Gamma Globulin Supplied

JORDAN RIVER

       Raging Jordan River at Flood Stage

Recently, we studied Chapter 5 of the book of Joshua in Sunday School.  We had a lively discussion on how God gave Joshua detailed instructions.  The Jordan river was at flood stage, but the Israelites were to cross it on dry ground.  And yes, they did cross it on dry ground.  Now, we in the West are not given to belief in miracles.  We are much like the doubting Thomas.  He had to experience what he would believe.  Persons of faith have what it takes to believe beyond their senses or sometimes, logic.  But sometimes even they have problems.  I want to think that I don’t, but to tell you the truth, if I were one of Joshua’s lieutenants and I heard the Lord’s instructions to him, I’m not too sure that I would readily believe it.  Cross the swollen river Jordan on dry ground?
                                                   

DON TURNS ORANGE                        

Young Missionaries to Central Java, Indonesia

In 1978, Don and I were serving in Indonesia as missionaries, living in Surakarta, Central Java.  We had a five-month old baby when Don came down with hepatitis from an infected needle.  Earlier he had caught the flu and went to a local doctor for a shot.  And one morning months later, his skin turned orange and his eyes were yellowish orange.  His urine sample was chocolate brown and our Merck manual (the standard missionary health guide), informed us that the incubation period for the hepatitis virus was 5 months and it had been that long since his shot.

GAMMA GLOBULIN SERUM

 

 

 

 

To protect the rest of the household from being contaminated, we needed gamma globulin serum.    We looked for it everywhere but couldn’t find it.  Our whole missionary community was helping us to no avail.  Then one day Mike, a Nazarene missionary, came to see Don and learned of our plight.  He was a ham radio operator, so he called George, his senior missionary in Jakarta, the capital city, to look for this serum.  On this same day, Ron, a missionary from the Christian Churches, was called to the US Embassy in Jakarta about his tax returns. He spent a couple of days in the city.  Meanwhile, George, found a doctor in the Italian Embassy researching tropical diseases. For some reason, he had the gamma globulin serum. George “happened” to have a scheduled meeting the following day in Jogjakarta, a city adjacent to where we lived.  He decided to hand carry the serum. On the day George found the serum, Ron was on a plane going back home to Salatiga, another city close to us. The plane couldn’t land because of heavy fog. It had to turn around and return to Jakarta.  (We have never heard nor experienced fog in the more than three years  we’ve lived in the island of Java.)  The following day, Ron took another plane.  Sitting next to him was George holding in his hands the thermos bottle with the gamma globulin serum. They didn’t know each other, but soon got to talking.  George mentioned that he had this serum to deliver to a sick missionary in Surakarta.  Ron was the only person we knew in our area who had a telephone, and he was involved intensely in our search for the serum.  And soon there he was, delivering the serum to us right on our doorstep. 

Could this be just a series of coincidences?  Or, did God do a miracle here?   What do you think?

Amy Carmichael, A Forever Hero

  If I say, "Yes, I forgive, but I cannot forget,"
as though the God,
who twice a day washes all the sands
on all the shores of all the world,
could not wash such memories from my mind,
then I know nothing of Calvary love.

Meet Amy Carmichael, one of my forever heroes. I knew of her while in college.  When I think of  a textbook on Christian character, I think of her book “If” next to the Scriptures. An early indication to me that Don and I might be kindred spirits was his very first gifts to me, a flowering Gloxinia and a copy of “If.” This was way before we started dating and before he knew what I thought of Amy Carmichael.


 DOHNAVUR FELLOWSHIP
 

Born on December 16, 1867 in Ireland, Amy left for missionary work in India at the age of 28. There she found her calling, saving children from the practice of prostitution in the Hindu temples. She established the Dohnavur Fellowship dedicated to this purpose. This ministry saved thousands of girls and boys from human trafficking. In 1931 she suffered a fall that made her an invalid. It was during this time that she wrote most of her work. She served in Southern India for 55 years without taking a furlough until her death in 1951. She is buried in the grounds of the Dohnavur Fellowship. She did not want a headstone to mark her grave, rather a birdbath marks her final resting place. 
 

CALVARY LOVE

If I am content to heal a hurt slightly, saying "Peace,peace," where there is no peace; if I forget the poignant word "Let love be without dissimulation" and blunt the edge of truth, speaking not right things but smooth things, then I know nothing of Calvary love.

 

 If I can enjoy a joke at the expense of another; if I can in any way slight another in  conversation, or even in thought, then I know nothing of Calvary love.

If I belittle those whom I am called to serve, talk of their weak points in contrast perhaps with what I think of as my strong points; if I adopt a superior attitude, forgetting "Who made thee to differ? And what hast thou that thou hast not received?" then I know nothing of Calvary love.

If I love to be loved more than to love, to be served more than to serve, then I know nothing of Calvary love.

If I can easily discuss the shortcomings of any; if I can speak in a casual way of
a child’s misdoings, then I know nothing of Calvary love.

           If I covet any place on earth but the dust at the foot of the Cross, then I know
           nothing of Calvary love.

 

Coffee Shop Denizens

One of the luxuries that Don and I allow ourselves these days is a good cup of cappuccino served in porcelain mugs. Our few months in Europe has made us such coffee snobs.  We got used to the quaint, little coffee shops that provide parlorlike settings furnished with flowered sofas and flawlessly varnished coffee tables. Cappuccino and latté are served in delicate little porcelain cups complete with saucers lined with dainty cloth doilies and accompanied by semi-sweet well-frosted pastry.

In the late mornings or mid afternoons, we head to our favorite Starbucks. Sometimes when Don feels extra lighthearted, he mischievously announces to the barista, “I’d like two tall blondes, please.” Then with a smart-alecky grin on his face, he waits for the barista’s announcement of “Major” and joins me at the table I usually choose, right next to the glass window, so we can watch the world go by.

When we happen to pick the wrong time for coffee, we sometimes find ourselves in the midst of the young throng that have just let out from the high school or college close to Starbucks.  Most of the time I find myself irritated at this.  Our quiet and profound theological or historical discussions get interrupted by these young people who are so self-absorbed.  All they think about is getting their orders and laughing at things that have long been out of my own life, or have never been in my young life.  “Oh, did you see the tweet from . . .”  “I like your tablet.  It is so cool.” “We went to see ‘Argo’. Wow.” Then they would park at whatever table they can find, continuing discussions that sound like foreign language to me.  They would pass around those smart phones, or whatever they call it, to look at pictures and laugh at them while spooning the cream off of their frappuccinos.

After I get past the rude interruption that accompanies this noisy crowd, I start looking at them more closely.  I wonder if I was much like these young kids when I was their age.  Well, of course.  It was a different time, different era, but I, too, had the same self-absorption and “I didn’t care” attitude. When I was young, the whole universe revolved around me.  And when stuff in my universe did not go the direction I wanted, I would fret and wonder why and where I’ve lost control, and more often than not, I would think it was somebody else’s fault.  George Bernard Shaw said, “Youth is wasted on the young.”  Blessed is the young person who has an old wise person who helps ease him/her to adulthood.  The old can show him the minefields that destroy lives.  And equally blessed is the old person who gets past the noise and bravado of the young, for he, too, can learn from him about the new world of Twitter, Facebook, Email, Google, Beyonce, Snoopy Dog, “Survivors”, etc.  If they would allow it, they both can help transition each other into new, strange worlds.

 

If the old would only remember that they were once young, and the young would realize that someday they, too, would grow old. . . .

Kaleidoscope

 

Look/see into Budapest; Berlin revisited; 38^th wedding anniversary Danube cruise;  long distance international train rides; new friends; Hungarian goulash, German meatballs with pickled red cabbage, pork knuckles with sauerkraut and potato balls; then home to the good old US of A.  Old Hank at the front door, meowing his indignation at being left for a month; I’m emptying suitcases - Hungarian cashmere pashmina’s, Berlin & Hungarian Starbucks coffee mugs, Appleman Stop/Go mugs, little Hungarian dolls, wooden toys, and chocolates, lots of German chocolates.

Wednesday 3:50 pm.  Arrived home in San Francisco.  So good to be home.  Sleep.  Short term objective – sleep.  Long term objective – more sleep.  The first afternoon home is a blur now.

Thursday 8:00 am.  Checking emails; finding bearings; what’s happening in the US world.

The familiar sound of Skype comes on.  Kristy is calling.  “I want you to know that the on-call doctor from Laguna Honda called yesterday.  Grandma came down with a urinary infection and it was suspected, pneumonia, also.  She was taken to UC Hospital.  But I was concerned because the doctor said they were not giving her aggressive treatment.  However, she is being made as comfortable as they could make her.  You might want to get in touch with the doctor.”

In a couple of hours we were at the hospital talking to medical staff.  We even had a meeting with the social worker, nursing supervisor, ward nurse, the nurse Anne Hughes, who has a PhD in the care of Alzheimer patients and the on-call doctor taking care of Grandma on this particular day.  We were supposed to meet with her regular doctor at some point.  Waited for him for two hours but he did not show.  We were told by Anne Hughes that she thought it would just be a matter of hours or days.  Grandma was very close to the end.

Went home, Don called Pat in Fresno and Barry in Colorado.  I sent emails to Kristy in Arizona and Matthew in Las Vegas.  Matthew drove the 7 hours to San Francisco.  Kristy, Jon and the three children drove from Phoenix and arrived Monday a little past noontime.  More phone calls to and from Grandma’s siblings – Esther, Mona, Gilbert, Joe.  Emails, updates, return calls.

More visits to the hospital; more conferences with staff; Mom’s regular doctor still missing.  It’s been a week now since we first went to see Grandma in the hospital.  We have yet to see her regular doctor.  More phone calls, probably more meetings.

Jon left this morning to get back to Arizona.  He has a Church youth retreat to take care of.  He’d fly back on Monday to SF.  Matthew had left on Tuesday noon.

The scene keeps changing but also staying the same.  Grandma waits. We wait. And through it all, life goes on.  I hear Kristy homeschooling Roc and Shekinah at the dining table.  Don continues to try to get hold of the Social Worker who has been our lifeline to the hospital, but even she has now become unavailable.  I think of what I’m making for lunch that the 11-year old and 6-year old grandchildren will enjoy.  I made a hit this morning with the French toasts and bacon, lots of bacon.  (Their mother is almost vegetarian!)

And what am I doing writing this blog?  Seeking normalcy and refuge.

 

PS:  Finally met with Dr. Starks, Grandma’s regular doctor, together with the Nursing supervisor and the charge nurse.  His prognosis – nothing radical is going to happen in the next weeks or so.  For the last two days, she ate 50% of her meals.  Good development.  We also learned later from the hospital chaplain that he noticed that Grandma was sitting up in her wheelchair this morning.

A Second Sight

There are some things one never forgets.  I had one almost four decades ago, a very special morning.  I got in my car and carefully drove down Winding Way.  It was aptly named, as it did narrowly wind around the homes on the divided street on which I lived.  I was excited to start the day and get to work.  Soon I was on Prague Street where I had to make a right turn to Geneva Avenue, the main thoroughfare I had to take.  Across Prague was Amazon Park which was bordered by great big trees.  I threw a quick glance at the trees as I waited to get onto Geneva.

“I can see the leaves.  I can see the leaves.  I can’t believe it.” The eye doctor was right.  My contact lenses were a lot better than the regular glasses I’ve worn for years.  From where I was, I usually just saw clumps of green on the trees, but now I could actually see the leaves.

That day did prove to be special.  I saw things differently.  The images were sharper, the colors brighter, the lines much more distinguishable. What a difference the contacts made!  And I was thankful, so very thankful for this new way of seeing things.  Though my old pair of glasses were good enough to allow me to function normally, my contacts made me see better.

Age has brought me a gift, a sight of another kind. One that sees a lot more than just clumps of green or shapes of leaves. Two years ago, in the midst of the worst winter New York had seen in 30 years, I took a photo of the street where we lived, almost completely blanketed by about four feet of snow.  It was such a dreary time specially for one used to the California sunshine. But looking up, I saw the blue sky.  There’s a beautiful blue sky up there.  And I thought, soon this blue sky will summon its friend the Sun, that will melt all that snow away.  The trees will come back to life and the cold will be gone.

Winter does not sit well with me.  I don’t like the cold; I don’t like the black ice on pavements; I don’t like the dirty slosh that the pristine-looking snow turns into.  I don’t like being bundled up from top to bottom looking like a doughy “empanada.” But there is something I like about winter.  When it is about to leave, there are heralds that announce its departure.  Sometimes it is the crocus making its way through the snow.  I see them and say, “You go, girls, defy that Old Man Winter.  Tell him, you’ll push through the white stuff and will once more bring color to the world.”

 Three years ago, we visited the Sachsenhausen work camp just outside Berlin, Germany. This was one of the most depressing places I have been to.  Thousands of Jews were kept prisoners there during World War II. Some died from terrible deprivation, some were executed in the gas chamber, and some simply shot by the guards to terrorize the rest of the prisoners.  The tales told by the tour guide were difficult to listen to.  How can man be so cruel to man?  The guide pointed out a torture pillar standing to remind us of Nazi cruelty.  But there in the midst of this ugliness and horrible memories, next to it was a clump of beautiful blooming violets.  They were nowhere else in the camp.  But here, next to this grotesque pillar, it decided to bloom.  Dear Abby once wrote “Forgiveness is the wind-blown violet which blooms in placid beauty at Verdun.” (or Sachsenhausen?)
 

To see beauty in the midst of bleakness and cold, or catch sight of the delicate beauty of tiny violets next to that which is utterly ugly, calls for a second kind of eyesight.  In the Gospel of Mark, the story is told of Jesus giving sight to the blind man at Bethesda.  His first sight let him see people that looked like trees.  Then Jesus touched his eyes a second time.  His sight was restored and his eyes saw more clearly.  I like this story.

 

 

 

 

 

An Act of Courage

“This is the lunge.  Make a giant step.  Tuck in stomach area.  Straighten and open shoulders.  Knee should be in line with toes. Then bring up the other foot and move it sideways.”  Morgan, my young personal trainer at the fitness club was instructing me.  She made it look so easy.  She’s probably 5’3” and 110 lbs.  I don’t think she is more than 24 years old, pretty, wears a cute little pony tail.  When she makes the moves to show me what I am supposed to do, she makes me think that I can indeed do them.  And then I try.  That simple little exercise becomes a complicated balancing performance.  It might as well be a high tight wire act.

“As we get older, we have to develop our muscles better, so that we are able to maintain proper balance.  As you know, older folks are more likely to experience falls.”  Morgan explains this as kindly as she could.

A couple of days ago, I performed a real act of bravery with Don.  We joined a fitness club.  We even agreed to work with a personal trainer for one session to see how we’d like it.  I am not very physical.  I have a real fear of failure and being embarrassed in public when it came to doing physical exercises.  I have flat feet, so walking long distances is not easy for me.  When I was in college and swimming was a required PE course, I passed it by the skin of my teeth.  The instructor made me do laps the length of the pool three times because my flutter kick was very far from satisfactory.  I think she finally passed me because at least I knew how to float! When I was a little girl and would join softball games, I was almost always the usual last one that is picked.  It did not help that I was terribly nearsighted and could never tell where the ball was headed.

 Joining this fitness program is a real act of courage, as far as I’m concerned.  Fear is one of my strong motivators.  Though I am afraid of failure in the gym, I am even more fearful of what I might have to face if I didn’t do all I can to deal with my diabetes.  I have seen close up, friends having to go through dialysis and eventually death.  I also have friends having amputations caused by complications from this disease.

At the end of my session with Morgan, she kept congratulating me for having the courage to go in today and keep my scheduled session with her.  I wonder, did she see the fear in my face as I walked in through the door this morning.

Have you ever been prevented from doing something because of fear?  I’ve had several fears that would have prevented me from experiencing some of the most enriching experiences I’ve ever had.  And I’m glad that by God’s grace and a lot of prayers, I have ventured into that which frightened me, though I began with knees knocking and a constant knot in the pit of my stomach.

I remember coming in late on the first day of my paralegal class.  The professor looked at me with annoyance as I took my seat in the back.  I looked around the room and figured that next to a lady who sat in front of the class (who I later learned was a supervising nurse at Kaiser Hospital), I must have been the oldest there.  Everyone looked like they were no older than 22 or 23. Besides it had been at least a good 30 years since I’ve sat in a classroom like this.  Great was my fear that I didn’t have what it would take to pass this course.  Several years later, I sat in a New Testament class at a Seminary.  Again I was full of fears.  The professor was known to be one of the most difficult to pass, and he did sound like he really meant to make us work hard.  And again, the age gap between me and the rest of the class intimidated me.  I was taking notes by speedwriting while my classmates’ clicking laptops provided background to the lectures.  I went to the library to do research, and I couldn’t find the usual card catalogue I had used when I was in college more than 40 years ago.  The research professor in the library who specialized in Kate Turabian’s Manual was gracious and helpful enough to give me a couple of hours of his time so I’d learn to navigate computer databases.  After this session, I was almost completely blown away.  How can I keep up with all these?

 But I am glad that I have ventured out of my comfort zone.  I have learned a lot and possibly grown a bit as a person.  The physical fitness world intimidates me.  The Pilates ball looks threatening.  But I might even enjoy this new adventure.  Now, if I can only conquer my fear of  modern technology, so I can take online courses. . . .