Compelled, Part 2

July 28, 2008 at 7:33 pm (Compelled)

I can’t say no to stray cats. Several have come peering through our window on some cold winter evening, seemingly during rather blizzard-like weather. First the kids are horrified, as I try to rationalize that animals outside know how to take care of themselves. But the youngest kids are never convinced, and deep down, under my unfeeling facade, I know I’m not either.

When we first moved out to our acreage, Kelli tried to give me some chickens or some such poultry. She talked about how rewarding they were, that we could show them at 4-H, etc. Other people asked if we were getting a horse. I looked at them like they were crazy. I had a 6, 3, and 1 year old when we moved. Did I look like I needed more work?

Now we have plenty of livestock. A 90-pound yellow lab named Jake, a 15-pound inside cat named Clooney, and an lithe outside cat named Fluffy.

Clooney showed up about 3 years ago. We heard pitiful meowing behind the shop once in a while, then one day saw the object: an emaciated, pathetic, starving, half-grown tomcat. The girls put the previous cat’s food out on the front steps, and waited. He was shy at first, but before long acted like we were long lost family. That wasn’t enough. They brought him in to sit on their laps by the door. Soon it was further into the interior of the house. I told them to get that wormy thing out of here! Their eyes pleaded daily. Finally, I loaded him up into the previous cats’ cat carrier, and took him to the vet for domestic treatment. Since then, he has plumped up, to put it mildly, and pretty much thinks he is the boss, when Marcus isn’t in the house.

Fluffy showed up in the dead of winter last year. He was way too friendly at first, and looked fed, so I knew he must only be lost. But he didn’t leave. Sometimes he would go carousing a couple nights, but he was always back. Soon the food was set out. The pleading started. I said NO MORE INDOOR CATS. Then the heating pad was plugged in, and shelter made for frigid winter nights. Towards the end of the winter, I went to TSC(Tractor Supply Company) to purchase an actual outdoor heated pad for critters.

Last spring our neighbor, Kevin, came to chat. He looked at Fluffy and said, “Hi, Lucky.”

Maddie was terrified that Kevin might retrieve his cat. But Kevin only told us Lucky’s story. Kevin’s friend in town found Lucky after their son’s baseball game. He was in a pretty bad way. They took him to the vet and $500 later, Lucky was cured. They took him home, but realized the dog hated him. They called up Kevin and asked if Lucky could come live with him.

Kevin has 11 other cats, and soon Lucky was getting beat up by other tomcats. Lucky decided he liked our territory better. I also know this because I’ve heard him defending it at 4:00 in the morning under my window. I went outside and told the other cat to “shoo,” to no effect. I tried a few pebbles, then finally a small rock aimed at the intruder. That broke the stand off and Lucky chased him back to the swingset. I didn’t care – Lucky was on his own if he was out of earshot of my bedroom. So much for a pathetic stray.

There are many more stories about Chrysanthemum, who met her untimely demise on Ashley’s birthday; Julia, who was an equal-opportunity biter; and Henry, who used to chase Jake in the back yard. But I will save those stories for later. For now it is enough to know that I am compelled to keep stray cats, but I think that compulsion is exerted from a 12-year old and 8-year old, mostly.

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Polly Pocket Invasion

July 22, 2008 at 11:50 pm (Children)

My daughters love Polly Pockets. They are little plastic dolls as big as your finger, and have rubber clothes. Maddie had the first one several years ago. It was a gift from my dad’s wife, and it included a car and a change of clothes. Katherine, Maddie and Rebecca were nuts over it. They played with it for weeks. Rebecca was tortured, knowing she would tear the flimsy rubber clothes, but needing to dress and undress Polly several times when no one was looking. Katherine was older, and knew she shouldn’t be so interested. But she couldn’t help herself either. I knew we needed more. Last year I bought Rebecca a whole box of Polly Pocket junk on ebay. All the girls watched with mouths agape as Rebecca ceremoniously pulled each item out of the box, examined it, and sorted it for future adventures. Unfortunately, no one else was allowed to touch them just yet.

Since then Pollys have invaded our home. The girls set up huge Polly villages complete with shops, mansions, gardens – you name it. Most of their buildings are made from books – any available books will do. They learned the hard way that if they use library books their structures were not very enduring. School books have also been used – maybe in the hope I wouldn’t make them read them since they were the supporting walls in a major structure.

They make fences from rows of lip gloss. Rafts are taped-together Lincoln Logs. Jewelry beads, seashells, Jenga blocks, tile scraps, thimbles, and the plastic towers that come in your take-out pizza are all indispensable in Polly Pocket Land. Once in while they even make houses and furniture in the shop with dad. This is serious.

They have an economic system. If you want someone else’s loot, you barter for it. Polly Pocket land is usually peaceful, at least between the creators. But their economic system is a point of contention. When things ever get put away, everyone gets their original stuff back. If you can prove, in mom’s court of law, it was yours to begin with.

Rebecca’s creative juices get the better of her sometimes – many things have gone missing in my house, and end up adorning her Polly house. I’ve lost candles, coasters, books, jewelry I didn’t wear anyway(I’m informed), vases, silk flowers, picture frames, etc.

Occasionally they must clean up their village. This is bad for Rebecca. When you have been collecting things throughout the house for weeks, and have to put it all away, panic ensues. The last time she had to do this was before Ashley’s graduation. Polly Pocket’s stuff had to go. So Rebecca got the biggest box she could find, and dumped the whole lot of it in. There, finished.

I didn’t have enough wits to look in the box before graduation. I was a bit distracted. But afterwards, I took a whole afternoon throwing away items that were no longer safe to handle(what were they originally?), putting legos in the lego box, Lincoln Logs in the Lincoln Log box, Polly stuff in the Polly box – you get the picture.

The neatness lasted a while. The kids would play a bit, but not get it ALL out. But a couple weeks ago they started building in the basement again. Ashley rolled her eyes and just vacuumed around it. Then Rebecca decided to move into Ashley’s old bedroom – it has more possibilities. And maybe mom won’t notice the things she has borrowed for just the right touch.

Last night they made up a story and filmed it. I watched the first installment, where the head of the British army, Hitler, messed all the Polly houses up, and all the Pollys had to hide. They jumped off of the second story into a pile of hotpads to escape. One of the bad British soldiers evilly watched TV after he had rummaged through Polly’s stuff.

Maddie was ready to show me the second installment, but I told her maybe we should watch it after we went swimming. I had to think about the current installment for a while, and revisit what I need to teach in history this year.

I heard a story once about a dad who was worried about his new grass. His wife asked him if he wanted to raise boys, or grass. I remember that when I wade through piles of Polly stuff, see my belongings displayed in Polly’s house, and watch Maddie and Rebecca play together like 2 peas in a pod. Who needs nice grass when you can have this?

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Compelled, Part 1

July 21, 2008 at 2:47 pm (Compelled)

Saturday I canned my second double batch of apricot jam. I’m not sure why. I’m just compelled to do it. When I got the postcard telling me the fruit order needed to be in, I obediently ordered, picked it up at the assigned time, remembered to buy the sugar, canning lids, and pectin, and made it.

I called my friend while stirring the apricots, and asked her why I have to make jam. She said there is just something in us that makes us do certain things, even though they seem mad if we think about them, or especially when others think about them. She was compelled to shop during Lemon Days at Westfield. I was not. She added that she expected some jam.

I started questioning why I am compelled to do things a few years ago, when Kristi stopped making(and sharing) delectable goodies at Christmas. I asked her what was up with no loaded Christmas plate this year? She said making goodies at Christmas was a lot of work, and made the season even more busy. It also took time from her kids(they were little and not too helpful at the time). She determined the only reason she made candy during Christmas was because it was what her mother did. That wasn’t a good enough reason.

Since then I’ve wondered why I plant such a large garden, can vast quantities of tomatoes, pick and freeze 8 quarts of cherries, and 11 quarts of beans. I started with good reasons, but I’m not sure they all hold water anymore. I just can’t help it. Anyone need some jam?

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He hears

July 17, 2008 at 10:32 pm (Personal reflection)

A friend of mine has some nagging debt. She feels called to mission work by the Lord, but her debt has been postponing her destination.

I decided to pray for 20,000 to help pay for her debt. I have only been praying for a few weeks. I was pretty excited about it, but didn’t tell anyone, including her.

Saturday she received $20,000. It is true. She didn’t ask anyone for 20,000, she just received it.

I have never been in awe as much as I am this week. I just can’t shake it.

My friend was encouraged by the money, but also encouraged to know that believers were sharing her burden and praying for her. She is not alone, and God definitely cares about every detail of her struggles right now.

I shouldn’t be surprised, even if prayer isn’t so blatantly answered(from my perspective) like this. One of my daughters was dealing with health issues recently, and wondering why it is “always” her. That morning I was praying for her, and noticed the prayers I’d been praying for her for years. Here is God’s rap sheet:

Asthma: gone

Feet problems: gone

Back problems: gone

Bladder reflux: gone

Teeth problems: gone.

He is faithful, and He hears. Pray specifically. Pray perseveringly. And wait to be awed and humbled by a great God who cares about everything from debt to teeth with supposedly damaged enamel.

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There is no place out of His reach

July 15, 2008 at 4:18 pm (Personal reflection)

I recently received an invitation to classmates.com, to the Superior High School Class of ‘87 page. Like all my invitations to high school reunions, I scowled and moved on. But I didn’t erase the email.

I haven’t been back to Superior since 1991, when my friend, Guy Loop, got married. That experience proved to me what I thought all along: I really never need to go back there. Physically, emotionally, or otherwise. Not even to see Jeff Downing’s old lifeguards’s chair.

I was quite angry growing up in Superior, a Rebel-without-a -cause-I’ll-show-them-Romans 1-poster child. Most of the people I knew were the same, in varying degrees. When I was in high school, the cement plant closed, which was the lifeblood of the town. It was just like a depressing coal mining town movie. One of my friend’s dads, when faced with not being able to provide for his family, went hunting. He was found in the field with a big hole in his chest. He said(by the way, he survived) the gun went off when he was climbing over the fence, but we all knew otherwise.

A gal who used to attend Covenant Presbyterian, Meg Rogers, did some public relations work for a new location for a nuclear waste facility years ago. She did research on Nuckolls county, where Superior is located. She said records indicated Nuckolls county had the highest rate of domestic violence in Nebraska. She interviewed some families there and said it was creepy. Oppressive.

I worked pretty hard in school for a scholarship to go to college. I knew I wasn’t spending my life in Superior. Unfortunately, I wanted to get so far away from Superior, I sent my ACT test scores to places like the Virgin Islands(there used to be a circle to black in for that). I ended up going to UNL, even though they got my test scores late.

Whenever I think about my high school years, I’m ashamed. Why would I want to reminisce about the glory days, as Bruce Springsteen croons? Yuck. Give me the present.

Well…I joined the Superior High School Class of ‘87 site.

First I heard from Joe. His blog said he joined the Navy, got married, started his own computer business, got SAVED(he used big letters), and has 2 wonderful daughters. Gee, that’s not too bad.

Darren was next. He is a baptist minister who just started a church plant in Chadron, NE. He sent a picture of himself baptizing someone in the local hotel’s pool. He started a Bible study with 7 people, and is up to 37. No building yet, but he’s praying.

Then Guy Loop. I have to say his whole name together. He went to the Navy, got married, became an HVAC specialist, and now is in charge of all the heating and cooling for Columbus Public Schools. His family is active in church, and he and his son were in charge of VBS this year. His son was a bit nervous, but then decided that if his dad can be a dork in front of a bunch of kids, so could he. That sounds like something that could happen in my family. He had to go while he was writing, because his kids wanted tucked in, and he wanted to tuck them in as long as they’d let him. Hmmmm. Maybe not such a bad “Guy” after all.

This is the first time I can look back and feel hope about the lives I shared in Superior, instead of shame. Joe said he wants to share his testimony in more detail on the website, and wants to hear more about mine. I pray more classmates will be drawn to their Savior through this.

God’s grace permeates everything, even the darkest of places, which I think is in our hearts. I am so glad I am finally willing to meet the redeemed people I grew up with.

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Hinrichs’ Family Communion

July 8, 2008 at 1:10 am (Personal reflection)

Marcus’ family always has a reunion over the fourth of July weekend. Our girls look forward to it all year. When Rebecca was younger, pining away during the long winter months, she would ask me when we’re going to the place with bunk beds. When I asked her what she was talking about, she would reply, “You know, Mom. The Hinrichs’ Family Communion!”

We just returned home from our big weekend, so I’ll share some highlights while they are still fresh in my mind.

1. Sand volleyball. My favorite sport while we are there. I love sacrificing my body for digs. I even try to jump and spike on occasion. My brother-in-law had never really played a few years ago, and had a tough time of it. The Hinrichs like to tease. But the last 2 years he is the most improved player and it is fun to see him excel and enjoy the game.

2. Softball. I actually hit the ball and made it to base every time I was up this year. The crowning touch was catching a pop fly from a big hitter. Botta bing. I still can’t believe I caught it.

3. Go carts. Many years ago, my cautious self was pleased with just putting around the track. Then I learned the Hinrichs’ way: NASCAR go carts. You floor it the whole time, taking the inside corner always, so no one can pass. If you want to pass, you bump the person a bit in front of you. If they don’t give you room to pass, you wedge yourself inside, even if it means a little spin out. This year Rebecca was on my lap, and Maddie was in front of me hugging that inside corner. I really didn’t want to cause her to spin out, so had to be content with trying to get around her for 8 laps. It really was quite exhilarating.

4. Talent show. In the past, I’ve made Marcus sing “The Sound of Music” in full nun regalia, sing “Big Iron on His Hip” with the girls and I as back-up singers, and did the Newlywed game with Marcus’ aunts and uncles. This included the blindfolded aunts having to determine who their spouse was by feeling the uncles’ bald scalps. No offense, but all Marcus’ uncles have no hair.

This year I didn’t prepare anything, but the girls played piano or guitar, and their 16 year old cousin did his stand up comedy routine. My favorite repeatable joke: When someone asks you if you are ticklish, they are going to touch you whether you say “yes” or “no.” If you don’t want to be touched, just tell them you have diarrhea. Then you can tell them you are ticklish. They probably won’t check anymore.

5. On Sunday mornings, we have church. Marcus’ dad was a pastor for years, and leads worship. We use old hymnals stored in the closet, and everyone calls out page numbers of old hymns to sing. The kids enjoy this time, but sometimes call out songs that sound interesting, even if no one has ever heard of them. We end up humming most of the song, but that is OK. Rodney usually has a short message. Sunday he talked about the MP3 players God provided for the Banjara -speaking people in India. Rodney was called to preach the gospel to these people many years ago, and was overwhelmed by the number of unreached villages: 100,000. He has trained missionaries who go to villages, but the unreached are overwhelming, and he prayed God would help. So he met someone at a meeting last year who heard of Faith Comes by Hearing, an organization that produces MP3 players with the New Testament in over 200 languages. Banjara was one of the languages, and it just so happens they were looking for a group to distribute their players too.

My brother-in-law, Justin, told us about his journey this year with thyroid cancer. He told us about his routine check up last October when the doctor happened to feel his neck, and stepped back as his face turned white. He said he used to think it would be the worse thing in the world to have a doctor tell you that you had cancer, but that it was not. Even though their prayers didn’t seem to be answered during the ordeal, Justin said he never felt abandoned by God. Now he has come to terms with it: If his suffering is part of God’s plan, and its impact will bring Him glory in generations to come, then he is for it. Even if it means that his not being here may be the best thing. That is quite a realization considering he has a 6 year old, a 3 year old, and a 7 month old.

He also said that our Aunt Ginny, who had thyroid cancer many years ago, ministered to him deeply. And that the short phone call or card that simply said, “We’re praying for you,” meant a huge amount during his ordeal. May I never forget the prompting to send a note to someone who is hurting.

Aunt Jo told us about how God has brought her family reassurance and peace after the death of her niece last year. Jo is a walking miracle herself. We prayed for her healing 2 years ago at our reunion. She had stage 4 abdominal cancer and was told to put her affairs in order. 2 months after our reunion, she had experimental surgery for her cancer. But when they opened her up, all the tumors had dried up. The doctors were shocked, but we shouldn’t be.

At the end of our service we all prayed for Uncle Daryl, who has fibro myalgia, and is in pain pretty much all the time. I hope God brings healing to this man also.

I am exhausted and my muscles ache profusely, but I would never want to miss a Hinrichs Family “Communion.” It is a legacy for generations to come.

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My Father’s Banquet

July 7, 2008 at 7:28 pm (Personal reflection)

3 years ago, I heard about a gal name Cara who wanted to partner with Zion to help with a teen parent program. I wanted to help in some capacity, and said I’d help with childcare.

Since then, the girls and I have helped with nursery duty. This year, Cara asked if I would help with the teens, and I slowly agreed, even though watching the babies was easier. It is painful to talk with these teens(or early 20’s), and see them stuck in some adolescent Bermuda triangle. They never seem to age, but act like 14 year olds talking about boys, texting, and checking their cell phone every 2 minutes. I almost gave up before this year, because I just wasn’t seeing any fruit. But God prompted me to persevere.

Kevin, the youth pastor from Middlecross, came and spoke to the parents this year. He is on fire, and told these kids it was time to make a decision. One in particular did, and it took. Her name is Jennifer, has been with Alfredo, her common law husband, for 6 years, and has 2 kids aged 5 and 2. She is now attending church with Cara at Abiding Grace Church.

Cara encouraged Jennifer to take part in New Covenant Life School, which is an intensive 3-week class that meets every night for 3 hours. Jennifer had to seek out 2 people to share her progress with and pray for her during this time, and I was privileged to be one of them. She called me once to pray for understanding. She had so much pain to deal with from her past that the class was uncovering. How did God fit into all this? The next week she wanted me to pray that she would forgive the people in her past who had wronged her.

Then Jennifer asked me to attend “My Father’s Banquet,” which is the celebration/graduation for people who complete the class. It was the night before we left town. It was from 6 – 9pm. Maybe I could slip in a bit, as she suggested, because she just wanted me to celebrate with her.

I headed down to the Malone Community Center, where Abiding Grace meets and the banquet was also held. I didn’t recognize anyone at first, but then walked up to Evan Brown, the pastor there. We had a nice talk before he had to go tend to some business. I asked if I could help, but the ladies had the food covered. Finally Jennifer, her sister, and Cara showed up. Whew.

After a very leisurely dinner(no one was in a hurry), we were invited to start the program, which was on the other side of the gym. We started with a special dance by an incredible 12 year old girl who looked like she should be dancing at the Lied. Then we sang several worship songs. People were really caught up in worshiping, and there was some raising of hands and hand clapping, which always makes me a bit nervous. I tapped the chair in front of me a bit. The man on guitar had just learned, but did his best to strum along. The pastor’s wife and the dancer’s mom sang with clear, sweet voices.

Then came the testimonies of the people who had attended the class. Tonya realized how much God loved her, no matter what. Fortune, whose parents are Haitian immigrants, and is now on the track team at UNL, said he had always gone to church but now had the courage to stand up for what is right and follow the Lord wholeheartedly. Barbara learned about the root of bitterness and how pride can rear its ugly head in so many ways. And Grace learned that she shuts people out when they get too close. She is trying not to do that. Jennifer didn’t understand what the Bible said. But now she does and she is free. She feels like flying.

A woman did a special praise dance after this, then we took communion together. The banquet gave me great perspective into different facets of God’s kingdom, as I witnessed this celebration with these dear people. Their worship was simple and sincere. Even though I felt like a fly on the wall, watching most of the time instead of participating, it was somehow edifying. I am glad I went and stayed the full 3 hours.

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