Three Times a Charm

Well, they say that deaths come in threes. This week they did. From the suicide of a co-worker's brother to two deaths in my church family, this has been a time of funerals. A funeral to commemorate the long life of Milton, a person of varied interests and a thoughtful man, who made himself comfortable in a Sunday School class made up of younger folk. A funeral to celebrate the shorter life of a fellow church worker-bee who fought a good but short battle against pancreatic cancer.

What I realized was that I knew only a small portion of these people. Even though I had spent much time with Brad, I knew little about him. Now I envy those who knew him better.

Habit perhaps drives me to poetry to express how I feel at these times. Mary Oliver is a great poet and usually has written something that speaks to me. I hope that you enjoy it.

When Death Comes
by Mary Oliver

When death comes
like the hungry bear in autumn;
when death comes and takes all the bright coins from his purse

to buy me, and snaps the purse shut;
when death comes
like the measle-pox

when death comes
like an iceberg between the shoulder blades,

I want to step through the door full of curiosity, wondering:
what is it going to be like, that cottage of darkness?

And therefore I look upon everything
as a brotherhood and a sisterhood,
and I look upon time as no more than an idea,
and I consider eternity as another possibility,

and I think of each life as a flower, as common
as a field daisy, and as singular,

and each name a comfortable music in the mouth,
tending, as all music does, toward silence,

and each body a lion of courage, and something
precious to the earth.

When it's over, I want to say all my life
I was a bride married to amazement.
I was the bridegroom, taking the world into my arms.

When it's over, I don't want to wonder
if I have made of my life something particular, and real.

I don't want to find myself sighing and frightened,
or full of argument.

I don't want to end up simply having visited this world.

Only 10 Years Behind

We bought our first camera the year before Mollie was born and Mike vowed that he would be conscientious about photographing all our children--not like other families who have mostly pictures of the first children...and them only in the early years.

The picture (above) was taken by Mike on a vacation in Glacier National Park. Pretty isn't it?

Mike also developed a liking and a talent for photography. He took some classes read some books and then practiced, practiced, practiced. He has entered one or two local competitions and received honorable mentions so we can document that his skills have increased beyond just being recognized by the appreciation and gratitude of family and friends.

Unfortunately this hobby/passion has had implications for me. He truly been our family photographer and he has been there at all occasions large and small and he has taken hundreds of pictures. For many years I faithfully loaded them into photo albums, but around 1990 I was interrupted and the interruption lasted for about 18 years! I got back into it this month and am now happy to report that I am only 10 years behind. With some new photo albums from Costco I have made a dent in my backlog. 8 years worth of photos in 6 albums (approximately 600 photos to an album). Whew!

I have been spending my evenings either sliding (shoving) photographs into the appropriate slots or sliding photograph negatives into sleeves for storage. I'll be so glad when I reach the years that Mike switched over to a digital camera.

It is disconcerting to see my children visibly age as I shuffle through several years worth of pictures. Nephews and nieces fly from infancy to primary school in a week.

I'll be happy to complete this project and move on to the bags and boxes of letters that I have collected over the years. (That will take me all winter...at least.)

Here is a picture of Mike (not taken by him for once) at Glacier National Park.

I Used to Be a Morning Person

I used to be a morning person. That is, I woke up early and was instantly alert and ready for the day’s activities.

As a child I would get up and watch my father cook and eat his breakfast. (He had a long commute and would get up before the rest of the family.) I remember that a bone in his jaw would make a faint sound as he chewed, in the quiet morning I heard it, dinner time was too noisy to hear the faint click.

After I learned to read, I’d get up early so that I could snatch a chapter or two of my favorite book.

Even as an adult I recognized that I do my best work in the morning and would get to work early because I could accomplish so much more that the afternoon.
I don’t know what has happened to me in the last couple years, but it has been harder and harder to get out of my nice warm bed in the morning.

I have, however, recently found something to get up for—the Tuesday Morning Prayer Group. The group meets in the AH church library at 6:30 on Tuesday mornings. (If you are on our e-mail prayer chain, you will see the compiled results of their care in your Inbox on Wednesday.

The group has really helped me understand the transforming power of prayer. There is a quiet discussion about prayer concerns and those we know who are in need followed by a shared prayer with contributions by each member of the group.

It sets the spiritual tone for my week. For me, this has been a change in my life worth making.