Songs that Hurt, Songs that Heal

I love music.  I grew up listening to music; my parents hosted hootenannies, my grandmother taught guitar and piano, my dad played jazz piano.  I’ve studied folk music and written out “clean” lyrics of popular rap songs for my students to read.  I’ve taught songs to Girl Scouts, youth groups, Sunday School classes, and hundreds of students.  The first album I owned was a Joan Baez LP that Mom passed on to me:  folk songs and protest songs.   The song “Pass It On” led me to Christ when I was 15.  The first “date” Marty and I went on was to a feminist singer’s concert.   I sang songs and hymns to Mom when she was recovering from cancer surgery, and many years later as she was going through the dying process.  One of my favorite things to do is to worship God, singing His praises with other worshippers.

Several years ago I went through a rough patch.  A crime was committed against my son and because of that a handful of our church family judged us to be unfit (for ministry, for the church, for working with kids, for parenting…?).  This, along with other traumas sent me into a spiritual and emotional depression.  During this period I found out that songs that used to bring me joy could hurt.  For a couple of years I couldn’t worship God…well, I worshipped Him but I couldn’t feel it.  It was hard work sometimes, but I did it.

We had to look for a new church.   It was often a song that would send me fleeing from a church that previously felt “okay.”  It might have been a song that the kids at my previous church home used to sing.  The song hurt because I missed my ministry, I missed my kids.  It might have been a song that we sang dozens of times at our previous church home; and I simply missed hearing Kathy sing harmony.

God heals.  Time heals.   I started being able to worship God again with my heart as well as my actions.  We are part of a new church family – and the worship team rocks!  I’m making new memories with new favorite songs.

Last Saturday  I went to GraceFest AV.  I sat with friends from school, and through the afternoon I saw other friends from work.  What a blessing to work with brothers and sisters in Christ!  I felt so comfortable and at home, sitting with my friends. 

Gracefest - with friends!

Ahead of me, to my right, were friends from my previous church family (Judy!).  To my left, friends from my new church family (Anita, Nahrin!).  In the past few years I’ve often felt anxious in situations like this, worried that I might see someone who would trigger difficult emotions.  I felt no anxiety yesterday at GraceFest….. until I remembered what MercyMe’s biggest hit was.

MercyMe at Gracefest AV 2012

The band MercyMe was blessing our socks off.  I was surprised how many songs were familiar.  I had heard them at Spirit West Coast ten years ago or so, and we loved the band, but I hadn’t kept up with their music (hadn’t purchased any songs).  I checked my iPhone to see which music I had, and checked iTunes to see what their biggest hits were.  That’s when I realized…. I Can Only Imagine.

I Can Only Imagine beautifully ponders what heaven will be like, and what the singer’s reaction to God’s presence will be.  My friend, Mary, has sung it at memorial services.  I loved the song when it first came out.  I “broke up” with I Can Only Imagine seven years ago.

My son and “N” were driving to a wedding rehearsal, singing along to I Can Only Imagine when a gust of wind caught the car and they slammed into a telephone pole.  Our pastor called us to tell us about the accident – I was in the hospital in Bakersfield for bilateral carpal tunnel release surgery.  I wouldn’t let them give me anesthesia until I spoke to Calvin and found out he was okay.  A month later we learned that “N” had betrayed our family, and my world began to fall to pieces.   

Spirit West Coast DelMar

Spirit West Coast Monterey

Saturday evening I asked Mary to pray for me if MercyMe played I Can Only Imagine.  She was away from our group of chairs when the song started, and I braced myself for anxiety or bad memories.  HOWEVER, instead of bad memories I remembered worshipping God at Spirit West Coast ten years ago.  I remembered singing I Can Only Imagine with over a thousand people.  I remembered Marty’s vision – that this was a glimpse of what heaven would be like; the joy, honor, and pleasure of worshipping God eternally.  Mary came back, put her arm around me, and asked if I was okay.  YES!  I was okay!  I was good!  Praise God, I can sing and listen to that song again.


Sunday morning I went to church by myself.  We had spent the past two weekends at our retirement home in Nipomo, and Marty was there again this weekend (working on the sprinkler system).  I found a friend to sit with, and found joy in worshipping our Lord through music.  Then the song Jesus Paid It All started.  This was a song that we (my sister and I) sang to Mom last February, and we sang it at her memorial service.  I wondered whether I would cry, remembering Mom’s passing.

Yes, I cried!  I cried because Jesus melted my heart of stone (I really did feel like my heart had turned to stone for a couple years there).  I cried because I truly felt like I was worshipping with a church family.  I was sitting next to Nicoletta; we’re praising God because her husband’s recent accident did NOT kill him or take away his hand when his van tipped on its side with his hand out the window.  I was sitting in back of friends of Stan and Gail.  Gail recently died in a motorcycle accident, and this church family rallied around Stan and the kids beautifully.  Right behind me was another friend, whose teenaged daughter was positively glowing with a bright scarf around her neck.  The scarf covered the stitches from very recent thyroid cancer surgery.   Our strength is small, but in Him we find our healing, but even more:  our HOPE!

I hear the Savior say, "Thy strength indeed is small;
Child of weakness, watch and pray, Find in Me thine all in all."

Chorus:
Jesus paid it all, All to Him I owe;
Sin had left a crimson stain, He washed it white as snow.

Lord, now indeed I find Thy power and Thine alone,
Can change the leper's spots And melt the heart of stone.

(Chorus)

And when before the throne I stand in Him complete,
"Jesus died my soul to save" my lips shall still repeat

(Chorus)

O Praise the one who paid my debt
And raised this life up from the dead
O Praise the one who paid my debt
And raised this life up from the dead
O Praise the one who paid my debt
And raised this life up from the dead
O Praise the one who paid my debt
And raised this life up from the dead

"Here You Go!"

Yesterday was Eliora's fourth birthday.  Rhiannon hosted a Minnie Mouse birthday party for 17 kids, complete with Mickey-shaped watermelon slices, Mickey-shaped PB&J sandwiches, Mickey-shaped cheese slices, and Mickey soy-free, gluten-free yummy cupcakes.  Jason made a vat of strawberry lemonade with lemons from our tree (the first time we used our lemons!). 

Rhiannon made ears for all the guests - parents and grandparents included. 

Ears for all!

Ears for all!

Rhiannon has the kid-party down: 
     1)  Guests to arrive and decorate their gift bags; free-play in the yard and bounce-house
     2)  Party games and favors
     3)  Lunch
     4)  Piñata (made by Jason)
     5)  Cupcakes
     6)  Presents

When the computer went to sleep, cutting off the Pandora stream of Disney-tunes, I jiggled the mouse and saw Rhiannon's spreadsheet including the schedule and the number of guests (including how many wouldn't be eating (babies).  When the last guest arrives Rhiannon marks on the spreadsheet how many of the guests actually arrived (it's usually within one or two of the number that RSVP'd). 

Needless to say, Rhiannon is a planner.  I knew that her oldest daughter, Nayeli, takes after her.  She's been making lists for a few years now and has melt-downs when her plans go awry.  One morning (a couple years ago) she told her dad that she was tired because she stayed up late the night before "ornagizing things."  Eliora, or "Peep" is much more of a free-spirit.  She has her own fashion sense; she loves to mismatch her pajamas. 

Brielle sorting out Eliora's gifts

What I didn't know until yesterday is that the third daughter, Brielle, also takes after her Mama.  When Eliora finished unwrapping her pile of presents, Brielle started sorting them out. The big kids went back out to the bounce house.  Brielle picked up each present, showed it to the grandparents, then put it in some kind of logical pile. 

"Here you go!"

Brielle handed a couple presents to Pam, Marty, or me, saying "Here you go!"  She decided the Baby Minnie Mouse should go home with her cousin Kyle.  She trotted over to toddler Kyle, "here you go!"  The Minnie Mouse was quickly returned to the present pile, but Brielle picked it up again, and tried to hand it to Kyle as he headed out the door.   For a little while Brielle put her hands up and turned in a circle in the middle of the presents and wadded paper, like she was saying "What am I going to do with this mess?"

Brielle, two years old, had been straightening things out all day.  For example, she knows that her Grandpa belongs to her.  Marty was holding baby Declan.  Brielle came over, picked the baby up off of Grandpa's lap, slid the baby onto the floor, and climbed up on Grandpa's lap. 

Declan on the floor, where he belongs

A little later Brielle noticed that Declan was playing with the hem of my long, colorful dress.  She climbed off of Grandpa's lap onto the floor, picked up my skirt and handed it to me:  "There you go."

Yesterday evening the Schmidt family came over to our house for dinner and more presents.  Rhiannon and I were looking at a restaurant's to-go menu on Marty's MacBook.  Brielle picked up my MacBook and walked across the room, computer clutched to her tiny body.  She brought it to me and said, "Here you go!"  Thank goodness Brielle is also very strong (her swim instructor said she was the strongest toddler she had taught).  This two-year-old can handle computers and baby brothers!

"What am I going to do with this mess?"

A Poem From Mom's Files

I've been tackling Mom & Dad's two four-drawer filing cabinets.  I knew there might be surprises (I didn't know that they applied for the position of director of the Museum of Australia!), embarrassments (yes, I found the naked picture of the Governator), curiosities (neatly labeled folders of every place they ever stayed, as well as things Daddy was interested in, like "naked mole rats").  I expected, and got, their finances (at least until 2001 when Daddy died) neatly labeled and organized - tax returns and bank statements. 

I had asked a friend to pray protection for me as I went through the files.  I knew the lower the file drawers, the more personal the files.  Divorce decrees (both mom and dad had been previously married), love letters from my dad to my mom, medical records including psychiatric treatment of family members.

Tonight I found one that made me cry.  I found a file folder all about Boyd.  Many of you know that Mom had a little boy who drowned when he was a toddler (before I was born).  There were a few stories Mom would tell about Boyd, how happy and smart he was, and how much John, our big brother, doted on him.  When I became a mom it hit me one day that "oh my gosh, my mother lost a child... how did she survive that?"  I know that the way Mom "survived" it was by putting all her grief into getting laws changed; so that fences would be required around all swimming pools.  The case went all the way to the Supreme Court. 

When Mom stopped drinking in 1990 she started grieving the child she lost 35 years before.  She paid for a safety fence for the toddler playground at her church in Morro Bay, and had it dedicated to Boyd Calvin King.  Mom wrote Boyd's story a few times while writing her memoirs.  Near the end of her life she talked about Boyd more often, and we encouraged her, telling her she would soon be joining her little boy in heaven. 

Mom shared her feelings about the loss with Rhiannon.  Rhiannon was so affected by her grandma's story that she desperately wanted her kids to  learn how to swim.  During the summer, she'd sign Nayeli up for swim lessons at park district pools, but as soon as Nayeli started screaming the teenage instructor would give up.  Last May we read a blog by a friend (The LangGang Loves) that told how quickly an accident can happen at a pool, even with responsible adults on duty.  Together we decided to  have the girls take "Baby Seals" classes this summer.  The instructor teaches babies and toddlers how to survive in the water - they learn to float on their backs, not to struggle, and to hold their face up so they can breathe.  Babies are put in the water with their clothes on (most drownings of infants and toddlers occur when they get into a pool by accident, not when the family is swimming together). 

Brielle was a tough one - the instructor said she was the strongest toddler she had taught, and was very stubborn.  She knew what to do, but kept kicking her legs, which would pull her face down.  The instructor weighted Brielle's legs with two pairs of sweatpants to keep her from kicking.  On Wednesday I saw the girls at their last session.  I was amazed and delighted to see Brielle, two years old, swim through the water, then flip on her back to breathe air, before flipping back over again to reach her Mama's arms.  (Oh, and Nayeli is now a fish in the water).



Back to the file folder I found.  I was surprised to find this file folder labeled "Boyd", because I thought Mom had pulled all the material she had about Boyd together when she was writing about him.  The folder contains his birth certificate, a passbook for his memorial fund, sympathy cards, and newspaper clippings. There was a story titled "Then there was one," in which Mom told the account first-hand (it was part of the material for the lawsuit).  It will be interesting to compare that version with the ones she wrote 50 years later.

There was also a poem.  I'm almost certain Mom wrote this poem.  Mom wrote a lot of poetry, and the typewritten page looks like other papers she typed.  I searched for key phrases, and didn't find this poem anywhere.  Whether she wrote it or not, it doesn't matter.  This is what made me cry.

MOTHER TO HER DEAD BABY

My little one,
The cool gray mist is bringing in the evening,,
Filling the air with the rhythm of quietness,
Sleep
Gently steals over
The garden,
The small yellow roses
Sway
Beseechingly to the sound of the wind.

Little one, love of my heart.
You sleep early;
Too willingly are you quiet;
Your small murmurings
Sound in my heart like the broken music
Of a small silver brook
In the summer.

Baby, I remember how your small warm hand
Clutched my fingers.
Do you remember the kisses I gave you,
Kisses that were small words in the language of my heart?
Baby, you were warm.
Where are you?
I want to touch you.
How can I live if I cannot touch you?

The darkness is soft, tonight,
Like a blanket.
You had warm blankets, baby;
They are piled in the bedroom,
So neatly folded.
I was always glad when you slept well,
Little one.
Under the soft coverings.
Now you have a covering that is even softer
Than the blanket
That you liked to hold against your cheek,
Now you have rest deeper than any you ever had.
I love you, my baby, I love you . . .
O, I am glad that you sleep well.

I Wished Me a Sucky Christmas

Goodness, I sure caused a fuss when I posted that this Christmas sucked! I love my friends and family who prayed for us, and I appreciate all the cheer-up thoughts. I also enjoyed those who understand and empathized with me, maybe even agreed with me.

Marty tells me I always have extremely high expectations for Christmas. I thought I lowered expectations for this Christmas, but maybe I still had high hopes...

So, here are some reasons why this Christmas sucked, along with some exceptions (why it didn't).

1. Approaching Christmas our thoughts were on my Mom, who was hoping to live to Christmas (she did)! I wanted to make her Christmas special for her. Here is an Etsy collection that I made with her in mind. Etsy is a website for crafters and artists, and I put together a "treasury" of items that reminded me of Mom.

The Sunday before Christmas I visited Mom for a few days. I brought a present I had made for her by Seth Weinberg. When she was a little girl her father worked for Disney, and Clarence Nash (the voice for Donald Duck) used to call her on the phone. Here is a picture of her when she was little, as well as the cartoon he made for me:


















So, going into Christmas I had the stress of wondering if Mom would make it, would we be able to give her good memories...


2. We didn't have enough time to prepare for Christmas. When I teach I give my "all" to my students. First graders take a lot of energy, just to keep up with them. Also, I have started physical therapy for my knee. I've been worried about my health so I started losing weight. I don't want pain, and I want mobility. I'm an "on the floor" kind of grandma and teacher, so I really worked at improving my knee. This took time and also made things hurt. I got the full week before Christmas off, I took most of that time to be with Mom. While I was on the coast I did get a couple special times - shopping in SLO with Rhiannon, and singing with Gwyn and the hospice harpist for Mom. Marty didn't get a day off until the Friday before Christmas. That made our Christmas preparation very squished and stressful. We left some things out that we usually did, and tried to choose only those things most important to us.

3. We left out: Christmas cards (for the first time ever, maybe - please see the possible card cover above), putting up a Christmas tree, going to Christmas Eve or Christmas day services (we just didn't have the time with preparing to leave for the coast on Christmas). I've gone to Christmas Eve candlelight services for years, and although we listened to great music at home and in the car we did miss that fellowship time. We put a couple decorations up at home, but no nativity scene, angels, reindeer... I kept encouraging Marty to get some things down from the attic but he pointed out that we wouldn't be home so why go through the trouble. He was right, but I missed it. He did do a nice job of decorating the outside of the house, and I loved coming home in the evening to our twinkly lights.

Here is a picture of the little tree that I usually put up at home with the presents around it:

We left out making fudge for friends (although I made one batch for the staff at school). We didn't go to any Christmas gatherings except for the one with our staff (and I did make my chocolate mousse pie for the gathering). There were a couple presents I wanted to make for friends or family, but I just didn't have time to. I did get Brielle's Christmas stocking done!

What I did have time for was making the week or two leading up to winter break lots of fun for my first graders. We did "Holidays Around the World" (holidays are part of the first grade curriculum), and we learned how holidays are celebrated in different countries. We listened to music, learned the words to Rudolph and Frosty, and made several crafts including bright glittered construction paper poinsettias, and sweet personalized jeweled ornaments for their families. The last day was a party which was mainly eating (healthy) snacks, getting some cool stuff from me, and jamming to music.

Marty and I also tried to take a few Christmas moments for ourselves. We went to Christmas on the Boulevard in Lancaster, and enjoyed strolling around looking at the ice sculptures, decorated windows, and local vendors. His last Thursday Marty had a minimum day so we met for lunch at the Lemon Leaf and did more strolling around downtown doing a little bit of shopping for family.

He made a grilled steak dinner for us on Christmas Eve. We were busy wrapping presents all day, so it was nice to take a break and have a nice dinner. He's a good guy.

(Snowboarding Santa ice sculpture)

So far the suckiness of Christmas was mainly things that we chose or didn't choose to do because of time and emotional constraints. Christmas morning began random suckiness.

4. Christmas morning we finished packing, putting everything in motorhome. There were LOTS of presents to put away. I tried to sort them with signs according to when and where they would be opened (Mom's house Christmas morning, Rhiannon's house Christmas evening, Mom's house 12/26, Rhiannon's house 12/26...) However, we had problems with hooking up and driving. The Jeep had been worked on and the line that attached the brake controls to the motorhome was out of place. It took longer than normal to hook up. We set up a special place for Sandy to ride and we were off! We HATE I-5 - the road surface is so rough that everything in the motorhome bounces, clatters, crashes.... it wears on us, and makes Sandy a little bit nutty. It took longer to drive to Morro Bay than normal, and we arrived too late for the brunch (which Mom's caretaker's mother had kindly cooked for us).

5. Something totally un-sucky: Mom loved the Christmas stocking I had put together for her. I had collected "memories" for her - things that used to be in our stockings like Silly Putty and a mini Etch-a-Sketch. An antique marble. A collector Pearl Harbor coin. A polar bear (she saw them in the wild). A Snow White figurine (her dad worked on the color process on that movie).

Most important to me in Mom's stocking - a bag with some candy corn, cotton, nuts, candy bones, candy fish, a smiley-face lollipop and five pennies. I had my brother, John, help her figure out the clues to this gift. There was a book that she read to us over and over when we were little - it was a Little Golden book.

John had been a good boy all day. His mother sent him to the store to buy a loaf of bread, and she gave him five pennies to spend on candy. Johnny walked along saying "I have five pennies to spend on candy, all for myself, isn't that dandy? Johnny meets a cat who says "If I had a penny to spend as I'd wish, I'd buy myself a delicious fish." He meets a sad pig who says "I've never had a penny since the day I was born, but if I had one (sniff, sniff), I'd buy some corn." John continues to meet "friends' on the way to Mr. McCoy's general store where he sees mops and tops and hats and bats and all sorts of candy! Then he thought of the dog, he thought of the cat, he thought of the squirrel, he thought of the bird, and he thought of the sad, sad pig. He says "I'll take a penny's worth of bone, a penny's worth of fish, a penny's worth of nuts, a penny's worth of cotton, and a penny's worth of corn!" He trots home, passing out happiness, and then reaches in the bag and pulls out a big smiley face sucker with a note that said "To a good boy, from Mr. McCoy."

It was enjoyable observing John and Mom go through the clues and remember the cherished childhood story.

6. The hard part about Christmas at Mom's house was that she had carefully selected items from her safe deposit box to give each of us. Mom was giving away her family treasures. She had gotten them appraised, and wrote a note about each item. The first problem was that some of the boxes were missing some items, and I tried to help figure out where missing items were - which led to some discoveries and some heart aches - some notes that Mom wrote were personal, telling her feelings about a family member, while other were simply factual - this watch came from this person.... (We had no idea that one family could have this many gold pocket watches)! The second problem was the emotional factor. One of the things she's giving me is her wedding ring set. She pulled it off her finger for me to try on, which made me weep.

7. The grandbabies were sick! We had planned to go to Rhiannon's house that evening and open a few presents there. However, understandably, Rhiannon (who was also sick) canceled dinner and put the kids to bed early. Although I 100% agreed with her decision it was still disappointing not to get to see them and to share gifts with them on Christmas.

8. Our campground was dark, dreary, damp and lonely. The state parks are effected by the budget cuts and we somehow got switched to a different campground than the one we wanted. No electricity, so I couldn't string Christmas lights up or put up my little tree from school. The next day we moved our campsite to the street in front of Rhiannon's house.

When I posted that "this Christmas sucks" I had just left Mom's house, which was an emotionally wrought time, I regretted some of our decisions about what to leave out during Christmas preparations, I was sad about not seeing the kids (who were only a 10 minute drive away), and I wasn't looking forward to eating leftovers from the motorhome fridge for Christmas dinner. (The original plan was to go to Rhiannon's for dinner, but she had ditched her dinner plans in favor of an early bedtime). I was looking for restaurants that were open in Pismo Beach. I was considering Denny's (which if you know me, you know I'm desperate because I hate Denny's - it has something to do with frozen fried chicken for a birthday dinner)... God is good and gave me amazing children. Within minutes of my posting "Christmas sucks" both Rhiannon and Calvin called me to see if I was okay. (They also know that I have high expectations for Christmas, I guess). Rhiannon offered to have us come to her house to share their meal. Calvin & Kelli searched for restaurant that were open, which is how we ended up at the Christmas spectacle of Madonna Inn!



I do love Facebook. Immediately I had friends praying for me, and friends called me over the next couple days, or sent me messages. Also, since people know that I rarely, if ever, use the "suck" word, it gave my sister, my niece, and others permission to vent about their "sucky" Christmases, also.

So here is the long version why I said that this Christmas "sucks." No matter how we prepare ourselves for the possibility of death, illness and disappointments, life can still play us like a "whack-a-mole" game. We give those setbacks to the Lord, but being human our heads and hearts hurt for awhile from all those "whacks."

And, of course, we did eventually get to enjoy the granddaughters and the rest of our family for Christmas. Yes, I found my Christmas joy after all.

Oh, and one more disappointment - I love to create things and I created a Christmas video that I couldn't post because of copyright infringements.... If you'd like to read about that, or more importantly watch my video, see the previous blog, "I (try to) Celebrate the Day". Blessings to everyone on your 2012!

I [try to] Celebrate the Day

I love this song by Relient K and I was frustrated to see no decent videos available on You-Tube. I wanted to share the song with my friends, but the only versions were either recorded live or had just the album cover for video.

I decided to make my own video! I used lots of family photos and I joined a photo site so that I could use other pictures legally.

I worked on and tweaked the video until I was happy with it... I uploaded it to Youtube, and left the setting "Private" so that only friends can see it. I announced it on my FB page, Marty clicked on it, and it said it's blocked due to copyright violation!

Now here's the thing. Why is it a copyright violation when I upload my very first video, but there are thousands and thousands of songs on Youtube that are clear copyright violations? I don't get it.

I also tried uploading it to Facebook, but FB wouldn't let me load it because of copyrighted material. Humph. I'm a big believer in paying for movies, photos, and songs. Pay the artists their due. But why can't I upload this when so many others can?

So, I'm going to see if you're able to see my video if I post it on here.

Wish me luck!






© Can Stock Photo

Fairy Castle

Here's one of Mom's many stories. I typed this for her today.

Doll House

When I was 9 we moved up to the Foothills and lived at 631 Caleb Street. Caleb street was a winding mountain road that started at one end of Hillcrest and ended at the other end. They built a dam that cut the far end of Caleb street off. The near end had very fancy houses where I loved to sell Girl Scout cookies. At the 2nd or 3rd house on the left there was a lady who really liked me. She was building a dollhouse. It sat out by the garage. I wasn’t that much interested in dolls but she wanted me to sit there and watch her work on the dollhouse. The thing I liked the best was right inside the front door of the house.

She had a fantastic carved wooden beautiful bar. It had all kinds of fancy carvings on it. But it had something special. It had a front and a back and had several hidden compartments. It had two or three or four hidden compartments she showed me the secret way to get into these compartments and I felt very special that she let me in on her secret.

We moved to Illinois in 1972 and at some point we took the kids to the Chicago Museum of Science & Industry. They had a beautiful dollhouse on display that I felt strangely connected to. I somehow felt nostalgic every time I saw it.

In 1979 I took my sister to the Museum of Science & Industry to show her this dollhouse that I thought had strange memories. (The Colleen Moore Fairy Castle).

Adele looked at it and said, “You fool, that’s the dollhouse that you watched Colleen Moore build. You were the only kid that she allowed on the property. All the rest of us were jealous. We wanted to see it also.”



Here I didn’t really care, but was more interested in the bar with the secret compartments. Now I understood where these nostalgic feelings about the dollhouse came from.

From Ann: Colleen Moore was a silent film star who started building the dollhouse of her dreams in 1928. Because of her influence in Hollywood more than 700 people helped her with the project, "including surgical instrument lighting specialists, Beverly Hills jewelers and Chinese jade craftsmen." (From description on official website, below). She used the dollhouse to raise money for children's charities, displaying it at department stores. She raised $650,000 between 1935 and 1939. In 1949 the director of the Museum of Science & Industry in Chicago convinced her to donate it to the museum.

9/11 2010-2011

We lived in Tehachapi, California. California is three hours behind New York City, but at 5:45 am we were already up. We're both schoolteachers, and Marty's school starts at 7:30 am. We lived in the mountains a half hour outside of town. I had an hour and fifteen commute to my school in Palmdale.

Marty and I were exercising in the downstairs room. He was on the treadmill and I was using the weights when we heard on the radio that an airplane had crashed into the World Trade Center. The report didn't have any urgency to it - we thought maybe it was a small plane accident. I decided to go upstairs and turn on the television (any excuse to quit exercising?) while Marty finished his run. I was watching the burning tower when the other airplane came into the picture and crashed into the other tower.

Shock. Disbelief and confusion. I yelled for Marty to come upstairs. We were glued to the TV for a few minutes, but then we had to finish getting ready for school. It's funny - I can remember calling Rhiannon, but I don't remember how Calvin found out. He was a sophomore in high school and Rhiannon was a sophomore in college. I need to ask Calvin what he remembers about that morning.


I was in the car, making my hour-and-15-minute drive to work, when the first tower fell. I heard it on the radio (Air-1). I was horrified. It was more than my brain could understand. Why would someone kill thousands of regular people? It didn't make any sense at all.

I got to school, joining other shaken teachers. I pulled up the internet news and took glimpses as I prepared for class.

How to teach 7-year-olds on a day when the world as we know it has changed so drastically? Some of the kids came in talking about it. Their parents had been watching the news. We had a few students that were kept at home that day because their families were worried that California would be attacked. One of my girls said that her mom was upset because a cousin lived in New York.

We had a "Classroom Meeting." That's where we put chairs in a circle and passed a "talking stick" (small rain stick) so everyone could have a turn to speak. I gave the second graders a chance to share what they had seen or heard. Some of them saw people jumping from buildings. I explained as factually and calmly as I could what had happened. They wanted to know why someone did this. We discussed the words "freedom" and "democracy." We did go back to our regular routine, and I gave them time to "write and draw" about what had happened.

We had more classroom meetings that week as the need arose, and new questions came up. I couldn't answer the question "why", but I tried to explain what is special about America. We learned some more patriotic songs.

People in Tehachapi were hurting and confused, and we needed a prayer time. Since we were church leaders, Marty called for a prayer service. Members of our church family joined us on Wednesday to pray for our country, for the families of those who were lost, and for ourselves as we struggled to understand what this meant.

We had a women's retreat planned for that weekend, and I was one of the leaders/planners. We had a quick phone call conference - do we go forward with it? Yes, we thought it was a time we especially needed a spiritual retreat, and the precious time with sisters in Christ.

Liz and I went a day early to get things set up. We stopped in Maricopa, where we always stopped for a potty break. We met a servicewoman who was driving non-stop across the country back to her unit. She was called back from leave, but was not able to take a flight back because all flights were grounded.

Marty and I lived in the woods in the mountains, and it was eery at night the next few weeks, seeing no airplane lights among the starlight.

Everybody has stories like these... A teacher at Marty's school lost a brother in the WTC. One of our best friends, an airline pilot, flew over the WTC three days after the attack, astounded at the view of the smoking hole. Dave had been assigned a load of special services troops and landed lights-off in an unlit field in a middle-eastern desert. Another friend was working at the pentagon when it was hit. The mother of one of my students was no longer able to help in the classroom because her reserve unit was called up. A young friend of our family was clad in a burka as she headed overseas to put her language training (Farsi) to use.

Our youth group leader was "stuck" in Reno, Nevada. She and her husband did chaplain service there for air races, and all those airplanes were also grounded. They were needed there. This strange attack on our country had special meaning to recreational pilots. How horrible that airplanes could be used against us in this way. Marty is a private pilot, and has seen in the ensuing years growing regulations and prejudice against small aircraft. People today get frustrated with the TSA's pat-downs and X-rays; but they should see how the TSA has crippled small airports.

Here's what I wrote in our Christmas letter that year:

"...Marty felt a powerful draw on his spirit during these days. On September 13 Marty heard something different from the radio while exercising - the Lord's voice telling him to bring Him the lost. Marty was faithful to his Lord's command - that Friday Marty testified at youth group, and seven kids gave their lives to Christ (three recommitals, four new commitments). Those youth are represented by seven teardrops that Marty put in a cross he made for the lay director for the October men's Emmaus walk."

We do live in a different world. This week I have been trying to figure out how it has changed. Here's one of the most important ways that we have changed - many of the children, youth, and young adults who witnessed 9/11 are contributing to the world with their time and talents. I can't count how many of our friends' kids joined the armed services when they grew old enough. My children and their spouses have gone on several mission trips. They and their friends became full-time missionaries, peace-corp volunteers, teachers in other countries, and teachers here. That is a wonderful thing, and a thing that gives me hope.

This week a youth from my new church walked over from her high school to help me with my first graders. I still teach at Summerwind, where I taught ten years ago. I love seeing youth working with little ones, at Vacation Bible School or at school. Jessica asked if she could bring a friend of hers on Friday. I said yes, and was delighted to have Karleigh walk in my classroom. Karleigh was one of my students in that second grade class ten years ago, on that confusing and frightening September 11th. My heart delights in seeing Karleigh, Jessica, Kelly, Brandon, Katherine, Caroline, Victor, Janai, Calvin, Kelli, Rhiannon, Jason and others improving our world by helping, serving, and teaching others. They give me hope for the future.

Hope is the thing with feathers
That perches in the soul.
And sings the tune
Without the words,
and never stops at all.
- Emily Dickinson

Hope has a way of turning its face to you
just when you least expect it
you walk in a room
you look out a window
and something there leaves you breathless
you say to yourself
it's been a while since I felt this
but it feels like it might be hope
- Sara Groves