Just Passin' Thru

9/11/14

We'll Never Forget

In a prominent place in a cemetery in the next closest town, is a 9/11 memorial to a North Dakota daughter who was employed and perished in the World Trade Center. That town will never forget. North Dakota will never forget. Texas will never forget. Our nation will never forget, nor will the world.

Our own daughter, Heather, also left this world on 9/11, but the year was 1996. Eighteen years ago. She was 18 years old. She has been gone as long as she was here. Cystic Fibrosis took her much to young, but we got to keep her longer than we ever imagined when she was diagnosed at birth.

We will never forget her dreams and hopes and plans. We'll never forget those mischievous eyes cutting over at us or her easy laugh. We'll never forget how everything held in her hands became animated at her bidding, even when she was 18. And we wish her niece and nephew could have played silverware puppets with her at the dinner table.

We'll never forget her dolls and tea parties and stuffed animals with IV's in their puffy little arms and oxygen tubes taped to their button noses. We'll never forget that her doctor called her "Heather Feather". I remember that one time she said that she didn't really want God to heal her because that would mean she couldn't go to "CF Camp" anymore. She loved that camp.

We'll never forget that she loved and worked with our little community theater for 5 years. We'll never forget that she drove a little sport car with a handicapped tag in the window, and she had a scholarship and had started her college classes. We'll never forget that she studied art and left us a portfolio full of framable masterpieces. We'll never forget that she thought it was better her than her sister have that disease.

Maybe we'll have a footlong cheese coney from Sonic, or a dip of Blue Bell Rainbow Sherbert, or a Victoria's filet from Outback in her memory. Or maybe we'll just remember,

because we will never forget.

9/4/14

Grandma's Getting Younger!

Grey-haired Grandma's almost sixty,

And she's fat and wide!

But Grandma bought a bicycle,

And you should see her ride!

Dishes might be in the sink,

and the furniture undusted -

But there she goes on her bicycle,

This Grandma that we trusted!

Can't find her home to babysit,

Or borrow a cup of flour;

For there she goes, out riding again,

Hour after hour after hour!

Sailing along on a bright spring day

or a balmy summer eve,

When the weather's nice, one thing you know

Grandma's sure to leave.

Of course we failed to mention,

"two-wheelers" she can not ride:

So we should call hers a tricycle,

With two back wheels, side by side.

At first she huffed and puffed along,

And couldn't go very far;

But now she speeds along as though

She's hitched her cycle to a star.

People look, and people laugh,

But Grandma doesn't care!

In fact she thinks they envy her,

Because they simply do not dare!

So if some day, far down the road

You see a cloud of dust,

Don't worry, it's just Grandma,

Coming home because she must!

(Now, for the rest of the story. Since I've been in North Dakota, I've been on a rummage sale bicycle buying frenzy. The first one was only five dollars, but I couldn't talk "Grandpa" into fixing the flats - so it was repurposed with red paint and geraniums. It's flat-tired partner got donated somewhere. The next bargain was a matching pair that had been left to winter outside and had, I suspect, rusty gears. But I rode mine anyway. I rode all over town. I rode to the Post Office, and to the Grocery Store, and to the Park, and to church, and, and, and. It had a basket and I have hauled everything from paint to pickles in it. Then the next one was a beauty contest winner - a vintage replica cruiser with a pearl paint job and a wicker basket. But when I started riding it, Papa decided I was going kill my wobbly self, so he found the three wheeler and bought it for me. Now our garage is full...I mean FULL of cycles! Last week, he came home from a Norwegian Grandma's estate sale down the street with an armload of treasures and a poem. Grandma's bicycle was there, but not yet for sale. He hadn't read all of the poem until he got home and oh, mercy me. You could have probably heard our howls and belly laughs all the way to Texas! So please, please read this little Norsky poem, author unknown, printed in my neck of the North Dakota prairie in another century.)

"Whenever I see an adult on a bicycle,

I have hope for the human race."

(H.G. Wells)

8/12/14

Why We Endure Winter in the North

Two reasons:

Fields of canola

Fields of flax

Trip of a Lifetime

Papa said, "Let's send him on a trip. One he will love. One where he can make a difference. One he will never forget." Well, those weren't Papa's exact words, but that was the end result.

This grandma volunteered as the chaperone (as in "Me. Me. Choose ME! Can I go? PleasePleasePlease.") because I am crazy about my grandkids and I love mission trips. We would go to Guatemala, stay with his other Mimi and Pawpaw, (His Appointed Time Ministries) who had left West Texas when he was a month old to follow God's call.

From the beginning we dubbed it, Harrison's Mission Trip. He suggested we bring stuffed animals and candy for the children, and Spanish Language Bibles for the adults. We agreed that we would just do whatever Mimi and Papaw did every day and not expect to be entertained. When we finally got packed, we had two 50 pound suitcases full of donated beanie babies, childrens' shoes, and Bibles.

Of course, the baggage handlers inspected and let the air out of all our babies' ziplocked travelling bags. I had even labeled the bags so anyone with questions would know their purpose. I'm sure they were glad to get out and stretch their stiff little arms and legs!

Upon arrival, we got busy putting together gift bags of animals, coloring books, crayolas, candy and cookies. I think we made about 500 gift bags.

We went to Gerizim Christian School , which is supported by Mimi and Papaw and their many supporters,

and to three government schools that have very few resources for the children.

At the government schools, we were not only welcomed, but actually honored by the village leaders at one school. They brought cake and orange drink as a thank you for the gifts of that day, for the clean water system being installed by this ministry, and for Papaw's regular delivery of food and vitamins for the children.

We stopped for children in the villages and on the streets to bless them with a little something. It's not much to our children in the U.S.,

but who knows what kind of homelife these beautiful children have.

We delivered food and Bibles.

Those appreciative faces say it all!

Harrison help build a couple of clean burning stoves in homes with open pit barrels for cook stoves.

And of course he had some great conversations with his Mimi.

It was a trip he loved. It was a trip where he made a difference. It was a trip he will never forget.

It was a trip I loved. It was a trip where I hope I made a difference. It was a trip I will never forget. It was a trip of a lifetime.

And this is another teenager, in another decade, with another group of non-English speaking children. We were at Socorro, Texas, on the banks of the Rio Grande River, the Mexican border in 196?. Yes, it is me, a hundred lifetimes ago.

My memory is somewhat blurred about everything we did there, but I suppose they snagged my heart way back then. I hope we made a difference.

Billy Graham has said, "The greatest legacy one can pass on to one's grandchildren is not money or other material things accumulated in one's life, but rather a legacy of character and faith." That is the legacy we are trying to pass on.

For those of you who contributed to his cause, Harrison and I thank you, thank you, thank you. Thank you for giving to the Lord.

7/24/14

Lush Meadows

God, my shepherd!

I don't need a thing.

You have bedded me down in lush meadows,

You find me quiet pools to drink from.

True to your word,

You let me catch my breath

And send me in the right direction.

Even when the way goes through Death Valley,

I'm not afraid

when you walk by my side.

Your trusty shepherd's crook

Makes me feel secure.

You serve me a six-course dinner

Right in front of my enemies.

You revive my drooping head;

My cup brims with blessing.

I'm back home in the house of God

For the rest of my life.

Psalm 23

(The Message)

7/23/14

Revisiting the Pasture

This morning, with a million thoughts running through my mind, I grabbed my snake gun and cell phone and hopped on the four-wheeler for an early ride through the pasture. I hadn't been home since May and just needed a look at it. For the first time in my life, and for the last three years, this country girl has lived in a city. All are referred to as cities in North Dakota, when in fact, Texas has six cities with populations greater than all of North Dakota (not including the uncountable oilfield workers). So I went to the pasture and I counted. I counted the rabbits, and quail, and horned toads, and the blessings.

I'm leaving the country tomorrow, but my country called while the laundry and the suitcases waited. When I'm there I always think of Psalm 23 and King David saying "He maketh me to lie down in green pastures." I wonder if the scripture really means that the creator of all the universe makes me, made me, created me to lie down in beautiful, tall, lush, green grassy pastures. Like He created Adam and Eve to live in the Garden of Eden. Or maybe His plan for us was to live in rest and peace as if in a peaceful pasture. The grass we seeded a few years ago was tall and lush, but I would never consider lying in it with all the unseen things that bite and sting.

But while I was in the pasture this morning, the concerns and plans of the day, ran down the tight tendons of my neck and fell off my shoulders like heavy weights crashing to the ground. The pasture is part of my family inheritance and I wonder if my Daddy jostled down the two tracks in his old blue pick-up and let the weights of crops and droughts and the price of cows and bank notes fall off his shoulders.

I snapped a few pictures of the sun bathed mesquite trees, and headed back to my chores of the day. I added one of the snapshots to blogger on my android phone app. with intentions of finishing the post on a computer later. However, the pasture picture left without me and I deleted the post, but not before a few of you received it in an email. Then I emailed the pictures to myself to try using them in a post written on the computer, but they are lost somewhere in the 10 feet between my phone and the computer.

For now, the pasture is in my memory and your imagination. I pray pasture rest is your reality.