Life marches on, with celebration!

 On Saturday, June 7, we celebrated the wedding of our grandson Aren to his beloved Anna. The bride was beautiful, the groom could not stop smiling, the worship was rich, and the joy in the whole gathering was palpable. Too many superlatives? Not really. As the grandma, I am totally objective. There’s never been a wedding like this one!

The whole event began on Friday with the rehearsal at the venue (an old picturesque barn 45 minutes outside of Newberg). The rehearsal was followed by a lunch for the wedding party back in Newberg on the campus of George Fox University. It was large as the wedding party included 10 bridesmaids and 10 groomsmen. Aren and Anna have a lot of close friends! It was an open-mic time and many people shared about their experiences with the bride and groom and gave advice, some wise, some funny. Then we all gathered around Aren and Anna to pray.

On Saturday we rode with our son and daughter-in-law (Aren’s parents) to the wedding, arriving at 2:30 to help with last minute stuff. The wedding was at 3:30, outdoors in the heat (we were all given fans). The very meaningful ceremony was followed by a time of visiting and fellowship in the barn with platters of meats, cheeses, crackers, nuts and fruit. The word abundance comes to mind. The dinner began at 6:00, followed by more speeches and prayers. And finally, let the dancing begin! The music was lively; they even danced to “Splish, Splash, I Was Takin’ a Bath” (from my high school years).

Anna’s extended family and friends had come in from Chicago and Wisconsin, plus there were guests from Ruanda, Moracco, France, Bulgaria, and Mexico. Like I mentioned, Aren and Anna have lots of friends.

Hal and I left early (after 7 hours of celebration!) and so missed the send-off. But we left with joyful hearts. We know God’s blessing is on this couple who plan to live and serve in North Africa.

I felt honored as Aren and Anna had asked me to write and read the wedding blessing. “Make it as long as you want, Grandma!” Aren had told me. I did, however, use some restraint. I got to read the blessing at the beginning of the ceremony. I’m going to end this blog with the blessing: 

Marriage Blessing
Aren Thomas and Anna Town
June 7, 2025

Aren and Anna,

We, your family and friends who love you, gather with you today to witness your vows, affirm the path you’ve chosen, and get really really happy as we see your joy in each other.

Growing up in two different continents, you met on a third continent. Your friendship has been global from the beginning, and it’s about to become more so. Your two different streams are becoming one new river of faith that will go out into the world.

You bring together certain differences. In some ways it seems like hyper-activity marrying serenity. You’re creating a unique blend of adventure and common sense, of idealism and practicality. That blending is your strength.

Today we bless you with our prayers for the following:

n -- A growing commitment to open communication with each other; a wise use of words to explore, reveal, challenge, solve problems, make laugh, heal, and bless.

n  --Beauty in the places you go—places with mountains, rivers, deserts, wild flowers, and beasts you’ve never seen before. And beauty in the people you’ll meet in those places—people who will become friends.

n -- A combination of exciting adventures and the deep peace of being under God’s protection—both at the same time.

n  --Creativity by the bucketful—new paintings, recipes, pottery mugs and critters; new ideas and new ways of handling old tasks.

n  --Humor in the people you meet, in the strange things people say without meaning to, in your own mistakes, in each other, and in all the stuff life brings your way (even the hard stuff).

n -- Great food—the discovery of new dishes around the world, and in your own home—cooking it and serving it to others; a ministry of hospitality.

n  --Children—your own, God willing, and those you meet wherever you go. Kids to be silly with, tell stories to, listen to, build Lego fortresses and dragons in the sand with, to love and care for.

n  --Businesses built, restaurants opened, workers trained, people transformed because you loved and accompanied them.

n  --With all the moving and the possibility of living in different places, a sense of permanence and stability that comes from your relationship with each other and with God.

n  --Growth in grace and in knowing Jesus.

Two streams converging into a river in God’s kingdom. May you always hear the voice of the One who walks by your side as he says, “I will be with you always, even to the ends of the earth.”

We bless you on this, your wedding day.

                            With Aren's sisters

                            Parents of the groom

                                Happy couple

                                Happy grandparents

The very worse grandma ever

As I write this, preparations are under way for our grandson’s wedding. It’s an exciting time, a time for dreaming of the future, but also a time for remembering the past. And getting a bit sentimental about it.

We’ve enjoyed each stage in our grandkids’ growing up years, from the thrill of the newborn babies and our shock at becoming grandparents, to the cute little-kid stage, the challenges of adolescence, then watching each one mature into an adult. And of course our relationships changed as they grew older.

This morning I’m remembering our grandkids as cute little-kids. We loved being with them, relishing their adoration of Grandpa and Grandma. For the most part, this was easy and fun. It was their parents’ turn to do the hard stuff, especially the disciplining.

“For the most part,” I write. From time to time we volunteered (or were asked) to care for the kids while their parents traveled for some reason or other. (Sometimes it was to have time off, away from their kids!) That was when it got harder for us. Our grandkids were all normal, active, sometimes mischievous kids who knew how to take advantage of an opportunity to get away with behavior their parents might not allow.

I remember one time 15 years ago when our daughter asked Hal and me to spend a week taking care of our three grandchildren, ages 2, 5, and 8. Their parents were leading a group of middle-schoolers on their annual trek to Washington, DC.

I approached the week with both fear and anticipation. We had planned a list of fun activities and a menu of meals we hoped would please as well as nourish. We knew the behavioral rules and household routines their parents followed and determined to lovingly but firmly carry these out.

All this preparation helped. But I was again impressed by how challenging it is to raise children. Especially little children. They can be tough critters.

One of my tasks became combating the perception that the role of grandparents is to be on continuous call to entertain, to engage in a non-stop marathon of sword fights, hide-n-seek, I-spy, story books and movies, bike and scooter races, Monopoly, Chutes and Ladders, X-box, trips to the park, and on and on and on.  Not to mention the special needs of our two-year-old autistic grandson who loudly repeated every demand until he knew without a doubt he held our full attention.

I simply did not have the energy to keep up the continuously fun-loving grandma facade. I found myself mentally repeating, “You are an adult. Respond like one.” The low point came early in the week when I caught myself in the middle of a fight between the 8 and 5-year-old, yelling at them to “stop all this yelling!” At that moment I felt like the world’s worse grandma.

But eventually my mature self kicked in. Hal and I were able to support one another and find balance, to be ourselves and the grandparents these kids needed.

Many highlights brightened the week, like the morning Paige and I spent outdoors building a fairy house. Her idea, this was to be a refuge for fairies from the rain, hidden under a bush and behind a rock. We traipsed all over the yard gathering moss, leaves, pine cones, petals—anything that might make a cozy fairy house.

At one point, Paige turned to me, totally serious, and said, “I have to tell you something, Grandma. Fairies aren’t real.”

“Oh?” I responded, waiting for what would come next.

“But I think God could make some fairies if he wanted to.”

“Yes, he probably could,” I replied.

Long pause.

“Don’t you wish he wanted to?”

Yes, Paige, I do wish that.

And I wish God would make me into the perfect grandma.

The kids were glad to see their parents at the end of the week (perhaps not as glad as we were!), but I was encouraged when Paige asked me, “Do you have to go now, Grandma?”

All that makes me smile in memory. Our relationships are different now, appropriately so. Paige is a sophomore in Western Oregon University, majoring in theater, putting her imagination to good use. We drive over once a month to take her out to lunch. I delight in her wisdom as a young adult and in the person she’s becoming.

Our son is now a grandpa himself. We love watching our great-grandchildren as babies, knowing we will probably only have a peripheral role in their lives. Our grown kids get to be the grandparents; it’s their turn.

And that’s the way it should be.

Earth Day and new life in all its forms

 Today is Earth Day and I spent the morning on my knees. No, I wasn’t worshiping Mother Earth. I was weeding the garden.

Hal and I got our first plot in the community garden last year. We enjoyed being part of the garden family, all the residents who cultivate plots. We have good fellowship as we weed, plant, water, etc., and eventually harvest. I especially enjoyed watching the first sprouts break the surface. For some reason it surprised me. When planting the seeds, I had found it hard to believe anything would come of it. That reflects my lack of experience as a gardener.

In spite of our enjoyment, we had our doubts as to whether we could keep it up another year. Hal’s back gives him fits and he tends to overdo any task he commits to. So last year involved a lot of back pain. And I’m perpetually dizzy, although I find that being surrounded by dirt and green stuff actually calms my head. We had half decided to give up our plot this year when a friend talked us into dividing it and taking responsibility for only half. That didn’t sound so overwhelming so we agreed. Our revised space is eight by 16 feet, give or take a little. That’s enough for a rim of flowers with some veggies in the middle.

Right now we’re weeding, hoeing, and turning the soil, getting ready for the planting phase. We’ll know when that is by watching our neighbors and doing likewise. Of course, we can always ask questions.

Earth Day became an official holiday in March 1970 when U Thant, UN Secretary General, signed a proclamation to launch a day to honor the earth and commit to caring for it. Some say this was the beginning of the present environmental movement that advocates the conservation and restoration of the earth’s resources. On this day people around the globe participate in projects like cleaning up rubbish, planting trees, and educating children about the wonders of nature. It’s good.

Currently I’m reading a book called The Book of Nature: The Astonishing Beauty of God’s First Sacred Text by Barbara Mahany (2023). Mahany claims that God communicates with us in two basic ways: through creation (the first sacred text) and through his written word (for Christians, the Bible). Her book focuses on how creation speaks, with reflections on different aspects of nature (woods, water’s edge, birds, first snow, dawn, and so on). It’s well written and very inspiring.

This morning, appropriately, I read the chapter entitled “Garden.” She avoids getting too mushy and mystical about it all, which I found to be a relief. Gardening is a hard, sweaty business and Mahany addresses that aspect. Even so, God speaks through a garden:

It’s mighty hard not to believe, when tucking in a seed, sprinkling it day after day with your watering can, and catching sight, glorious sight, of that first hint of newborn green pushing through the earth. To plant a seed, to bury a bulb, is to practice resurrection gardening. And to watch in real time how faith works. Some of us need to rub it between our fingertips, to get its dirt struck under our nails.

“Resurrection gardening.” I like the sound of that. I’ll have to repeat that phrase tomorrow morning when I again fall to my knees in the dirt.

And speaking of something marvelous and newborn pushing through barriers to reach the air, since writing my last blog, something happened that is better than crocuses, daffodils, and cucumbers! FINN ALEXANDER BECKER was born! I became a first-time GREAT GRANDMOTHER! My granddaughter Bree and her husband Jade did a great job getting him born. Or so they tell me. I have not yet met this little person, but I’ve seen photos and, believe me, he is better looking than a cucumber! Or a daffodil. I’m finding this miracle is worth getting mushy and mystical over.

A new human being. Born into a family that will love, protect, and nurture him. Like a gardener tending her garden. Like God watching over his creation, including all the people made in his image, set on the earth to love, protect, and nurture it. And we do it for all the Finn Alexanders who one day will also cherish the earth.

Hurrah for Earth Day!

Hurrah for gardens!

Hurrah for Finn Alexander and all miracle babies!

It makes all the weeding seem worth it.

What little children teach us about love

 We older people are supposed to be the ones with wisdom that we then pass down to younger generations. In many cases, that’s true, although being old doesn’t automatically bring wisdom in its wake.

Sometimes we forget that wisdom often comes from young people, even children. Wise old people know this. They know when to speak and when to listen. They know how to listen to children.

Recently my sister Becky sent me a list from a Facebook site called something like “Heart-warming.” I don’t often gravitate toward heart-warming stuff, like Hallmark greeting cards, but I trust my sister’s good taste. So I read it, liked it a lot, and will now pass it on to you.

A group of professional people posed an interesting question to children between the ages of four and eight. (The survey didn’t say what profession these professionals represented; they could have been plumbers or bee-keepers; they were probably some kind of social scientists. This information is important, but I’ll forward the results to you anyway.) The question was, “What does love mean?” Here are some of the answers:

 

"When my grandmother got arthritis, she couldn't bend over and paint her toenails anymore.... So my grandfather does it for her all the time, even when his hands got arthritis too. That's love.” Rebecca—age 8

“When someone loves you, the way they say your name is different. You just know that your name is safe in their mouth.” Billy—age 4

“Love is when a girl puts on perfume and a boy puts on shaving cologne and they go out and smell each other.” Karl—age 5

“Love is when you go out to eat and give somebody most of your French fries without making them give you any of theirs.” Chrissy—age 6

“Love is what makes you smile when you're tired.” Terri—age 4

“Love is when my mommy makes coffee for my daddy and she takes a sip before giving it to him, to make sure the taste is OK.” Danny—age 8

“Love is what's in the room with you at Christmas if you stop opening presents and just listen.” Bobby—age 7 (Wow!)

“If you want to learn to love better, you should start with a friend who you hate.” Nikka—age 6 (We need a few million more Nikkas on this planet.)

“Love is when you tell a guy you like his shirt, then he wears it every day.” Noelle—age 7

“Love is like a little old woman and a little old man who are still friends even after they know each other so well.” Tommy—age 6

“During my piano recital, I was on a stage and I was scared. I looked at all the people watching me and saw my daddy waving and smiling. He was the only one doing that. I wasn't scared anymore.” Cindy—age 8

“My mommy loves me more than anybody. You don't see anyone else kissing me to sleep at night.” Clare—age 6

“Love is when Mommy gives Daddy the best piece of chicken.” Elaine—age 5

“Love is when Mommy sees Daddy smelly and sweaty and still says he is handsomer than Robert Redford.” Chris—age 7

“Love is when your puppy licks your face even after you left him alone all day.” Mary Ann—age 4

“I know my older sister loves me because she gives me all her old clothes and has to go out and buy new ones.” Lauren—age 4

“When you love somebody, your eyelashes go up and down and little stars come out of you.” (What an image!) Karen—age 7

“Love is when Mommy sees Daddy on the toilet and she doesn't think it's gross.” Mark—age 6

“You really shouldn't say 'I love you' unless you mean it. But if you mean it, you should say it a lot. People forget.” Jessica—age 8

And the final one: The winner was a four-year-old child whose next-door neighbor was an elderly gentleman who had recently lost his wife. Upon seeing the man cry, the little boy went into the old gentleman's yard, climbed onto his lap, and just sat there. When his mother asked what he had said to the neighbor, the little boy said, “Nothing, I just helped him cry.”

 

See what I mean about wise children? I notice that their definitions were all concrete—actions, demonstrations of love. Nothing abstract. There’s wisdom in that.

Sometime this week, if you can, have a conversation with a child you know. Listen more than you speak. Then do it every week.

Here are some photos of grandparents hanging out some wise little kids:

Old wisdom, young wisdom

 Our grandson is serving a two-year term in a North African country, learning how to set up small businesses. Through the wonders of modern technology, we get to be in regular communication.

On Saturday we had a long conversation via whatsapp. At what we thought was the end of our time together, he told us how much he appreciated our years of experience and wisdom. He then shared a concern and asked for our wise advice.

My brain immediately froze. Although he was not in any way demanding, I have problems with wisdom-on-demand. For one thing, I’m uncertain about the amount of wisdom I might have. It’s almost a stereotype—wise old people. We’re either serene and wise or grouchy and bitter. Both stereotypes. Take your pick. I know I’m somewhere in the middle, never reaching the total grouch stage, but also falling short of an endless reserve of heavenly wisdom.

So I did what seemed natural. I said, “Hal, you go first.”

He gave me an unhappy look but proceeded to share some experiences with our grandson, to give him perspective, I guess. It sounded good.

That gave me time to think. When my turn came, I realized that the best approach was first to ask questions and listen. So I asked him what he was hoping for, positive points, fears, what he could bring to the to the situation, and more such questions. He responded, Hal joined in, and the resulting back-and-forth conversation between the three of us actually led to some helpful insight. Not only did we share wisdom (I hope), we encouraged his wisdom to kick in.

Maybe wisdom is communal, at least in some situations. I think of the Quaker committees-for-clearness where a selected group of people centers their thoughts and prayers on one person and that person’s concern or decision. This involves times of silent waiting, questions, listening to the person, more silence and prayer. And then people share their sense of what the Spirit is saying. When it functions well, the person leaves with some clearer perspectives and a path to making his/her own decision. It’s all about wisdom and discernment. Communal wisdom.

I’m realizing that God invites us to ask for wisdom: “If any of you lacks wisdom, you should ask God, who gives generously to all without finding fault, and it will be given you.” There’s no age requirement. Any follower of Jesus can ask—old, middle aged, young. Even children. The Book of Proverbs time and again encourages young men (and women) to seek wisdom.

Still, it seems natural that some older people, through years of right living, should be known for their wisdom. As to whether or not I’m one of those people—well, it’s probably not for me to say. Or even to wonder about. But I can certainly ask for wisdom as a gift. As can my grandson. Wisdom that sometimes comes from consulting with other people. Even grandparents.

The next time I’m facing a conundrum, I may ask one of my grandchildren for insight.

Babies and other cute beasts

 A friend and I took a brief retreat on the Oregon coast last week. One morning we were just sitting and looking out the window at the ocean and the people walking the path just a few yards away.

Then Francie exclaimed, “Oh! How cute!”

I responded with, “Yes! A fluffy puppy going poop in the grass!”

She came back with, “What?!” (She didn’t actually say, “You’re crazy!” but she communicated it with the look on her face.)

It turns out that we were looking at the same scenario but seeing different things. She was looking at the bundled-up baby in the man’s arms, and I saw the dog who was, indeed, doing its business on the edge of the path. Two different perspectives. Both kind’a cute.

I have a life-time of memories of cute dogs, most of them named Mokey. When I was two-years-old, Mokey was a small cocker spaniel my parents considered an appropriate pet for a little girl. What I remember about Mokey comes mainly from black and white photos. My parents told me that one day I did something terrible-two-ish to the dog. He bit me, and they took him to the pound that very day.

Mokey #2 was a black and white springer spaniel with long ears and a playful sweet disposition. We all loved him. In my teenage years Mokey was a golden collie and my special friend during the times I needed one.

During the Bolivian years we lived in the city of La Paz with little yard space, so we decided not to have a dog, until the day our daughter brought home a fetching terrier puppy (saying the neighbors gave him to her, which wasn’t exactly true), and we couldn’t resist. We named him Mokey.  After Mokey’s untimely death (ant poison) we adopted a Pekinese and named her Cindy-Lou-Who (who was not more than two); we couldn’t name her Mokey so soon after the death of her beloved predecessor.

We loved all these dogs. Dogs can be the most affectionate and cutest critters ever.

The same for babies. I must humbly admit that both my children and all my grandchildren were over-the-top super cute babies. When pushing the baby down the street in a stroller, people passing us would stop and gasp. (My memory may be a little faulty on that point.)

But—and here I come to the main point of this blog, the cutest of all cuties is yet to come. Our granddaughter and her husband have just informed us that we are going to be GREAT GRANDPARENTS! For the first time ever! Wow!

Good writers don’t use many exclamation points. And they are parsimonious with adjectives, but that announcement has just got to be the most Phenomenal! Splendiferous! Fantastic! Amazing! Incredible! Exhilerating! and Exponentially Outlandish! news of all time!

Can you tell this is my first grandchild? Can you tell I’m excited?

Get ready! Cuteness is coming.

(Maybe they’ll name him/her Mokey.)

The soon-to-be-parents, Bree and Jade

                        cute baby tree surrounded by parents, grands, and greats

My four-year-old theology professor

When my grandson was four-years-old,
he explained the Trinity to me,

what he had gleaned from Sunday school
and the Bible stories his mother read to him.
He told me the Trinity meant
the Father, his Son, and Andy.
Who? Andy, he repeated.
Before the greatest mystery of theology,
this little boy was not confused,
now that he had the names.

I was confused. The Spirit
had always seemed the most elusive
member of the holy Threesome.
Dove. Wind. Breath. Water.
Hard to relate to.

Days later I overhead my grandson
singing one of the hymns
he had learned in that Sunday school.
As he sang the chorus in his still baby voice,
I finally got it. He sang,
“Andy walks with me. Andy talks with me.
Andy tells me I am his own.”

Of course. Spirit is God-up-close.
God who walks by my side.
Who tells me secrets.
Closer than a sister or brother.

I’ve never been drawn to call her Andy.
But in the early morning hours,
as I sit in my chair by the window,
I sometimes whisper, “Sister. Mother.
Best friend. Yes, yes, yes.”
Sometimes I call her Andrea.
I sense her smile.

Swimming blind

 Some kids used their canes to walk to the pool’s edge. I saw one little girl letting her seeing-eye dog lead her. They all got in the water, one guide by every kid, and waited for the on-your-mark-get set-go! Then off they went through the water on their float boards, most of them slowly, with lots of kicking and splashing. In the bleachers, I yelled encouragement along with the rest of the crowd of parents, grandparents, and friends.

It was the conclusion of the week-long Camp Spark, held on the campus of Linfield College. Sponsored by the Northwest Association for Blind Athletes (NWABA), this over-night camp “is tailored specifically to children, youth and young adults with multiple disabilities, in addition to being blind or visually impaired.” It aims to encourage self-confidence, leadership and friendship. In addition to swimming, the kids participate in tandem cycling, soccer, goalball (a sport especially for the visually impaired), and track, among other sports. Each kid has one guide for the whole week, some of them visually impaired young adults.

This was the first time I had ever attended a swim meet of blind and visually impaired children. It was amazing. I witnessed courage, confidence in the water, trust in their guides, and belief in themselves. The younger kids used float boards and kicked their legs. Their guide accompanied them in the water. The older kids (up to 14 years) swam unaccompanied, and some of them swam as fast and skillfully as sighted-people.

In every race, there were kids who got it and swam well, reaching the finish in good time. And there was at least one child in every race who flailed and splashed, advancing slowly by inches, while the guide encouraged. Even these kids all finished their races. As they reached the end of the pool, the audience cheered and hooted their congratulations, more so than for the actual “winners.” The kids all climbed out of the water beaming with pleasure. I understood that the goal was persistence, not competition.

We attended this event to cheer on our grandson, Peter, who is autistic as well as visually impaired. He’s an amazing kid (my grandmotherly objective assessment) and has learned to handle life almost like any other kid his age. When he first attended Camp Spark, several years ago, he was shy and held back from active participation. But this year showed his growth as a person who is going forward despite any “disability.” (I don’t like that word; it focuses on what a person can’t do, when there’s so much they can do. That’s what this camp is all about.)

Peter is now 14-years-old, one of the older kids, and he swam in two races: the crawl and the backstroke, both three-pool-length races. He surprised us; we didn’t realize how good he was, even though the family has a pool and all three kids are fish. He felt proud of how he did in the races. And we overheard him bragging to a friend about the people who had come to watch him: two parents, two grandparents, and an aunt and uncle. We wouldn’t have missed it.

When Grandpa Hal asked him how he managed to swim so straight, keeping right in his lane, Peter replied that he saw through his goggles a big dark line on the bottom of the pool, right in the middle of his lane. He just followed the line.

At the end of the meet, the campers and their families gathered for the official closing of the camp. The directors shared highlights of the week. No awards were presented because all the kids are considered winners. The director asked the graduating kids, those for whom this was their last time in camp because of age, to come up and tell how camp had helped them. My daughter encouraged Peter to go up, but Nope! He wasn’t having any of that. Two of his friends spoke, and then Peter, with a look of determination, walked to the front. Kristin gave me the victory sign. He spoke in typical Peter fashion, looking to the side rather than directly at the audience. He quickly mumbled a few sentences and quickly walked back to the family, accompanied by applause.

He is sad that this is his last time at Camp Spark, but one of the counselors told him he could come back next year as a guide. Again, Nope! Not me! There’s a strong likelihood he will change his mind by the time next summer rolls around.

I’m proud to live in a country (the Northwest part of it in particular) that offers so many resources for children with special challenges. Cheers for the Northwest Association of Blind Athletes! And thanks for all the other organizations and programs that help these kids accept themselves, know their strengths, develop new skills, and live active lives.

And, of course, I’m very proud of Peter.

                    After the race: Peter with Mom, Kristin (my daughter)

Eye contact

Being retired and growing older are hard and I don’t always do them well. But this is not the only time of life with its challenges. My grandchildren remind me frequently that it’s not easy being a kid. And being a “special” kid adds to the drama.

My grandson, Peter, has autism. He is bright, creative, quirky, and full of interesting and unusual perspectives on life. He has attended regular classrooms in public school all this life (it’s called “mainstreaming”), and has excelled, especially in math and computers. He is now 14 years-old and our go-to person when we need help with technology.

While the academic stuff comes easy to him, he has struggled with the social side of life. He now has his circle of friends, which he isn’t interested in expanding. (He once told me, “I’m glad I’m not popular ‘cause then I’d have to talk to all those people.”) Acquiring social skills has been a learning curve.

I remember when he was in the second grade, facing his end-of-the-year assignment. Each student was to give a three-minute public speech, telling the rest of the class something about themselves. They were to write out and practice their speech ahead of time. They could use their manuscript as they spoke.

Peter was one of those rare children who actually loved to write. At one point he wanted to be a writer when he grew up and by eight-years-old had written and illustrated over 20 “books.” (Now his ambition is to do something amazing with computers.)

So, producing the manuscript for the speech offered no problem.

The difficulty came with the other guidelines, chief among which was eye contact. Peter was supposed to look around at people as he spoke. He was instructed to make contact with his audience of second grade peers. He would be graded on this.

Eye contact has been problematic for Peter since infancy; it’s part of autism. He’s actually done quite well and has learned to look people in the eye as he speaks with them. But it’s never become quite natural.

And he doesn’t multitask. Give him a job to do, with clear instructions, and he can pour himself into it with passion. But giving a speech and making eye contact with an audience are two separate tasks for him, and one task too many for it to be easy or natural.

But Peter determined to get it right, so he and his mom came up with a plan. Kristin, my daughter, penciled dots in his manuscript, one after each two sentences. The dot was a clue for Peter to lower his manuscript and look at someone in the audience. They decided on five seconds as a good amount of time for the look. Then they practiced. And Kristin videoed the practices on her phone so they could learn from them.

That seems like a lot of work for the second grade.

Peter is also visually impaired, so he had to hold the manuscript close, right in front of his face. Although he had the speech memorized, he wanted to do it this way. After all, the teacher said to use the manuscript.

So, face well hidden, he stood and began to loudly, clearly read his speech. Then, briskly he lowered his arms and stared straight ahead, in this case at Kristin. When Peter stares, it’s serious. It’s fierce, concentrated and without the blink of an eye. As I watched the video, I could imagine him mentally counting to five. Then up went the manuscript and he loudly read the next two sentences. He reminded me of a robot as he again lowered the manuscript, shifted his head to stare at another person for five fierce seconds. Then up again for the next part. Repeat, repeat, repeat, right to the end. Kristin admirably harnessed her temptation to laugh.

As I said, he was determined to get it right.

And he must have done so, because he passed into the third grade.

Maybe the end product wasn’t quite natural, but I admired his determination and perseverance. I pray that life, mainly other people, will be kind to Peter—whether he avoids eye contact with them, or stares with ferocity. And I pray they listen to what he has to say.

Remembering this gives me courage for my more grown-up challenges. I don’t have a prepared manuscript to help me know what comes next in this phase of life, but I can apply determination, perseverance, and as much wisdom as I can garner from those who have gone before me.

 

In the early morning hours, I try to make eye contact with God. I confess that it is neither natural nor easy. Sometimes I use guidelines developed by others who’ve learned to do it well. Under their instructions, I may practice a certain number of seconds of concentrated gazing at the sky out my window. Then down again for a quick dip in the Scriptures. Up again to gaze (or meditate, if that’s the right word). Repeat, repeat.

I wonder if I look to God a bit like Peter. I wonder if I have some form of spiritual autism.

At any rate, I sense great patience and kindness coming to me from God’s heart.

And, yes, an occasional chuckle.

Shifting family circles

Hal and I picked up our grandson at 2:00 yesterday morning and drove him to the airport. We hugged him and sent him off to Morocco where he will spend the next two years. We were all a little sad, but I could see both sorrow and excitement dancing in his eyes.

This comes at the end of a two-year exploratory period that’s seemed like a roller coaster ride. Having graduated from the university several years ago with an engineering degree and a desire to serve God and people in some needy place overseas, questions presented themselves. Where? Doing what? With which organization? For how long? The search took him down some interesting trails, all while he was holding jobs in the engineering field that put his salary at a level beyond what we’d ever earned. But he’s not in it for the money.

So now he’s off. I’m happy for him, but I’ll not deny the sense of loss I feel.

And this is not the first time I’ve felt this way.

Twenty-seven years ago, I discovered how important grandchildren were. It was like a new world opening up with these little critters playing an extremely important role. Of course, we were thrilled back when our own kids were born. But we were also terrified, not at all certain how we were supposed to carry out this parenthood thing. So much responsibility. As the years passed, we grew up alongside our kids. We learned by going where we had to go.

But with grandkids, it’s different. We’re already grown-ups (supposedly). And we’re not the ones responsible to bring up these marvelous creatures. We get to love them, play with them, spoil them, and on it goes.

Except when it doesn’t. Life, of course, is more complicated than that and all families are unique.  As Tolstoy famously said, “Happy families are all alike; every unhappy family is unhappy in its own way.” Even relatively happy families have their rough spots (or years). Not everyone gets along with their grown kids and grandkids.

But I’m reflecting on me, my grandkids, and loss.

Hal and I lived abroad when our seven grandkids were small. Four of them lived in Africa! We made a commitment to spend time with the African grandkids at least once every two years, and as often as we could with the three in Oregon. When we were together it often felt that we grandparents were the center of their world. They fought over who got to sit by us, pestered us to read the same books over and over, and gobbled up our attention as if they had been starving. It was exhilarating. And exhausting. We were the exhausted ones. Not them.

All that changed, of course, with the onset of adolescence. We probably never really were the center of the world for them, and we definitely were not when they hit the teen years. Peer relationships took over, as is normal and right. But I’ll admit, I missed all the focused devotion. It actually hurt my feelings when I’d visit and hear, “Hi, Grandma! Bye, Grandma! I’m going to spend the night at my friend’s.” I felt loss, the loss of my “special grandma” role.

Families keep changing. Kids grow up, get married, and allegiances re-form. Nuclear families spit like the atom and some particles get lost in space. At extended family gatherings Hal and I sometimes feel like relatives rather than family.

This for me is one of the scariest paths in this old growth forest called aging. I’ve struggled off and on all my life with the sense of being on the periphery. Now it sometimes feels like I’m losing the connections that tell me who I am and to whom I belong.

Just another opportunity to grow up, I guess. Maturity is a weird goal. When it seems like I’m getting close, something happens (or some grandkid hurts my feelings) and the goal posts stretch off into the distance again. But the Spirit keeps reeling me in, reminding me that Christ is the center, and that I belong to him.

(I realize that I’m switching my metaphor from football to fishing. But—oh, well. At my age, I get to do that.)

About those grown-up grandkids, I’ve noticed something weird and wonderful. The relationships keep changing, but now that we’ve begun to relate as adult to adult, it’s a new level of friendship, a greater sweetness, and a whole lot more fun. I can’t wait until they have babies and I get to do it all over again. Maybe by that time I will finally know what I’m doing.

So—Aren’s off to Morocco. I’m going with him in my prayers. I can’t wait to see what God will do in and through his life. I’m so glad I get to be one of his grandparents.

A wide-angle lens and a blessing

 One of the privileges of aging is acquiring a wide-angle lens in the camera of our memories. We can see from the back (sometimes way back) to the tomorrows in the family line. The march of the generations comes into sharper focus. And we come to appreciate the wisdom of the Preacher in Ecclesiastes: “There is a time for everything, and a season for every activity under heaven” (3:1).

There is a time to be born, says the Preacher, and a time to die, in addition to a time for all the other important life events. The ancient Israelites commemorated the Big Stuff by erecting stone altars of remembrance. We become like rock collectors, erecting stone altars in our memories for births, weddings, more births, and, of course, deaths. And the generations march on. Soon we’ll be another memory to our loved ones (hopefully a good memory).

“A time to weep and a time to laugh, a time to mourn and a time to dance.” We weep and mourn in the season of death. But we laugh and dance at weddings.

This passing of seasons, times, and generations became especially poignant for me this last weekend. Gwen Amahoro Thomas married Matthew Burgi. Gwen is our granddaughter, third child of our son.

In the weeks before the wedding I remembered our wedding 53 years ago, its simplicity and celebration, and what a new stage of life it initiated. I remembered the weddings of our son and daughter, weddings which marked another transition, not just for the new families, but for us as parents of married kids. We were very involved in the weddings of both kids, in planning, helping write the vows and blessings, even in actually officiating in our capacity as pastors. That created a huge stone of memory.

But there’s something different about the wedding of a grandchild. For one thing, we weren’t involved in the details of planning; that was the privilege of their parents. The clothes were similar, but different too. My best friend made my wedding dress, plus the matching gowns of my two bridesmaids. My daughter spent “big bucks” on her gorgeous wedding dress, which made her look like a southern belle. My granddaughter Gwenie purchased her wedding gown at a thrift store and had it altered to fit. I love it!

The ceremony and following reception were, indeed, times of laughter and dancing. Hal and I didn’t dance at our wedding; Friends disapproved. Matt and Gwen waltzed, but then the real dancing began with all sorts of lively rhythms and movements, including line-dancing. If I didn’t have dizzy-issues, I would have joined; Hal is still a “good Quaker.”

The bride and groom had asked two sets of grandparents to participate in the wedding. (Again, the generations!) Matt’s grandparents, Phil and Kay Burgi, read the Scriptures. Hal and I got to read the blessing.

I wrote life-blessings for each of my seven grandchildren before they were born. And now I’m beginning to write marriage blessings. This one was on behalf of the extended family and friends of the couple. We read it at the beginning of the ceremony, right after David and Debby “gave away” their daughter.

 

A Wedding Blessing
for Matt and Gwen
July 29, 2022

What an exciting and blesséd time this is.
We’ve watched you gradually grow from friendship to love
and now to marriage.

This is only the beginning.

We, your family and friends, bless you on this day
with our prayers that God grant you…. 

--a determination to always have Jesus as the heart of your home,

--an increasing joy as you come to know each other
better through the years and the freedom
to always be yourselves with each other,

--a spirit of fun and play, no matter
the circumstances you find yourselves in,

--lots of plants and pets that co-exist in harmony
 (meaning the pets don’t eat the plants),

--an abundance of creativity that serves and blesses the world—
whether poems or paintings, windmills or water-purifying plants,

--respect and good communication,
the willingness to say “I’m sorry,” as well as “I love you,”

--wisdom and joy as parents, according to God’s plans,

--a growing love for each other that expands
into compassion for and service to
people around the world, wherever God may send you.

What an adventure you’re on!
Know that God accompanies you at each stage of the journey.
And know that we, your family and friends,
will continue to support you, pray for you, and bless you
with our love.

[With love from Grandma and Grandpa Thomas,
on behalf of many]

                                                   Sisters

                    David, Debby, Gwen, Matt, Gwenie's siblings