Out of Control on an Icy Road

Several things have been out of control lately, including the mess in the cabinet under the coffee bar in our house.

I asked Hannah to organize it, and we put contact paper in several shelves while we were at it. She willingly organized the paper products, lunch coolers, and small appliances in that cupboard.

The small cabinet next to it held the milk pan, grocery bags, and vitamin bottles into which I have stuffed grocery bags to take down to our Colorado children since most stores in Colorado do not provide free grocery bags anymore. 

I already wrote about the fiasco with the ice cream disaster which went out of control on me. Jonathan made the ice cream next time and showed me how it was done. I believe we got this particular ice cream maker when we were in Arizona for cancer treatments.

Just for fun, I'll show you the picture Jonathan took of me one morning when I came out of the bedroom with my post-chemo, semi-short hair looking like this.

Definitely out of control!

But the worst thing that went out of control was us in the Honda on our way home from Jeff Siscoe's funeral service in Martin. We hardly got any snow all winter, but on the day I decide I'm feeling well enough to go with Jonathan to a funeral of a former missionary with SIM, it snowed!

I drove almost the whole way to Martin, even though the roads were getting worse and worse, but I preferred to keep driving so Jonathan could do paperwork (i.e. computer or phone work) as we went and so I could drive at my own pace where I felt safe. 

When we arrived, we could see that a hook-and-ladder truck had a flag flying over the American Legion Hall which was probably the only place in Martin big enough to contain the crowd that came. 

There must have been two or three hundred people who attended. Jeff had been on the fire department for a long time and was an EMT as well. He had just taught a training class, I think on ropes or knots in Martin that my son Danny attended only weeks earlier. Jeff had fought cancer for several years. During the ceremony two tearful firefighters rang a large, golden bell that tolls at the death of a firefighter. I could see almost no one with dry eyes during that ceremony.

Jeff asked three local preachers to participate at his funeral, including our friend John Bush, who offered the opening prayer. Two other preachers plainly exhorted the people that Jeff wanted them to know that they must get right with God if they want to be unafraid to die and to meet him in heaven someday. 

After the funeral service which stopped at exactly one hour after it started despite having three preachers up front and Jeff's son, and one or two others, there was a procession of fire trucks, sheriffs, and police.

On the way home, the snow on the roads had grown thicker and Jonathan wasn't sure how bad the roads were until we went out of control in an area where the bank on the other side was at least this steep. The Honda ended up fishtailing, heading uncontrollably into the other lane and heading too fast for the shoulder and the bank. I could see it was steep down, and envisioned us going over and who knows what would have happend. 

"Jesus, help us!" I kept crying out. 

And He did. Jonathan turned the steering wheel just a little. 

Suddenly I felt something catch, and Jonathan was able to navigate back onto our side of the road before the oncoming vehicle passed us.

I would like to think the catch was an angel.

Nonetheless, when we ended up behind a slow snowplow, we decided to stay behind it all the way to White River. 

After that awful incident, when the forecast was for up to an inch of snow the night before Jonathan and I were to travel to Rapid City Wednesday, I found myself in terrible dread, especially since Jonathan was planning to pull this high cargo trailer to pick up a refrigerator, stove hood, and a bunch of kitchen cabinets for the Winner church hall and the Martin all-purpose building.  

This is the outfit we were going to take. My adrenaline was out of control the night before as I tossed and turned trying to get to sleep. 

Our trip went fine except for a couple bridges where we ended up fishtailing. Jonathan was more careful after the first fishtail. 

As I think about all the things in our lives that are out of our control, and the many things in other people's lives that are out of control, such as the roll-over accident Danny arrived at recently,

I realize how many things are out of our control. 

Certainly the family of the young woman who died at that accident scene before first responders showed up, including Danny who took turns with local sheriff or police doing CPR compressions on the girl to try to bring her back, were not expecting this to happen.

Three others had also apparently been thrown out of the pickup, having landed about fifty feet away in the field, but all survived. 

It was the first death Danny experienced outside of seeing someone in a casket.

I think of Jonathan's favorite song, "This is My Father's World."

"This is my Father's world,

Oh, let me ne'er forget 

That though the wrong is oft so strong, 
God is the Ruler yet.

This is my Father's world.

 Why should my heart be sad?

The Lord is King; let the heavens ring!

God reigns; let the earth be glad."

Though many things in our lives are out of our control, God is over all.

Let not our hearts be troubled, but may we receive His peace as we journey along our path to heaven!

Baby Smiles and Spring Blossoms

I have to share these photos Rose or Tom have been sending of our granddaughter Ellie Rose.

If that one above doesn't melt your heart!

Trying out a black berry! 

It looks like she enjoyed that black berry! Or maybe it enjoyed her a lot!

"I Hunt for Hugs!" the hat says. Love it!

I also love this photo of Ellie with her aunt Shelby, checking out a flower.

Speaking of flowers, my sister Joella sent this photo of the pitcher full of spring blossoms in Missouri!

And this one has nothing to do with either babies or blossoms, but it's one my son Tim shared of him taking a guy from Hobe Sound Bible College, (the guy hailing from Papua New Guinea) on a ride with him in his logging truck. A work team from Hobe Sound is there at Western Colorado Holiness Chapel helping with projects that need to be done. It sounds as if every student at Hobe Sound Bible College is required to go on a mission team or work team. Wonderful!

Hen--and Eggs--in the Window Well

Sunday morning Jonathan and I had just opened our eyes after our prayer time together when I saw a flutter of something just outside our window. It appeared to have been a big bird.

I wondered if it was  a robin, so I peered out the window. 

And this is what I saw--one of our laying hens who had made her way very early in the morning, like the women who came to the empty Tomb, to her favorite spot to lay eggs. If I had to deal with all the squawking guineas and other hens and roosters in the chicken coop as she has to, I'd be on my way to a more peaceful location as well. 

So there she was, pecking her way closer and closer to the spot I had discovered about a week earlier where she had been laying one egg after another, undiscovered.

Only now it was discovered. I could not believe she would go to all the trouble to fly over the fence and down into this window well just to lay eggs. 

She even laid her eggs here on the snowy morning when snow was all around her nest! I got this picture to prove it!

I was missing birds, and I should remember that I have a whole flock of them. Plus birds are coming back, robins and meadowlarks and sparrows. A junco or sparrow found the birdseed I sprinkled in the crotches of the tree trunks and branches, and sometimes juncos and sparrows find what is leftover of the birdseed I sprinkle on the ground after the chickens eat most of it. It's virtually no use using a bird feeder as the wind blows most of the feed out or the goats eventually find their way in and eat it all. 

They are supposed to stay outside the fence, but when people forget to close the gate at night, in come the goats and I found this one sleeping like this in our back yard one morning before the time changed to utter darkness again just when we were enjoying wakening to light.

Right now is about the first time I've sat down all day--I'm trying to remember, maybe I sat down before this, oh yes, at supper time. I even ate my two eggs for breakfast on my feet. (Please understand what I'm saying. I did not have eggs on my feet!) 

Tomorrow Jonathan and I head off very early again for my fourth chemo treatment. We had a long journey Monday to Sioux Falls for my last sleep apnea Night Laze treatment, and two days later I'm heading to Rapid City for chemo. I'm grateful finally by Monday I was feeling better. Today I spent the day doing four or five loads of laundry, disinfecting Jonathan's jeans again after he has finally cleared up from the cellulitis, and making two huge pots of soup to contribute before tomorrow's Lent service at our church. I won't be here tomorrow to take everything up, but while Crystal was away all day at least I could make the soups. Besides the pastor's wife, we are the only ones to make soup this time, I think. Last time we did it with a friend helping a lot and making frybread, too, and there were about thirty people at the tables, so we have to make sure there is enough food.

Churches in the area take turns hosting the services during the six weeks before Resurrection Day. Each church is hosting twice and this is our second time, and tomorrow Danny is responsible for the message.

Snow is coming down and tomorrow Jonathan is planning to pull a cargo trailer behind his truck to Rapid City so that before, during and hopefully not after I get chemo, he can be loading up with cabinets, refrigerator, stove hood, and all sorts of other things for the two church halls that are being worked on. 

Danny is to spend most of the work day in Martin and still get back in time to get to service. 

So pray for our family tomorrow. 

After nearly ending up over the bank off of snowy roads just last Friday on our way home from Jeff Siscoe's funeral, I am not very excited about traveling tomorrow after this snow, especially with a big cargo trailer. Pray for calm and no wind. 

Upside-Down Ice Cream Beater

All of a sudden, robins and meadowlarks are filling our early mornings with song. I'm glad because I was really struggling with doldrums (I hate to call it depression). This third chemo round has left me extremely exhausted and feeling rather terrible on top of the usual side effects.

And it's not like I can escape by eating my favorite foods, like ice cream for example. If I eat something sweet, I pay for it for no less than 24 hours. I may as well be diabetic even if my blood sugar has never shown anything wrong. 

 

A couple evenings ago, after days of feeling awful, I determined to make myself homemade ice cream from organic cream, yogurt, stevia, and peach flavored electrolyte powder. Jonathan does this occasionally and yum, yum! It's one ice cream I can eat. The difference this time is that I decided to make it myself since Jonathan was busy. He told me he would make it after he finished painting the homemade trailer out in the barn, but I decided I would do it myself. 

 I brought in the frozen ice cream bowl that can hold about two quarts of ice cream, even though I was only going to make a pint. And I put it inside the big gizmo in which a motor turns the bowl around and freezes the ice cream.

The only trouble was that when I set the freezer beater blade inside, it didn't look right. I was sure I had it in upside down. So I turned it right side up. Only when I did that, it didn't beat the cream at all, just turned around at the bottom as the liquid froze fast to the side. By the time I figured out that I had actually put it in upside down the second time, it was too late. The beater that makes the cream into ice cream was stuck fast to the freezing cold sides of the frozen bowl, and I would not have ice cream after all. 

And Jonathan came in just then and said, yes, I had the thing in upside down. He did not know what to say.

I didn't either. I felt nauseatingly stupid. I declared that everything I touch goes wrong. Anything related to technology or machinery--if I touch it, it goes wrong. 

I could have CROAKED!

I had just peeled and sliced enough apples that afternoon for Hannah to make into two beautiful apple pies--which I do not allow myself to eat because they have too much sugar and carb in them. And besides a piece of chicken for supper, I had only dared to eat about four small chunks of potatoes (about one bite each) and a small serving of carrots roasted with the chicken. That is all I had for supper, though I had a some bites of snack during the afternoon. And I was going to make this ice cream as a sort of treat that I could actually allow myself without feeling horrible afterward--and it all went to pot.

It felt as if there was a Power-that-Be making sure I could never, never enjoy anything edible. If I tried to make myself a treat I would enjoy, something must happen to make sure the machine did not work or some other catastrophe just to make life more miserable than it already was. 

I went to pieces. I did not stay calm, cool, and collected. I practically bawled, while Jonathan and Hannah stood in horrified silence, that I felt like I was in a concentration camp I had read about where the guards sat and ate wonderful food in front of Christians who were not allowed to eat any of it.

Only I have to also make the food, I said. I make wonderful food for my family year after year while I am not allowed to eat much of it. I get to sit, meal after meal, and watch people eat all the wonderful food while I must say no to myself about many carbs or almost any sweets. 

I choose to enjoy smelling the wonderful food that family, friends, fellow missionaries, church people and whoever else get to eat around me. 

Until I just can't take it anymore--

I went practically bawling out the front door, trying to heave out the pain of years of enduring this kind of thing. 

I was quite sure I should not be so upset that I was practically bawling. I was not, in any way, shape, or form, in a concentration camp. Was I actually mad at God? Did I automatically assume He made this stupid thing happen with the ice cream maker, just to make sure I didn't get to even have a small treat? As if living with day after day, month after month, year after year of saying no to the things I love like bread and potatoes and pies and carrot cake and ice cream is not enough, then when I try to make something with ingredients I am allowed, I may not even enjoy those?

I am not in a concentration camp, but tests like these come. I asked God to forgive me for not having patience when I did not get what I wanted. 

I am sure Jesus would still have been patient.

I asked Him to forgive me for sort of blaming Him, because He is the Power over everything, and He could have done something about that. He could at least have helped me not put the beater in upside down! 

Last Sunday I read parts of this little book about Fanny Crosby, the blind poet and hymn writer who wrote 8000 hymns and songs, many of which we still sing today. She did not allow her blindness to result in a bitter heart. The author wrote that Fanny's "unfailing joyousness...was as a sunbeam wherever she went. I never once heard her utter a sad or regretful note. She was at all times as lively as a cricket. There was always a bright light in her cloud...This spirit of joy she scattered everywhere she went, among old and young, rich and poor. To feel glum or depressed with Aunt Fanny around so full of real joyousness brought always a sense of reproach. Her joy was infectious. People caught its spirit and gathered it into their own hearts.” She must have lived by the verse in Nehemiah 8:10, which says, “The joy of the Lord is your strength.”

One of the reasons she was a fountain of joy was that she fed her soul on the riches of God’s Word and other good writings and poetry. She memorized whole books of the Bible. She met many good writers and speakers and thrived on their writings, poetry, and soul-inspiring sermons. By immersing herself in good and worthwhile people, arts, music, and literature, she herself became a fountain of inspiration to many. 

One morning Danny brought me down some old shirts that he no longer wanted. I sent one or two to Goodwill and turned one or two or three into rags. And I thanked God for rags.

I remembered my trip to Haiti before I got married--and how when I wanted a rag to clean something, there were simply no rags. The pastor with whom our group was staying did not even own any socks, much less have rags. I have been thankful for rags ever since. 

And these rags also remind me that all my righteousness is as filthy rags. Even if I never lost my patience or my temper or ever did anything bad, still my own righteousness would be filthy rags.

I have hope because I don't trust in my own righteousness to get to heaven.

I am not made worthy of heaven by spending years suffering in some way, like penance, to earn heaven. But I am made worthy of heaven by trusting in Christ and doing my best to please Him, and to ask for help when I am too weak,

and to ask for forgiveness when I fail to respond like Him in hard situations. 

He takes my rags and gives me something beautiful to wear--His righteousness!

And I can rest in Him when I am too weak and weary and overwhelmed to wear my own. 

Wounded Knee--a Place and a Reality

 Today, as they did one day last week, Jonathan and Danny are working on a job at a parsonage in a place on Pine Ridge Reservation called Wounded Knee. I thought Wounded Knee was a place named after a person, but instead it is named for Wounded Knee Creek which runs through the region. 

The place is also famous because the bones and heart of Crazy Horse, a popular Sioux chief, were alleged to be buried by his family along this creek.

On the day last week that my guys were working there, they were in sight of the main road where a parade happened by commemorating the anniversary of a standoff between natives and federal authorities. 

Jonathan and Danny took the time to sit down on the hillside and eat lunch while watching the parade and listening to the yells and warbles and whoops as the vehicles, flags, and costumed natives marched by.

Some of the history of the place involves December 29th, 1890, when hundreds of native men, women, and children were killed in the process of relocating them to the Sioux reservation at Pine Ridge. 

Then on February 27th, 1973, the American Indian Movement occupied the Pine Ridge Reservation near Wounded Knee in protest of the federal government and its policies related to native Americans. A 71-day stand-off occurred. 

So Wounded Knee is a place where more than one serious incident has taken place involving the Sioux and the federal government. We have a friend who lived near the area around the time when the most recent stand-off took place fifty-three years ago. Her brother was a sheriff on the reservation and he was nearly killed, if I remember correctly. 

Last week, my men sat on a hillside watching a parade, munching sandwiches they had made themselves with fixings I'd packed the morning before. They had worked the day before, stayed at the SIM parsonage in Martin, and then worked at Wounded Knee again, making their own supper with a package of pre-formed burgers I'd sent along. Danny fried three burgers apiece and piled them on the buns three high!

It seems a little ironic that at the time of working at Wounded Knee, Jonathan is fighting a cellulitis issue just above his knee! That issue, according to the doctor he saw yesterday, has resolved, but leaves in its wake a dermatological issue of reddening that has spread and spread and spread. 

"I have never seen such a big patch of this kind of dermatitis redness!" the doctor told Jonathan. She prescribed him a steroidal cream that he's been applying twice a day to try to bring down the redness and itching. 

I don't know why he is suffering with this issue, but I suspect two things--I suspect the devil is fighting us, and Jonathan is under a HUGE amount of stress with not only an almost impossible load of work besides the extras he's asked to do by whoever knows he knows how to do things and fix things,

and my cancer unknowns always hanging like a sword by a string above our heads.

Those are my opinions.

And my thoughts about Wounded Knee and wounded knees. 

Unexpected Apples, Missionary Statesmen, and Their Wives

Yesterday Hannah came into the door from work hauling several bags of apples and carrots which had been left behind by hotel guests in one of the rooms she had cleaned. The carrots and a couple apples weren't in the greatest shape, but the others were fine. I promptly peeled the carrots to use the next day and washed all the apples.

We decided to turn them into apple pies--something I had to ask Hannah for help with as I ran out of steam fast just peeling them--two weeks post chemo.  

I had just spent two hours of my morning watching the celebration of the life of Myrtle Adams, wife of Leroy Adams, both of whom were fellow missionaries with us in Ukraine 27 years ago. This couple had also been missionaries in Ethiopa, Eritrea, and Egypt besides several other countries as well as serving different times at one or more Bible Colleges in America. Her husband had been dubbed a "missionary statesman," when he died several years ago, as had been one or two other missionaries who recently went on to heaven--leaving Jonathan and me discussing what it takes to be a "missionary statesman" versus just plain, simple "missionary."

For one thing, it takes a man, because when have you ever heard of a missionary stateswoman?

But anyway, we decided together (or I decided, because Jonathan is not much of a talker, and he usually just acts very agreeable in cases like this) that a missionary "statesman," unlike a typical, ordinary missionary, is a person (usually tall and slender versus the opposite) who is dignified, gracious, well-respected, well-known, long-lasting and faithful, and good with words. He is also most likely to have some pretty high educational credentials like a Master's degree at least, and maybe one or more doctor's degrees. Many other aspects probably apply, but this is what I came up with in the absence of other people to hone my opinions.  

Missionary statesmen probably do not do dumb things like wear grapefruit rinds on horns just for attention. 

(You can ask Danny how these rinds came to be on Bell's horns, but until then, you can make wild guesses.) Missionary statesmen do not focus on controversial subjects, but keep their focus on the main thing--missionary ministry and spreading the gospel. They speak with grace and truth and don't appear to be out to make splashes or gain applause of men, yet they use adequate interesting details in their services, sermons, or writings, to gain attention and provoke godly response. 

Myrtle Adams was a quiet wife and homemaker whose husband was the missionary, statesman, and visionary. Yet, as her oldest son Melvin said, under whom we worked in Ukraine for several years, it was Myrtle who actually made the things happen that Leroy envisioned. She was the practical person who thought through the details and worked out the plans and made life as comfortable and bearable as possible for her family of six children through the years they spent on the mission field--including a time when Leroy was put in jail in Ethiopia (or was it Eritrea? you'll have to watch the livestreamed service at  https://www.mountainroadgmc.org/watch-live/.

Myrtle had to send plates of food to him so he would have something to eat. 

When it came time for Myrtle to plan her own funeral less than three weeks ago, she didn't want it to be in the big Beavertown church that holds several hundred people at once. Her husband's funeral was held there, but he, she said, was the one everyone knew and loved. She felt she was just his wife, the one who hid behind him. Her funeral would just be in her own little Mountain Road God's Missionary Church.  

So there it was, but I expect it was packed out. Missionary Myrtle Adams may have had no idea how much people thought of her, how much someone like me has noticed her through the years even though she has not been out to be noticed. She may not have been a "missionary statesman," but she was the kind of missionary wife that is an example to all us wives. One of the things that stood out in the memories from one after another of the five children and nineteen grandchildren (she also had forty-six great-grandchildren) was her faithfulness. 

She stood by her husband no matter what new country or place of service to which he answered the call to teach. She rose with him early every morning and had breakfast ready by 6:30 every day when the family gathered to eat and worship, complete with Bible reading, prayer, and a hymn--because hymns were an essential part of Christianity, Leroy and Myrtle believed. Music was a part of not only their own personal lives but of the Bible colleges they taught in throughout the world. Leroy almost always helped Christian music bands get started wherever he went. He himself played trumpet matchlessly--and to his credit, a whole wind orchestra of children, grandchildren, and other relatives played beautifully in a prelude to Myrtle's service yesterday. Her son-in-law John Anthony played trumpet himself while directing the little orchestra playing arrangements of "I Sing the Mighty Power of God," "Ivory Palaces," and "Under His Wings," in a little prelude to the service. It was my favorite part.

Beside John Anthony on the far left was our old friend Jonathan Finch from Colorado Springs, with his "pocket trumpet," my husband calls it. Mr. Finch is also an excellent trumpet player. And next to him was Dan Anthony, John's son. I will not attempt to try to figure out the others.  Then during the service, John Anthony played my own very favorite song, "His Eye is on the Sparrow," with Sandy Adams accompanying him on the piano. Sandy is an incredible pianist, and at the very end she played an arrangement of "Chimes" together with "When They Ring Those Golden Bells for You and Me." Just outstanding!

(This combination meant more to me than maybe it does to others simply because my own family used to play both songs on our carillon handbells in our own music programs years ago.)

Well, this is not where I was going when I first started this post, but here it is. The other photos can wait till the next post.

The celebration of life service for an old acquaintance, former missionary colleague, and missionary stateswoman if there ever was one, is one of the best services I have ever watched in my life, and well worth the two hours I spent, even if part of the time I was dusting office shelves and stowing away new packs of office paper and other little errands in sight of the computer screen. 

I can only pray that the sunset of my own life can follow hers in some small way--but especially in being faithful.