My MIDDLE Little

DEAR MIDDLE DAUGHTER,
Not the oldest.  Not the youngest.
I will have to admit that often you went unappreciated.

A New Sister

All Things Yellow

As a middle daughter, I am aware that you received the short end of the stick, however, you were amazingly resilient.

You were strong and grounded and still are.  You got along with all sorts of people and made friends from all walks of life.

You constantly amazed me with the ability to constantly deal with older siblings who were at times being jerks and a younger one who was sometimes a pain.
You learned easily how to handle situations.  You were the child with pizzaz.  You worked hard to get to get things.

You were just another wanted, another girl, an ultimate gift.
Don’t ever worry for an instant that I did not love you.
You were the beginning of a personality that was totally different than your sisters, completely unique, a daughter to love and cherish.
There was so much about you to love and cherish.  You were different and new besides the fact that you slept away that first month as if to gain momentum for the days to come. 

In the beginning, I nursed you with the same intensity and focus I did with your siblings but you had other plans and weaned yourself early and took to the bottle.
Days tired me out more than before I had you, triple the stress and half the sleep but even on the weariest days, I loved you very much. I was never a perfect mom, despite my efforts but I will always love you.
Nine months before your birth went by like a whirlwind and then the earth-shattering moment you were placed by the mid-wife on my chest.

The excitement and anticipation of the gender reveal was replaced with you, another daughter.  With you, you obliged by arriving a week early so as not to interfere with Halloween.

Before you, I had suffered through the loss of three pregnancies.  Had I not suffered those losses, you would not be here.

  You would have been number six instead of three.
You followed the  ‘perfect first born” and the “strong willed second child”.  You had your squad of cheer leaders and was the life of the party.  Your sunny disposition attracted everyone who crossed your pathway.
The thought that I might not have had you, had I followed the mid-wife’s advice, to stop at two was unthinkable.
You, were the one stuck in the middle seat, extremely independent and the most joyful “little” to be around,
even though you were not coddled and cuddled as much.  The horror on my face, as I looked in the rear view mirror to find you standing in your car seat as we traveled down the freeway with a defient, non compliant attitude forcing us to take the next exit to deal with the situation.  

You got everything a lot earlier than your siblings.  You got your first job along side me in the nursery
Every minute I spend with you is joy.  You in part, helped to heal the losses.

  I am writing this because I want to thank you.  I have been privileged  to walk with you on part of your life journey that has been beautiful, exciting, and challenging.  It was difficult keeping up with your milestones in written form so this will have to suffice.
In spite of annoying everyone with your singing along with all the Disney movies, you had an amazing memory.  Your bed time chatter kept your siblings awake and constant bevy of activity.
Projects made you happy.  “Accidental cuts” in your tights on Sunday during craft time remained a mystery for a time.

Your unique laughter, the sparkle in your eyes and the happiness you radiate are a testimony to your joyful energy and love for God.

You continue to feel your best when interacting with people and life continues to be rich and fulfilling as you share your children with others.
So my darling, Hannah Joy, may the future draw you closer to God as you serve your little family and seek for the things of God.
Love,
Mom

DEAR DAUGHTER

Dear Daughter,
I am finding the need to say some things to you, my, oldest daughter.

You were the one from whom we learned the most and the one upon whom we tried the most.
 You were the one who became my second pair of hands, the “other mommy,” and even my substitute teacher from time to time.
I will never forget the moment leading up to your arrival.  When I saw you for the first time, I was so filled with overwhelming gratitude, the culmination of a five year wait.  I was 30, and we had waited so long.

1980

  We never made it to the polls that voting day in 1980.
Terrifying? Yes, but it was worth all the madness and magical moment of making me a mother.
The moment you were born, time appeared to stand still.  I just wanted to stare and study each of your features.  You were the epidome of perfection, our little Angel Baby as Annie in the church nursery later referred to you.
It had been a wonderful difficult moment.

June 1980

  Being placed on my chest for the first time was a surreal yet at the moment a weight of responsibility and the absurd thought that I had been so naive to have had a home birth as you were not in a favorable position going through the port.

Going through the agonizing unexpected pain for hours, I thought, I was going to die had it not for the encouragement of the midwife.  Yes, painfully natural. I watched the chiroprator/midwife unfold you and give you a gentle spine adjustment.
A month later we took you to a Dodger game on the fourth of July.  The fire works did not phase you as you gazed up into the sky as you did your first day of life.

Yes, Dear One,
I am sorry for all the mistakes I made along the way.

~ I am sorry that I expected you to be mature beyond your years and asked you to help all the time with the little babies that came along.
~ I am sorry that your academic education was lacking, although I knew you were very intelligent and could accomplish so much. I was too busy having another baby, nursing, and teaching phonics to consider what would be best for you.
~ I am sorry that at times my discipline was too harsh–not so much physically but verbally–as I demanded adult-like behavior from you during your childhood years.

~I am sorry for allowing you to go hungry to bed that one night when you were begging for a snack and you were satisfied with just a slice of bread and some water because you did not eat much for dinner.
~ I am thankful that you own your own faith.

~ I am thankful that God’s Word became precious to you and that you learned its ways and its truths.
~ I am thankful that your were more than the oldest child in our family, ruling over the rest of the children. You loved them and shared with them and gave your life to them and they loved you!  You put up with a brother that was active beyond years.

~ I am thankful that you found the ability to  develop good plans for your own life, including your marriage and your own children.
~ I am thankful that you chose to live your life to glorify God and to enjoy Him forever.
~ I am thankful that you were more than an experiment for your father and me.

You were our blessed firstborn, our joy, our beloved one.
Thank you for being our precious daughter who knows Christ in spite of our errors and misjudgments. Thank you for allowing me the privilege of being your mother.  Thank you for the precious memories I have today because you were part of my life.
"It gives me great joy to find my children walking in the truth..." 
3 John 1:4

–Love Mom

Your Mama

P.S. For those of you parents who may be reading this, please consider whether there is something you should say to your kids before it may be too late. One way or another, death will separate you for a time…if not for eternity.
************
RAINBOW BABY # 1 click here

ANNIVERSARY TRIP, JUNE 3,1987

Wednesday, June 3, 1987
We walked over to Sanborns (restaurant) on the Reforma to eat breakfast.

We are trying to heed the advice of one of our children, "Don't do all missionary work, but have some fun."  It's all been fun so far.
Sanborns was very different.  Saw no Americans.  They had a "Buffet Breakfast" (Almuerso)  Dad had chile con huevos (scrambled eggs drenched in chile/salsa) and I had huevos rancheros (sunny side up with salsa).  We had tortillas and coffee.
We then walked to the park that they have made where the former Hotel Regis was.  As we sat in the park and looked at the reconstruction, we were amazed.  After two years, they are still taking out rubble from the Prado Hotel and other buildings.  Dad said they were even working at night.
We saw the Bellas Artes. 
 (Palace of Fine Arts) is a prominent cultural center in Mexico City. It has hosted some of the most notable events in music, dance, theatre, opera and literature and has held important exhibitions of painting, sculpture and photography.)
   It looked the same, maybe sunken a little more but the sidewalks and streets are all patched up.  We took some pictures.
The sun was out, but after we returned to the hotel it became cloudy.
Dad left to go to San Augustine.  I'm here with the stuff.  He wants to advise friends that we are here.  Also he wants to get info. about going to Ixmiqulpan where Eleanor Timmerman and the Bible School are.
We would like to go there Thursday and return to M.C. (Mexico City) on Saturday to be in the service on Sunday.
Dad's journey to San Augustine:
He went to the Santa Clara bus station and it wasn't there anymore.  Since he had been in Mexico last the subway had expanded to Indios Verdes where you get the San Augustine bus.
We found Francisco's wife at home where they live next to the church.
She told Loren that Silvestre was near there and they would find him. Soon he came.
Silvestre had come to meet us at the airport.  After waiting for a long time, Sil was told the plane would come at 11pm.  He and Carmela waited all night for us and decided to go home.
Loren came back with Sil and Carmela to the hotel.  Carmela said Dad looked the same but she wouldn't know me if she'd met me on the street.
Carmela brought us a couple of "Carlos Quintos" (Chocolate cookies of some kind)
There were glad embraces and we all went to dinner nearby.
Arrangements were made for them to pick us up with our things tomorrow.
Sil will go with us.  We talked about so many at the dinner table.  They are rejoicing that there are more believers both in Cuautempan and here in MC.

EPIC ANNIVERSERY TRIP ~1987

It was June 2, 1987 with high anticipation and excitement that Dad took Mother on a two month trip back to Mexico to visit the land they had dedicated so much of their life to.

I will attempt to capture some of those moments from their journal and focus on highlights as the entries are typed single lines, no paragraphs, 25 pages, diary form.  Some entries are Dad's and others from Mothers.  They capture the essence of their relationship with each other and God.
JUNE 2:
(Mother writing)
We woke up this morning at 4:30 a.m.
Just the excitement of "D" day, "A" day (anniversary) or "A" day (Mexico).
Ed drove us to the airport.  (entries written while at airport)
We are on the upper level of LAX which is for departures.  We can look out the windows and see the Aero Mexico airplane which is suppose to leave at 9 a.m.
Since we are early, Dad is out to get his exercise!
I'm sitting here watching our bags and writing.  We blend in well with all of the others with their bags and baggage.
It seems strange, just the two of us going to Mexico.  It has been a long time since we've gone alone. (at least me).
We are in the waiting room near the air strip.  We board at 8:30.  On the plane at 9:10.
They announce they are fixing something in the cockpit or engine.
Will be a 20-25 min. delay.
Plane still delayed.  They took us off, gave us vouchers for breakfast and new boarding passes.
Still delayed, they promise to tell us if we'll take off on this plane at 1:00pm.
WE ARE LEARNING PATIENCE.
WE KNOW THAT WE ARE IN HIS HANDS!
Dad's gone walking AGAIN.  For me walking to and from plane, waiting area, breakfast down and upstairs, to front desk is enough exercise.
1:30 pm walked a mile to MEXICANAS D C 10-15 jumbo jet leaving for Mexico City, non-stop, servicio "AZTECA DE ORO".  (In other words, an up grade.)
1:45 plane moving!  Announcing temperature in MC, 70 degrees and cloudy.
Arrive in 3 hrs., take-off time 2:15pm.
Served dinner, chicken cacciatore and steak
Coming into MC it was dark, cloudy, and raining with lightening.  Arrived at 6pm.
At the airport God was especially good to us.  As we waited for our baggage without a special free push cart, a woman pushed one at me and ran off never returning.
After getting our tourist cards stamped and signed, we proceeded to customs.
They waved us through without looking at our bags.
Outside the airport, we had to get a ticket for the official taxi.  One woman with little baggage was in the same cab.  As we went through the city and saw a lot of re-construction.
The lady commented that she and "todo el mundo" raised money to give homes to the people who lost them in the earthquake 2 years ago and then the government was selling them which made her mad.
We had a good taxi driver who found us a reasonable hotel (CANCUN) at $14 just off Reforma as the one suggested was under re-construction.
So here we are tired at 8:30pm but praising God for all he's done today--for giving strength, wisdom, and patience.
Dad's gone out to look for something to drink  (LOL).  He bought a can of coke, $350 pesos or 29 cents.  The peso is 1, 260 to the dollar.  We are using the calculator.
We will close the day doing our Bible reading, in Spanish for a change.
It's been a long day since we left Castaic at 5:45am. 
(To be continued)

AN EPIC JOURNEY~1964

Little did I know this would be my last trip to the land of my formative years.  I was fifteen.  It was June 1964.

Kathy

Leaving Nogales Arizona, we set out  with anticipation and high expectations as we crossed the border into Mexico.
My brother and I were "escorting" my uncle and aunt with their three young daughters to visit my parents work on the mission field.
Far from the massive investments Mexico has presently to connect the countries main towns and villages with safe and reliable roads navigating travel in 1964 was a wild experience and sometimes scary.

Mother, Dad, Ted, Sarah

All seven of us crowded into the 1963 VW Bus Double cab pick up with a canvas top over the back and those vinyl bench seats that make you slide when turning a corner.

Front:Tom,Don,Kathy, 2n row, Nancy, Ruth,Julie, Back row, Dad, Ed, Ted, Sarah,Becky

It was a long trip as we headed toward Mexico City and into the heart of the high Sierra Norte where we lived.
Uncle Ted and Aunt Sarah had contributed considerable funds toward the building of our home and wanted to see the fruit of their contribution.
Night travel became tricky and dangerous.  Periodically Uncle Ted would call out "I think we are lost."  Ed would reply from the dark back,  "Are we following the rail road track?"

Kathy, Julie, Don, Nancy, Ruthie, Becky, Ed

The empty coffee can was passed around periodically to pee in or many stops at the roadside, behind bushes.  Everybody in passing trucks knew why we were stopping, tooted their horns, and yelled out while passing.
  One night after avoiding running over a mans legs as he worked under his truck in the middle of the road it was best to only travel during the day.
We lumbered on, Ed did most of the navigating and translating as he was more proficient in the language than I as Ted drove on.
After a last bone jarring stretch of the road we reached our destination, the end of the vehicle road.
That last steep incline,was to much for that VW.  Church was just being let out so all the men and young people literally pushed it up onto the property.
We had arrived, almost, tired and exhausted and greeted by my parents and the whole congregation.  What a welcome.

We still had to hike up to our house with the luggage.
In the next few days, Dad introduced Ted to the work and showed him around.  They took a hike up the mountain to see the orchids.  We celebrated Kathy's birthday before they left.

Ruthie, Julie, Nancy, Becky, Tom?, Kathy with birthday cake

This visit from Ted's family meant a lot to Dad.  Dad was always appreciative of his family's support.
Ed and I spent the rest of that summer with the family before going back state side to continue my education.
 

LAST SUMMER in Mexico

 

MOTHER OFFICIATES AT FUNERAL

My mother and I trudged on.  The path led to a rocky trail up the mountain behind our house.

  The rugged mountain loomed ahead.  The trail was steep, well established.  It was a hard long hike.  It was a strenuous task keeping up with my mother.  The rocky trail led through a forest of pines as we gained altitude.  It offered an enjoyable walk of solitude by frequent rests.
It was an exceptionally scenic place to take a walking trip.

Up the trail we trudged, a combination of wild vegetation and perennial tropical forest. As I clambered over larger rocks, periodically I would be presented with a glorious view.  It was quiet and extremely remote.  The view of the forest draped valley below was more like a botany exposition.  The magnificent landscape was worth the admiration.  Pockets of wild orchids clung to their hosts, tree or rocky cliffs.  Evergreen plants and ferns lined the path.

Reaching the summit was the small hamlet of Tlapacholoyan nestled at the top, 5,000 ft. where we would be staying.
Our hosts, Don Amando and his wife Pascuala owned the only country store in  town which included their home.  Clumps of lemon grass with their very sharp blades grew along side the entrance.
They welcomed us gladly but with sadness.
The little daughter they had prayed for had just been taken away from them.  This tested their faith as they were the first believers in that village.
The family had asked my mother to come for the service, wake and burial as my father and all the other Christian workers in the area had gone to the annual conference.
This was a new experience for my mother as well as myself.
After a hot dinner of chicken with rice, tortillas, and beans, and lemon grass tea, my mother conducted the service for close family and friends in the home.
As tradition dictated they stayed awake through out the night.
Little Sarah’s body lay lifeless on the table surrounded by flowers.

As the evening shadows approached, the  effect of the kerosene lamps gave a calming ambience sober effect.  The flickering cast an eerie shadow on the form laying on the table as I observed from the long hard wooden bench across the room. I dozed on and off through out the night.

Don Amando and Pascuala

The next morning she was laid in a special made “box” and laid to rest on a site on the property as the local village fathers would not allow for Christians in the local cemetery.
This experience was my first encounter with death and my mother's first and only time officiating at a funeral and a Velorio (Wake)

EWG COLLIDES WITH SUNDAY

What happens on Sunday morning?  Have you ever asked yourself why you do this?

  Why you go to church?
There is no other time during my week than my Sundays when my mind struggles with physical weakness and excuses.
Attending church is an irreplaceable opportunity.  It is an opportunity to step back and celebrate the power of Scripture, the power of music, the power of friendships,  
the fuel for my faith.

Church has a purpose and I'm part of it.  There is nothing like hearing our pastor read from the scriptures.
The music has been stunning worthy to be called a concert, a concert of worship, a call to worship, a focus on God the Creator and Sustainer of all things who has provided so much for me.

Why is it that I go to Every Women's Grace?
There is nothing more powerful than searching God's Word and passing it on.  This years study on faithfulness has been dominated by various groupings of psalms that express confidence in God's deliverance from exile and His faithful care of His people.  They traveled, they trusted, they obeyed, they worshiped.

We have been encouraged to keep journeying on with a steadfast heart to fully worship God.
We have been encouraged to celebrate faithfulness.  What grace when people hear the call to worship.  What a beautiful call of grace when God tells his people to come.

What holds us back?  Worship is about God.  What wrong thoughts are we putting into those thoughts?  Line those thinkings with truths.
Why not run to the Word for strength?
We are beloved by Christ, chosen by Christ, and loved by Christ with a boundless and, ceaseless, everlasting love.
 Treasure the Savior and praise His name, knowing the glorious future that awaits us with him.

A SENSATIONAL SUNDAY

It’s all about going beyond the eggs and chocolate bunnies.
Easter week has come and gone.

The stark reality of our history remains, the crucifixion of Jesus, an “act of torture carried out by the state to silence the messenger.”
“Holy” week has come and gone.
  It was more than just a Palm Sunday.
It was more than just a last supper.

It was more than just a good Friday.
It was more than just a Resurrection Sunday.

  We continue to live in a world with much tragedy and little secular hope but the good news is that viewed through Scriptures, the faith, hope, and love of God are grand.
Yesterday’s Easter celebration epitomizes hope and life after death.  Until Jesus took his last breath, that story spoke of his love then and now.
  That story speaks of his journey in my life.
The service was extra phenomenal, perhaps, because I have more Easter celebrations behind me than ahead or the fact that the volume was a tad sensitive to my ears so early in the morning.
  The sight of familiar faces parading by excited me.
The strains of music sent shivers to my spine.  The hymns of Resurrection took me to a deeper sense of worship.
The sermon laid the framework for believing that the resurrection really took place in history and all the superfluid lies that have been perpetrated over the centuries.
There was no time for parking lot reflections as usual.

The day did end with eggs and bunnies and children capers.
It did have a traditional Easter dinner with barbecued Salmon and trout added to the menu, compliments from a Thai family friend.
But nothing compares to how the day begun and the fact that I know the Lord and I'm not just acquainted with Him.

CARPETS OF ORANGE & GOLD

My epic poppy adventure.

“Through him all things were made;
without him nothing was made that has been made.”  ~John 1:3

This year, we experienced a bona fide explosion in the remote hills near Lancaster.  The technicolor display of poppies have come back roaring to

life.
The natural, never-ending, natural, blooming beauty was an experience to behold.  The view into the valley below was breathtaking.
The excitement and anticipation mounted as we traveled along,  punctuated by clouds and green mountains and occasional patches of wild flowers.
Large patches of poppies lined the roadside the closer to the reserve we got.

  I was celebrating the Lord’s creativity and acknowledging Him as the designer of this beautiful orange blanket covering the earth sandwiched between a blue sky and clouds.  I was pausing to enjoy the glory of God.

“God has made everything beautiful in its time.” ~Ecclesiastes 3:11

The visiting experience was spectacular!
Taking in the stunning view was enough to take

your breath away.  It was cold and windy, sending some of the flowers shivering, some closing up completly, giving the appearance of baby carrots sticking up from the green stems.  I am not one to complain about a blustery wind but it was a little insane. I  pulled up my hoodie and strolled on.

“Let the fields be jubilant, and everything in them.” ~ Psalm 96:12

It has been an intense blooming season.  As far as my eyes could see, a sea of orange with occasional patches of yellow gold fields sprinkled with an assortment of other wild flowers here and there.
The sunlight filtering through clouds.  Others moving, creating large shadows upon the never ending  carpet of orange creating an extraordinary view.

“The heavens declare the glory of God; the skies proclaim the work of his hands.”~Psalm 19:1

It was an amazing, picturesque experience.
It is an awesome God behind the show.
Paul wrote, “God’s invisible qualities, his eternal power, and divine nature…” are seen and understood in nature. ~Romans 1:20

The master gardener’s gift that day was a jaw dropping marvel to behold, our classic California poppy state flower since 1903.  I left relaxed and refreshed.

“No poet has yet sung the full beauty of our poppy. No painter has successfully portrayed the satiny sheen of its lustrous petals. In its abundance, this colorful plant should not be slighted: cherish it and be ever thankful that so rare a flower is common.” ~John Thomas Howell