Life Perspective

Labor Day Reflection on Fifty-two Years as an American Worker

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Per the US Department of Labor, “Labor Day is an annual celebration of the social and economic achievements of American workers.”

I have been an American worker since 1972. I started at 16 and have had 13 jobs over 52 years.

I started with Pixie Preschool in Tampa, Florida in 1972. It was about 2 miles from where I lived. I rode my bike to work with my son Adam in a child seat on the handlebars. My boss was Jacque. She was a single mom with two children. I admired her so much and I learned a lot from her. I learned how to create economical nutritious meals, housekeeping shortcuts, and many tips on childcare. That job, my first, ended a year later when I moved from Tampa, Florida to Alaska.

It was 1974. I was a stay at home mom with a new baby so I worked providing childcare in my home. Believe me it was a “real job.” It was a constant struggle to keep the house clean. For 9 hours a day I had five kids instead of two. Meals, games, changing diapers, and keeping the peace there was never a quiet moment.

The next year, my friend Mary recommended me for a job at the credit bureau in Anchorage. I had absolutely no office experience and I could not type, but I started by answering phones and filing. It was a busy place processing credit requests. All information was in card files (no computers). Stores and other credit extenders would send paper reports on customers. These reports were filed under each person’s name. We had huge racks of card files. I really enjoyed working here, I was out in the “world” with other women and I liked it. After a year, Mary left Alaska and a few months later I did too.

Next stop was Texas. There I got a job at the Montgomery Ward catalog store in a small town, Fairfield. The couple, who owned the franchise, Jay and Mary Helen, were very sweet older couple. Mary Helen taught me a lot about ordering, organizing and customer service.

It was a low-key family type of atmosphere. Every day she would bring tomatoes in from her garden and we’d make a big salad for lunch.  Those salads were so fabulous. No dressing, just the juice from the tomatoes. No tomato since then has ever matched their flavor.  I left there after about 6 months. I lived in Korea for another six months and then moved to Denver.

In Denver, I got a job at the Montgomery Ward catalog store there. It was not quite the same experience as the one in a small town. People complained about everything. After one awful Christmas season there, I quit.

My next “career” move was to a Citibank credit processing center. Most of the jobs I have had, I either stumbled into them or a friend referred me. Citibank was located in the new Denver Tech Center. Someone I knew worked for the company that had the security contract there. He heard Citibank was hiring, so I applied. I think my short stint at the Anchorage credit bureau helped land this job. Here I verified credit applications, processed payments and later, I punched credit cards.

As part of my job I operated an Address-o-graph 6400 Graphotype machine. It was this big clunky over-grown typewriter/punch machine that embossed credit cards. Yes, I in my life have made thousands of credit cards. One card at a time was placed in the machine, the number and name were typed to emboss it and then the card moved across gold foil ribbon to make those embossed numbers shine. That machine would break down daily; it was old machine in 1980. For such a big company, I was surprised they still used this old clunker. I was always clearing jams and straightening the ribbons. Due to this, over the years I became known as the person in the office that had a knack for “fixing things.”

While working there, I received a call from a man who was processing my application for a home loan. He called to go over my credit details and then offered me a job. He offered more money and an opportunity for growth. He was quite a salesman. He told me how he and his wife started this really successful credit agency. They processed mortgage applications. Lots of promises and hype… way over sold. He was the first of several charlatans I encountered and this was my first, worst job move! It was an extremely toxic environment. On top of that, it was so far from where I lived. I had to make an hour bus ride each way. I left after only a few months.

Shortly after, I found a job as a receptionist in a large dental office.  Just as with other jobs, I knew someone who knew someone there. I had some experience because I had previously volunteered with the Red Cross at the dental office on the Air Force base. I started as a receptionist and moved to processing insurance claims. It was a good job but man; there was a lot of hanky-panky going around.  I left there when another smooth talking charlatan sold me on coming to work at his dental lab.

I don’t even want to say this guy’s name. The company was Artisan Dental Arts, this place I would classify as the worst job I ever had. I was an administrative assistant here, placed orders, paid bills and other general office duties. I worked there almost 2 years. The owner was a crook in so many ways I cannot even list them all. He would falsify bank records and tax returns to defraud people. He would buy into businesses, and steal from unsuspecting owners. He never paid the employee withholding taxes and would constantly skim money out of the business. When the IRS caught up with him he blamed the staff. One day I reached my breaking point and just walked out.

Afterwards, I had ongoing anxiety about what he might do to harm me. I worried he might plant drugs in my car or leave a dead animal on my doorstep. It was that bad. It was long past time to go. I have so many wild tales about that place, but that is for another story. In the midst of all the craziness at the dental lab, I was also going through a divorce. This only amplified the issues.

In very short order, a friend told me of a job at an engineering company, International Ground Support Systems, IGSS.  I was hired as the secretary/receptionist. The best thing about this job is that this is where I met my husband Chris. When I started to work there he was working on a tunnel in Nova Scotia. We became telephone friends long before we ever met. We both left this job when the owner was having family issues that played over into the workplace.

A friend of a friend at IGSS, told me about a job working with a lobbyist at Sun Oil Company.  There I became a legislative assistant… not bad for a high school dropout. I worked for a lobbyist named Ed. He covered the Rocky Mountain region and was often on the road. He would call me with a list of state bills that affected the industry. I would order them, write a summary and send them to the DC office. This was done with the old fax machines that scanned back and forth on thermal paper via a phone line. No internet back then.

In 1983, Chris got a job in Seattle and we moved north. In Seattle, the first job I had (not counting the temp job where I lasted until lunch and left crying) was at Dateline Technology. I’ve written about Dateline as the best job I ever had. In short, it was a company that sold Prime and Wang computer storage systems. I was the secretary, receptionist, travel arranger and later the bookkeeper. When I started, there was me and seven guys. They affectionately called me the “den mother.” It has been over 40 years and I am still in contact with four of them. I worked there a little over four years but with success came growing pains. The owners were in negotiations to sell the company. Just before the sale, I received a call with a job offer.

The call was from Ed, the lobbyist who I worked for at Sun Oil Company. It was the mid-80’s and the oil business had taken a downturn. Sun Oil had closed the regional office in Denver. Ed had taken a job with the Tobacco Institute and was moving to Washington.  He contacted me and asked me to come back to work for him. In the 80’s many tobacco companies had acquired food companies. Among those were Kraft, General Food and Nabisco and Ed thought he would be lobbying in this industry. Sadly that was not the case. After only a few months, he found it very difficult to defend the tobacco industry and left.

I stayed on a couple years because of the great benefits they offered. These benefits included a very generous maternity benefit. I managed to go through in vitro fertilization because of health insurance, and became pregnant with Josh. Their policy was that if you notified them that you were not going to return to work after giving birth, they would provide six months severance pay. I took advantage of that early on as I really wasn’t feeling well, and I did not plan on returning.

After a few months I was feeling better and a friend told me her boss was looking for an administrative assistant. The company, RepSac, was a computer consulting firm and I took the job. I worked there until Josh was born and continued to work on projects from home afterwards until 1990.

Lastly, for the past 33 years I have worked for Chris at SubTerra. I do a little bit of everything, bookkeeping, receptionist, travel arranger, decorator, office machine repair person, events manager and janitor. There have been times I have walked out, but the boss has always talked me back. I imagine this is the last job I will ever have and hopefully can retirement is in the future. I am staying as long as Chris does and he has no plans for stopping anytime soon.

My social security account shows that I worked every year since 1972. The only two exception was the time in 1974 when I did childcare and the early years of SubTerra when I worked but did not get paid.

When I look back over the years I see every job brought its own lessons and rewards. Every change was a step up and an opportunity to learn and grow. Considering my humble and rough start, I am amazed at where I am today.

Labor day was first envisioned in 1882 by Matthew Mcguire who was working as the secretary for the Central Labor Union in New York. By 1894, 23 states had adopted the holiday. Then on June 28, 1894, President Grover Cleveland signed a law making the first Monday in September of each year a national holiday. A celebration of the social and economic achievements of American workers and I have been one for 52 years.

Quotes from: US Department of Labor, Labor Day history.

SubTerra: A 33 Year Synopsis

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In 1991 Chris was working in Germany for a Redmond, WA based geotechnical company. He was transferred there to open and manage two new companies in Celle just south of Hamburg and in Claustal-Zellerfeld in the Harz Mountains.

When he left early in the year, we had a one year old son and a son just finishing his Junior year in High school. The plan was he would go, get things started, check out high schools and look for a place to live. I stayed behind while we put the house on the market and took care of organizing on this end.

Long story short, the company kept stalling on finalizing the move of our family and after a year of being apart the ultimatum was given ….. move my family here or… “or” won. So he said goodbye to folks in Germany and drove from Germany to London where he caught a flight home.

After successfully starting businesses for someone else in a foreign country, Chris decided to start a company for himself, be his own boss and in charge of his own destiny. His selling point to me was, “Worst case scenario, if it doesn’t work we’ll spend all our savings, and I’ll go out and get another job.”

With that SubTerra was incorporated on August 7, 1991 in our Redmond home. We chose our logo from an old photograph Chris had of the lighthouse at Beachy Head in England near where he grew up. Initially work came at a coal mine near Steamboat Springs, CO; at Yucca Mountain, NV with the nuclear waste disposal program; and abandoned mine reclamation and tunnel design work in WA state. SubTerra Engineering was started in the UK in 1992.

Josh and I travelled with him as he worked around the country, to Colorado, Nevada, Texas, Utah and overseas to the UK and Germany.  

In 1995, we purchased a brick house in Kirkland across from Lake Washington where we went through the permitting process and renovations to convert it to an office. We hired an engineer, a geologist and a receptionist. Work for them was closer to home around Washington permitting local gravel pits and mining operations. Chris continued to work all around the country and abroad.

In 1999 we became a dealer for Instantel, a Canadian company that manufactured and sold seismographs for blast monitoring and construction vibrations. We hired another engineer and a technician who worked in the field monitoring at local mines and construction sites. 

After several years in Kirkland we moved our offices out of Kirkland to a less crowded location. While we looked for a new permanent home we leased office space in the Preston Office Park just off I90 east of the city. By now we had two engineers, two geologist, two drafters and a receptionist/secretary. Joining this group was our old friend Howard Handewith who had retired from the Robbins Company. He worked part-time on tunnel projects in Singapore and on the Boston Outfall Tunnel project.

In 2000, just 9 years after incorporating we purchased a building in down town North Bend which became our permanent home. The building was built in 1950 and we spent 6 months renovating it and moved in permanently in March of 2001.

Since then North Bend has been our home base. Through all the up and downs of the past thirty-three years, we have seen blessings and trials, when the economy was slow just the right amount of work would walk through the door.  In 2009 Chris began pursuing his passion of helping to advance a tunnel/water conduit to revive the Dead Sea project, this lead to opening SubT Engineers in Israel in 2014. 

SubT Engineers has completed tunnel projects in Tel Aviv (Subway Redline), in Jerusalem (rock tunnels and blasting), and at other locations in Israel.  SubT Engineers is the Licensed Engineer for the KoHav Ha Yarden Pumped Storage project adjacent to the Kinneret / Sea of Galilee and are currently working at Israel’s first Pumped storage Project located at Maale Gilboa (the Heights of Gilboa). 

SubTerra, Inc. has now completed over 1,000 projects involving blast consulting, mining rock mechanics, shaft, tunnel and microtunnel design, geotechnical instrumentation, vibration monitoring and expert services for hundreds of clients.  We work for owners, contractors, large engineering companies and Federal, State and local municipalities.

Chris continues to travel for work across the US, Europe, UK, The Republic of Georgia, Israel, and Canada.  Chris and I have otherwise worked together in this adventure sitting about 20-ft apart for these 33 years.

He is well past the “normal” retirement age but continues his work.  He is tireless, positive, sharp and always looking ahead. In addition to his hard work ethic, he serves on the board for a local organization that seeks to aid those in need of assistance and housing.

So after 33 years, we are working with a smaller crew but still working on large projects with other companies. We may have spent all our savings to get started, but this dream Chris had of working for himself, being his own boss, resulted in a successful small business that has done many  great things around the world.

American Revolutionary Ancestors

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My ancestors in this country go back approximately 400 years depending on which way I go. I will start with the two major ones; my mother’s maternal line Wright, and my father’s paternal line A.

My mother had done a lot of initial research in the family history. My grandmother was Mary Elizabeth Wright and the Wrights can trace their history to very prominent families in Bedford County Virginia going back to the 1600’s. There have been several books written about the Wright’s of Bedford County.

The farthest back I have verified on record is Thomas Wright who was born in Virginia in 1695 and died in 1763. He is my 7th great-grandfather. His son, Joseph, born in 1742, furnished supplies to revolutionists in the American Revolutionary War.

Through this line, I and my children are all eligible to join the Sons or Daughters of the American Revolution.

The A side also hails from Virginia, near Petersburg, just south of Richmond in Chesterfield County. My Aunt helped me fill in some missing links and through Ancestry I have traced them back also to the 1600s.

Benjamin A, 5th great-grandfather, was born in 1699 in Henrico Virginia. He died in Chesterfield County in 1778.

Benjamin’s father Thomas was born in Wiltshire England, and he died in Henrico, Virginia in 1731. He had three other sons, and in his will which can been seen online, he left two of his sons one hundred acres of land each. The other son, John, received the plantation and all it’s livestock and goods, but poor Benjamin only got one cow and one calf. However, he fared better than his three sisters that only received one shilling each.

Benjamin’s son, Bullard (4th GGF), would have been of the right age in the American Revolutionary War, but I cannot find any record that he served. Although there is a record that he served in the war of 1812.

After poor Benjamin left with his cow and calf, he must have moved south to Chesterfield County, VA. There the line continues to my grandfather, Aubrey, ancestry records reveal they were all poor country farmers.

The Wright’s were well off middle-class families. During the Civil War, some of the Virginia Wrights, who were abolitionist moved to Ohio. Today, there are tens of thousands of descendants of Thomas Wright (6th GGF) living in the US.

The other two direct lines include my father’s maternal line and my mother’s paternal line.

My Grandmother Alease was a Cole. I trace them as far back as 1775 in Chesterfield County, Virginia. They also were a family of country farmers.

My mother’s paternal line is VH, the farthest I can verify records is the 1850’s in New Jersey. There was a large Dutch settlement there and I can only verify the direct information that my mother had assembled. James Marcus VH (2nd GGF) was born in 1828. He married Lydia Wolf(e), also born in 1828.

I cannot verify any details of Lydia’s family before her marriage to James Marcus. However, there is a short family history written in the late 50’s early 60’s by my grandfather’s sister that states her family tore their clothing and declared her dead when she married him. Many census records show her born in New Jersey or New York but in 1880 it states she was born in Portugal.

After the Civil War the VH’s and their sons moved south to Georgia where my grandfather Wallace VH was born. James and Lydia’s son, William, (b.1855) was once the Mayor of Sycamore, GA. In searching the GA Archives, I found a picture of a cotton gin he designed that won a first prize at the state fair in 1901.

I have found so many stories in researching family history. I have tried to piece together little bits of information I’ve found to see what can tell me about their lives.

Like the history of any place or family there are courageous stories, sad stories, stories that make you proud and stories that leave you feeling remorseful. All in all, it reveals an amazing journey that combines your life with the lives of thousands of others who share these histories as well.

John Peter and Mineta Wright parents of Mary Elizabeth Wright (maternal great-grandparents)

Wallace VH and Mary Elizabeth Wright – my maternal grandparents

Molly Stratton Brown Wright 1858-1930. Mother of John Peter Wright (maternal 2nd GGM)

Robert Ruffin A (1862-1926), father of Aubrey A here with his youngest son, Linwood. (Paternal Great Grandfather)

Aubrey and Alease A (paternal grandparents) with their children Eugene, Marie, and Thelma.

Albert Thomas Cole, and Etta Virginia Butler on their wedding day (abt 1907) – Alease’s parents. (Great Grandparents)

Eliza Jane Crews (1849-1923) – mother of Albert Thomas Cole, wife of William C Cole (Paternal 2nd GGM)

William C Cole (1849-1920) father of Albert Thomas Cole and husband of Eliza Jane Crews (Paternal 2nd GGF)

Ida Florence Fountain VH(1878-1968) taken in Sycamore, GA around 1960, great-grandmother, mother of Wallace VH

William VH (1855-1917) great-grandfather husband to Ida Florence Fountain VH and father of Wallace VH. Former Mayor Sycamore, GA

Lydia Wolf(e) VH (1828 – around 1900) 2nd Great-grandmother born in New York died in Georgia, mother of William VH.

Photo credit: Georgia Virtual Vault

A Magnificent Vessel

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My womb
A Beautiful form
Like a Greek amphora vessel
With her thin graceful arms
She reaches out to hold
Delicate capsules
Embracing millions of treasures

Precious pearls
Released one by one
Month by month
Year after year
Nearly 40
Each pearl holding
The possibility of new life

This womb
Like the cycles of the moon
Prepared to receive a life
And then time and time again
In disappointment
She shed away the nourishing nest
Only to revive it again

She became the cradle
That caressed the tiny bodies
Of my three sons
She was the warm capsule
Where they were formed
From a single cell
Unseen by the world

My womb was a life giver
She is the essence
Of my feminine
She distinguishes me
As a woman
Present at my birth
This vessel that produced life

She came to life in my youth
And faded away in my old age
We endured the change with grace
Though there were days
That I cursed her
I was in awe of her ability
The miracles she brought

Today she became
My adversary
Within her walls
Grows not life but
An enemy
One that would try
To destroy me

Now I must release
This beautiful friend
She has given me
So much
Soon
I will say goodbye
I will grieve for her

They say she’s old
She no longer fulfills
A purpose
Even if that is so
I cannot toss her aside
As nothing more than tissue
Medical waste

She is more
She has been
The mystery within me
Magical
Wondrous
A masterpiece of God’s creation
Divine by Design

My heart
Is full of sorrow
I don’t want her to leave
But it is time
I am forever grateful
For all the gifts
From this Magnificent Vessel

2024 Trish B ©

Facing Inflammatory Bowel Disease: My Son’s 11-Year Battle

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The post below from 11 years ago came up today on my Facebook page. It serves to remind me of a most desperate time in our family’s lives when our youngest son was facing serious health issues caused by Inflammatory Bowel Disease. This was only the first of life threatening events he would face over the next 11 years. Almost one year later to the date he nearly bled to death after a procedure where an arterial vein was accidentally clipped.

My heart begins to beat faster as I read my thoughts from 2013 and I relive the horror of those days. How could someone so young, become so ill, so quickly? It is IBD, and the myriad of other complications and chronic health conditions that sometimes accompany it, and tragically IBD has no cure.

For my son, it is accompanied by auto-immune pancreatitis, which has led to diabetes; the steroids that he has been given over the years to control inflammation have led to bone deterioration; the five different immune suppressing drugs he has worked his way through can all have horrible side effects including cancer. Three of these drugs proved ineffective, one he had an extreme allergic reaction to and we are praying the current one will show some effectiveness.

Eleven years, and sometimes I still think that “from this side it looks like nothing is happening”… He has been hospitalized annually for months at time, with bowel obstructions, bleeding, inflammation, pancreatitis, and sepsis. I have worried, fretted, prayed and pleaded with God. Some days I think he has closed his ears to my prayers.

I think those things, but I don’t believe they are true. I remember examples in the bible of men, men like David, Job and Paul, all men whom God loved and men who honored and loved God; yet they still suffered. Even, after all these years, I still believe God is in control and he has a plan for my son’s life.

May 19 was World IBD Day. It is a day set aside to bring awareness about IBD and to support the 10 million people worldwide that live with this disease. I will continue to pray. I pray for a cure. A cure so no one has to suffer any longer.

June 6, 2013 – For the past few days sitting quietly contemplating the events of the past two weeks, I have tried fitting the pieces into place. Where the huge decision we faced two weeks ago was to commit to the Remicade treatment. How insignificant that decision seems now. Only three days later Josh was facing major surgery and a few days after that a second surgery and then third surgery to control bleeding – to the point his life was in the balance.

When the bleeding started again three days later Josh again was rushed to ICU. There nurse Steve was methodically checking drains, monitoring his heart rate, drawing blood. Inside I was panicking, remembering Friday evening, wondering why they weren’t starting the transfusions because Friday it had taken so long to get the blood it seemed life was ticking away.

I, trying to remain calm, said to Steve, “you know from this side it looks like nothing is happening.”

He reassured me. He said that they had Josh’s blood type on hand, that if he needed they could get it within minutes, that they want to check the hematocrit levels, monitoring the rate of output on the drains, access whether the bleeding was slowing — do things carefully and in timely manner. Make sure every decision is based on the least risk to Josh’s health. In the end, they did give Josh more plasma and blood; and with that the bleeding stopped.

So I’m here thinking about all of these things and I hear my words to Steve: “From this side it looks like nothing is happening.”

I think sometimes I do the same thing with God. I pray about situations, the future, what God’s plans are for my life and sometimes from this side it appears nothing’s is happening; but I understand that even though it appears that nothing is happening, God is in control. He knows all the details of our lives. He knows all the pieces that must fit together perfectly. He knows when we need life sustaining blood and when more extreme intervention is needed. He also knows when we just need to wait as he watches our vitals, checks where we are losing strength and then he refills us.

A Path Beyond Worldly Careers

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I
may not
have a
career
in the eyes
of the world;
but I feel my
life has touched others
in
a positive way.
I don’t
have the need to prove myself
to the entire world to show
my life has value.
My goals
and aspirations were sacrificed because
of circumstances beyond my control
and poor choices made while
I was still a
child.
I believe
I was given an
above average intelligence
by my Maker,
and I have benefited from it
many times.
I have nothing
to boast about for my mothering;
I’ve made many errors which I
often wish I could change.
I don’t want
to look at what
I could have been,
but at who
I am now;
I am thankful
for the life God has given me.
If my role in life
from the world’s
point-of-view is
that of a
peon,
then I am even more
amazed at the wonders
of
GOD.
My life
may not change history,
but if I try everyday to live It
more like God wants,
if I can show a
little kindness to someone
and help others,
I know God will
remember me when
my life is
over.
This world
offers no rewards…
careers in this world
are only
temporary…
I want
to spend the rest of my life
working at a career
which would exemplify Christ’s life
My failure
at a worldly career
is of no consequence to me;
my career success
is
yet to be
determined.

1987 Redmond, WA

Terrifying Truth About Patti Playpal

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I am about to tell you a story of horrific proportions . It is about a doll that I had in my childhood with lovely long auburn hair. She was a walking doll called Patti Playpal. She was about 3 feet tall and as a “playpal” she walked. Well, her legs moved back and forth if you held her by the hand and led her around.

I did not walk her around as much as I loved to brush her long hair. Inside the doll was a mechanism of metal gears that allowed her to walk and it was tethered to something inside her head that had a spring action to it, because of this whenever her head pulled back, the spring would pull back forward.

This is where the story gets very scary and almost horrifying. I often think about this and I am shocked that I ever became a mother because the tale I’m about to relay not only happened once but many many times and my reaction was the same each time. Even though I would tell myself that “this time” I would be careful as to never let it happen again, it did. Funny how even at a young age we try to rationalize and change. Anyway, take a deep breath, here it goes.

I would sit on the side of my bed and Patti Playpal would be standing on the floor. As I began to brush her hair, I would hold her steady with my other arm around her chest. Inevitably my arm would end up around her neck and if the brush got tangled in her hair it would pull her head backwards. The mechanism inside would cause her head snapped back forward, in doing so it would catch the skin of my forearm between her neck and chest and pinch the living daylight out of me. My reaction is enough to write a psycho story about.

As soon as my forearm was caught in the plastic part between her neck and chest. I would throw poor little Patti down on the floor and stomp on her, then pick her up and bang her head on the floor! Oh my gosh, shockingly I think I really wanted to destroy her..

After I nursed my wound for a few days or weeks, I would forgive her and try to brush her hair being oh so careful. But, no, it would happen again, and again, the same horror story would repeat itself. There must have been a time I decided to never brush her hair again… it was the only way to rid myself of these evil actions. Thinking back it was probably good I only had sons and never little girls with long hair. It is true what they say, God knows exactly what we need.

Thankful or hopefully Patti went to a more loving home. For a more loving childhood toy story see below.

https://emyloomwordswovenwithinmyheart.com/2020/09/05/friends-to-the-end/

The true friend, worn, dirty, in need of repair but loved.

Trish Bee, December 17, 2022

Memories of My Mother

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I have written about my mother many times here. Mostly about our lives in her later years as we both dealt with her declining health and dementia. I’ve been thinking a lot about her the past few weeks with Mother’s Day this Sunday and her 3rd heavenly anniversary on May 23rd.

My mother and I had a close relationship yet it was intermixed with differences that led to frustrations with one another. One of the last birthday cards I got from her had a colorful bug on the front. Inside it said something like.. “mothers and daughters sometimes they bug each other, that’s just what they do.” That was the best and truest card I ever got!

However, in remembering my mother these past few weeks my memories have gone further back than the last few years of her life to things I remember from my childhood. For most of that period in time my mother suffered from depression. As a young child, I remember many occasions where I would see her sobbing, crying tears of of great sorrow as she sat alone. Sometimes she would share her pain with a friend through her tears. At those times I probably overheard more than I should about her heartaches and the abuse that she suffered.  

Even while dealing with depression she managed to try and look on the better side of life. She was resourceful and talented in a variety of ways.  She was an extremely good cook, she made the best fried chicken, not battered – only floured but it was crispy and juicy beyond belief. Other savory favorites she made were fried potato wedges that she tossed in flour before frying which made them come out so crunchy; yellow squash casserole cheesy yummy, it was like a vegetable version of mac and cheese… she made scrumptious mac and cheese too.

In the sweet department she would make peanut brittle that was always perfect. One of her specialties was fried raisin pies.  I know it sounds weird but they were delicious.  I tried making them once and they were OK but it was a bit of a fiddle and I am more the make-it-quick kind of cook.  (I attached a picture of my attempt that was 2011 and I’ve not made them since).

My mother worked off and on as a waitress and she also took in ironing to earn extra cash. In addition, we lived in the country and she always had a big garden; she canned her vegetables and made special relishes (chow-chow as they call it in Texas).  I remember summers in Texas pulling weeds in those big gardens, it was hot and those rows seemed like they were a mile long.

Mother was also an excellent seamstress. She made most of my clothes and her own clothes. She always said she had wanted to be a designer and she would draw her own patterns for ideas she had. She would make the most elaborated western shirts for my step-father. Many people admired the swirled and elaborate yokes and matching pocket flaps she created. She bought fancy pearly snaps from the Tandy Company and attach them to the shirts with a special die and a hammer.

I never remember her taking even a sip of alcohol but she loved her Pepsi Cola in a big mayonnaise jar with a paper towel wrapped around it held in place with a rubber band. Speaking of mayonnaise, she loved mayonnaise and peanut butter sandwiches; just thinking about watching her eat them still makes me cringe. 

She was a woman that always had a heart for God. We attended the Baptist church and one of my earliest memories in church was sitting beside her holding her hand. She was a woman that sought God, she was faithful even though she had many struggles in life. She always did the best she could with what she had and she relied on God as her strength and her shield.

Mother’s Day 2021 was the last Mother’s Day I spent with my mother and just 5 days later, I was called back to Texas to say goodbye. She died on Sunday, May 23rd, Pentecostal Sunday, I played the hymn “Softly and Tenderly” and sang along with the music softly in her ear.

“Softly and tenderly Jesus is calling, Calling for you and for me.
See on the portals He’s waiting and watching, Watching for you and for me…Come home, come home, Ye who are weary come home…”

This Mother’s Day my mother is home. She has no more pain, no more sorrow, and she is singing praises to her Lord and Savior.

Mother and me 1986

My attempt at fried raisin pies.

Fifty Year Celebrations

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Someone ask me recently about who I attended the prom with. As I never went a day of high school, it is an obvious assumption I never went to a prom. I would have graduated in 1974 but left school in March 1970. Up until that point I was a straight A student and really without a lot of effort.

In addition, I have never attended any type of ball or fancy occasion. I have never had an evening gown or even a fancy party dress. I guess I’d have to go on a cruise to need a fancy dress, but you are never going to catch me on a cruise ship either!

So, back to the prom. I contacted one of my childhood friends, who I would have graduated with, to inquire about when the prom was held for the Conroe Tigers class of 1974. Interestingly enough, she told me her and her husband did not go, something about it being too foo-foo. However, she sent out a request on social media and found that prom night was April 27, 1974.

Where was I? I was in Anchorage, Alaska at Elmendorf Air Force Base and I had a 9-day old newborn son. Aaron Kelly was born on Thursday morning, April 18, 1974. Back then was still at a time when we did not know the sex of our babes beforehand. I really, really wanted a daughter and for the slightest moment after he was born, I was maybe a little disappointed but that quickly faded when I held that fair haired infant in my arms.

In May, the class of 1974 will be celebrating 50 years since their graduation but next week, I will help my son, one of the greatest gifts I’ve ever received, celebrate his 50th birthday.

I was only 18 when this very special gift entered my world. Since that first day, he has been a blessing and joy in my life. He has always brought joy to my heart, made me smile, made me proud, made me know I was loved. He served his country and he served over 22 years as a police officer. During that time he saved many lives, rescued abducted teens, sought justice for the elderly and abused, and helped people on one of the worst days of their lives. One day, I believe he will see the results of all the good he did. Although there is no thanks sometimes in this world, my hope is that in the end God will show him all the fruits of his actions. I hope to be there to see them too.

I never experienced the traditional high school teen events and I don’t have a 50th Class Reunion to attend but I am not feeling deprived, I was blessed with a gift that never stopped giving.

I love him and he loves me and that’s the way it will always be.

Remember Me

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I have heard it said, “What other people think of you is none of your business.” I suppose that how others remember you, may well be the same. However, I do want to be remembered.

The question is, how? How will I be remembered?

Looking back on my life, I have no doubt some will have negative memories of me. I have negative memories of myself for things that I did or said and regrets over relationships that I walked away from, poor moral judgement, anger that I could not or did not control.

Others, the ones that matter, will hopefully remember that I always let them know that I cared about them and loved them. I have tried to share my blessings with others, be supportive and listen when they deal with the trials of life. Maybe they’d see or remember these things.

I hope they remember me as a person who was an overcomer, that regardless of my rough start in life, I was always striving to improve myself and not let hardships knock me down for long.

Most importantly, I want to be remembered by God. He knows my struggles, my doubts, my failings and the times that I heard His voice and followed His call. I pray I never hear “I never Knew you; depart from me…”1

“Do not remember the sins of my youth or my transgressions; According to Your lovingkindness remember me, For Your goodness’ sake, O Lord.” 2

  1. Matthew 7:23 NKJV ↩︎
  2. Psalm 25:7 NASB 1995 ↩︎

Photo credit: Unsplash ~Landon Parenteau

To Muffet with Love

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Thanks to the internet and social media apps like Classmates and Facebook I have reconnected with several school friends.  I cannot really say from high school because I never went a day of high school, but I had a few childhood friends that remained in my heart.

The first person I reconnected with was Pattie. In 2006, she was my birthday present as Chris paid for a trip for her to come visit me in Seattle.  We rediscovered each other in a whole new light, through adult eyes and not those of a child.  

Pattie and I only had a few years to reconnect when sadly she left this earth much too soon. I was heartbroken and shocked… the one friend I had contact with from my broken ugly childhood was gone.

At that time I had been on Classmates for 10 years. In all that time I never heard from anyone, and then the day after I learned that Pattie had died, I got a message.

The next day! I was flooded with love, that someone would remember ME and reach out to ME because I always felt I longed to be friends with others, more than anyone wanted to be friends with ME.  

This message was from Muffet.  Growing up, she lived in Sunset Ridge a development of brick homes off Hwy 75 outside of Conroe. I lived across the highway in a older wooden house, a house where the walls in my room were not finished and just open studs. Visiting Muffet’s house was like a fantasy experience. She had beautiful white carpet in her bedroom and I would take off my shoes and wriggle my toes in the fibers; her room was a princess-land.

Muffet had beautiful long hair that her mother would braid and roll around in a bun on top of her head. She looked angelic or like she should be picking flowers somewhere in the Swiss Alps. She was lovely inside and out.

Beyond material things, Muffet was a kind, sweet friend that accepted me, this strange girl who was a square peg in a world of round holes.

After that initial note, we began to correspond regularly and later connected on social media. She included me as part of a group that I left at 14, but a group of people I grew up with and often wondered how life changed for them.

She prayed with me for my son through his hard days with surgeries and setbacks. She gave me hope that God can heal as she shared the health crisis she endured with her own child. We were both caretakers for our elderly mothers, she more hands on with hers as she lived close by. Me more administrative with mine although I did make several trip a year to see her.

On one of those trips in 2018, we finally reconnected face to face. The first time since 1969, it was like we never skipped a beat. We spent two hours laughing, sharing and reminiscing. A wonderful cherished time.

So, back to Muffet’s original message in 2009, was it a coincidence she wrote to me at this critical time? Several times in my life I believe God has arranged events and sent people to comfort me and show me his love just when I need it most.  No, Muffet’s note and whatever the process was that she found me and decided to write, was a gift from God. It was as if God was saying, “I love you, Trish.”

Sunday, is Muffet’s birthday. This friend who has been a gift from God to me. Thank you Muffet for caring enough to contact me. I treasure these past few years of reconnecting and sharing. I look forward to when we can meet face to face again. Muffet, not to sound too Golden Girlish… “Thank you for being a friend.”

Happy Birthday ~ I love you.

Why Me Lord?

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He’s in the hospital again. Swedish hospital in Seattle. I was going to see him last night, but it was so dark and pouring rain that I struggled about whether I should go or not. In the end I decided against it.

This morning I heard on the news that there had been a terrible accident on the interstate westbound to Seattle. After the accident one of the drivers tried to cross the eastbound lanes of I-90 and was hit and killed. It seems I was wise to follow my instinct and better judgment, or could it have been God leading me to make a wise choice.

Tonight, the rain had eased up, so I went to Seattle. On the way home at 8PM the traffic was still heavy, it was dark and had started to rain heavily. I turned on some music to relieve some stress. Two songs came on my Apple Music one after the other, and I repeated them all the way home. The first was this one by Kris Kristofferson ~ “Why me Lord?”

This video tells the moving back story of Kristofferson‘s song.

He wrote the song after a spiritual experience he had in 1972. He attended a church service and during the invitation he was overpowered with the love and forgiveness from Yeshua (Jesus). The song imparts his feelings of unworthiness of such love from God.

On a side note, hearing this song brought back memories of my youngest son when he was about 5 years old. Once when the song was playing, he wondered why KK was saying “Why Me Lord?” He thought maybe he was asking God why his voice was so deep. ❤️

The second was “Fall On Me” by Joel Chernoff. It is duet with Sharon Wilber. It is a love song and a plea to the Lord to touch one’s life and be filled with the spirit of God. It reminded me that God is faithful and I only need ask for more of him.

My spirit has been struggling of late like many others. I look around and see all the anger, all the immorality, all the suffering and mostly all the hate and it is disheartening. Added to that is the anxiety that comes when Josh is in the hospital. I wonder will he ever know a cure, or will he suffer endlessly? I have a deep nagging fear that he is slowly dying because if the disease and it’s comorbidities don’t take his life, the strong medications he takes to suppress his immune system will. Many of these drugs come with warning that than can cause cancer. He is currently on his fifth one after having four others fail.

This morning, while driving into work another song played. It was “My Grace” by my friend in Israel, Pam Singer. In her lyrics she asks, “Is this Grace enough? Will tender mercies see me through?”

The reply she hears is: “My Grace Enough, My tender mercies new everyday. I crown your life with strength and loving kindness. My eyes are on you. My presence near My ear would hear the cry of your heart. I call you Mine, beloved forever. My Grace Enough.”

So what is the point of all my rambling here. 

1. I was worried about not going to see Josh on Wednesday evening, but later discovered that by not going, I was saved from the interstate shutdown and accident. 

2. After I went last night, I left feeling dispirited and out of the 900+ songs in my music library, two songs came on that reminded me that, a) I have done nothing to deserve God’s blessings and love and, b) all I have to do is ask him to fill me again, and again each day with his spirit.

3. This morning Pam’s song played as a reminder that no matter what I am going through, not matter what I am agonizing over, God’s Grace is enough. He hears me. He knows my heart and I am loved by Him.

Faith

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Hebrews 11:1 says, ” Now faith is the substance of things hoped for, the evidence of things not seen.”

Last night I read Mitch Albom’s book “Have a Little Faith.” In some ways I could relate to his journey and like him, I have had times that my relationship with God was distant, but I have never walked away. In the past I had periods of time when my faith was weak but the older I am the stronger my faith has become.

I once read that faith is not just the belief in something unseen but it is total complete trust in something. Trust for me was a building process because of my childhood I have struggled with trust. Not just trust in God, but trust in family and trust in friends.

However, over time I have experienced many examples of true love and compassion from all of these. I have a small group of friends and select family that have proved themselves faithful time and time again.

In the same way, God has shown me His compassion, His love, His strength, and each time it gave me one more brick of faith and trust to stand on. When trials come, I have those bricks from His past faithfulness to rely on for the courage to face each day. Where I once fell apart, I may now mourn and grieve but I know God has a plan and He will see me to the other side.

The amazing thing is that before my trust was weak and wishful, it is now a solid and a sure belief that no matter what the world says, my trust is built on evidence of His care and love. It is in this, that my faith is strong.

He who dwells in the secret place of the Most High shall abide under the shadow of the Almighty. I will say of the Lord, “He is my refuge and my fortress; My God, in Him I will trust.”
~ Psalm 91:1-2 NKJV

Photo courtesy of Unsplash – Alex Shute

*** Mitch Albom is a best selling author and his books always have a lesson or experience. in which I strongly relate. The book “Have a Little Faith,” is a true story in which he speaks of his faith and a relationship with his Rabbi and a Christian pastor and what he learned from each of them. It was released in 2009 but if you’d like to read it you can find good preowned copies online.

Living Year to Year

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With a little less than 48 hours left in 2023, I found this note that keeps popping up that I wrote in 2013. That year was a stressful hard year. My youngest son, a 22 year old college student, spent five months in the hospital, after three surgeries he had nearly exsanguinating bleed and spent weeks in the ICU.

Ten years later, I read these words and see that I made it through that year with the love and support of my family and friends. In reality we make it through every year with their support… with them, we make it through Life!

As I look back on 2023, I do so knowing that I followed my own advice here. I look forward to 2024 and as I often say, “I try to live everyday as if it might be my last at the base of the mountain near the river.”

Down to 48 hours left in 2013.

Going to think through the ups and downs, happiness and heartaches, blessings and curses, those who I lost and those who I still have close to love and appreciate. In that final group, my family and friends including you my Facebook friends and family, who encouraged me, prayed for my family and helped me through this long year.

I thank you and wish for you all a new year of success, warm times with your family, and peace.

I still remember the words from CBS reporter Lee Cowan after the marathon bombing. (The bombings) ” do remind us we don’t get to set life’s clock. While we may think we’ll have a tomorrow to say all the things we want to say, or should have said, what this week proved is that sometimes, that tomorrow doesn’t come — and the things left unsaid could end up one of our greatest regrets. “

Have no regrets. Tell your loved ones how much you care for them, forgive and heal old wounds if at all possible, if not forgive yourself. Live everyday to its fullest and if you are reading this know you are appreciated and loved by me. 💕

The Star

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After the star has fallen on Christmas night
And the Christmas trimmings have left our sight,

Try to hold onto the joy and love
Like peace that flows from the wings of a dove.

When the world gets crazy at the turn of the year,
And dissent and anger brings doubt and fear,

Draw from the well where peace imparts
A peace that lingers in your heart.

Be jolly and lighthearted come what may…
Fight despair and stay out of the fray.

Hold tight to the spirit joyous
Otherwise bitterness will surely destroy us.

Recall the serenity the season brings,
Where eternal hope always springs.

Because the star came with a promise true,
That peace on earth is possible too.

© Trish B. 2017

A Special Holiday Memory

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When I was young many Christmases and Thanksgivings were spent at my maternal Grandfather’s house. His name was Wallace Van H, and I affectionately called him Grandpa Van. Grandpa Van’s house was at 3102 Glen Haven in Houston, was a special place because in the back bedroom they had a dresser full of little toys. My favorite were the ones that you wound up and they would toddle across the floor.

I also loved the bathroom at his house. Really, I would spend an hour in there. It was so clean and covered in sparkling white tiles. His wife, Omeda who was called Mama Meda, had a built-in vanity, with a three large mirrors that went from the vanity top to the ceiling, and a golden ornate seat with a pink velvet cushion. The mirrors were held in place with crystal mirror rosettes and on the vanity was a mirrored vanity tray with gold trim. It was filled with perfumes and a silver trimmed brush, comb and mirror set. It felt like I was in a palace.

From as long as I can remember and until the last time I saw him when I was in my 40’s, his pet name for me was Patty-Watty. I have a photo album that was his and in all the pictures of me, he labeled them Patty-Watty. Seeing those in his handwriting makes me smile.

He had many southwestern bolo ties made of silver and inlaid with turquoise, coral, onyx and mother of pearl. One of my favorites was about 5” long and it was a elaborate grizzly bear. One very fond memory is of sitting in my grandfathers lap in the living room while the men watched football. I was cuddled in his lap admiring the bear and outlining every stone and line on it. During the commercial, he got up and went in his room. He came back with a pin shaped like a Thunderbird and gave it to me. That day, I felt very special and loved.

Above, my Thunderbird gift from 1960’s and below is one of the last Christmases that I sat in my Grandpa Van’s lap ( Christmas 1982).

Trish B – January 15, 2023

Farthest Journey

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It is said, mostly in Chinese proverbs, that “A journey of a thousand miles, begins with a single step,” and “A thousand mile journey begins where one stands.” I have been fortunate enough to have traveled many thousands of miles to different places.

In 1977, I traveled from Houston Texas to Seoul, South Korea – 7035 miles. In 1991, I went to Celle, Germany from Seattle – 4964 miles. In 2000, I made my first trip to Israel – 6,816 from Seattle and in 2015 I traveled from Seattle to Brisbane, Australia for a total of 7,357 miles. So just by total distance traveled, Australia wins.

However, if we go back to the Chinese Proverb, about a journey beginning with a single step, the furthest I have traveled on foot was in 2001. At the time I was attending a Messianic congregation in Bellevue, WA. They had acquired a new property in Newcastle, the next town over and being part of a metropolitan area one really could not tell where one ended and the other began.

As part of this move they planned to walk with their Torah Scroll to the new location. The The Torah (or Pentateuch) contains the five books of Moses: Genesis, Exodus, Leviticus, Numbers, and Deuteronomy. It is considered by the Jewish people as their gift from God, their guide to life filled with with His wisdom. According to Jewish tradition when a synagogue closes its doors or relocates, the Torah scrolls are moved by careful ceremony. It is said that the journey to the new synagogue is modeled on the journey the Jews made to the Promised Land with the Ark of the Covenant, and many believe they are carrying the heart and soul of the congregation.

The distance to the new location was 8.5 miles. At the time I was forty-six years old and JD, my youngest son, was twelve. We decided to join in the walk. Many people were preparing for the event by building up their endurance. When I was asked if I was “training,” I replied that I was not. I had been to both places and by car, I was healthy and it didn’t really seem to be an insurmountable task.

JD and I showed up early for the walk. The Torah was carried by different members of the congregation and anyone that wanted a turn at carrying the Torah was welcome to do so. The Torah was covered by a tent that was a Jewish prayer shawl (a Tallit) held up by a pole at each corner. There were four people carrying the poles and those positions were also switched out along the journey. We walked along the city streets, a group of maybe 40 of us, we sang, we shared stories, we laughed and waved to the curious passersby.

The trip went really well for the first say, 7.5 miles, then as the day warmed up I began to get tired. Also, as we entered Newcastle there was a slight incline that made the walk a little more difficult. As we got closer to the new location, other members began to join in the walk for the last mile. They were excited (not tired) and full of energy and it seemed the pace picked up a little. The last half mile, I really had to push myself.

At last we made the final turn to the new location, it was about a third of a mile (approximately 5 city blocks) up a steep incline. I was at the back of the pack by now and I literally drug myself to the top one-hard-push-at-a-time.

When we arrived there was singing and celebrating and food for all. I was hot and my face was as red as a beet. I stayed a short while but thought it best to head home while I could still move. When I got home it was about 3 in the afternoon. I took a shower, went to bed and didn’t not wake up until the next morning.

When I think about my journey, I think of the many journeys the Jewish people have made over the years and the hardships they endured when they were exiled and and thrown out of their homes, towns and countries. During the pogroms they left with the only the belongings they could carry on their back or maybe in small wagons. The treks were long and arduous but I am sure the Torah scrolls went with them.

There are approximately 2,350 steps in a mile for a woman my height. That day I only made a 20,000 step journey, far from a thousand miles, but it still started with a single step and a determination to finish.

My journey was a joyous celebration and although I did not prepare for the journey, my walk made me reflect on the tradition and how even during persecution and strife the Jewish people honored the Torah on every journey of a thousand miles they were forced to make.

8/12/23

The Bracelet

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In 1972, I was living in Tampa, Florida. PJ, the dad of my older sons, was stationed at McDill AFB.  The Vietnam war was still ongoing;  a war that began in 1955, the first US combat troops were deployed on March 8, 1965 by President Johnson and US involvement ended in 1973. 

In 1970, two college students came up with the idea to remember American prisoners of war suffering in captivity. Through their California student group called Voices in Vital America they sold bracelets of plated nickel, or copper, each with a POW or MIA service member’s name stamped on it. 

The bracelets sold for $2.50 and $3.00 respectively and over 5 million were sold. The hope was to bring awareness to the POW’s in Vietnam, so that they would not be forgotten.  The promise of the purchaser was to wear the bracelet until the POW listed on it returned home or their remains were returned home. 

PJ bought mine on the base in 1972 –  Capt W. W. Hail.   At the time, the only thing I knew about him was that he was missing, presumed captured  August 2, 1965. 

In 1973 when the US ended its involvement in Vietnam. As American’s returned, the newspapers would publish the names. I would check the names but he was not listed. After a time, the news about Vietnam POW/MIA waned and news stories dwindled, but I continued to wear my bracelet. 

I wore it into the late 70’s when we lived in Anchorage, AK at Elmendorf AFB.  By this time the finish had rubbed off on the inside and it began to irritate my skin, so I lined it with white fabric canvas-like medical tape.  I wore my bracelet until early 1980 when it broke in half while putting it on. 

Over the years, there were many investigations and committees formed to ascertain whether there were still US servicemen in Southeast Asia in captivity. It would make the news for a while and then fade. 

In the late 90’s teams of US and Vietnam specialists would interview villagers at potential crash sites. Through these interviews with witnesses a crash site was located in July 1998 and human remains were recovered. They were later identified as Colonel Lester Holmes missing since May 1967. His remains were finally returned to his family in 2004. His son had a silver MIA bracelet with his dad’s name he placed in his coffin. 

It was around this time I decided to search the internet for information on Capt Hail. I found the website for the Vietnam Veterans Memorial Fund ( www.vvmf.org) and I searched. There I found him, with all the details of his birth, his hometown, the location of his name on the wall and a picture of him. He was still listed as MIA and he had been promoted to Lt Colonel. I made a comment on his page on April 9, 2005 along with about 15 others before me, some of whom also wore his bracelet.

I brought my bracelet into work as there was a man here that did some soldering to see if he could fix it but he said because of the shape and the tension to take it on and off the weld would not hold. 

Fast forward to 2016. I received an email from a Dr. Thompson at the Palm Springs Air Museum in California. He had seen my comment on the VVMF site (along with many others) and was contacting people to see if they would be interested in donating their bracelet to the museum bracelet display. He said,”Palm Springs Air Museum is now accepting Vietnam POW/MIA Bracelets for the new General Ken Miles Vietnam Hangar. VIVA (Voices in Vital America) distributed some five million bracelets in the early 70s for people to wear to bring attention to the thousands of missing Americans in Vietnam. The Vietnam POW/MIA Bracelet Display consists of the following: Display Wall (8 feet by 24 feet) with 715 plaques honoring 715 POWs – Display Case displaying the MIA and POW bracelet donations . In addition to the 715 POWs, there were another 2646 MIAs. (We now have some 250 bracelets in our Display Case).”

I was immediately interested.  I wanted my bracelet, that I had held onto for some 44 years, to be permanently held in someplace special.  I went to my jewelry box to retrieve it and it was not there.  I searched for days, I checked with the guy I had asked to repair it, thinking I never got it back, not there. I searched my office…nothing.  One thing I knew for sure, I did not throw it away. 

I finally gave up, but over the next several years I would occasionally search for spots that I would hide special things.  Still nothing.  Then a few months ago, I was completing information for renewing my passport.  I opened a file that had old passports in it and there was my bracelet!

I wrote to Dr. Thompson and after apologizing for replying seven years later, I asked if they would still accept my bracelet even though it was broken.  He wrote, “Yes we do, Trish! Glad you found it – that prayer to St. Anthony must have helped. I have someone who repairs our bracelets as well. By the way – we now have over 2,000 bracelets in our collection.”

So today, 51 years after first putting it on, I taped together my POW bracelet and took a picture of it.  I placed it in a metal box and sent it to the Palm Springs Air Museum Bracelet Display.  There it will be repaired and put on display with a brief history of LTC William Warren Hail and information about the bracelet’s history.

I told Dr. Thompson thank you and I appreciate the fact my bracelet will be kept where it will be honored as it was too precious to just let it go elsewhere, or forbid that someone would toss it after I am long gone.

LTC William Warren Hail is still listed as MIA.

Miracles

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I have given miracles a lot of thought while traveling the past few weeks. I was trying to sort out what I believe. When I thought of miracles I was thinking of the great ones Yeshua performed, healing the sick and raising the dead.

I wondered if these miracles happen today? I have heard people tell stories of going to third world countries and witnessing such healings, but I, the constant questioner of things I cannot see, have doubts. I surely have prayed for miraculous healings, for great supernatural showing of power to overthrow injustice and evil, but my eyes have not seen.

As I pondered these thoughts, I realized I still wanted to say, I believe in miracles but wonder if the time for the extremely awesome and breathtaking ones has passed.

Then I realized. There are no monumental or small miracles… everyday is a miracle. It is miraculous that not by my own power, I can turn a knob and clean fresh water comes from the tap, that I flip a plastic switch and I have light, or that I can reach the world from a small 4×6 device that I hold in my hand.

Last week I traveled from one side of the country to the other in a large metal tube with wings. It weighed hundreds of thousands of pounds yet it lifted into the air like a leaf blowing in the wind and took me thousands of miles in a few short hours.

The week before that I witnessed a huge rainbow that stretched across the sky over the Pacific Ocean. It filled me with a sense of awe and wonder of the beauty of this world. It took me above the fray on the ground to see the bigger picture of life.

Life, life is a miracle. The very fact that we are here on this earth is a testament to miracles. My ancestors going back thousands of years survived extreme hardships, famines, wars, diseases and countless other obstacles to produce offspring that finally resulted in my birth. I have read that the odds that I am here living on earth is in the trillions. The same holds true for all the over eight billion people in the world. That is one enormous miracle.

Yes, I believe in Miracles.