Tapestries

WHEN WE ASK GOD: WHY?

Corrie ten Boom of Holland was imprisoned in a Nazi concentration camp, along with her father and sister, for hiding Jews in their home. Only she survived; her father and sister both perished. For years following her liberation, Corrie struggled with why God had allowed this tragedy - especially why God had allowed a certain female prison guard to be so cruel to her dying sister.
God gave her an answer while she was touring one of the many European castles. Lying against the wall in the castle was a massive tapestry, mounted and stretched on a wooden frame. But Corrie could only see the underside of the tapestry, not the front side. The underside was un-discernable, a confused spattering of twisted, knotted, and loose dark threads.
Then workers in the castle moved the tapestry to its proper place and Corrie saw its upper side. The tapestry was a glorious picture of mountains, meadows, cathedrals and castles. What a difference seeing the upper side. Then Corrie realized that the events of this life are like the tangled, confused dark threads of the tapestry - they never seem to make sense. But in heaven we will see the upper side of the tapestry, so to speak. We will see how God, the weaver, has woven the dark threads of this life into something beautiful.
When recounting this story to audiences, Corrie liked to recite the following poem:
My life is but a weaving, between the Lord and me;
I cannot choose the colors. He worketh steadily.
Oft times He weaveth sorrow and I in foolish pride,
forget He sees the upper and I the under side.
Not till the loom is silent and the shuttles cease to fly,
shall God unroll the canvas and explain the reason why,
the dark threads are as needful in the Weaver’s skillful hand,
as the threads of gold and silver, in the pattern He has planned. (Anonymous)

Trust God and do not lose heart when the dark threads penetrate your life. God will bring from them good and beauty.

Why did I get cancer and fibromyalgia? God only knows.

Legends of the Fall

Sorry, this isn’t about Brad Pitt. Way back in 1967, the “Summer of Love” as it was called then, I had reached a great milestone in my life. I turned 15 and got my braces off my teeth. Life was good, except when my dad insisted that I wear my retainer at all times. Having a crafty mind, I found all sorts of handy places to stow my retainer as soon as I got away from my dad’s keen eyes. My favorite hiding place was inside the battery compartment of my portable radio.

My friends and I made a trip up to the Boy Scout Camp to visit some male friends who were camp counselors for the summer. This was to be the debut of my smile with flawless pearly teeth so I put my retainer in the pocket of my jacket as soon as I left my house. Nine of us girls piled into one car. Being a late bloomer and built like Twiggy, I always got to sit on the top layer whenever we crammed ourselves into Grace's compact car. Our two Boy Scout friends were very happy to see us and introduced us to 3 other young men who were also camp counselors. The guys wanted to take us on a hike up to the bluff overlooking the camp. I was afraid the flirting would get fierce since the girls outnumbered the boys by almost 2 to 1. Before I realized what was happening, one of the young men I had just met steered me away from the rest of the group, saying that he knew a short cut to the peak. We made good progress and indeed, we did reach the peak before the group. Then he said he knew a shortcut down. By then, I trusted him and I let him hold my hand. As we went down the descending trail, he serenaded me with the Beatle’s tune “Strawberry Fields Forever” – such clever boy. The words included, “Let me take you down, cause I’m going to…Strawberry Fields…” Suddenly the trail disappeared and there was a steep hill that was nothing but loose rocks of assorted sizes. He assured me that we’d make it down all right. With the unstable footing, it wasn’t long before my feet went out from under me and I fell right on my butt. Ever the gentleman, my Boy Scout helped me to my feet and held my hand down the rest of the slope. My butt was killing me, but I couldn’t give it a good rubbing when he was holding my hand closest to my injured butt-cheek. Finally, he let go of my hand and I surreptitiously felt my butt to survey the damage. My heart sank when I left a sizable rip in my brand new pink and purple flowered pants. Further exploration revealed that my panties were ripped as well!! How could it get any worse? It did. My fingers felt warm and moist. I looked and saw they had blood on them. Hurriedly I took off my jacket and tied it around my waist. I was getting cold, but I couldn’t risk exposing my lily white butt. When we got back to camp, the guys insisted that we stay and listen to ghost stories around the campfire. I didn’t tell anyone about my problem because I didn’t want the Boy Scouts to get their First Aid merit badge by working on my butt. Riding back home, I told my friends what had happened and we all laughed. In my driveway, when I tried to put my retainer back in, I discovered that a piece of it had chipped off when I fell on it. A little sanding and no one was the wiser, except my orthodontist. ;-)

The Joke's On Me!

I didn't notice that I posted the version of the family photo that my son Brendan "doctored". He put himself into the photo and morphed his face with PhotoShop. He's a handsome guy. Really!!

Digging For My Roots

I am entrigued by the young lady in this photo I found in my grandparents' photo album. She looks very much like my mother, but she's from a different era than my mother. She's not one of my grandmother's sister nor one of my grandfather's. I want to know who she is and more about her because I think she's lovely. Inside the old photo album, I found a crumbling newspaper clipping with this quote by Oliver Wendall Holmes: "We know the tenacity of certain family characteristics through long lines of descent and it is not impossible that any one of a hundred and twenty eight grandparents, if indeed the full number existed in spite of family admixtures, may have transmitted her or her distinguising traits through a series of lives that cover more than two centuries, to our own contemporary!" I would like to have some of her serene beauty.
Families are important. We're having a family reunion this weekend, as my parents move from the home they've lived in for the past 35 years.

Birth Stories

Today was a snow day and Chuck's mom e-mailed me the story of his birth...after a New York blizzard. It made me think of my daughter Jamie's birth. Here is our story:

There wasn't snow, but the wind was blowing fiercely through the awnings of the hospital windows. The constantly rattling and whistling was making me very nervous. Jamie was born in a little country hospital in Nyssa, Oregon. We arrived at the hospital at 11:30 p.m. (and got charged for a whole day for the 30 minutes for midnight). I was the only one in the labor room so Jim hopped in the bed next to me and napped while I was in labor all night. The nurses brought him food and treats. Jamie was born at around 11:30 a.m. I had been pushing for about an hour, making no progress. My doctor was a kindly old general practioner. He told me if I didn't get the baby out in the next 15 minutes, he would have to get out for forceps. I decided I had better push with all my might. I pushed so hard I thought my eyes would pop out of their sockets. Finally, I forced Jamie out. She was the fattest newborn I have seen. When I first looked at her, I got teary-eyed because her face looked deformed. Her cheeks were so full, it looked like she didn't have a chin. The doctor reassured me that nothing was wrong with her face. The doctor estimated that she was over 9 pounds. She was a short baby so she actually weighed only 8 lb. 11 oz.

The day I delivered, Tuesday morning, there were 2 women in the little maternity ward. By the next day, I was the only one in the maternity ward and Jamie was the only baby in the nursery. I noticed a steady stream of people walking down the hall to the nursery. I expected nurses to be going there, but there were a couple of high school girls who came every afternoon and adults in street clothing. They'd glance in my direction but never say a word to me and then head down to the nursery and spend about 15 minutes and then head back up the hall. On my last day, Friday, I saw a woman go down to the nursery and then on her way out, she stopped in to talk with me. She said she worked at the hospital office and that word spread through all the hospital staff that there was a very unusual baby in the nursery. She said that Jamie was the most alert newborn she had ever seen. Back then, the conventional wisdom was to put the baby on its stomach so they won't choke when they spit up. (That's all reversed now.) The nurses in the nursery put Jamie in front of the big window and laid her on her back so she could look at her visitors. The hospital worker told me that Jamie tooked at people and was attentive to them. She thought she almost smiled at her admirers.

Jamie's due date was Feb. 10th and she was born on Mar. 27th. I guess she was maturing at a rapid rate inside the womb so she had a head start after she was born. She was fully filled out with rolls of fat on her arms and legs. She started sleeping all night at 3 weeks. She rolled over once from her stomach to her back at 3 weeks and then never did it again for 6 months or so. She was a very sweet baby. For her first year, none of our babysitters would accept any money for babysitting her.

Now she has two beautiful daughters of her own.