Is there anything as wonderful as children?
These three light up my life in ways that make the burdens lighter.
Youngest Daughter is babysitting for Carson and Nevin two days a week.
Their tender care for Charis is something incredibly special.
This is a gift that I do not take lightly.
Thank God for little boys and little girls.
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Old Gertrude would have been 86 today. She loved her birthday, loved getting the attention, loved all the things that young children love, but so much more. I sometimes remember her and think about what she was like and how she colored our lives in so many brilliant ways. This is a story that was written some years before she died. Some of you will enjoy it — some may not. But it is the way it was . . .
Poor Walter, Old Gertrude and Little Johnny
Certain Man’s Wife came home from a Doctor’s appointment today to find a message on her answering machine. It was Old Gertrude’s niece, Kathy, telling of the passing of Old Gertrude’s brother, Poor Walter.
The story of Old Gertrude’s Family is a heart rending tale of a hard‑drinking, poor Irish immigrant and the misfortune that seemed to dog his footsteps.
His oldest son, Walter, was born normal, but inexplicably deteriorated from birth until he was obviously handicapped. Today we know that PKU will destroy a normal child’s brain if not detected at birth and steps taken to prevent it. In the early 1920’s, there was neither cure nor explanation. This family went on to have six children, three normal, three profoundly retarded.
In the early 1930’s the way to deal with this was to institutionalize the children and forget that they were born. Families were told that it was better that way. It was better if friends and relatives did not know they even existed. So one day in 1935, when Poor Walter was in his early teens, Gertrude was nine and Little Johnny was but six, they were brought to “The Colony.” This is the place that Delawareans know as “Stockley Center,” and it would be the place where a lonely little girl would grieve the loss of everything that she held dear. She would be one of the more fortunate ones, because she had a sweet personality and a desire to please, but she would witness the brutality that was prevalent in the early days of institutionalization. She hates the mention of this place to this day.
It is the understanding of CMW that they never saw their daddy again. At least twice a year, their mother would get on a bus and make the trip downstate to visit her children. What she would find would break her heart. Her young, nonverbal Little Johnny chained to a tree in the hot summer without water. Mental retardation in large doses without hope is a terrible thing. Her normal children told stories of a mama who cried much, but did what she thought was best.
The children were placed with the direct instructions that they were to be isolated from each other, that they were to have no contact with one another. For some reason, the parents felt that this would be easier for them, somehow. Thank God for staff members with compassion who saw their despair and grief and chose to circumvent parental instructions. Someone saw to it that they had regular contact of the sort that would celebrate the fact that they were FAMILY. Walter, Gertrude and Johnny grew up knowing they belonged to each other, and Walter, especially, loved Gertrude and kept the link as strong as he could with phone calls and visits whenever possible.
Walter was not an easy man. His mind was not very good, but what he had tended to be quite made up. After nearly thirty years of being institutionalized, the State of Delaware happened upon the idea of foster care homes for the mentally retarded. While Gertrude and Johnny did well with this “new” concept, Poor Walter really had a time. He went through home after home after home until it was decided that the best place for him was a group home. In this environment, he thrived. He could talk to people, wander about somewhat unrestricted, watch TV, even smoke if he wanted to, and call his sister.
As the years have passed, the family has thinned out. There is only one of the normal siblings left and she is struggling with Alzheimer’s. This is the first of the ones afflicted with PKU to pass on. But there is a strict injunction on the records at the State. There is to be no public notice of any of the deaths of these three. Their names and pictures are never to appear in the paper for any reason. They have not been and will not be listed as survivors for any of their siblings.
Several years ago, the Delaware State News did a feature story on the foster home of Certain Man and Certain Man’s Wife. They wanted pictures. Old Gertrude would have loved to see her picture in the paper. Because she has been with the family for so long, CMW wanted to talk about her. Of course, permission had to be given, so she called to obtain it. It was then that she was told that it was something the family had strictly forbidden. Now CMW is pretty naive about such things. She supposed that it was from the parents, way back in the 30’s and that it could very easily be rescinded. Imagine her surprise when she found out that it was kept current at all times.
“Our friends don’t even know about them,” said Old Gertrude’s sister, when CMW asked, “And I just feel like it would be too much of an embarrassment to have to explain it at this point.”
Old Gertrude knows who her family is, and she prays for them every night, even the ones that are gone. But she does not feel any great attachment to them as far as wanting to talk to them or wanting to visit them. She most determinedly does NOT want to go to Poor Walter’s funeral. It is interesting that he died almost two weeks ago, and they just called today. The funeral is but a graveside service on a Thursday morning, and Old Gertrude is adamant that she will not go. She is hardly healthy enough, anyhow, at this point, but if she really wanted to, there would be a way. “No,” she says, shaking her head in her determined, dogged way. “It makes me feel bad to see people dead like that.”
This afternoon, the memories of Poor Walter are the things that keep crashing around the head of CMW. For years, he would, now and then, call in the evenings, when things were starting to settle down for the evening. The only problem was that he would have a difficult time getting started, and he would huff and puff before he finally got around to asking to talk to Gertrude. CMW hung up on him rather frequently in the early years of Gertrude’s stay because she thought some dirty old man was making obscene phone calls. The poor fellow was scolded more than once because he was simply misunderstood.
One evening, there was a girl staying with Gertrude and another lady that was living with the family, and when Certain Man and his household returned home, they found all of them barricaded in the bedroom with all the lights out. The young sitter was sure that someone was going to come get her because she kept getting these phone calls with all this “heavy breathing.” It was just Poor Walter, wanting to talk to his sister…
Old Gertrude would talk to him when he called, but she was usually more than ready to get off the phone. She is a marvelous conversationalist, but she doesn’t do so well when she can’t see the other party. One night, she was on the phone with him and Oldest Daughter was in the same room, peeling and eating a big, sweet, navel orange. The smell was filling the room. Old Gertrude cut the conversation short, and brought the phone across the living room to CMW.
“Gertrude,” said CMW, “are you done?”
“Yeah,” said Old Gertrude. “All done.”
“Well, how was he?” queried CMW.
“Oh,” replied Old Gertrude, “He’s alright. He was eating oranges. I could smell it on his breath!”
Several years ago, Poor Walter’s group home brought him to visit the Day Program where Old Gertrude and Little Johnny both attend. Some alert soul took Polaroid pictures, and Old Gertrude brought a copy home. A copy was made to put into a frame to sit on the toy box beside Gertrude’s Lazy‑boy. In the picture, three people are sitting in a semi‑circle. Old Gertrude sits somewhat off to the side in a shaft of sunlight. She looks sunny and peaceful. Almost pretty. Poor Walter and Little Johnny sit together on a piano bench. They are in the shadow, a bit, somewhat scrunched together. Poor Walter is in his element. He is with the two people he loves best. His eyes are obscure behind the dark, coke‑bottle glasses. But if you could be close to him, those eyes would be shining. You would know that what he is living and tasting is love in the purest form. You could, I believe, smell it on his breath.
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Most of you know that when it comes to Facebook, I tend to be a reluctant user at best and sometimes it doesn’t even hit there —
Tonight I have the soul sick feeling of resentment, and after a certain facebook post, I want to write, “DISLIKE! DISLIKE!! DISLIKE!!!” (Nobody get paranoid!!! It could actually be any of a number of them over my tenure with this medium–)
Oh, Lord Jesus! How can I come to you with my imperfections, my inferior performances, my paltry offerings and my sniveling attitudes and expect you not to write at the end of the posting of my life, “DISLIKE! DISLIKE!! DISLIKE!!!”?
Give me grace and courage, Dear Father. Empty this wicked heart of its bitterness and critical attitude. Calm this storm with the power of your presence and the reminder of how much Grace you’ve extended to me in my ignorance and self will and even good intentions gone wrong.
And most of all, when all is said and done, may it be Your Own Hand, hitting the “Like” button and welcoming me home.
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Yesterday morning, on my way to my sister’s house to pick up some rather stellar Portabella mushrooms, my mind was anywhere but here in Delaware. Somehow the absence of Oldest Son and his fair spouse was weighing heavily on my heart. They moved to Ohio a month ago, (actually it was four weeks ago yesterday) and even though Raph had some odd jobs lined up, there was no promise of anything beyond temporary. As the weeks have passed, I’ve been reluctant to even call him to hear “No, Momma. No job. Not yet.”
I’ve prayed about this, been grateful for Regina’s good family who love our son unabashedly. I’ve been happy about Regina’s job, and for the way she has settled back into it. I’ve been glad for the way they found an apartment so quickly, and reassured by the friends they seem to be making, thankful that Regina can be near her mom and sisters and the three little nieces that light up their lives, but so sad that Raph hasn’t been able to find that elusive job. I fought tears as I went down old Blacksmith Shop Road yesterday morning, and thought about the things I miss. I miss the Sunday family lunches, I miss the good-natured teasing about life and sports and work. I miss the top of the head kiss that he often dropped when he hugged me, the occasional drop in after work and the always, always, always, “Love you, Momma!” when he left. I miss them as a couple, Raph and Gina, who quietly (and often not so quietly) added to our lives in a thousand different ways.
In true “Momma Fashion” I tried to figure out what I should do. Maybe I should just call more. Maybe I ought to revert to the old “letter in the mail” business like my Grandpa Yoder did for the many long years when his children were scattered from Michigan to Florida to Ethiopia and often various places in between. I remember that he would sit at his old typewriter and peck out page after page. He sometimes did carbon paper, but when he wrote to my Uncle Paul, a missionary doctor to Ethiopia, he would use those old airmail fold together page and envelope all in one. They fascinated me. He would fill up every printable corner, and carefully fold and seal them and send them off. I love the kind of instant communication that we have now, but when someone hardly ever checks their e-mail, doesn’t read his Momma’s blog, and has trouble sometimes finding time to call — well, there has to be some way of bridging the gap.
All these things were rolling around in my head as I bumped down the road. I wondered how my Son was getting along. Was he homesick? Was he discouraged over not having a job? Did he have any prospects? Was he carefully pursuing any leads that he had?
I pulled into the drive at my sister’s house, and took care of business there, and headed home again. The plans were to go to Dover for some shopping, and my daughters were waiting on me. Suddenly there was a call on my cell phone and it was — Oldest Son.
“Son!” I chirped happily. “How are you? I was just thinking about you, wondering how you were, wondering if I should call– Are you doing alright?”
“Well, Momma,” he said with a note in his voice that I haven’t heard for a long time, “I got a job!”
“Son, that’s wonderful!!! What an answer to this Momma’s prayers! Tell me about it!”
And so, he did. He told me about interviewing with several companies, and how this job just fell into his lap. It looks like it will be a really good job. He will be installing windows for a company and the benefits are really good. He is so pleased, so relieved, so thankful. He starts Monday.
What a blessing this news was to this Momma’s heart! It lifted a burden that had been sitting squarely in the middle of motherly concern for a long time. The week has been a long week. Most of the week, I felt like I was battling depression big time. And I didn’t feel very good, but I kept thinking, “Wow! Between the girls coming home and the Monday night stretch, a friend’s passing, and all the other things going on, I must just really be ‘crashing’ hard.” Then yesterday afternoon I realized that I had a rather advanced urinary tract infection, and that explained some of my irritability and some of the physically exhausted business. So my doctor gave me some medicine and I feel better already. I’m so grateful for the advances of modern medicine. When I think about where I was a year ago, hoping so much that my knees would get better with Synvisc shots, hardly being able to enjoy my precious grandbaby because of the pain, and wishing for a quick fix for that brother of mine that had his neck broken in a fall — let’s just say that I am mightily encouraged today, even though I am not entirely well. Lord willing it won’t be long until I’m all better.
And Oldest Son is no longer unemployed!!! Now that’s worth getting excited about!!!
You go, Raph! We are so happy with you and Regina for this answer to prayer.
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She stood in the middle of my kitchen. From the moment she and her little sister came in from the dark where they had been swinging, she had smiled and tried to be so very grown up and complimentary. I was troubled by the fact that there were only two girlies. There should have been four.
“Is it just you and Miriam?” I asked her. She nodded. “Where are your sisters, honey?”
Her chin jutted out, and she heaved her shoulders. “Well,” she said slowly, “I’m not sure that I’m supposed to repeat this, but –” She looked around cautiously. “We think they are with our mama.” She looked then like she was going to cry. I walked over and wrapped her up in my arms and held her.
“And how does that make you feel?” I asked gently.
Her voice was high pitched, and tight. “Sad.” She said simply.
“Oh, Honey-girl.” I hugged her tight and rocked. She took a deep breath.
“Our family is just having a really tough time right now,” she said in a voice that belied her mere eight years. She and her sister played a little, but kept straying back to the kitchen. I finally got to thinking. They had been riding about most of the day, looking for someone to take them in.
“Are you girlies hungry?” I asked them with as much cheerfulness as I could muster. Their eyes brightened, and even though I have reason to believe that the six year old already is dealing with her mother’s anorexia, they both insisted that they would love something to eat. I had one can of spaghettios on the shelf. It was enough for two little girls. There was applesauce in the cellar. I got the spaghettios cooking while the oldest of the two hovered at my elbow.
“Did you know,” she suddenly said, “that I can cook and I can clean? I’m a really good help in the house.”
“You can cook?” I asked her.
“Yep, I can do toasted cheese and if I could get to Wal-mart for some cornstarch, I can make vanilla pudding.”
“That sounds wonderful, Honey. I’m sure you are a big help around the house. But you know, Darlin’ you are a little girl and little girls need to play sometimes.”
“Oh,” she said airly, “I do play, too. But I like to help.”
Supper was eaten, and the two darlings played tenuously. The oldest came back to give me compliments.
“You are a good housekeeper.”
You are a good cook.”
“You make good home canned things.”
“You have a big house.”
I sensed that there was a bid being made for being allowed to stay, and my heart went out to these little girls and their desperate situation. A mother who doesn’t live with them, two older sisters who have run away to live with the mom, and a dad who is ill — physically, emotionally, spiritually and mentally. His sordid tale went on and on into the wee hours of the morning. Somewhere along the way, I told him that the little girls could sleep in the spare room if they could sleep together. They had gone into the living room and crashed onto the la-Z-boy recliners and fell soundly asleep. It was then that we realized that what the dad really wanted was for someone to take the three of them in. Indefinitely.
I looked across the room at Certain Man who had put setting up chicken house on hold to listen and to try to understand. I thought about our girlies, due in any minute from their trip, and my heart rebelled at the invasion. I didn’t mind the little girls sleeping at my house, but the thought of their daddy spending the night was really uncomfortable for me. Certain Man told him that he could sleep on the couch, and he jumped at the chance. I went to change the last load of laundry and then motioned to Certain Man. “What’s going on?” I queried. “Did you really tell him he could sleep here?”
He was as troubled as I was. “Hon, what can we do? I can’t turn him out with the girls, and he isn’t going leave without them.”
“You’re right, of course,” I said. “But there are a few things I need to tell him.”
I met him in the kitchen and decided to get it over with. “You heard me say that there is an upstairs spare room, and I know I did say that the girls could sleep there. That was before I realized that you were staying too. With sleeping arrangements the way they are upstairs, I cannot allow you to sleep up there. Our single daughters are coming home tonight, and I am not comfortable with you being up there.” He took that really well and seemed to understand. “Furthermore,” I said, “Mornings at this house are especially busy. Daniel leaves early for work, and I have my ladies to get up and ready for the bus. Daniel leaves at 7:00. I think it would be best if you weren’t here after that time. I’m not making any accusations, but it just doesn’t look good for a man to be here when my husband is gone.”
“Oh, sure, sure.” He said. “I 100% agree with that. That is how I would do it, too. Just to have the couch is good enough, and we get up early and we’ll try to get on out of here.”
“I would really appreciate it,” I said. “It just seems awkward.”
“Right!” he said. “I understand.”
I got some sheets and made up a bed on the couch. Got him a pillow and some blankets. In less than ten minutes, he was snoring gently. The girlies hardly seemed to move. We left a light on in case they got awake, and once our girls got in from Guatemala, we went to bed. And after a time of trying to think and pray, I eventually went off to sleep.
This morning, there wasn’t much stirring in the living room until right after Daniel left for work. Then the bathroom I use to shower and dress my ladies was suddenly taken over. Thankfully, it didn’t last too long, but I still played “catch up” until the bus arrived, actually ten minutes early. Nettie and Cecilia both rode on the same bus today, so they were actually out of the house before the two little boys that Rachel babysits for put in their appearance. As the morning wore on there were no serious attempts at getting out of here. The Youngest girl hollered from the top of the steps. “Hey! Do you have some clean clothes? I peed myself!”
“No, I don’t have any little girls, so I don’t have any clothes your size.”
She scrunched up her cute little snoot and tried to think of a solution. “You don’t have anything? I need a t-shirt. Do you have a t-shirt for me? No? Well, could you knit one quick?” (uh, no!)
Eventually they drug in a huge suitcase that had clothes and some necessities, then had some breakfast, and everyone continued to mill about. I don’t know what is wrong with this old grey mare, but this morning almost got the best of my good humor. I finally fired off a message to the church e-mail group, asking for prayer and I guess people must have really taken it to heart because it was only about 20 minutes later that I saw him putting light jackets on the girls and he decided to head on out to see what he can find today.
My heart is a kaleidoscope of emotion tonight. How very much I wonder where they are. I wonder what their day was like. I spent a long time talking to Youngest Son today, and he is adamant that the girls are in danger. He had many, many things to say, but I hardly know what to do with them. I know it isn’t the best situation, but I have never seen the dad do anything that would physically hurt the kids. But everything is so mixed up tonight, and I am more than a little worried. I know that I’ve not given many names, but if you could, please pray for this family tonight. I don’t see things getting much better, in fact, I believe that they are “sitting on go for disaster.”
God has a plan, here. There is a best thing for this family to do. How sincerely I hope and pray that where ever they are tonight, the girlies are fed and secure.
Thanks for listening!
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The girls come home tomorrow, Lord Willing. The Guatemala airport is open, and things are all scheduled.
Please pray for my Rachel-girl. She is quite sick with the kind of things travelers often get when they travel in Latin Amercan countries. After three days of Montezuma’s Revenge, she is so dehydrated that she blacked out this morning when they went into town. I’m so glad that she has her own personal nurse with her, and Deborah is doing a fine job taking care of her. Rachel called me this afternoon while we were still at our church’s carry-in to ask me to please pray for her, and to ask for advice. I talked to her just a few minutes ago and she is feeling much improved, for which I am so grateful.
My week ahead looks really full, but took a quick turn for the unexpected this afternoon when Cecilia suffered a seizure. She was hospitalized about two months ago with seizures that wouldn’t stop (also on a Sunday afternoon, no less) and they changed her meds at that time. She had a few weeks of irritablility, but then seemed to settle in. About a month ago, they started her on Blood Pressure meds, and since then she has just not seemed quite right. Because she doesn’t speak, I always need to guess what is going on. I’ve noticed that she has lost some weight, though, and this past week they called me from Easter Seals to say that she was crying. They had never seen her cry before, and were quite worried. I couldn’t leave that minute to get her, and asked for a half an hour. By then, she had stopped crying and we decided to just leave her there. She seemed fine there the rest of the day, and also fine when she got home in the evening. Daniel and I went to PA to pick up my Sweet Mama who has been gone for almost three weeks, and Niece Carmen put her to bed. Again, she was crying, so Carmen called me, and I sang her the usual going to bed song that I sing every night, and then she seemed to settle okay. She was fine yesterday and seemed normal today until she had the seizure.
What this means is that I need to get orders for blood work, and then see if she may need some follow-up tests. May I just say that I HATE seizures??? They are devastating to the person who has them, and they are difficult to manage, difficult to discover the “WHY” of them, and difficult to know just what is best for the person involved.
Things will look better tomorrow. It’s high time I get to bed. Better days ahead. I hope.
(And maybe Xanga will upload my pictures!)
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After all the hoopla about El Salvador, I need to report on that part of the trip. Deborah and Rachel were treated wonderfully in San Salvador. They were taxied to the nice motel that is associated with the bus lines after arriving at the airport. I believe it cost them maybe $30.00, which Deborah seemed to feel was fair. They paid $24.00 a night for the nice motel room, and then were up at 4am to catch a bus at 5am for Guatemala.
The bus was adequate and comfortable and not terribly expensive. They had some exposure to the roads that were washed out and passable only on one side. One bridge was actually under water, but they went across it anyway. When I questioned the wisdom of that, Rachel said, “Mom, it was like a cement roof bridge. It was fine!” (I didn’t tell her that I saw some pictures of “cement roof” bridges lying helter skelter and completely collapsed on a facebook friend’s photo report of the devastation in the wake of the hurricane — The girls both seemed to feel that it was not that scary.) They got to Guatemala City in less than four hours, which seems to be excellent time, and then because Lupe and her husband Ervin had difficulties on the bad roads between Quetzetanoma and the capitol, they waited for awhile in a mall until they finally got there. Got something to eat because they were starving, and that is where Lupe and Ervin found them.
They had that very positive experience in El Salvador, and now they are loving the time with Lupe and her husband and their extended family. When I talked with Lupe last night, she was quite weepy with joy over having Rachel there, sharing old memories, and finding that Rachel has grown up so much since she last saw her, finding her an adult friend as well as a childhood friend that grew up, and just really enjoying having “home folks” there to talk to. I sometimes wonder how it must be to be in Lupe’s shoes. She has this little girl that is almost a year and half, and her grandma (Lupe’s mother) has never seen her.
Ervin and Lupe’s baby, Nichole
Lupe literally has no family where she lives, and she has had to learn the hard way who to trust and who will betray her, she has struggled in the marriage, (not surprising. Who doesn’t?) but has persevered and held on until things are now better than they have ever been. Her husband is a good provider for her, and they seem to have a working relationship that is meaningful to them both. She is a scrappy, feisty girlie and she has not had things easy in her life. I often think that it is that tenacity that has made the difference in getting through and giving up. I’m grateful that she has been a part of our lives, and I am honored that she considers our family as her own along with her biological family. It’s been a TRIP, and it has certainly had adventures.
Kinda’ like the one the girls are on right now. It’s been hard to predict just what will happen next.
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They are there!
About 2:15 I got this text:
We are safe with Lupe and are eating lunch.
Thanks for your prayers and keep praying
cause the roads back to her house were pretty bad.
Love you!
I’m sure the adventure will continue!
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Our World Travelers are on their way again. Beloved Son in Law took them to the airport this morning.
They are on their way to Guatemala to see Lupe. The trip has been planned for a long time, and it looked like it should have gone without too much trouble.
However.
(the story of my life — “HOWEVER–“)
There’s been a volcanic eruption in Guatemala, closing the airport. They tried to reroute to another airport, but to do that would change their airline, consequently, their tickets, consequently costing right at $1,000.00 more. Rachel, seriously, could not afford her part of that.
So, their airline offered to reroute them through El Salvador, where they could catch a bus for a six hour trip to Guatemala City, where Lupe and her husband would meet them and take them the six hours to their home in Quetzaltenango.
There is a tropical storm blasting Guatemala and El Salvador and some neighboring countries. At last count, there are 150 dead, and there are mud slides, roads out, and even a huge sink hole in Guatemala City into which a building completely disappeared. Then there is the volcano and the ash that is causing things to be difficult.
And they told me not to worry!!! “I wonder,” mused Youngest Daughter, “if I was born without a fear factor. I mean, I figure that I belong to God, and Jesus will be with us, and as long as we don’t do anything stupid, He will protect us.” Okay. What’s the definition of “stupid”?
Rachel was actually ecstatic. She wanted to have visited 25 countries before she was twenty, and Guatemala was only 24. El Salvador makes 25. “Yippee!!!” she squealed, while she bounced in her chair yesterday. “This is so incredible!!! An adventure!!! This is how I like things to be.”
(Well, Sor-ree!!! Little girlie!!! Your Mama doesn’t share your enthusiasm.)
And then, just now, they called me and told me they realized they were headed for the wrong airport. Deborah thought they were going to Dulles. Seems like they were supposed to go to Ronald Reagan.
“Gotta’ get off, Mom,” says rather flustered Middle Daughter. “I need to call the airport. We still have time to make it. At least we should . . . ‘Bye.” And she hung up. Whew! How in the world am I supposed to react to all this? I prayed that if they weren’t to go, that God would stop it somehow, but I don’t want it to be because Deborah read the tickets wrong.
It’s a good time to pray. I think I better “get off” here, too. I’m going to go get Youngest Sister and we are going to go buy some flowers. A diversion.
Stay tuned for the rest of the story. And please pray for Deborah and Rachel.
UPDATE: The girls eventually got on their plane. It seems that Jesse dropped them off, helped to get things unloaded and left. And then, after Deborah was through Security, she discovered that her camera was missing. She knew she had it in the van, so she called Jesse, and sure enough, there it was. It had fallen out of one of the bags. Jesse turned around, went back to the airport where she waited just beside the door to claim what was hers. And then, once again, through security, and finally we got a text message that said they were on the plane, and this Mama could breathe a little bit easier.
This evening, I had a phone call from a very distraught Lupe. She is quite worried, indeed. El Salvador is a much worse place than Guatemala, she said. Her husband told her that people rob people there, and just take advantage of people. He is very worried about their safety. And now the bridge is out between El Salvador and Guatemala, and they aren’t sure how the girls will ever get across. And people keep stopping at the house to see if they have come yet, and then in true comforting fashion say things like, “Your American friends must love you very, very much to risk so much to get here!”
“Miss Mary Ann, I’m just so worried,” says my little Latin Lupe-Lou. “If anything bad happens to my friends, I just want to die with them!’
HELLO?!?!?!?
“Lupe,” I say in the most reassuring voice that I can muster, “this is a good time to pray. Worrying won’t help a single bit, and God knows where the girlies are. He is able to keep them in His care. We need to trust Him, pray for their safety and wait! Deborah and Rachel have been through lots of tight scrapes in their lives, and Deborah has a good head on her shoulders. God is with them.”
She settled down then, and we had a great conversation. And just at the end of the calling card, lightening struck somewhere close, shutting down the electric in Milford, and that was the end of the connection.
Just about an hour ago, the girls landed in Houston. Late, but in time to catch their flight to El Salvador. We were able to talk to them and tell them about what we had heard through Lupe. And they listened! In fact, they procured tickets that will bring them back to Texas tomorrow in the event that they can’t get a bus ride to Guatemala from El Salvador. They are on the plane, ready to take off for El Salvador, and they are very aware that things might turn out differently than they had hoped. But they have found some fellow travelers that are in the same boat — headed for Guatemala through El Salvador, and that is comforting (to them and to me). There are more bridges between Guatemala and El Salvador, and there has to be some recourse for people in this situation.
I refuse to give in to panic. I know things aren’t very quiet in El Salvador, and I would appreciate your prayers for the safety of our girls. I know the Lord is with them, and I know He can protect them. Worrying won’t help. Praying does.
Thanks so much!
Much later update: (Actually, at about 1AM on Wednesday)
PRAISE THE LORD, DEAR FRIENDS!!! DEBORAH AND RACHEL SAID TO TELL EVERYONE THANKS AGAIN FOR ALL THE PRAYERS. PLEASE DON’T STOP NOW.
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I am guilty of stealing a picture — from my sister in law, Polly’s Xanga site. But this is a very current picture of me and my two sisters. And this weblog is about a very special day. And I don’t have a picture that was taken today because I keep forgetting to take my camera and ask people to take our picture — but I digress.
My youngest sister, Alma, had a birthday on Saturday. It was a busy time for all of us, and so we decided that we would go out today. I had a gift certificate to “Where Pigs Fly” restaurant in Dover, and so we decided that we would all go there to celebrate. We got a good start, and got to Ollie’s Bargain Mart and perused the many good bargains there and found some books that suited our fancies, and then headed on to Where Pigs Fly for a wonderful lunch together. There was good conversation, laughter and a generally relaxed atmosphere.
And then we went to the Mall, where more bargains were procured at the semi-annual Clearance Sale at Yankee Candle, and also at the Boscov’s Department Store. We stopped briefly at Auntie Anne’s pretzels and got a drink and some pretzel sticks, and then we headed for the great Sam’s Club. Now Youngest Sister had been there earlier this week, and had taken a great deal of time to put a large amount of things to buy in her cart. When she got up to the checkout, she produced her visa card to pay, and was told that she could not use visa at Sam’s Club. It had to be Master Card or Discover or personal check. None of which she had. I have thought over this situation several times, and I promise you that I would have not just given up, but she was on a time schedule to get back to milk, and so she eventually walked away and left everything. The checkout girl was not helpful at all, and the whole situation was frustrating indeed. So on this day, she was going back to get all the things that she hadn’t been able to get on the previous visit. Middle Sister and I also had things to get, but Youngest Sister had warned us that it was going to take her a long time, but promised to hurry. So I kind of meandered about, and looked at things, got a few things and then, just as I was getting my last item, a 55 lb. bag of moisture control Miracle Grow Potting Soil, my cell phone rang, and behold, Middle Sister had completed her check out and was patiently waiting, and Youngest Sister was almost finished checking out. So I heaved the big bag across the top of my cart and headed for the check out. It stuck out in such a way that I had to be so careful not to assault other customers, but I finally found a relatively short checkout line, and got it onto the belt along with my other purchases.
About then, I saw Youngest Sister tromping across the eating area towards the counter where you order pizza or drinks or whatever. “Do you want any water?” she asked as she passed by my line.
“No, I’m fine,” I said, “but take my keys so you can go ahead and start loading.” I willed the fellow to hurry up so that I wouldn’t keep my sisters waiting. After all, Youngest Sister had cows to milk again this evening, and it was getting on towards three o’clock. About that time, my cell phone rang again and it was Certain Man, calling to see where I was, what was happening and was I about home yet and then he told me the chicken catching schedule for the next morning, and informed me of several other things that I absolutely couldn’t concentrate on. Around the cell phone, I instructed the young black pleasant faced check out guy to just put it on my card. He loaded the cart, handed me my sales receipt and membership card, and I headed for the door. The 55 lb. bag of Miracle Grow made steering the cart just a little challenging, but as I came down the exit aisle, I saw both of my sisters, waiting for me. They were ready to go, and started to push their carts towards the door. That’s when I noticed that Youngest sister was having even more trouble with her cart than I was with mine, plus she had purchased one of those lovely big buckets that are so popular this year that have a handle that is all in one with the bucket and wheels that make it easy to move it around. It is like a wheelbarrow of sorts, except it’s a bucket. So she was trying to drag this on behind with one hand while pushing her cart with the other, and both items had wills of their own and were going in all directions.
Ever the one to fix things, (will I ever learn???) I reached behind me and caught the front of her cart while pushing mine in front of me. She objected at first, but when her cart went off to the side again, she saw that there was an advantage in me pulling just a little from the front while she pushed. My cart was behaving pretty well, but we did have some difficulty getting through the doors while they checked all our purchases. Finally we were out into the hot sunshine and on our way to the van. What a parade we must have seemed, and the carts didn’t want to behave, and the bucket sometimes went sideways, and we needed to stop and correct our course numerous times, but we finally got to the car. Alma looked expectantly at me, then remembered that she had the keys, so she produced them and we began the job of loading. Certain Man had thoughtfully removed the back seat before we left home, and that was a good thing. Alma got herself up inside the van so she could arrange things in there.
Suddenly, across the parking lot I heard a commotion. “Miss, — Hey, Miss!” It was the young man who had checked me out. He came running across the parking lot carrying a purse. “Hey, Miss! Is this purse yours?” I couldn’t believe my eyes. It was mine. It was gaping open, just as I must have left it on that little stand thingy that is at the checkout stations, but it was all intact, and I was one relieved lady. I hadn’t missed it, and since Alma had the keys, I had missed the one thing that would have triggered looking for it. I was so grateful, and tried to thank him properly, but he was on his way back to the store and his station before I could hardly assimilate what a gift he had given me. Honestly, I have been in stores before where people left things and the checkout people act like trying to run after the customer to give them what was left behind was too much bother. They would just turn it into the customer service department and forget it. I am so glad that I had an energetic and willing person to expend the energy to come after me. It would have been so disconcerting to have to go back to Dover to get my purse.
And then we came on home, the three of us. All of us were tired to the bone. No kidding. Alma still had to chore, and I had some things to do, as did Sarah, but it was such a pleasant day, and we had such a good time. My sisters and I used to try to go out once a month — that lasted about three months. Maybe four. The older I get the more I realize how much I like my sisters. We honestly don’t get to see much of eachother. We go to different churches, and we are all busy with our families. But every now and then it happens and we get together and have a great time. Even if we do seem to get ourselves into dilemmas and difficulties, it is still so much fun.
You want to know something interesting? Probably neither of my sisters will read this post unless someone tells them, “Mary Ann was talking about you on her blog!” It isn’t that they aren’t interested, but Sarah’s computer just doesn’t cooperate very well with anything she wants to do, and Alma, bless her heart, finds her computer more of a nusiance than anything else. Which tells you how very different we really are in some things. But in others — down in our hearts where it really counts, we are soul friends.
And I am so glad.
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