Mondays Child

Mondays child is fair of face,
Tuesdays child is full of grace,
Wednesdays child is full of woe,
Thursdays child has far to go,
Fridays child is loving and giving,
Saturdays child works hard for his living,
And the child that is born on the Sabbath day
Is bonny and blithe, and good and gay.

from Mother Goose!

My Dearest Shannon - Happy Birthday! You are Mondays child! And you my daughter – you were the child of my youth.

You were born the day after Easter, on Monday, March 30th, 1970 at 6:40 a.m. in Lynwood, California at St. Francis' Medical Center (hospital, then). You were 18 inches in length, 7 pounds and 3 ounces with hardly any hair whatsoever! Oh, but I was smitten!

There were difficulties with your birth and an emergency C-section brought you into the world.

The Sisters of St. Francis were a benevolent lot of ladies! They took care of the entire hospital bill that was incurred during your birth. I clearly see the hand of God gently guiding and directing even then.

One of the ‘older’ sister’s of the order was sent to assist me as I had determined I would breast feed you. Evidently I shocked them with that bit of news. It just seemed the most natural and economical thing to do. This dear, dear woman taught me to bind myself up with elastic bandages between feedings. (Really, I didn’t know it was going to be that painful at first!) With her help, your eagerness to nurse and much perseverance, we succeeded!

My daughter, I hope you know how much I love you. I hope I said it often enough. More importantly, I hope you felt that love.

I hope you know how proud I am of you. You've faced some insurmountable odds and come through. I think you're better for having experienced some of the hard times, too. It's given you grit and determination. I’ve witnessed you as you took the mantle and became the She-Bear to your own children.

You, my daughter, were the child of my youth. I was a child of 18 when you were born. I never knew a love as fierce and pure as the love of a mother for their first born child. Your birth awakened something so deep and so very primal in my heart and soul.

I remember wanting to protect you from all the evils of the world then finally having to concede that I could not.

Do you remember our days of 'single parenting' in the 1187 Palmer House apartments? The old Dickens adage of, "It was the best of times... it was the worst of times..." Oh Baby Girl... I did so many things wrong, but evidently I did a few things right - look at yourself!

Can you ever forgive me for the things I did wrong? The hurtful words I uttered? Allowing you to get into harms way - even on a church bus where a predator was looking for 'lost children' as his prey. I don't know if I can ever forgive myself for not knowing, for not being there. Had I had known… suffice it to say I'd be doing a life sentence in a women's facility.

There are and were so very many things I'm sorry for. Sorry that your birth father didn't make more of an effort to be in your life. How could I have thought he was the "one"?

"Child of love, in passion conceived, 

an innocent victim of love's debris" 

 I never was able to finish this poem... but I felt it its strength so deep within the core of me. I still do.

You were four when your dad and I separated and divorced. It was difficult for you, I'm sure. I was in the throes of depression and self loathing and all I wanted to do was sleep. I don't recall now who it was, probably one of the women I worked with, but she said to buy those frozen meals in a boiling bag so that I could fix a meal for you in short order. You probably burned out on those. I remember you telling me, “Mom? You’re a good can opener!”

I didn't cook a lot during those early days of divorce, but I did feed you. You thought raisins, prunes and raw sunflower seeds were candy... we did most of our shopping at second hand stores and I would buy you blue jean coveralls and embroider your name on them along with bright designs and flowers. That was until I heard a strange man calling you by name. I remember the sheer panic of that moment. It was, however, a valuable lesson to me AND I never embroidered your name on anything again, in fact I removed your name from that pair of coveralls!

We shopped at a hippy run food co-op in addition to Kroger’s where I could use the food stamps, went to book stores and the library, played the autoharp in the courtyard and sang to the children there, who like us were all low-income families subsisting on government assistance. I did have a job; it was just beneath the poverty level, so we qualified for assistance. For a long time we didn't have a TV. I couldn't have afforded cable anyhow. I don't recall that we missed television in our lives.

We also didn’t have a phone because I couldn’t afford the deposit. Another single mom saved her change in a glass bottle and gave it to me to get a phone set up – I only had to pay her back when I could (thank you Deb Harsh, I will always remember your kindness!).

When I went to get the phone set up, I was told I couldn’t get one until I paid the old bill your Dad had not paid. I was shocked, and then I became incensed!!! I went home, got the divorce papers and returned to their office. I showed them in the legal documents where he was responsible for all the debts incurred during the marriage. The lady ‘assisting’ me was unrelenting. I asked for her supervisor and a man appeared, with her at his side. I again informed them of the decree, told them they were free to make a copy for their files and if I didn’t leave with a phone being set up today they would be hearing from my attorney in a discrimination law suit as they were discriminating against women, especially those who where were low income and single parents! It was the era of women’s rights and discrimination law suits. We got the phone the very next day! (What I didn’t have was a lawyer!)

We did have other friends who were single parents with kids. I got custody of the camping equipment for awhile and we went on camping trips with some of our women friends and their children. Your camping job was to ‘police’ the area for sticks to clear where the tent would go then we used the sticks to start the camp fire.

You were the most amazing test of trying to date and find male companionship! You weeded them out in short order! I loved you for that, and I can't begin to tell you how much.

One such time, there was a ‘gentleman caller’ (really… I can’t remember who it was) and you were sitting on the cement slab floor that was covered with the government contract flooring. You looked at this guy, in all of your five year old wisdom and said, “Do you think you’re going to be my new Dad or something?” Then you lifted your leg and farted! It was soooooooo loud! It must have reverberated through at least three of the complex units! I never saw the guy again! Yep, you culled the herd.

Do you remember the incident in first grade where you were coming down the steps and accidentally stepped on a toy car that a third grade boy was playing with (on the steps)? He got mad and shoved you. Then you shoved back. It broke out into a full fight and you held your ground. I was called to school for that. Your teacher emphatically and dramatically wanted me to chastise you for that incident. I refused. I told that teacher that it was my full expectation that if you were bullied you were to stand up for yourself and not be a doormat to anyone no matter their age or gender. Suffice it to say that your teacher and I had rather strained relations from that day on! I never advocated violence as a means to an end, but I did want you to be able to stand up for yourself. You certainly have done that, and more, my Roller Derby Queen!

The hardest decision I ever had to make was in August of 1977. I did see a lawyer then. I had been laid off of work and it was then my thyroid started ‘acting up’ for the second time. The doctor was sure it was cancer since it ‘came back’ and wanted me to have surgery post haste. I told him I couldn’t – I didn’t have insurance, was laid off and was a single mom who needed to make some kind of arrangements for your care. I was so frightened, Shannon! I didn’t know what to do or where to turn.

A week or so later, I was called back to work but it would be on second shift and I had to work for a while before I could have the medical insurance reinstated.

My mom was willing to take you for the duration of working the off shift (I would never have seen you! You were in second grade) and for the recovery period when I had surgery. I wanted to make sure it was legal since I was the custodial parent. According to the lawyer, we needed to draft a letter to your Father just to test the water to see if he was interested in having you for the period of one year.

Wonder of wonders – he was. He was remarried by that time and had one or two daughters. Even though I had told the lawyer I was willing to pay child support, he declined to add that to the letter and said not to worry about it unless your Dad brought it up. He didn’t – he couldn’t see the bigger picture, only what was immediate and that was getting out of paying child support – which he never did anyhow.

So, the weekend before school started I moved you and all your possessions to your Dad’s. What do you remember of that move, if anything? What you didn’t know is I cried all the way back to the apartment. My heart broke leaving you there… I was afraid I was dying of cancer and had no other options available.

Unfortunately, I think you do remember staying with your Dad and his “new” family. As you told it, I believe you were treated like “Cinderella” and not allowed to eat with the family or even be a part of the family unit.

I did have the second thyroid surgery and pathology proved it was benign, even though the doctor said by all appearances, it looked like ‘cancer’.

Then rather than your Dad keeping you for the entire year as the agreement stated, the day school was out he and my mother had planned that you would be taken there. You were no longer in his house. There was a measure of consolation in that.

We did go back to court so that I again could become the custodial parent. Those were tough years. I am sorry you had to experience them.

So on this, the natal day of your emergence into the world, what words of wisdom could I impart to you?

Psalm 139:13

The Message

^13-16 Oh yes, you shaped me first inside, then out;
you formed me in my mother's womb.
I thank you, High God—you're breathtaking!
Body and soul, I am marvelously made!
I worship in adoration—what a creation!
You know me inside and out,
you know every bone in my body;
You know exactly how I was made, bit by bit,
how I was sculpted from nothing into something.
Like an open book, you watched me grow from conception to birth;
all the stages of my life were spread out before you,
The days of my life all prepared
before I'd even lived one day.

Praise Him, my child! Praise Him for your life, for being fearfully and wonderfully made! Praise Him for all the good times and yes, even for those times that have been bad. The bad times have developed your character and given you a depth of character that some women will never know.

I love you ‘as big as the sky’ my daughter, my own – happy birthday!

Your Mother,

Tamara

p.s. there’s a CARE package in the works!

Feed My Children

Being a small town girl, most communities we have lived in have not exceeded a census of 10,000. Personally, my hometown was probably a tenth of that. The comfort and familiarity of a small town is what I find appealing. You know people, you feel comfortable at church and in the community. If someone has an unspoken prayer request, chances are you’re going to know what it’s about… (really, you probably do!) 

There are drawbacks, of course. Not having specialized medical care, shopping malls or even a Target can have its moments. I loathe being tied to the apron strings of corporate Wal-Mart, no offense. It's not just about material goods. It is more about freedom, options, and power to have a large and positive impact on society through charity, education, and reform… but that’s another story for another time. 

With that being said, I am now making a conscious effort to return to the theme of my recent writings: Small Town America and life on the farm! I suppose the theme from the old television program Green Acres would be appropriate playing in the background, but I am resisting that temptation!

 Similar to my old stove!

When we first moved to the farm, we inherited a number of old antique pieces of furniture that just came with the house. We did purchase an old 1920s high legged gas cook stove. We got it for less than $50.00, had to move it downstairs from the apartment it was in and then used at least two cans of oven cleaner to be able to see its beautiful green and cream colors. It was worth all the elbow grease as it cleaned up quite well. 

There was a gas well on the property and free gas to the house. When trying to use the oven on the stove, since there wasn't a pilot light, I had to strike a wooden match, turn the gas on and pray! The first time I did this, the gas fumes “whooshed” out and singed off my eye lashes and eyebrows. I calmly looked at my then 16 year old daughter and simply said, “Shannon, this is why you never want to try this yourself!” Her wide eyes and expression were priceless AND to my knowledge she never did try it! 

The old gas stove was not well insulated, but that proved to be a blessing during the winter months. Living as remote as we did, we often lost power and the only way we could warm the house was with that old stove. We even took huge pots filled with snow and melted them on the stove to be able to flush the toilet! Yeah, it was that primitive. 

When the baby chicks had grown into young adolescent chickens, it was time to separate the sexes. Our son Nicholas was the “runner” who went into the hen house, found the young roosters, brought them to me, I tied them up by the feet and slit their little necks and let them bled out hanging from the clothes line. The next step was dipping them into the boiling water bath, plucking the feathers and next into an ice bath until time to cut them up. (Martha Stewart doesn't have anything up on me!) 

Fortunately, the family we bought the farm house from, Husband and Wife Bumpus, came to help me slice and dice the chickens. It was like watching a ballet of professional chefs with Ginsu knives! Slice – dice – chop – chop and there they were in lovely little piles of thighs, legs, breasts, backs and necks. Next was my turn. It wasn't pretty and there were no recognizable parts. After more iced baths for the chicken parts I next bagged and tagged and dated them. They were placed into the freezer. 

Growing up in an extended family with my mother and grandmother, I never had to cook. In fact, I was more of a nuisance in the kitchen and got underfoot. I was chased out of the kitchen. It was a well devised plan I learned to manipulate with ease. 

However, as an adult I learned to read and follow recipes. I learned to plant and grow vegetables and even how to can! The public library has a wealth of information all for the mere investment of a library card! 

It was even the public library where I learned how to care for the goats, how to milk them (with a friend also giving me some hands on practice, shall we say?). I learned to culture and make yogurt from goat’s milk and not in those cutesy little machines, either. I did it in gallon glass containers inside a Styrofoam cooler with the heating pad! Plain yogurt often was placed in cheese cloth and drained overnight to become ricotta cheese. Vanilla yogurt was flavored with vanilla bean and honey. Goat’s milk yogurt is a little thin so to thicken it up I used one cup of dry powered milk per gallon of yogurt. 

The fresh eggs were a delight, especially since they came from Rhode Island Reds and were contained in a warm brown colored shell. The egg shells were fed to the pigs to increase their calcium levels. 

We had wonderful flowers that grew on the farm as well as rhubarb and wild leeks and wild asparagus in the early spring. I grew herbs: peppermint, chamomile, chives, basil, oregano, parsley, sage, rosemary and thyme. 

I ground wheat berries into whole wheat flour, made homemade breads and noodles. The whole wheat noodles were… well, pathetic. They became moldy before drying out! I don't miss Ohio humidity. The chickens and the pigs ate them. Nothing went to waste on the farm. Literally, we were "green" before it was vogue.

As we were trying to become missionaries, our home church often made visits with Care Packages of food. I learned a lot from these endeavors. That being: give of the first fruits, not the leftovers in your pantry. Sadly, a lot of the dry foods were infested with mealy bugs and packaged food was past expiration dates. But the critters didn't mind! To this day, when Husband and I give, we generally purchase it from the store for that singular purpose. I’m not bragging here, just stating a fact that was indelibly placed as a learning tool from God Almighty! 

That is not unlike the Old Testament practice of tithing: the giving of the first ten percent, the best your crops produced. Can you envision this practice today? If that were happening in our churches, our states would not be suffering financially and there would be no need of social service! We would actually be God’s hands and be used to bless others less fortunate. 

One of the ladies in our Esther Group at the Emmaus weekend is a Community Activist and she shared a story with me about the wife of a friend of hers from Georgia. Her friend's wife was a teacher and one boy in her class was a “problem child” who acted out. When he did this, the other boys in the class followed suit and soon the whole class was in distress. 

In the particular school where she taught, the teachers were required to take their lunch with the children in the class. She heard a commotion and went to investigate and there he was: her problem child. He had dropped his tray of food and was screaming, screaming, screaming. As she listened, she suddenly realized why. This child, this problem child from the heart of mid-America had not eaten all weekend long and was afraid he was now not going to have any food at all this day. This dear woman, this teacher was touched in her heart. She quit her job and began a new one. Seeking funding and food so no child in that community would ever go hungry again. (Can I get an Amen?) 

Often, we need only to rise above the clamor and noise to listen, really listen and become the hands and heart of Christ. What good is my Christian witness if I only profess it inside the walls of the sanctuary? 

So this I pray: Abba, Father – fill me with your Spirit. Show me what you would have me do as ministry not only in my church but also in my community. 

I’ll be sharing bits and pieces of my Emmaus experience as we walk along this path.

Tamara

PS 

Ephesians 5:29

²⁹ No one ever hates his own body, but feeds it and takes care of it just like Christ does for the church

OK, so I'm not Janette Oke, but the saga continues

Continuing on with the theme of the move to the Wonderful Land of AZ…

The trip from there to here was approximately 2,000 miles and I've already described the ‘beautiful for spacious skies’ so it is time for the rest of the story! 

When we determined to move we were living in a 100 year old farmhouse on 20 acres in a very rural, primitive section of Ohio in Coshocton County. The berg itself was called Tiverton Center and was the second highest point in the state (but still below sea level). This old house needed everything done to it! We painted, we stripped woodwork, we cleaned and finally painted and stenciled. We called it home. 

You've no doubt heard of a “Gentleman’s Farm”? Ours was more like an amateurs’ adventure on the farm! We ended up raising chickens (which I wouldn't mind doing again, but alas we don’t have the area in town and I don’t want to be dodging the poop!). Those we purchased as peeps. Crowmore and the Cluck Sisters was what I called them. We began getting farm critters from people we didn't even know. 

A pig farmer brought us our first runt by meeting me at the back porch door, handing it to me and saying, “Here – I don’t have time for the runts. If he lives, he’s yours.” So I took the cute little guy and promptly named him Hamlet. Mistake, mistake!!! Warning, warning! Never name a farm animal!!! I bought the special nursing “mix” you use to nurse them back to health and he began to grow. I held him like a baby simply because I didn't know any different. Hamlet began to grow, and grow. I then learned that for every pound of food a pig eats, they will put on half a pound in body weight. He moved to the barn and I was pleasantly surprised to learn that pigs are quite neat! (Chickens however are not! And turkeys are even worse and stupid!!!) 

Months passed and the time arrived when it was time to take Hamlet to the butcher’s. Husband did that, I stayed home and felt bad. Really, really bad. A few days later Husband picked up the “packages” and torched the grill. I was still sad. When everything was ready, the table set, the vegetables placed and the food blessed I knew I would have to set an example for our son and daughter, so I reluctantly took a bite. WOW! (This is where we hear the strum of harps with angelic overtones!) A conversion had taken place! What once had been my boy Hamlet had been lowered back to us in a sheet and was now pork any heathen gentile would appreciate! Oh my! Homegrown was the best! 

Off and on, the pig farmer brought more runts to our home. The next one (Calvin Swine) did not make it past 24 hours. When he arrived again it was four piglets – three males and one female. I named the males Runtley, Gruntley, Huntley and the female was naturally Brinkley after the model… yes, I know… Again, sheer mathematics caused us to butcher Gruntley and Huntley as juveniles and we then offered either of the other two to a neighbor who was an Amish dairy farmer. He chooses Brinkley and we kept Runtley. 

Let me tell you a bit about Amish neighbors. You cannot do something for these people without them doing something for you. We had an abundance of eggs which we gave them. In exchange they brought us baked goods. We had the acreage; they planted and baled the hay. We split it. I had to talk hard and fast to get him to accept half because he said it should be 1/3 for him and 2/3s for us. We didn't have the animals for that – it would be a sin for it to go bad! 

Now, about the sow we gave him… the next spring he showed up with a calf for us to raise! I forget the actual mix of the calf but she was half Jersey if we wanted milk and half something else if we wanted her for meat. So… what do you name a calf? I called her “Caffie” and she responded to that. 

Our status on the farm was, well at least growing as by that time we had four goats – two kids, one dairy goat (I still have a great grip!) and the kids Mama. Now the dairy goat Broney was the most stubborn thing in typical goat fashion. I would tether her out by the fence line to eat the poison ivy and sumac as goats spit the antibodies out in their milk and it helps humans to gain immunity to it! 

I would try to lead her from one spot to another and she would dig her heels in and “Neighhhhhhhhhhhhh, neighhhhhhhhhh, neighhhhhhhhh!” as if I were beating her with a stick! I specifically remember one time when I was tugging and pulling and yelling at her saying, “Don’t you know, I’m taking you to a better place, move it!” I’m sure I heard the voice of the Lord saying, “Tamara, how many times have I tried to gently lead you and yet you continue to dig your heels in, too!” OUCH! 

Caffie and the goat kids (a.k.a. Mia and Brittney) grew up together. It was cute when they were young, but as Caffie grew I sometimes saw Husband flying out the barn, as she had affectionately head butted him in the middle of the back. 

Coming home from church on Sundays we would be greeted by Smokey (the blind horse who turned the lights in the barn on) all the goats, Runtley and Caffie running to the barn to meet us and be fed. 

Not knowing if the move from the farm was something the Lord was directing us to do; we did a Gideon’s fleece of sorts. We prayed and asked that if this was what we were supposed to do, then God - sell our home without a Realtor AND with enough of a profit that we could leave debt free. 

An acquaintance of ours that we knew through church and who was a Realtor, heard we were selling and wanted to list the home. We told her about the fleece and kindly said no. She asked if she could at least show it. Husband explained that if she were to sell the home, $ $ THIS $ $ is the price we need and if you need a commission, then you will need to tack it on above this price. She agreed. 

She arranged to show the home to a family on Thursday evening. On Saturday she called to let us know the couple wanted the house at that price (to include her commission)! In my typical act of faith I asked Husband, “Were we not asking enough?” 

We had thirty days to vacate the premises! I shouldn't have been amazed, but I still am when I recall that story. 

We sold everything we could and gave our daughter whatever she wanted or asked for. She was 20 and pregnant with our first Grand. 

Suffice it to say, that had I been Lot’s wife, I would be a pillar of salt! My heart, my home, my first born child and future Grand were in Ohio! The move was difficult emotionally.

PS  ⁴ Make me know Your ways, O LORD;
Teach me Your paths.

I’m continuing on with this verse of scripture as it is so appropriate for this long, drawn out story! Actually, it is more than appropriate for my life!

Walking Path

America the Beautiful

Words by Katharine Lee Bates,
Melody by Samuel Ward

O beautiful for spacious skies,
For amber waves of grain,
For purple mountain majesties
Above the fruited plain!
America! America!
God shed his grace on thee
And crown thy good with brotherhood
From sea to shining sea!

O beautiful for pilgrim feet
Whose stern impassioned stress
A thoroughfare of freedom beat
Across the wilderness!
America! America!
God mend thine every flaw,
Confirm thy soul in self-control,
Thy liberty in law!

O beautiful for heroes proved
In liberating strife.
Who more than self their country loved
And mercy more than life!
America! America!
May God thy gold refine
Till all success be nobleness
And every gain divine!

O beautiful for patriot dream
That sees beyond the years
Thine alabaster cities gleam
Undimmed by human tears!
America! America!
God shed his grace on thee
And crown thy good with brotherhood
From sea to shining sea!

O beautiful for halcyon skies,
For amber waves of grain,
For purple mountain majesties
Above the enameled plain!
America! America!
God shed his grace on thee
Till souls wax fair as earth and air
And music-hearted sea!

O beautiful for pilgrims feet,
Whose stem impassioned stress
A thoroughfare for freedom beat
Across the wilderness!
America! America!
God shed his grace on thee
Till paths be wrought through
wilds of thought

By pilgrim foot and knee!
O beautiful for glory-tale
Of liberating strife
When once and twice,
for man's avail
Men lavished precious life!
America! America!
God shed his grace on thee

Till selfish gain no longer stain
The banner of the free!
O beautiful for patriot dream
That sees beyond the years
Thine alabaster cities gleam
Undimmed by human tears!
America! America!
God shed his grace on thee
Till nobler men keep once again
Thy whiter jubilee!

Twenty-two years ago, traveling across these great United States, I witnessed first hand the "beautiful for spacious skies” and the "amber waves of grain" as we traveled across this nation in a 1989 Toyota Tercel pulling a trailer with every worldly possession we had not sold. Our trek began in Ohio.

Crossing into the state of Kentucky our then ten year old son sat bolt upright and stated, “Hey! This grass isn’t blue!” Amusing as that was, the grass was the deepest, darkest green with rolling hills and horses lounging in the pasture. We traveled on into Tennessee and found a campsite near Nashville. We had to pack it up and head to a truck stop when a tornado threatened the area! When the warning passed we went back and set up again. Most of the other campers were actually playing guitars and singing, hoping for a break into the Country Music scene.

We traveled further south to Arkansas to visit family before heading on West. We had a wonderful visit and learned most males in that area had two names, i.e. Joe Paul, Billy Bob, etc. To this day I can’t tell you where we were when we first began to hear the southern drawl, "Ya’ll want grits with breakfast?”

I would have loved being a girl raised in the south (G.R.I.T.S.). I love some of the southern euphemisms; “Bless her heart!"  "Ya’ll fixin’ to go to town?” and not to forget he plural “All ya’ll”.

When leaving southern Arkansas the next state was Texas. It seemed to go on and on for days and days! It appeared to be the flattest land in the continental United States! Husband said while stationed at Lackland AFB, the saying was you could go A.W.O.L. and still be seen for three days in any direction.

We began traveling north from Texas and into the state of Oklahoma for a very short period. We stopped at Fort Sill to absorb some of the history and local legend. As we were on no specific time schedule, we headed to Kansas where we were able to see the "fruited plains and amber waves of grain". This land too appeared flat and quite frightening when the storm clouds gathered.

Next our trip took us to Colorado where we decided to pickup Interstate 70. We began to see the "purple mountains majesty" and the signs warning about high winds… all while in a Toyota Tercel, pulling a trailer with all our worldly goods… After fighting to stay on the highway that was frequented by many trucks and the high winds, we decided another route south might be best. We were heading to Interstate 40 and traveled into New Mexico and it truly lived up to its name of “The Land of Enchantment” such wonder and beauty I had never seen.

After the enchantment of New Mexico we entered North Eastern Arizona and searched out Arizona State Highway 666 (now renumbered as State Highway 191). We came to the community of Springerville in the early evening. I called my mother who lived in the mining community of Morenci. The conversation went somewhat like this: “Mom! We’re in Spingerville and it’s only a bit more than 100 miles! We’ll be there tonight.” The reply was, “Get a room and start out in the morning. Trust me on this, start in the morning.” So we did. In retrospect I am so glad we did!

Hwy. 666 was evil! It climbed, snaked through an area that had signs stating “highway not maintained past this point.” There were no guard rails and other signs warning that semis and trailers over 20 feet in length were prohibited. There were hairpin turns, cattle on the road, Husband driving one handed saying, “Did you see that elk?” while pointing with the other. I knew we were going to die on this road! Even though we no longer have that Toyota Tercel (without air conditioning that we were moving to Arizona in…) I’m sure my fingernail impressions are still embedded in the passenger’s seat! Our son sat in the back with a blanket over his head! It was that scary!

When we finally topped the incline and began the downward trek into Morenci, I saw it: the huge open pit mine. I looked at Husband and said, “They’ve raped the earth!” It was one of the most horrific sight I had ever seen. I was appalled at what man had done to the land! Then we arrived in Morenci, my Mom met us and led the way to her home. The mining community looked the same to me wherever we went. Small homes built on terraced land all owned by Phelps Dodge (and now by Freeport McMoRan).

After arriving in town you are struck by the “tailings” from the mining effort. Tailings, also called mine dumps, slimes, tails, refuse, leach residue, or slickens, are the materials left over after the process of separating the valuable fraction from the uneconomic fraction of an ore – in this case copper.

Then, without warning you become blind to all this. Isn’t that like the complacent Christian, who is oblivious to sin in their life, because most certainly they are not like that person over there, are they?

After staying with my Mom for awhile we relocated to the Safford-Thatcher area and remain here to this day – almost twenty two years later!

Today, Husband returns from his “Walk to Emmaus”. He’s been gone since Thursday. My “Walk” begins this coming Thursday. Stay tuned for more details!

Tamara

PS  ⁴ Make me know Your ways, O LORD;
Teach me Your paths.

Finding My Path

In the sacred ground of this present moment, I find myself seeking a path, a direction for the remaining years of my life. I want it to have mattered that I walked upon this earth. Has my life made a difference? Rhetorical questions without answers… for now.

Maybe it’s the Lenten season. I desire a closer walk with Him who loves my soul. I want to pour out the oil of my devotion on His feet, wash them with my tears and dry them with my hair… if only I had hair like that woman we have read of so often.

Or maybe just to get close enough to Him to touch the hem of his garment so I could be cured of my infirmity like the woman with the issue of blood. Can you imagine her? This poor woman couldn’t attend the temple and worship because of her “issue.” Mine may not be the same as hers, but I do indeed have an issue. What about you? What is your issue? What is it that keeps you from pure worship?

Lord, deliver us! Prepare us for worship. Keep us from evil that we may not sin against You or the family of believers. Help us to have the eyes of Christ and the stamina to do what You ask. Forgive us for the times we have turned our backs upon those in need.  In Jesus’ name I pray!

Psalm 25:4-6

The Message

⁴ Show me how you work, God;
School me in your ways.

⁵ Take me by the hand;
Lead me down the path of truth.
You are my Savior, aren't you?

⁶ Mark the milestones of your mercy and love, God;
Rebuild the ancient landmarks!

Tamara

A Little Update

The half cast removed

An update on our grandson Zachary is in order. He is healing nicely and the half cast was replaced with a full cast on Monday. He is still not allowed to bear weight on the leg for three weeks. 

His mother had business in town so she and Zachary stopped in and visited with the Hubs, in fact he kept Zachary for a bit while his mom did some errands. Alas... I was at work. 

Gam'Pa and Zachary played as well as one can with a broken leg, put a 100 piece puzzle together and then just set together and snuggled down enjoying each other's presence. Much like we (read I) should with God... 

Even though pre-school is postponed for awhile, Zachary has continued to learn. The Pastor’s wife at the church they attend has been taking him and his two older brothers and teaching them on Wednesday evening. She has been teaching them the books of the New Testament. Zachary can rattle them off up to Colossians. In fact, according to his mom, he has surpassed his older brothers and he just rattles them off in short order. 

Where some of the stitches were and the drain tube

I had been trying to teach him the Pledge of Allegiance and would say a phrase and then he would repeat it. When we had finished, he asked, “Ga’Ma? Do want to be invisible?” I laughed and laughed about that.

Our granddaughter Abby spent part of last Saturday in the emergency room getting stitches in her forehead after falling on the stairs. She is doing well and knowing Abby, this is merely part and parcel contributing to her badge of courage!

Stitches on the outside of his leg

The New Cast

Matthew 18 New American Standard Bible 

¹ At that time the disciples came to Jesus and said, “Who then is greatest in the kingdom of heaven?” ² And He called a child to Himself and set him before them, ³ and said, “Truly I say to you, unless you are converted and become like children, you will not enter the kingdom of heaven.

Now for the pictures Gam'Pa took yesterday:

Working on the Puzzle

Looking at the Puzzle Box

Waiting for us to sign his cast first! Awww!

Showing off the cast

Thank you for all the prayers!


Tamara

The Land of Az

Traversing the highways and byways of south eastern Arizona is pleasant indeed. Traveling south on US Highway 191 from Safford to the turnoff at the Arizona State Route 266 one passes from small town community into the rural countryside.

Once you have made the turn onto Route 266 you begin to sense the wonder of the Arizona High Desert. The road begins to twist and turn and you feel the rising elevation. It is listed by some sources as having an elevation of 4,544 feet (plus or minus depending upon the article you read) as compared to Safford’s paltry elevation of merely 3,176 feet. Once on the crest of Route 266 the downward tour begins and the panoramic view is almost overwhelming. Mountains surround the vista with typical rock outcroppings reminiscent of Texas Canyon.

This is the daily trek to my work site a trip of 37.6 miles one way. The prison unit is Fort Grant and is nestled in the Coronado National Forest. Mount Graham is a mountain in southeastern Arizona, in the Coronado National Forest. It is the highest mountain in the Pinaleño Mountains. As the name "Mount Graham" is often used by locals to refer to the entire mountain range, the peak itself is frequently referred to as "High Peak". The mountain reaches 10,720 feet in height, attaining the highest elevation in Graham County and the third highest in the state.

Slowing down the vehicle and pulling over on the side of the road to avoid the horse trailers, there they are - working cowboys dressed in their denim, chambray shirts, chaps, cowboy hats and boots as they head into the high desert on horseback. These men and women are employees of the Bureau of Land Management and they are probably surveying the area for indications of potential fire hazards.

The prison supplies inmates who, when they pass the rigorous testing process are then trained to fight fires during wildfire season here in Arizona. This is a coveted “job” for an inmate. It allows them freedom outside the fenced perimeter and often it is a chance to repay a debt to society in a very tangible way.

A sergeant told of a fire where he was supervising inmates while working along side of them. When they returned to the camp, people in the town would line the streets and applaud them. The sergeant broke up while telling this and said how deeply it affected not only the inmates but him, too.

Most of the land going uphill to work is either Federal or State land. Local ranchers keep cattle on it and you can see these cowboys on their ATV’s getting the job done. These - the latter day cowboys!

Being the youngest state in the lower forty-eight we sure have a rich history with Billy the Kid from our local and then the Clanton’s and Earp’s who made Tombstone famous (or infamous as the case may be). The Mexican culture is evident in our architecture, art and the food we eat!

Arizona is home to twenty-one (21) federally recognized tribes. Together, the tribes contribute to the rich cultural diversity of Arizona. The state is home to over 250,000 Native Americans (2000 Census). Reservations and tribal communities comprise over a quarter of Arizona's landmass. Precious few of the WW II Navajo Code Talkers remain in the four-corners area.

In 1888, Buffalo Soldiers of the 10th Cavalry were stationed at Fort Grant who often participated in civil duties, such as chasing train robbers and other outlaws.

Local geothermal activity means there are natural hot springs that maintain a year round temperature of approximately 106º. Copper is what is mined locally and it is said the hot springs are most therapeutic for those with arthritis. The geothermal activity coupled with the amount of lava rock one finds while walking in the desert can cause one to conclude that perhaps there may be a dormant volcano in the area, perhaps Mt. Graham itself. No literature has substantiated this self deduced hypothesis however.

Have a most wonderful and blessed weekend. May you find joy in your journey!

Psalm 19:6

The Message (MSG)

⁶ That's how God's Word vaults across the skies
from sunrise to sunset,
Melting ice, scorching deserts,
warming hearts to faith.

Tamara