A Fortnight

A Fortnight

The call is received, “Be ready, right now”
A fortnight remains then Korea will allow
This stunning, fair, gorgeous, bright, delicate child
With a luminous smile, eyes beguiled
To embark on the airplane expedition
Which brings hope and joy in juxtaposition.

Her passport is stamped more than once: So Young;
She travels with friends, Total: five among
From the orphanage there to the exit gate here,
“Unbelievable, has it been more than a year
Since we first saw her photo – her face cute and sweet?”
A fortnight is all that remains till we meet.

The slow moving moon, as it changes each night
Filling the sky with her subtle, lambent light,
This slow moving moon, as she fills and then wanes-
Time is cruel, laggard and precisely inhumane.
The passage of time is so deliberately measured
A fortnight, 14 days, meticulously treasured.

We’ve searched the whole world for you, dear little love
Our hopes, collective deep prayers consist of
Eagerness, tenderness, gentleness, peace
With the tears wiped away and the joy to increase.
Half a world away, we felt so far apart
But this final fortnight has brought a journey of the heart.

jsi


Welcome home Rachel So Young
Blessings Jan and Lee

A longing in their heart and a depth of courage as permitted my brother Lee and his wife Jan on this journey of adoption. This week the long wait ceased as we all found ourselves in the International Arrivals area of the Detroit Metropolitan Wayne County Airport. Too excited to eat, or sit, or play cards, we anxiously gazed at the automatically opening doors directly following customs from Northwest flight #26. The plane had landed over 90 minutes ago, the minutes passing by like enormous, gigundous particles of sand in the world's largest hour glass. Slowly. Lethargic. "Is that her? Nope, only a luggage carrier." All the people who were emerging from customs were pushing their luggage in large push carts, which coincidentally looked exactly like baby strollers. After 45 heart palpitating episodes, we decided we should not face the doors...the rollercoaster of emotion, relief, anxiety, and joy was literally giving my mother five new gray hairs as I watched in her presence.

Two hopeful aunts, two grandmothers and one grandfather along with these excited soon-to-be parents - we were all making sure we had enough batteries (brought 8 AAs - and needed to offer them), memory space on our cameras and the right ideas from mom and dad: they would be relying upon us to take the pictures so they could be focused and involved with nothing else but meeting and greeting this love.

So between the 7 of us, we had 9 cameras and one video camera. I'm not ashamed - we were the assigned paparazzi. BTW, the video camera...these are way cool and very effective if you do not own a video camera. Similar to the one-time photo cameras you can purchase at any drug store or grocery store, Rite Aid has one time video cameras. So affordable. So incredible. So terrific. And for $10.00 you can have a 20 minute tape of the event of your life. So what if I'm behind the times...this is the first time I saw'em. Very impressed.

A deep answer to our prayers, God is magnificently good!

The Beautiful Touch of Jesus

It was 4:00 p.m. as I turned the key in my van. Deep inhale, hold, slow release, relax. Just relax. As I was leaving the house, the fog was oppressive. Forget about thick as pea soup, I happen to love pea soup and this was no "lovin' you" experience. There were no wispy tendrils of hovering haze floating above the ground, bringing mystery to the landscape, hiding the flaws, adding shadow and ethereal ambience to the sparse fields of winter wheat. This was not the mist that rises from the heather with its character and charm. It was more like the time-altering gale which rose from the highlands and swallowed up Brigadoon for a century at a time, retreating with the city in its wake as the sunrise approached. No, this fog had a different personality, a substantial velvet curtain, blocking all perspective save the "hand in front of the face" variety.

This was now the perfect ending to a bothersome day and the wretched beginning to a further bothersome mood. This mood was already present, making her appearance earlier in the day, earlier when I had the stamina to keep her down. This mood was here, without doubt, with the promise of more, if permitted. This mood was like a stinking cauldron filled with rotten herbs and rancid ingredients, with a slow simmer to which more fuel was being added. Although feeling lonely, I was glad there would be no one with me in the car, when this type of mood has its way, it creeps out and clings on, never a very pretty sight. I've seen her before, and though not desiring to offer a seat belt for protection, I knew she was here for the ride.

"Did I remember to bring everything?" Of course not. "Would I do anything about it?" Not now. The amount of responsibilities and family things I was going to be missing were mounting in my mind, proving more and more that I should just turn around and return home. "Can't do that, can we" I grumbled lowly to myself. I had my toothbrush and all the essentials, everything else was icing to this crumbling cake.

"I'll get gas on the turnpike, the price is better." Except at the turnpike service center, which had forever been Sunoco, had a surprise for me. The incredible powers that be had made a national decision. They had, as of four days earlier, switched their gas company to a totally different one. Elmira? Aloha? Balermo? Torro, Torro? Valero, is the name and not accepting Sunoco, Exxon or BP gas cards is their game.

What to do, but delve into my dinner money for a gas loan to myself, "I'll just get a few gallons until I get..." Put another log on the fire.

So dinner has dissolved into my now cooling travel mug of decaf vanilla coffee, two biscotti I was saving for snack later that night and a bag of fruit snacks that were in the back seat. (I wasn't going to ask how long they had been there...they were still chewy and fresh...I guess.) Four drivers were very aggressive and swerving and driving very dangerously with a semi truck who was pulling a triple load. I was getting tenser behind the wheel, keeping my cool and staying safe...yet...the fire under this simmering cauldron just received another choice log of dry wood, prepared to burn and heat things up more. Simmering and driving, slowly maneuvering the highway through the dense, barely visible terrain, I now leave the turnpike for the country roads of rural OH.

A three hour trip with this cauldron bubbling and festering, roads not lit, signs not visible, all traffic approaching me has their highbeams on, I am a blinded, grumbling, complaining fool who sits and stirs this cauldron and checks on its progress. Adding more ingredients: I can't find the Chapstick I need for my sore lips, I tore a nail in the chapstick search, I notice my socks don't match, and go ahead - the weather is now freezing rain, perfect.

Arriving at my destination, close to time without a chance to stretch or talk or get a drink of water or use the facilities, I am a mess on the inside. My makeup may be fine, every hair in place, a fetching outfit, but unbeknownst to those around me, I brought my cauldron with me and make a place of honor for it right next to me, a special seat. I grab my folder and take my place with the others and we begin to sing...

...and my heart just melts.

We are facing this portrait, Jesus With Children . I have this portrait at home in a smaller, less elaborately framed version, and I always hang in on a wall in the hallways near my children's bedrooms. I am familiar and blessed by this pencil and color sketch of Jesus. So this portrait and these words from our collective group ring forth with words from T. Brian Coleman arranged by Kevin Norbury:
1. As water to the thirsty, as beauty to the eyes, As strength that follows weakness, as truth instead of lies;
As songtime and springtime and summertime to be, So is my Lord, my living Lord, so is my Lord to me.
2. Like calm in place of clamour, like peace that follows pain, Like meeting after parting, like sunshine after rain,
Like moonlight and starlight and sunlight on the sea, So is my Lord, my living Lord, so is my Lord to me.
3. As sleep that follows fever, as gold instead of grey, As freedom after bondage, as sunrise to the day,
As home to the trav'ler and all he longs to see, So is my Lord, my living Lord, so is my Lord to me.

The portrait has children in it, but to me at that moment, Jesus was looking straight in my eyes, holding my face tenderly, and keeping the gaze. I needed to rely on the fact that I had the words and the alto part memorized for the written music was no good for me, my tears had blinded my eyes. He isn't laughing at everyone else jokes or witty remarks. His look of concern is the condition of my heart. I was thirsty for his patience and divine touch. My weakness was paramount, I needed His strength. I needed His peace, for my whole day felt like surmounting clamour, more and more. He isn't afraid of this terrible mood I've brought with me; I try to hide it but He reaches past me and claims it for Himself, saying, "Child this does you no good. I know just what to do with this." Jesus took that stinking, rotting mess and gave me a heart filled with His peace, and love, and joy.
How great is the love the Father has lavished on us that we should be called children of God. I John 3:1
Therefore, as God's chosen people, holy and dearly loved, clothe yourselves with compassion, kindness, humility, gentleness and patience. Colossians 3:12
Jesus answered the prayer I hadn't prayed yet, took away the burden I hadn't discarded yet and clothed me in His valuable character. Jesus is so beautiful to me.

Caved In

I have been praying for snow since October. It wasn't because I am a sentimental heart who dreams of powdery, wispy crisp and clear winter days with floating flakes to decorate the landscape with a clean blanket of white. (But I am a sentimental heart, and doesn't snow just make everything beautiful, eh?!.) It wasn't Bing Crosby tugging at my ear, making me "Dream of a White Christmas" or the thought of a day off school or snowball fights and snowangels.

I wasn't desiring a more difficult volunteer experience for our kettle workers who all have to stand outside except for one store. No, the mild December brought about many terrific things - we were able to have 2 kettle volunteers for every stand (I didn't have to stand a single day) every day, and actually had too many people who wanted to help (an amazing blessing) and needed to search for more places that would allow us to stand. No this mild winter allowed these generous hearts to be able to stay healthy, maintain their stamina - they didn't freeze to the center of their being, so they had more to be able to give the next day. No, December with 50 degree weather was a good thing.

I wasn't praying for snow so that it would be a harder month for our 12 passenger van, whose days were numbered and being replaced. The destitute thing already needed jumped more than once a week, even with the engine and battery replaced - it was on the "DO NOT RESUSITATE" list of the mechanic's care bay. He would turn the corner with that look in his eyes that said, "You're going to have make some choices, so gather the family together and get Chevy's affairs in order." A harsh December would have brought about Chevy's demise sooner than needed - a December in the 50s kept Chevy off of life support so no one who have to be placed in the position of pulling any inhumane plug.

I wasn't praying for snow so that California would lose 1 billion dollars in fresh produce (I did run to the store and get another bag of oranges before the Kroger price sky rockets), I'm going to really miss that slice of avocado on my bacon sandwiches. A BALT sandwich just isn't the same without the A. I wasn't praying for snow so Texas would get creamed or the the southern states would feel the winter wrath.

December in the 50s meant my husband didn't catch the flu because we had been to every hospital and nursing care unit in the county. He didn't have to chop the ice off the sidewalks and driveways and parking lots of our many houses and buildings. (But that also means he didn't get a chance to use his snow blower, which though it always means its cold, he just loves!) He didn't need to be covered in salt and devote 45 extra minutes every morning to making sure everyone was going to be safe when they stepped on any of our properties.
November and December in the 50s was a very good thing all around...

...except one.

As I opened the letter from the insurance adjuster, it described exactly what I was looking at. They understood perfectly and it was there in black and white, "Ceiling caved in; water damage extreme. Future damage expected. Continuing claim."

I had been praying for snow since October because our two corps building have several dramatic leaks...one of them has a roof that is likened to swiss cheese. That is the one you see here. This isn't the worst property mess you have ever seen - guaranteed there are worse. But it is a fact of life, this is something which needs immediate attention. The ceiling creaks when the wind blows, a big thing is going to happen soon. More coming down - a certainty. Some staying up - a hope. As you can tell from the top picture, there is more that will be coming down, and the weather has all the power about when that will be. Our insurance protector is emphatic about the safety which is required "Don't use that entrance, don't retrieve anything from that upper room, live without what ever is up there, tell your realtor not to show this building for a while."

My property prayer has been for snow, a freeze, and it is right now, yet each day as the sun comes out, and takes the ice from the driveway and sidewalk, removes the few flecks of snow which came from the night before, I pray, "Please let it grow cold again, please keep a freeze."

Have you experienced parts of your life when your personal ceiling - your support, your protection, your identity - was caving in from the trauma of grief or pain or loss or brokenness? Can you look at that picture and say, "I know exactly how it feels to be caved in. Crashing down."?

When life happens, and circumstances go different than planned and the result brings a caved in ceiling of the heart, we don't have to rely upon someone who will answer from far away with news we already know. God is with us, holding firmly the tender heart which is bruised and hurting.

When your ceiling has caved in and all you can look at are broken pieces and future pain, hold onto God. Maybe the only prayer you can muster is "I need you" - He is there. The cave in might be from things that we have caused - His examination will not withhold His love and forgiveness just because we caused the damage. God is more than able to accomplish what concerns you today.

Psalm 119:49-50, "Remember Your word to this servant, for You have given me hope. My comfort in my suffering is this: Your promise, O Lord, preserves my life."

verse 3 How Firm a Foundation

As words from the LORD God Almighty

When through the deep waters I call you to go, the rivers of sorrow will not overflow,
For I will be with you, your problems to bless and sanctify to you your deepest distress.

Hold onto God, with all you've got, even though the pieces of your personal ceiling are scattered on the floor at your feet. God has been there with you before it came crashing down, He is there right now and will remain. Hold on in faith HE IS WITH YOU.

A Letter without regret

Dear Minolta EP1030,

There's no avoiding it, we have to talk, so get ready...relax...maybe take a breath or two.

You have been my copier for 18 months and everytime I turned to you, you did your best to be reliable. But you know that I know and I know that you know...this just isn't working out. I can't hide it anymore. Its only being deceptive and mean to be less than direct. You have had your doubts recently, and expressed your concern. I have to be upfront with you, you deserve that at least.

There is someone else.

I'm not saying this to put salt in a wound, but you have mentioned that I always have looked nicer on Tuesdays than any other day. Every Tuesday morning when I'm a little late to the office, I've had my truthful explanations: I really was with Ms. R's multi-age class. Those little faces give me joy and I truly like being a helpful hand to this caring teacher. She sets aside different tasks for me to work on, and kindly continues teaching while I tackle these classroom jobs. My heart gets lighter when I see that there is certain job, my hands start to sweat and my heart beats a little faster. I count the post-it notes, "There's 7 today!". My first destination is to the office work room.

I can't lie: as I pass a mirror, I check my hair and lip stick. I am slightly distracted, I'll be alone with him again. His name is, well you know him - Konica Minolta Bizhub Di 5510, black and white digital copier.

Slightly weak in the knees, I recognize that there is not a line for this supreme copy emporium...I have him all to myself. I examine the copy requests, and they are complicated today: 58, 2 sided, collated, stapled from one sided 15 page master; 27 two sided collated stapled book of journals on card stock; 40 one sided groups from 2 sided masters; 5 copies from masters on transparency; 27 copies of 1 sided groups for three subjects. There are others...all of them different, so as I begin, I carefully make sure each job is separated.

This is going to be hard for you to hear, but I have to let you know my heart is steady sure. There is no longer a future for the two of us, you and I - my heart belongs to another. Di5510 is a dreamboat. He holds nine jobs at a time in his computer memory bank, as he has begun working on one job, I am able to give him another, and another. He never says "That's too many pages, you only need 15 at a time because I need to rest for 15 minutes" or "I can only do one side at a time and then you need to let the pages cool off before you enter them in for the second printing". He never throws a temper tantrum and refuses to work all day long until the magic hour of 4:55 p.m. He never jams the paper just because its a full moon, or spits out important parts which are not in the owner's manual or bleeds all over the expensive bond paper letterhead I have prepared for special letters.

He takes care of me.

Yes, that's right, I've taken some important jobs to him, and he was a perfect gentleman. "That's what you need? I can do that in a flash." That's what I hear from him, caring and concern. Di5510 has been a rock of confidence, you've seen his work - its immaculate (no toner in the corners) and smooth (no indiscriminate paper grabbing) and neat (he collates and staples, on a slant or horizontal or vertical - all I need to do is ask!) Biz (yeah, so what we share pet names!) will copy up to 55 copies per minute. He will three hole punch any amount of copies. He will hold up to 6 reams of paper so I don't have to change him every 2 hours. (Yeah, don't roll your eyes at me, you know that's all about you!)

When I ask for 50 copies, he gives me 50 copies, not 37 1/2. (Yeah, yeah its an old arguement but you do it to me all the time, I just can't trust you anymore!)

You haven't seen very much of me lately, we've grown apart. I haven't been avoiding you, but its painful to say, I haven't needed you. I hate the way this all sounds, but I'm moving on. When my new office is ready you are staying here and there is no changing my mind about it. The mail I just got on my desk, that you keep trying to read, yeah its from him. He knows my address and phone number and someone is trying to set up a date for Di5510 and me.

As I look over this 45 page dossier with gloosy pictures and smooth talk, I feel like he just might be a little fast for me. But I'm head over heels for him, he's what I want. He might be out of my league, my budget is going to take very creative negotiating...but who needs chairs, phones, filing cabinets or pencils for that matter.

I'll have my Di5510 and I'll be happy. We can live on love, for love is what makes the world go round.

You'll forgive me someday, but you knew this was coming. You never made any effort to change or help or reach out. You've ruined the last job for me mister, I won't rely on your empty promises and your mean actions anymore. I will survive and you may survive too, if you shape up and fly right. You just can't abuse those around you and expect to get preserved. There's a dumpster coming to the corps in the very near future, you'll be able to see it out of this office window, and if you know what's good for you, you'll understand your placement on this square table is in jeopardy.

There is a chance, a slim chance that you can keep yourself out of it. Think about that Mr. Minolta EP 1030, just think careful.

Sincerely and without regret, jsi