including all the little Mexican children around.
Her awesomeness was short lived.

1959, We may have gotten these dolls from Grandma Wedgwood

To my horror one day when we got out of classes, I found her with her eyes poked in and turned around and she stayed that way forever.  I do not recall what ever became of her and I do not recall giving her a name.  Someone had gotten into the girls dormitory room while we were in school.
 I fondly remember my doll "Judy".  My sister had one similar to her.  She had a plastic molded head/hair in a pony tail with a hole in it so I could pull a ribbon through it to dress her up.
I had Judy for a long time as she traveled with me to the States, mold and all because the weather was so humid.  Mold prevailed if things were not properly stored, alas Judy had a bad case of mold that we could not clean off, however,
Judy was the most well dressed because it was about this time that I got interested in sewing.  I made Judy many clothes.
When my mother saw how much time I spent making those outfits for Judy she said it was a waste of time and that I should be sewing clothes for myself.
She sent me up the hill to a lady who was a seamstress.  I had to walk through a cornfield just to get there.  There in her cottage-like house with a dirt floor sat an old treadle sewing machine on which I learned to sew.
This seamstress was so talented, you could just show her a picture of a clothing item from the Sears or J C Penney catalog
and she could make it.  I believe I was around 10 or 11 when these lessons occurred.
I still continued to sew clothes for the dolls out of the scraps from the sewing lessons.
 When I was introduced to Barbie and Ken, I was in clothes making heaven and let my imagination go wild.

My First Barbie looked 

just like this

Fast forward in time, my first daughter was doing the same thing with the myriad of dolls in the girls collection.  I am smiling at recalling this.  
You just gotta love girls.

MY MOTHER'S NOTE BOOK: What Were We Thinking?

MY MOTHER’S NOTE BOOK: What Were We Thinking?

MY MOTHER'S NOTE BOOK

With Mother’s day just around the corner, I am reminded of a mother I really did not know very well.
As I sort through old photos, read parts of journals, and recall past events I have come to realize what an amazing mother I really had.  She was truly a “Laborers Together” along side of my father.  (A theme from their wedding day.)
I have often wondered what was going on in her mind when they boarded that train from Oregon to Texas with three steamer trunks, all their worldly possessions, on their missionary journey that summer of 1948.  What was she thinking?  I am sure had she known what she was getting into she may have voiced second thoughts.
She not only sacrificed ease of living but often found that living by faith was foreign to her.   She was a CITY GIRL, and dad was a country boy.

She went to Simpson Bible College against her parents wishes and they refused to help her financially where seeds of living by faith for ones needs began.  She quoted in her journal “Sometimes I could not even write Loren as I did not have the 3 cents for a stamp.”
Correspondence from the mission was, “Come to Mexico as soon as possible.  We will trust with you for your support.”
What she did not know was what it would be like to serve in one of the most primitive and dangerous areas of the State of Puebla and Veracruz.
Upon there arrival at the mission headquarters in Tamazunchale, it was hot and rainy.  There was very little electricity at  night.
She cooked on a two-burner kerosene stove.

Cooking

She washed the clothes by hand in cold water and sat under the lines while they dried, otherwise the clothes would be stolen right outside the door. (especially the underwear)
She used the pressure cooker every day.  In her journal, she recounts eating lots of bread, eggs, beans and bananas as they gradually learned to eat tortillas and chile in moderation.
She and Dad spent concentrated time learning the Spanish language.  They worked together as a team.  Dad’s strong points were speaking and hers was hearing and understanding.  They learned very quickly.  Eventually they even adopted the accent.
Well, my eventual expected arrival disrupted their language studies, however, they had a good grasp on the language and proceeded to Puebla City to await my arrival.

So I was the first one in our family to make my mother a mother.

Motherhood

My mother was also a gifted musician and could play various instruments.  She taught organ lessons on a squeaky pump organ and the accordion.  Something that I found very difficult and quickly abandoned the lessons.
A quote from a letter she wrote to my grandparents, August 1,1948:
     “We had rather an interesting experience last night.  I got out my accordion to play a few songs to Loren.  Immediately there appeared at our window many of the people who live in the six other apartments.  One married lady and a young girl came in…they knew many of the hymns…My accordion was only the second that had been in this town of 2,000 people.  The people are very fond of music but hardly any of them play instruments.”

Organ and Accordion Lessons

Another quote from the same letter stated, “I surely enjoy my pressure cooker down here.  I honestly don’t know what I’d do without it…I have a concrete sink and drainboard…”
The whole time I lived in Mexico, we did not own a refrigerator.
I later heard after I left that my mother finally got a refrigerator in her kitchen after living in Mexico about 15 yrs.  No one in the village had ever seen a refrigerator and asked it it was a coffin when they saw it laying on its back in the Land Rover.
This blog is getting to be to long and so many memories but I will end with this as it has come to my mind.
My mother was quite a disciplinarian while my father on the lenient side.  She would require me to go out to find a stick from the wood pile for  a thrashing.  I soon learned that the switches or thin ones gave the most pain.
On one occasion, no stick was at hand and she used her hand and broke many blood vessels on her hand.

She also was a “no nonsense” kind of mother and would rather we direct our energies to more useful pursuits.  When I was putting my energies into making doll clothes, she would have none of that and sent me to the seamstress up the hill for sewing lesson for me clothes.  I then made myself aprons, skirts, dresses, pajamas and dreamed of hitting the jackpot in winning bolts of cloth, while sewing with the cast offs of those chicken feed sacks sent from the States from my great grandmothers chicken farm.
Mother’s day is to remind us how much our mothers have sacrificed for us at any given moment.

Saturday Night Bible Class With both Casas Hogar in The Ediger Living Room, Dad and Mother in the doorway and Tommy in foreground front

Mother top far right, Tommy up front

Above was an article that my mother wrote for the Mexican Indian Mission newsletter.

MY FATHER'S FOLDER: CINCO DE MAYO

The Queen, The Princesses, The Jeep

CINCO DE MAYO:  Jeep gets a makeover

Cinco de Mayo is mainly observed in the Mexican state of Puebla, where parades with people dressed in costumes are held to celebrate the day.
We Poblanos love to celebrate!
Cinco de Mayo is a government and school holiday in Mexico, so government offices and many schools are closed. It is also a regional holiday in the states of Puebla and Veracruz.
About Cinco de Mayo
Cinco de Mayo officially commemorates the anniversary of an early victory by Mexican forces over French forces in the Battle of Puebla on May 5, 1862. Contrary to popular belief, it is not the anniversary of the defeat and expulsion of the French forces by the Mexicans, which occurred in 1867. The battle in Puebla did, however, lift the confidence of the Mexican army and people. It helped boost national unity at the time
Many of the preparations for this celebration, are made by the civil authorities in union with the local school.
Shortly after one furlough, my dad was asked if our new Jeep would be available to display the queen and her princesses.  One of the princesses, Lola, was one of the girls chosen to ride on the Jeep/Float.  She was one of the girls that lived in our girls homes that we directed and attended the local public school.  There were about 20 boys and girls at this time in our Boys and Girls Homes who attended the local school for lack of schools in their villages.

The School Children All lined Up

They proudly decorated the Jeep with colorful streamers and a flowers with a canopy.  The girls were all dressed in flowing gowns and proudly sat on the hood, leaving little room for my dad to see to drive.  He had to stick his head out the window.
The parade consisted of all the municipal authorities, a marching band, and all the children  wearing uniforms.
Out of all the 7,000 people living in the entire municipality, we were the only ones who owned a vehicle and there were other occasions where my dad was asked to transport someone who was ill, or needed something important.
I was around age four during this particular  celebration.

The Band

MY FATHER'S FOLDER: We Nailed it!

We Nailed It!  We Finished it!

Our "Contractor", Jose Maria

MY FATHER’S FOLDER
I have been combing through our family history memorabilia trying to find out more about how our house in Cuautempan came about.
There is very little written in Dad’s journal that give any details and his memory has faded. My interviews with him concerning the building program remains somewhat sketchy. The property was purchased from Dona Emilia, our landlady, who let us live in her house when we first moved from Zapotitlan to Cuautempan.
I have had to rely on the slides I scanned with bits and pieces from a copy of an Annual Report that I unearthed.

From the Annual Report for 1957 that the mission required of each field:

Sawing the wood into beams

Transporting The Beams

“BUILDING PROGRAM (Cuautempan)  the Lord has helped us realize a big step forward on our much needed house.
The gravity water system was put in, in April
and in May Mrs. Ediger’s parents, Mr. and Mrs. Wedgwood of Washington state came for a three-week visit and helped with building plans.
During the summer  before the heavy rains came we were able to erect the dining room and kitchen.  We hope to finish this next year. (1958)”

Adobes Drying in the Sun

The house was built in sections, and when we moved in, I was around nine years old.
The house was not finished at the time and we first three kids slept in an unfinished, dirt floor living room with rough boards propped up against the door at night.
 (I have vivid memories of one night, a wild dog decided to give us a wild scare and sent me scrambling up to the top bunk with my brother, screaming at the top of my lungs and trying to figure out how to get my baby sister out of her crib.  Thankfully my Dad at hearing the commotion, scared the dog away.)  A beautiful tile floor was later installed in that room, replacing the dirt floor.
The kitchen, dining room, and one bedroom had concrete floor while the back bedroom and the office had the red brick tile.  (totally unpractical for high humidity weather).

Mixing the Mud & Morter, Ed & Ruthie

Our house was made out of adobe, made the typical way of the area, soil, sand, and pine needles.  They were formed and set out to dry in the sun on the building site.
Dad mentioned to me how my brother enjoyed getting involved in the process making the adobe and joined in the stomping and mixing of the mud to make the adobes.

A View of The Valley & Roof Top of Our House

I loved that house! The view of the surrounding valley was awesome.  We had a view of the main road, or more like a widened, bumpy cow trail and would watch my dad driving and follow that speck until it reached the church where we parked (there was only a thin trail up to our house at that time.) and then I would dash down to greet him.
Our yard was surrounded by trees with several of them being avocado and an orange tree. 
The fence surrounding the property was lined with yucca plants as stumps with barb wire threaded through it which later those stumps rooted and bloomed with a white flower. 
The sword-like leafs were sometimes used as toy machetes.
The mountains surrounding us was filled with pine trees, spaces of winding paths, open windy patches and random spots of neatly hoed corn rows dotting the country side with cottage- like huts (near the corn) with spirals of smoke.
We could see the town center from our front yard.

The Kitchen

The Dining room

In Front of The Unfinished Living Room