Changes!

What a week! In just one week, we doubled our grandchildren. Last week we had two granddaughters. This week we have three granddaughters and a grandson. And we felt no pain at all. They are both precious and perfect and turned their families of three into families of four. The two big sisters are taking their roles very seriously and doing a great job! And the changes didn’t stop there. (Photo credit for girls in pink: Bella Baby)

We bought a new car. Not a new, new car. A three-year-old, new car, which is the newest car we’ve owned since 1985. Do you remember the 80’s, when interest rates were high on both loans and bank accounts? That was the year we bought our only brand, new car. We had the cash to pay for it, but the interest rate on a new-car loan was 6%, and the interest rate on a 2-year CD at our bank was 9%. So, we took the loan and put the cash in the bank, making a profit of 3% over the two years. Those were the days.

We also had a dog swap this week. Our 11-year-old, easy-going boy, Akers, went on vacation with our son and his wife, and we got their 9-month-old ball of energy. Sensing who got the better end of that deal, Akers went all puppy on them and devoured two sticks of butter, two bags of donuts, and a box of instant mashed potatoes. He’s good, but food left unattended is fair game. It also made a repeat appearance during the night. A dog vomiting is the most effective alarm clock ever! You are up, out of bed, and wide awake in milliseconds.

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The seasons changed this week, too, although it doesn’t feel like it with Autumn starting with temps in the 80’s and 90’s! But I see trees turning yellow, orange, and red, mums blooming, and leaves crunching under my feet. Summer went by in a flash, and I fear Autumn will be gone before I even get to break out my favorite jeans and sweatshirts. My favorite season of all is off to a great start – football season! Penn State is 4-0 and the Philadelphia Eagles are 2-1. Both of them made this week’s wins a little too exciting for a grandmother of four. My heart can’t take it.

So, where did I see God this week? All over the place! Obviously, the birth of babies has God written all over it. New life, gifts from God, the design of a woman’s body to carry, deliver, and nurture a newborn is truly awesome. The instant love that exists between a parent (or grandparent) and a newborn has to be from God. Humans are much too selfish to love like that on their own.

I’m not sure that God is all that interested in the car we bought, although the deal that we got and the timing and having the money to pay for it all seem to have God’s fingerprints. I’m sure he doesn’t care about my football teams (as individuals, yes, but who wins and who loses, I don’t think so), but I’m happy they won.

Believe it or not, what struck me the most this week was the time I spent with Yui, my son’s dog. She’s a rescue. Her background and breeding are unknown. One ear goes up and the other down. Her right lip gets stuck on her bottom teeth, giving her a crooked smile. The long bone of her front legs is too long. She’s sweet but a rather dim bulb, and she never comes when called. She reminds me a lot of me, at least the me before God rescued me and gave me new life. I didn’t have anything to offer him, but he loved me anyway. “But God shows his love for us in that while we were still sinners, Christ died for us.” (Romans 5:8 ESV)

Two new grandkids to love, new stuff to care for, a new season to enjoy, and a goofy rescue puppy reminded me once again of the love of God. Yes, it’s been quite a week!

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Who’s My Neighbor? No Really, We Haven’t Met

It’s a question most famously asked of Jesus, who launched into the well-known parable of the Good Samaritan. A person with no understanding of or exposure to Scripture still knows what it means to be a good Samaritan. But that’s not what I was asking.

We got new neighbors, at least we thought we did. We were sure the old neighbors moved out. We weren’t sure that the new neighbors moved in. Doug had met the new neighbor the day she did the walkthrough prior to settlement. There was an instant connection because of her reason for buying the house–a place that would work for both her and her elderly mom. It was the same reason we bought ours. Cookie-cutter houses with cookie-cutter purposes.

So, I baked some cookies to welcome them to the neighborhood, but I really thought they hadn’t moved in yet. So, the cookies sat on the counter, mysteriously dwindling as a few days went by. Finally, Doug saw her again. They had moved in. He told me Sherry was walking the dog when he saw her. A dog? There’s a dog? I haven’t seen a dog.

I went next door with my petite plate of cookies (after all, there’s just two of them, they don’t need a lot). No answer, but the dog barked. It’s a Lab; I like this family already. I left the cookies on the porch rocker and checked on them a little later on – gone. Huh. I had included a note with the cookies, welcoming them and giving them our phone numbers in case they needed anything.

A few hours later, I saw a voicemail message. It was Sherry, thanking me for the cookies and the phone numbers. She hoped to meet me soon. Does my neighbor really exist? She is very mysterious. Then it happened. We were out in our yard with the dogs, and Sherry and her dog walked by. She stopped and introduced herself. The three Labs met. We chatted for a while, and she continued her walk. Nice lady, sweet dog.

I realized that when Doug had described her to me, he never mentioned that she is black. It probably never occurred to him. That sort of thing doesn’t. He’s more likely to describe someone by their occupation or the car they drive–the doctor behind us, the Penn State guy across the alley, the guy with the blue Camaro a few doors down, but never their color. Unless their color isn’t good, like “he looks a little grey to me.”

I would describe them as the guy with the Golden Retriever, the couple with the Greyhounds, the family with the Chihuahuas. And we both describe one neighbor as “the spy” cause we’re pretty sure he is. Very suspicious. They are varying shades of white, tan, and black, but that doesn’t shed any light on who they are (not like the car they drive or the dog they own).

The important thing about our neighbors is that we love them. That may mean baking them cookies, helping them with a project, loaning them stuff, or just talking with them and sharing our lives with them, being a neighbor. We show them love regardless of their skin color, their occupation, or even if they own Chihuahuas, although it’s hard not to look down the on them just a little for the Chihuahuas.

At the end of the parable of the Good Samaritan, Jesus says, “Which do you think proved to be a neighbor to the man who fell among the robbers?” He said, “the one who showed him mercy.” And Jesus said to him, “You, go, and do likewise.” (Luke 10:36,37 ESV) As the Apostle Paul put it, as Christians, “there is not Greek or Jew, circumcised or uncircumcised, barbarian, Scythian, slave, free; but Christ is all and in all.” (Colossians 3:11 ESV) In today’s language, race, color, or culture makes no difference. We are one in Christ, brothers and sisters.

One of the things I love about our new neighborhood is what I thought I would hate about it – there are so many people, neighbors just steps away. There is also a lot of diversity, an unexpected bonus. As we meet more and more neighbors, we get a glimpse into other cultures and have the opportunity to practice the culture of Christianity–that of loving our neighbors.

Remembering

I had another blog post ready to go for today. But I couldn’t help remembering 9-11, and it didn’t seem right to post about something else on this day.

Sixteen years have passed, but I still remember exactly where I was and what I was doing when I heard the first reports of terror attacks. I remember feeling fear – the plane in PA was just starting to be talked about. My next memory was overwhelming sorrow. I thought about how many people would be affected by the attacks. So many people. The sadness was heavy.

I’ll never forget the plane impacting with the second tower, the faces of civilians and first responders as they came to grips with what was happening, and then the collapse of the towers. It was truly unbelievable.

As the day wore on, the saddest sights to me were the pictures of ER personnel waiting outside hospitals to care for the expected thousands of victims. But they never came. ERs remained quiet. Blood donations went into blood banks for future needs. There were few victims that made it to a hospital. Most victims were swallowed up in the towers, becoming part of the dust. It was heartbreaking.

Being born after the JFK assassination, I didn’t have that frame of reference when everyone talked about knowing where they were when they heard the news. Now I did. 9-11 was my generation’s JFK. I’m sure it will remain with me all of my life. I work with teens who were born after 9-11-01. Like the generation before me, It seems so strange that they didn’t experience it. Everything that it changed is normal to them–taking your shoes off at the airport, leaving liquids behind, having a Department of Homeland Security, and the war on terror.

I had to go to work that afternoon. That’s when I remember the first feelings of American pride. As I drove just over an hour, through small towns, I noticed that almost every house had an American flag hanging outside. They weren’t there the day before. It was the beginning of American’s coming together in the face of tragedy. I choked up at the symbol of all Americans connecting to one another and offering support.

I can’t help but think of the difference in how the picture of the American flag being raised by first responders over the rubble of the world trade center united a nation, but how divisive it is now just being unfurled at a football game. Our memories are not long enough.

This week we have faced two major hurricanes with widespread devastation. And just like the terror attacks, Americans are showing their love for one another in caring for each other’s needs. It is a shame that sometimes it takes a catastrophe for people to lay aside their political, racial, economic, and cultural differences to help a fellow American in need.

I wish we would remember they way we felt on 9-11 every day and not just for a short time on the anniversary. What a difference that would make in how we treat one another. “make my joy complete by being of the same mind, maintaining the same love, united in spirit, intent on one purpose. Do nothing from selfishness or empty conceit, but with humility of mind regard one another as more important than yourselves; do not merely look out for your own personal interests, but also for the interests of others.” (Philippians 2:2-4 NASB)

A Labor Day Tradition

Of all the Labor Day traditions, my favorite is attending the Blue Hill Fair in Blue Hill, Maine. A tradition since 1891, it is where E.B. White saw the pigs from Zuckerman’s farm and was inspired to write Charlotte’s Web. Zuckerman’s still bring their famous pigs to the fair.

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It is the quintessential country fair where 4-H kids are judged on projects ranging from carrots to cows. There’s a midway full of delicious treats, games and carnival rides, concerts, harness racing, women’s skillet toss, and anything you can do with wild blueberries. We always plan our time there around two events, the sheepdog trials and the horse pulling.

I am fascinated watching the sheepdogs herd 4-5 sheep through several gates and pens with the only instruction from the shepherd being various whistles. The crowd is completely quiet while they work, with only the occasional gasp or moan when a sheep breaks away and spoils the dog’s work.

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But my absolute favorite thing to watch is the horse-pulling competition. Giant draft horses, mostly Blegians, compete in pulling skids piled with granite slabs, 10’s of thousands of pounds. They compete in two- and three-horse teams. In the timed competition, the horses pull the same amount of weight back and forth through the show ring. The team who pulls the greatest distance wins. In the second competition, more weight is added each time the team successfully pulls the skid 15 feet. The team who pulls the most weight, wins. Most of these horses are still used for work. They may clear granite boulders from farmer’s fields or pull huge logs out of the dense Maine woods where mechanical equipment can’t go.

The teams come into the ring prancing and snorting, anticipating what they are about to do. The driver backs the team into place, and as soon as they are hooked to the skid, the horses take off, digging into the loose dirt, every muscle pulsing. Their power and beauty is breathtaking. The driver stops the team every so often, allowing them to catch their breath and give their muscles a rest. As soon as the driver tells them to go, they are off again. These gentle giants will pull until their driver tells them to stop or until the weight is just too much.

 

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Finally, the driver unhooks the team, and they prance out of the ring, relieved of the burden they have been carrying. To cool down, the horses pull their driver’s around on skids outfitted with old car bench seats. They clearly enjoy this. What a relief to pull just a few hundred pounds! I am always reminded of Jesus words, “Come to me all who labor and are heavy laden, and I will give you rest. Take my yoke upon you and learn from me, for I am gentle and lowly in heart, and you will find rest for your souls. For my yoke is easy and my burden is light.” (Matthew 11:28-30)

We will miss the fair this year as we anxiously await the arrival of our next two grandchildren. But, hopefully, in the years to come, we will be able to share this special tradition with them.