At just about any given evening hour either Mother or I would be sitting alone at the piano or organ, or we would be sitting there together, carefully counting and practicing together … sometimes crying … always encouraging each other … as we tried to learn our parts well enough to accompany the choir. By the time we started practicing with the choir we both felt it would take more than a Christmas miracle for Dad to pull this one a off. If we got off, the choir would get mixed up. If the choir got mixed up it would throw one or both of us off. Through it all Dad just kept telling us, “You can do it, there’s plenty of time. If you do all you can do to prepare for this program, angels will fill in the gaps.” I thought he was asking a lot from the angels. “Choir members began to pat our backs after choir telling us not to stress, that it was “coming together so … nicely”. Well, of course, we stressed anyway. It’s in our genes.

     I would dare say we played that song four hundred times over the next four weeks and by the week before the performance we could play it together “good enough” most of the time, and more frequently we each played it “very well” … but never at the same time. We had not once achieved what either of us considered “excellent”, either alone or together. At our final, dress rehearsal (our choir practices were at 6:00 AM Saturday mornings) with dad conducting and the full choir singing, we each made one mistake after another. It was disheartening to say the least. We didn’t think our nerves, or our bowels, would survive. I secretly wished I would slip on the ice and break my arm.

     On the day of the performance, the choir bowed their heads while Dad offered a simple prayer that went something like, “We are just humble children who want to do our best on this joyous occasion. We have diligently practiced, putting in many hours privately and together. Please send angels who can buoy us up and fill in any gaps, that those who have come to worship the birth and the life of thy Son, Jesus Christ may feel of Thy spirit.”

     Well, we did receive a miracle that day. Our choir of thirty five members sounded like a host of heavenly angels and Mom and I didn’t miss a note. What ecstatic joy we all felt as we played the last booming chords exactly together. For a moment the choir stood silently in awe while Dad, who was limp with emotion, stepped from his little raised podium and sat down, wiping the tears from his face with his folded handkerchief. “Mom whispered, “Lewy, LEWY … you forgot to have them sit down again!” (This was something he often forgot to do and the choir members had threatened to remain standing until he got back up and sat them down.) He stood and turned to face the patiently waiting choir members once more and opened the lapels of his coat to reveal a sign he’d pinned to his stiffly starched, white shirt that read, “You may be seated.” (My Dad never failed to bring a smile to people’s faces and this was no exception.)

     It was a marvelous experience for a teenager and one I think of every year when I pull out my box of Christmas music. Thank you Mom and Dad for always believing in me and pushing me to reach beyond what I think I am capable of.

Little Teddy with the permed, very, very curly hair and the smile that showcased her two missing front teeth, had some difficult decisions to make the year she turned eight.    And for an eight year old, it felt like it was pretty heavy.    It was mostly about Santa Clause.   Some of the older classmates were beginning to whisper quietly that their dads were really Santa Clause.   Edna was, and had always been, a believer so she stood up with her hands on her hips and told them so.   Recently, however, it was getting harder to defend her position, because two of the boys had started to call those who maintained Santa was real … a baby.   Her teacher, upon hearing snatches of their conversations, had taken each little boy by an ear and led them to the corner where she scolded them smartly while shaking her long, pointy finger in their faces.  The boys were sternly warned not to say anything more, but when the teacher was out of the room they would look over at the girls and rub their eyes and act like they were crying like babies.    Edna pulled her eyebrows together and scowled hard at them but that just made them laugh, and she just hated it when they laughed at her, even though Mama told her it was only because they thought she was cute.  

    When Edna asked her two older brothers, Bill, & Chick, if Santa Clause was real she was told, “the minute you start thinking there isn’t a Santa you’re doomed because he’ll know it and then you’re on the naughty list and he only brings you underwear”.     She found that very easy to believe because obviously her older brothers must have done something bad to get on Santa’s naughty list since most of their Christmas gifts were clothes.     Her sister Ann hugged her and said, “Santa Clause is the spirit of Christmas.”

    When she approached her mother with the same question she was carefully told, “All I know is what my Daddy told me when I was a little girl, and that was, ”If you stop believing in the Magic of Christmas, Santa just might stop coming around.  Do you want to take that chance” her mother asked?       No way did Edna want to risk that!  She would go to her grave hanging on to that Christmas magic!   But still, in those secret quiet moments when she was all by herself, sometimes she thought about Santa … and wondered.

     Every year she had whispered in Santa’s ear that she wanted a new doll.    She loved her dolls and had given each one a name.   She now had four!   She’d already begun her yearly job of getting all of them especially clean and neat so she could line them up on Christmas Eve so Santa could see for himself how careful she was with the gifts he’d given her. 

     Most years, Edna’s family chose a clear night when the temperature was well below freezing and they would pile into the old, wood-paneled station wagon and head from Draper for their special ride to the Avenues above Salt Lake City, Utah, to see the beautiful Christmas lights in some of the city’s most highly decorated neighborhoods.   Of course, they always filled the car with nice, warm blankets, ear muffs, scarves, heavy winter coats, and nice thick gloves and they would all snuggled together until they were nice and toasty. Even so, the car’s heater wasn’t powerful enough to chase away all of the nippy, below zero cold, so their breath came out in little misty puffs as they talked.   They laughed when their teeth chattered so hard and fast together that it garbled their words. 

     On the way to the big city the family would sing Christmas carols one after another until their voices were hoarse.   Somewhere along State Street Daddy would stop at one of the places that sold Christmas trees of all sizes for $2.99, and they would all pile out of the car, walking through the trees and examining them from all sides.   It was always Mama who found the perfect tree and then the boys would help tie it to the top of the car.

      Edna remembered last year’s trip when they made a side trip to Sugar House so she could visit Santa Clause where he sat in a little shack right in the middle of streets that cross-crossed in the busy shopping area.   Because it was so cold, the other children who were lined up to see Santa moved through rather quickly, but not so quickly that Edna didn’t have enough time to worry as she inched closer and closer.  She had somewhat the same feeling in her tummy that she always felt on the last day of school when she was waiting to get her paper that would say if she was going to be promoted or held back. 

     As she inched closer and closer to Santa she couldn’t help but think that perhaps this was the year she would be on Santa’s “naughty” list.  What if she waited and waited and waited here in the cold to talk to Santa Clause, and then when it was her turn to talk to him he just looked at her sadly and shook his bearded face back and forth while he slowly told the helper by his side, “Not this little girl.  She has been naughty and I won’t be visiting her this year.” 

     What a relief she’d felt when he’d finally lifted her onto his knees and asked her if she had been a good little girl.   Of course, she said “Yes”, which she quickly followed with the sentence she had practiced so carefully many times in her mind.   “Can I please have a dolly that opens and shuts her eyes and has real hair?”

      By the time she would get safely back in the car and wrapped snuggley in her blankets she was filled with relief and the Christmas spirit.   Not only had she told Santa what she wanted. she was sure she’d talked to the real Santa because just for good measure she’d given his beard a good, solid yank just before she jumped from his lap.   Santa had winked at her and laughed his booming “HO HO HO” as he gently squeezed her ruddy red cheeks.  His beard was real and his tummy was nice and plump and right at that minute she’d had no doubts about Santa Clause.

     But this year, the year Edna turned eight, her family couldn’t make the trip to Salt Lake City.     For the first time that she could ever remember, they hadn’t gone as a family to pick out their Christmas tree.  Somebody at work had given her father a big, bushy pinion pine and now it was glowing in front of the window, bubble lights bubbling and lights reflecting off the colorful glass ornaments mother kept safely wrapped in white tissue paper.   The Christmas tree was fine, it wasn’t that that was bothering her as she looked around the empty room.   Her mother had given her some pretty stationery to write Santa a letter year but that hadn’t been very fun.     Everything was changed this year and it made things not quite fit together in Edna’s mind.   She wasn’t about to say so, though, because it was really close to Christmas Eve and she was on her very best behavior.   

     Two days before Christmas Edna’s mother handed her a soft dust cloth and sent her into the living room with instructions to dust it carefully.    Edna had been feeling anxious and sad all day but she wasn’t really sure why.   She just couldn’t shake off the feelings about Santa this year, and she was starting to feel that she’d already lost some of the magic because of it, and it worried her.    And now she’d been sent to dust the front room again, when she’d just dusted it the day before.   Mama plugged in the lights of the tree and opened the curtains so Edna could see the beautiful giant sized snow flakes that had been falling quietly since the night before.   The flakes looked like they were as big as silver dollars and the trees, and bushes, and fence posts were all evenly covered in a sparkling blanket of white.     Edna watched the as it danced outside the window for a little while and suddenly two big tears spilled out of her eyes and found their way down her face.    It was nice to have a white Christmas, she thought to herself, but not if it meant your daddy had to go to work all night to plow the roads so other people could drive safely.    She would rather have her daddy home where he was safe and warm than have a white Christmas.  

      Slowly she turned to do her dusting and heard the faint tinkling of Christmas bells.  She stopped and leaned her right ear forward listening intently, wondering where the quiet jingling was coming from and a quiet “tap, tap, tap” on the window behind her caused her to spin around and peer once again out into the darkness.   One more time she heard the quiet song of bells and suddenly right there in front of her, peeking in her living room window, was the realest looking Santa of all Santa Clauses.   He looked just like the Santa in her picture book!

     “Ho, Ho, Ho.  How are you Edna?    I heard you were sad because you didn’t get to see me this year, so I here I am,”  Santa said as the quarter sized snow flakes settled on his white hair and red suit.     

     “Santa!” Edna squealed with delight.   “ I can see you!  You are here!   I’m going to go get Mama!” she said as she prepared to run from the room.

     “No, no … I am in a hurry,” Santa called to her.  “There is just enough time for you to tell me what you want for Christmas.”

     Edna turned toward him again, her eyes wide with wonder and a joyous smile that seemed to have taken over her entire face. 

    “Santa,” she whispered through the window as close to him as she could get.   “Santa, are you for real?”

     The question seemed to surprise Santa and he put his chin into his big black glove as he thought for a moment before he cleared his throat and scratched his head.    “Well, little girl, what do you think?” he answered.   “Do you think Santa is real?”

     Edna looked deeply into Santa’s eyes before she answered, “Well, you are here, and I can see you, and there are no footprints out there in the snow … so that is kind of like Christmas magic.    I was afraid I had lost some of the Christmas magic because my brain kept asking if you were real.”

     “Sweet child,” Santa said as moisture pooled in his eyes.    “There is a magic to Christmas but it is not because of me.    What I do at Christmas, anyone could do.    But do you remember whose birthday we celebrate?”

     “It’s when Jesus was born,” Edna answered quietly.    

    Santa answered back, “I would like to think I will always  be in your heart and help you feel the magic of Christmas, but never forget that it is Jesus who has given you the greatest gift of all, not me.    The gifts I bring to you will be gone some day, broken or passed on to some other child, but the gifts He brings, will be with you always.   That is the magic of Christmas.” Santa said as he gently smiled at her.  “That is what you must never lose.”

     Edna stood at the window for a long time after Santa left and she thought about Christmas, and Santa, and her Mom and Dad and the happy feeling that was here in her house.     And she thought about that first Christmas long ago when baby Jesus was born in a stable … and that was when she felt it.   That was when it had all come together like a warm light had been turned on in her heart and its warmth had spread through her chest, then her arms, clear to the ends of her fingertips.    “That does feel like magic,” she thought as she quietly stood and watched the beautiful snow fall into the still, black night.

• So, dapper little man with the cumber bun and the hat made of feathers, if I chose this day to go back to it would be because this was the Christmas when I began to understand that even though Santa plays an important part in spreading the love of Christmas, the real magic of Christmas isn’t Santa Clause.   It is the light of Jesus Christ.   And somehow I knew that night, that no matter what else changes, He will always be there for me..   
• P.S.   I love Santa Clause more than ever now that I as old as he is.

     Oh I love the quiet of the night, when it’s just me and the Christmas lights.   I often find my mind taking me back to Christmas’s Past and the golden memories of happy times spent with friends and family; particularly to our own little flock of five.   I like to close my eyes and smell my sweet newborns cuddled close to my neck where I can feel their warm little puffs of breath.     Often, as I gaze out into the quiet of the night, I hear beautiful Christmas anthems as I think about that very first Christmas in Bethlehem.    If I had been alive then instead of now would I have followed the star?   

     I go through my cluttered mind picking up scraps here, snippets there; remembering so many joyous occasions from the past 65 years.    Can I really remember when I was only three or four years old singing Rudolf the Red Nosed Reindeer at Grandpa Matheson’s Christmas program, or have I heard that story repeated so many times I claim it as a vivid memory?      Memories … what a treasure they can be if you have been as fortunate as me.

    Well, a strange thing happened to me the other night.   I suppose it was because of all of this reminiscing about Christmas’s Past that what I am about to relate to you came to pass.    I know you’re probably not going to believe it, but if you want to know the truth, I’m still not sure I quite believe it myself, and I was there.    I swear I haven’t been sneaking doctored eggnog or doubling up on my medication, nor do I think I have crossed over to that state of confusion that sometimes accompanies old age when fiction mingles with fact.   

      I was idling through an old cardboard box of Christmas ornaments that once belonged to my grandfather, when I felt something interesting down deep in the corner under the shredded newspapers.   I pulled it out to discover a miniature tin canteen that looked some what like, but not exactly a replica of, the canteens my sons used on their Boy Scout camping trips years ago.  It had a covering that looked like animal skin and it hung from a thin leather, braided strap that would have fit a toy sized shoulder rather than attached to a belt.  I assumed it must have been a toy belonging to my father, or perhaps even my grandfather who had been a devoted scout for his entire life.

     I sat there for a moment admiring the detailed craftsmanship that had gone into making such a fine canteen for a little boy’s toy soldier, wondering how many of today’s toys would have lasted so long and still looked basically as good as new.   It felt a little heavy so I screwed the lid off and lifted it to my nose for a sniff and  just as I leaned in to smell the canteen a pothering whiff of dust came up from the box and I began to cough intensely, unable to catch my breath, so I went into the kitchen to get myself a cold glass of water.    As I returned to the living room (this is the part you may have trouble believing but, hey, it happened) a man, who was bending from the waste to study the ornaments on my Christmas tree, quickly snapped to attention.   I almost choked to death, this time on my drink, as I sputtered diet coke (okay it wasn’t ever cold water) through my lips and nostrils while tears sprouted from my eyes like a fountain.  I’m sure my face was an unflattering red, not that it should have mattered, anyway.

       Perhaps you will understand why I might have been momentarily shocked into silence if I describe how this man appeared, for he certainly didn’t appear as if he belonged in this century.   Everything from his posture, to his attire, to his bushy white mustache and eyebrows.   He had beautiful wavy, white hair that almost looked iridescent with the lights of the Christmas tree directly behind him.   His demeanor and the set of his jaw and mouth literally screamed  the word “dapper”.    His uniform, (did I mention he wore a uniform?) which I have since researched and found that it was similar to this one worn by the early Boy Scout founder, Baden-Powel, was green and red and involved a cumber bun and a feather hat but he didn’t really look to me like an old boy scout.   

     I’m sure he was rather disappointed in me since I was still lounging in my sweats at noon and had not bothered to do more than run a brush through my hair since climbing out of bed.  I was in total shock, standing there feeling frumpy and out of place … in my own living room!   That is until I remembered that it WAS my home and HE was the intruder.

    “Hey just a minute here, Mister.    What do you think you are doing?”    I firmly asked.    (Trying to throw him off guard with my assertiveness.)    “This is MY house, and you cannot just walk into it unannounced like this … (I ran out of words about here) … uh … just any time you want!”

     “I beg your pardon, Madaaam”, he stiffly answered, “I did not just walk into your house.   I believe I was summoned.”

     Summoned?    What is he talking about?    A summons means someone sent for him and it surely wasn’t me.    “Well you can just turn around and march out that that door then,” I sputtered as I squared my shoulders and stood as stately as I muster while I pointed sharply at my front door.   “You have obviously been summoned somewhere else.   Who were you looking for, anyway?”

     “Looking for?    I most certainly was not looking for a single soul.   I do not look about for people or places, I get summoned and I come.   Quite simple, my dear.    And I do assure you, it was you who did the summons.    Now get on with it … I don’t have all day.”

    So, yadda, yadda, yadda, I’ll cut to the core here and spare you the time.  The long and short of it is that Mr. Fancy Pants was a Genie.   I found it a little hard to believe, myself, since he wasn’t all diapered up in colorful silks and wearing a well tucked turban on a bald head.   Apparently, I had been wishing I could re-visit some of my “Christmas Pasts” and I had summoned him there to grant me three visits if I met certain conditions.   (Isn’t there just a catch to everything now days?)    And here I am, actually thinking all of this really happened and it wasn’t just a giant bubble in my oxygen machine, because as soon as he handed me the following conditions he just vanished in another puff of dust and glitter.   I’m not sure if I’ll do it or not.   I mean … no swearing, nudity, or violence when we are talking about Christmas memories with children?    I would have to negotiate that condition.

                      CONDITIONS OF VISITING CHRISTMAS’S PAST

1.     You must write down twelve of your favorite Christmas memories, one a night beginning on the 13th day of December.  You have a plethora of memories to pick from so you must be careful not to become lost in them or you might not finish your writing.

2.     These memories must effectively describe why you might want to re-visit that particular Christmas, and it must be done in such a way that it will stir the emotions of our hearts and minds.  

3.      They must be written in a way that future generations will understand your personality as it has developed over the years.

4.      It must be written in a way that does not absolutely slaughter the English language.   

5.      You are to write it on a “G Rating” level.   There shall be no swearing, nudity, or violence.

6.      Your memories must be shared with any friends, neighbors, and family members who show an interest in them.   Their reactions will be considered before we summarize and cast our votes.

6.     On the 24th of December, a decision will be rendered and if we so deem, we shall bestow upon you the gift of re-visiting three Christmas’s Past.    They shall be from your list but of our choice.

      I prayed about it but even while praying I realized that as valuable as they are to me … irreplaceable and heart achingly sentimental … they are nothing compared to the things people all over the world have lost to disasters.    So many people are suffering immensely because of the economy, natural disasters, famine, disease, rulers, or wars.   So many people have lost a loved one or entire families, their homes, their rights.    So many people do not even know about Jesus Christ, the redeemer of the world.  

       I still prayed about finding my rings, but also prayed that I remember they are really temporal; just things I want back.    Lynn and I don’t need them to exist.   I loved them and hoped for their return, but I  began to pray more intensely for people around the world …  that peace and also added strength can be in their hearts no matter what circumstances they are in.    I prayed that all people can have the right to worship how they see fit without fear of retribution, humiliation, or censor.     I prayed that people everywhere can know the peace that I feel because of my faith in Jesus Christ.   

      Last night, as I was preparing for our trip back to Utah, I gathered all of my things from the top drawer of my dresser … the same drawer I had strip searched several times … and as I turned to close the drawer there were the rings and watch … right in the middle of my empty drawer.    I felt an instant flood of relief and gratitude and joy.    I knew I would guard them  more carefully in the future but at the same time I will continue to pray that my prayer for peace in the hearts of people around the world can be answered as well. 

Yesterday for a little while there were eight beautiful, funny grand daughters here at once.   The five older girls are fun to talk to.   They fill me in on their activities at school and we laugh at silly things that happened in their day.  It’s fun to hear them laugh and talk together as they catch up on their news.   

Listening to the three little ones chatter and giggle as they dressed my magnetic paper-type dolls was highly entertaining .    Abigail has just turned 5, Ande is 3 1/2, and Olivia is 2 1/2.   Here’s how that conversation went.                   

Ande:   “Oh, this one doesn’t have any pants on!   Now that’s gross!   (looks at me in disgust as if it was me who put her away without seeing that she was properly covered).

Abigail:  “But it would really be gross if she didn’t have underwear on.”

Me:   (Laughing with the giggling girls)  “I have to agree, Abby.    That would be pretty gross.”

Ande:   “I have underwear on and I’m not gross.”

Abigail:   “So do I.   I have underwear on.   I’m not gross.”

Olivia:  (Shrugs her shoulders and looks at me with concern)  “Well, I not even potty trained yet.  Soooo …?”

Me:    “B-u-u-t, Do you have a diaper on?”

Olivia:   (Sighs in relief) “Oh … I have my diaper on, so I not gross too!”

Me:    Laughing and hugging my three entertaining little girls … “Thank goodness none of you are gross!”

*****

You know … I might not be on the right “pill” yet, but I do believe in the old adage that “LAUGHTER IS THE BEST MEDICINE”!

I’m doing pretty well “on the one hand”; that hand being that I am able to go for rides in the car, walk through a store most weeks, have my grandchildren over, read, crochet, use my computer, laugh and enjoy life with my man etc.    And I am very grateful to feel as good as I do have the medical advances on my side.      I am not depressed, which is such a blessing because I have known depression and I would rather cope with illness than that.   Not to say I don’t get down … but I also get up and that is a wonderful feeling.

Now “the other hand” would be my frustrations and perhaps insecurities about all the changes in my life and wondering if or when I will be able to take on some projects again … like clean the heck out of some of my closets or book shelves, or bath and brush out the dog.    It’s frustrating to me to not be able to make the travel plans or to run up to SLC to see family.          I’m still waiting on the PAH medication but I can’t take it unless I get the approval from the insurance company because it is just too costly and I refuse to go into debt to the tune of $4,000 a month.  

There are so many good support groups found through the Internet, both for the person with the illness and their family members.    Years ago I had used another group for a health problem of one of our children.    When you are able to talk to people who are experiencing what you are experiencing it seems to validate your feelings differently and I have found it to be very encouraging.    I also have felt good about, in turn, helping other people who are new to the situation and seem at such a loss as to where to turn first.    For me, online support is preferable to a standard support group at this point in time because that would mean getting cleaned up and having to go somewhere, which is very tiring.   The place I use now is  http://www.phcentral.org.   It is also a wonderful resource for family members and friends who want to know what this disease is about.   There is another great source of help at http://www.phassociation.org.      They have an annual conference that I would like to go to.

I am fortunate because I also have a large family, caring neighbors and friends, and my blog and my new friends here.    Actually, how much better can it get.    When I used to work with people with disabilities we used to help them make charts that helped them visualize dreams to work for and it showed them who was in their support system.   It consisted of a picture (drawn or a photo) of them in the middle and then all around that person would be pictures of their family, friends, coworkers, health care people, school teachers, and coaches.   Around the outside of that would be pictures of the things they want to work for.    As I have been writing this I have imagined one of those with everyone surrounding me.    I suddenly had an epitomy of how it might must have helped them.    It feels like a big warm blanket of love and makes you feel you can handle anything.     Thank you everyone!   Just knowing you are out there is encouraging.    You don’t even have to say anything!

The van had a little doohickey that needed adjusted.    The man called us and said we could either get a new part that would be around $200 plus installation or he could tighten the connectors on the doohickey and see if that would take care of it … since doing that had worked on several other vans just like ours. (Apparently this is a weakness of the 1995 GMC Safari.)   So, of course, we went with the tightening option and a few hours and $135.00 later we pick up our van and headed to Costco to pick up the two toilets, with a quick stop first at Walmart to pick up some yarn.  (One can never have too much yarn.)

The van sputtered a little on the way over but it wasn’t too serious … no stopping underneath the street lights or anything.   We figured that if our 16 year old van feels like skipping down the highway a little that’s its business … as long as it doesn’t turn itself off.    

The little sputtering turned into a couple of deep coughs as we were leaving Walmart and Honey and I looked at each other with brave eyes, trying not to let the other see the panic that was building as yesterday’s adventure flashed before us.    It really wasn’t quite as fun as I led you to believe.

  From Walmart to Costco is down hill, but unfortunately it is only downhill one way.    After purchasing the two new toilets … and of course, some nice, healthy fiber as well … we were on our way home.    Just as you pull out of the parking lot of Costco, there is a stop light before you turn on to the busier street that leads to the freeway.    And wouldn’t you know it, as the light turned green we began our left turn and the van gave a couple of very dramatic death scene jumps before all skipping, hopping, and sputtering came to a halt; a very quiet, eerie halt.    De Ja  Voooo with a Capital D.    We were once again sitting under a stop light with cars swerving past to avoid us.

There was one, big difference between today and yesterday, however.    “Today” had quietly turned into “tonight” and it was dark.    That made it really, really, really more uncool.  

Sorry, Mark, but I am going to make a long story shorter by skipping all the CSI:Ivins stuff and tell you all that we were able to coast backwards onto a safe place on the side of a busy road where we sat and tried to decide what to do.   A few false starts later we decided it was time for prayer … knowing that it would be next to impossible to talk our insurance company into paying for another tow truck for the same vehicle.   We asked that if it was possible, we would like to get our van to our house and then we would make sure it was fixed before we took it riding again.     Lynn turned the key and the sound of the engine purring was like music to our ears!    We made it the 15 miles home with only one minor scare, and the sputtering van is now resting in our driveway and Lynn and I just finished having two pieces of crustless, sugar-free, pumpkin pie a piece.     (What can I say … we were hungry!)

All is well … and we gave thanks.

My blessings have been on my mind so much today I had to share my feelings through two of my favorite things.      

                      Lord Forgive Me When I Whine
Today, upon a bus, I saw a lovely girl with golden hair,
I envied her…She seemed so gay….and wished I were as fair.
When suddenly she rose to leave, I saw her hobble down the aisle;
She had one leg and wore a crutch;
But as she passed….a smile!
Oh, GOD forgive me when I whine, I have two legs.
The world is mine!
I stopped to buy some candy. The lad who sold it had such charm.
I talked with him. He seemed so glad. If I were late ‘twould do no harm.
And as I left he said to me, "Thank you. You have been so kind.
It’s nice to talk with folks like you. You see," he said, "I’m blind".
Oh, GOD forgive me when I whine, I have two eyes.
The world is mine.
Later, while walking down the street, I saw a child with eyes so blue.
He stood and watched the others play. He did not know what to do.
I stopped a moment, then I said, "Why don’t you join the others, dear"?
He looked ahead without a word, and then I knew he could not hear.
Oh, GOD forgive me when I whine. I have two ears.
The world is mine.
With feet to take me where I’d go, With eyes to see the sunset’s glow,
With ears to hear what I would know…Oh, GOD forgive me when I whine.
I’m blessed indeed. The world is mine.
Author Unknown

Goodbye 2010.    When all is said and done, it was another beautiful year for our family.    News stations globally recount their best ten stories of the year and so shall I; although I can’t put them in order of importance.      So … in random order (drum roll please) Grandma Henke’s “Top Ten from Two Thousand Ten”!

1.     Our oldest grandchild, Aubree, graduated from high school and she now is continuing her education at  Western Washington University.    She is a beautiful young lady with a love and enthusiasm for life and is skilled in home made lasagna and fudge!   I started a tradition of giving each grandchild a crocheted afghan to celebrate this achievement in their lives.

 

2.    We discovered another favorite   “Home away from Home” to park our motor home and spend the hot part of another summer in the cool mist of the ocean breeze.    My brother, Bill, and his wife were able to come and visit us there and we loved being able to show them around and share our love coastal living.    The time went by too quickly!       It was fun to have Kimberly’s family come and  spend days with us as well; particularly since there was a huge field and playground right near where we were parked and the children could play and run to their heart’s content.     The sunsets, of course, are always the perfect cap to any day.    

3.      The days of buckets catching the rain as it pours through the light fixture in the family room are over and our home sports a new red roof, made of steel.   No more leaks!!! No more mildew!!!   No more worrying anxiously about collapse!

4.        There are 29 healthy and, happy Lynn W. Henke’s in our family and we were able to spend wonderful days with them throughout the year.     Our quiver is full, as are our hearts.     We are so grateful for family and the love that passes freely from each member to the others.   Grateful that even the littlest cousins are aware of this great blessing of family.   It was fun when Brett and Kim’s family traveled to Washington and we celebrated the 4th of July with a fire fireworks extravaganza by Warren, Brett, and Brandon Allsop. 

5.      I loved spending our 44th year  together with the man of my dreams.   

6.      The world is at my fingertips with just the click of a key, and with another miraculous touch of a keypad I am connected in real time visually and audibly with people I love.    I love all of the gadgets my sweetie gets for me.

7.      I found the most wonderful online support group for my PAH and I think in the process I found some new BFF’s (Best Friends Forever). 

8.       Lynn had both of his knees replaced with brand new, titanium ones and he is mobile once more!   We’re so grateful he went through it so successfully; grateful for the doctors, nurses, physical therapists, and other hospital personnel who took such good care of him.

9.      Ryan and Yeimy returned home safely from all of their  travel adventures, the latest being a Hawaii and Costa Rica.   Warren and Mikayla also had a safe and fabulous time going to Greece. That trip completed Warren’s promise to his children to take each one of them anywhere in the world on the dream trip of their choosing.

10.    Each of our children’s families had their worries and challenges in 2010, but each were blessed with the health, strength and wisdom to make it through successfully!     We have confidence that in this new year they will do it again.      Our grandchildren remain at the top of the Leader Board of all grandchildren.    (At least they are the top of our Leader Board.)   They bring us so much joy we can’t put it into adequate words.   They show capabilities and talents that amaze us and we love to watch their progress in school, listen to their stories and music, and cheer them on in their challenges.     We can’t imagine a better station in life than being Grandpa and Grandma Henke.

On Sundays I often count my blessings.    Not that I’m not aware of my blessings on the other six days of the week, because in general I think I’m a grateful person.   But, on Sundays, it is quiet and peaceful, and I think back over the years of my life and  I realize that as a child I was totally unaware of the people around me who were such a blessing in my life or of the circumstances of my relatively carefree life.     I suppose that’s how most children are … blissfully living in a tiny corner of a big world.    At least children who live in some parts of the world.   

And then we grow up and eventually we see the difference and hear about sad things in other parts of the world than our comfortable little space.  And on Sundays,  when I start thinking and writing about my all of this, I always I wish I could share some of my blessings with them:

I wish every place in the world had hot and cold running water in their house.

I wish every living quarter had sturdy floors, walls, and roof.

I wish every person had adequate bedding and a soft pillow to lay their head on at night.

I wish every home had a fridge with milk for their children and a cupboard full of food for them to prepare.

I wish every home had the opportunity to worship however they want, but that they also had the opportunity to hear and read about God and Jesus Christ.

I wish every family in the world had access to medical help.

I wish every father had a way to support his family, one that would build within him a strong self esteem because of his hard work.

I wish every mother had the option of staying at home with her children.

I wish every woman in the world was treated gently and kindly, and felt valued and loved.

I wish every child lived in a home where love was spoken and there were no dangerous shadows and corners with anger and abuse.

I wish every child had a school full of books and crayons and pictures.

I wish all children could dream of an attainable future.

I wish all this would happen because that’s how people wanted it to be be, not because of wars and laws.

Please, God, bless the people in the world who are in need.   Help those of us who have to be more aware of ways we can make a difference.