"The Miller of the Dee"

Today a poem from long, long ago (and I mean l-o-n-g ago, like when I was in third grade), came to mind.  I don’t know what triggered this thought but I look back with fondness to this little poem.  At the time my teacher read it to us, it was a delight to my young girl’s heart.  But now, many years later it does more than that.  I thought I’d share it with you.

The Miller of The Dee 


There dwelt a miller, hale and bold,
Beside the river Dee ;
He worked and sang from morn till night-
No lark more blithe than he ;
And this the burden of his song
Forever used to be :
“I envy nobody no, not I -
And nobody envies me !”

“Thou’rt wrong, my friend,” said good King Hal,
“As wrong as wrong can be ,
For could my heart be light as thine,
I’d gladly change with thee.
And tell me now, what makes thee sing,
With voice so loud and free,
While 1 am sad, though 1 am king,
Beside the river Dee?” 

The miller smiled and doffed his cap,
“I earn my bread,” quoth he ;
“I love my wife, I love my friend,
I love my children three ;
1 owe no penny 1 cannot pay,
1 thank the river Dee,
That turns the mill that grinds the corn
That feeds my babes and me.”

“Good Friend,” said Hal, and sighed the while,
“Farewell, and happy be ;
But say no more, if thoud’st be true,
That no one envies thee ;
Thy mealy cap is worth my crown,
Thy mill my kingdom’s fee ;
Such men as thou are England's boast.
O Miller of the Dee.

UNKNOWN AUTHOR

THANKSGIVING THOUGHTS

This Thanksgiving morning I heard a rapper say over and over, “It’s Thanksgiving, give thanks.”  Also heard a lot of “We have so much to be thankful for” from the TV. Thankful to whom? 

Many years ago, I worked for a man who was one of the most abrasive people I’ve ever met.  He’s also made known to everyone that he did not believe in God.  He used to say that only people who needed a crutch to get through life believed in God.  God was man’s invention.  If you had enough intelligence, you can work things through yourself. 

One day he left for lunch and didn’t come back.  We learned later that he was on his way back to work when his car crashed into a pole. He was not killed, but was out for a while. His days and weeks were filled with hospital stays and visits, treatments, therapy and rehab, but he was alive.


He came back to work later that year.  The day before Thanksgiving, I remember him saying “goodnight”as he was about to leave the office, pausing at the door and turning back to the other secretary and me, he said, “Good night, ladies, and yes, I have so much to be thankful for.”


My thought was, who was he thankful to? 

 

THE TALE OF THE UGLY CHAIR

(Today I have a guest blogger.  My daughter writes.  She’s a much better writer than her mom.  She usually says more in less words.  I thought I’d share this with you.)

By Kristy Coughlin

 I'm giving this ugly chair a sweater and God's grace is pouring down like rain. All of these pieces are failed attempts at projects, and time "wasted." And yet there is beauty yet to be made. I'm weaving them together to create something brand new and my heart yells, "Even our wasted moments were together and that makes them precious, Lord."

I saved each of these failures, because I sort of knew they could be redeemed. I get that from Him. The redeemer's heart yells, "Hold on. These are not failures. They are pieces for another thing." Hold on, dear ones! Your pieces might not make sense today, but some day...

 

 

A Ruby Anniversary

Forty years ago, on a beautiful October 26th afternoon, Don and I began our life together. It is hard to believe how the years have gone by so fast. I’ve been told that nowadays 40 years of marriage to one man is impressive. I guess so. I have not noticed much that it has been that long. We've just been busy with life doing things together, learning from each other, discovering things, and I want to think, getting a bit wiser each passing day. We have grown gradually together, but there have been growth spurts such as from times when we faced new adventures. On our second year of marriage, we began a missionary career in Indonesia. This was such a great time of learning, shortlived though it was. After one term of 3-1/2 years, we could not go back to the mission field for various reasons. When our babies came along, we found out much to our dismay that we were actually more self-centered and less giving of ourselves than we thought. (Those who have walked the floors at 1:00 am trying to quiet down a colicky baby who has cried for half an hour and still not shown any sign of falling off to sleep, understand this.)

I think it all started with a birthday gift. Don was the pastor of the little church I was attending. On my birthday one year he gave me a flowering Gloxinia and a copy of Amy Carmichael’s “If” with a little note saying, “I am giving you a book because they are an important part of my life, so I am sharing a part of myself.” Don didn’t know at the time that Amy Carmichael was one of my forever heroes (a first sign to me that we were kindred spirits.). As I got to know Don better I learned of his intense love for God in his characteristic quiet ways. I also found out that he had an insatiable thirst for knowledge and was a voracious reader.

At times young friends ask me about choosing future life partners. I usually tell them to evaluate a man apart from his job, accomplishments, the amount of money he makes and all the things that one acquires in his life journey, shedding these off to reveal the kind of person he really is. In life, there are no guarantees. Fortunes are lost, success is fleeting, careers change. Would one still stand by one’s choice if these happen?

I also believe that looking back at what attracted one to this particular person is helpful. I have found out that more often than not, the very qualities that we find attractive are the very same traits that become problems later on. I know of a couple who were attracted to each other by their good looks and fashionable ways. Once married, they found out how fastidious each other was with appearance. Soon they were constantly arguing about how much time, effort and money were spent by the other on these. I know of a man who married a woman who was very neat and organized. Once married this very same trait became a source of frustration on the husband who could not keep up with this near obsession for order. Many times our strengths are the flip sides of our weaknesses.

It didn’t take long for me to develop a frustration with Don’s reading habits. That which I so admired in him became annoying as I found out that when he had a new book, I could lose him to the book for at least three days. Besides, there were books everywhere on almost every surface available in our home. For several years, our bedroom felt like a library with bookshelves lining every wall.

 All in all, I can’t complain. It has been a wonderful ride with this man. Our mutual desire to honor God in our lives has blessed our marriage and has been the bond that has taken us through some very difficult times.  God has blessed us with wonderful children, children-in-law and five beautiful grandchildren and a lifetime that has produced such a beautiful tapestry of grace.

Oh, yes. Late last night, the mailman delivered Don’s 40th wedding anniversary present - a Kindle Fire with 600 books in it. Another thing to remember about marriage – we have to accept things that even the years cannot change!

THE MILLENNIAL CHURCH

     Two Sundays ago, we visited a church in the Central Valley. By the time we arrived, people were already streaming onto the concrete pathways leading to the main auditorium which was part of a complex of buildings. There were very friendly reception personnel that greeted and directed us as to where to go and informed us about services the church offered. As we entered the semi-darkened auditorium, we were handed church bulletins. As is now common in churches, there were about five people on stage playing the guitars, keyboard, drums and singing gospel songs in decibels that my ear couldn’t handle comfortably. But this is nothing new to me. We have been to various churches that do the same, closely adhering to “Make a joyful NOISE unto the Lord.”

     The auditorium was much like a movie theatre. The seats, not pews, were also much like those of a movie theatre. An usher with a flashlight had to help us find our way. The old fogey that I am didn’t feel much like I was in a church, but I prayed hard that my attitude would be right.

     “This is the way the millennials worship, Raquel. Get with it.” I scolded myself.

     The ubiquitous big screens that are now standard accoutrement in modern churches flashed the words of the gospel songs being sung. The congregation stood while they sang for about 15 minutes led by the very energetic worship team.


    There was an opening prayer and a reading of the scripture by a young lady. Soon the preacher was introduced. He was a man in his mid-fifties with completely white hair that came down almost to the nape of his neck and a good growth of white beard that made him look like Santa Claus out of costume. He sounded like a kind old man. He would be preaching from Philippians 3. By way of introduction several video clips were shown and the preacher told stories about each one. I thought he’d never get to the exposition of his chosen Bible text. But slowly and surely he worked his way to it and soon he was presenting the gospel message. He showed the old familiar drawings of a life with God on the throne and a life with self on the throne, taking me back to college days of a long time ago. I had used the same illustration in presenting the Gospel message to fellow college students. It was a thrill to listen to the gospel again.

At the end of the service, my niece’s 11-year old son whispered something to his mom. He wanted to give his drawing of a cross to the preacher since the latter had asked the congregation to let him know if the message had spoken to anyone’s heart. This was out of the ordinary for Evan to do, but obviously, he was listening to the message.

Evolving Times

I have seen many changes in my lifetime, some of them in churches. Like one whose ways have been set by repetitive experiences through the years, I have become pretty set in my ways. Each day finds me struggling with my environment as it evolves before my very eyes, and I am carried along with it. As I get on in years I try to remember dear old Alexander Pope’s admonition, “Be not the first by whom the new is tried, nor be the last to cast the old aside.” Whenever I find myself in a millennial church, my mind wonders to that old hymn we used to sing in my church:

There’s a church in the valley by the wildwood,  
No lovelier spot in the dale;
No place is so dear to my childhood,
As the little brown church in the vale.
. . .
How sweet on a clear, Sabbath morning,
To list to the clear ringing bell;
Its tones so sweetly are calling,
Oh, come to the church in the vale.

The little brown church has now turned into theater-like auditoriums. The clear ringing bell has been changed to breakfast get-togethers that call the worshippers to church, and sometimes the vale is a shopping mall with passers-by curiously eyeing people on their way to church. I’ve even worshipped in a Café-Church. The Café doubled as a church on Sunday with little Bistro tables and chairs and the congregation sipped coffee or tea during the service. The preacher wore a casual shirt and shorts for preaching. These days the Faithfuls no longer carry heavy old leather Bibles, but have smart phones or Ipads with several versions of the Scriptures. Times indeed are a-changing, but as long as the message remains the same, I’m willing to get with it. The packaging is different, but the Gospel is the same. I might even get me an Ipad one day instead of carrying my giant print Bible to church.

Do you feel as I do about these changes?

IN THE SHADOW OF DEATH

There are 14 years between us. He is the oldest and I, the youngest of the 5 surviving children of our parents. He was 19 when he left home for college in Manila. I was five. I didn’t know him much as I was busy with growing up and he was busy in college, transitioning to a life away from home. He was pursuing a degree in business, but unbeknownst to my parents he also enrolled in a Bible Seminary and studied for a degree in Sacred Literature. He finished both bachelor degrees at the same time. How he did it, I don’t know.

My parents used to tell us stories about our only brother Terry. He dreamed of nothing but becoming a preacher. At age 5 he would take all the chairs in the house and make the living room look like a meeting place. He would arrange the chairs as if they were pews, stand in front of them and talk and gesture as if he were preaching to a crowd. And preaching, was mostly what he did the rest of his life, in small towns in the Philippines to the capital city of Manila to the United States and some European and Asian cities. He would preach and teach in Bible colleges and lead Bible Study groups. He had the life-giving message of the Gospel and he shared it in whatever fashion he could, with whoever would listen. But today he is silent, though we could hear his breathing with the help of a respirator.

“Wake up, Terry, wake up,” his wife Gloria was encouraging him. “We’re all here. Lu and Ruth, Josephine and Hildo, Quiling and Don. They’re all here to see you.”

There was no response from him. He had the respirator tube in his mouth, and a couple more tubes hooked up to the machine that monitors his heartbeat, pulse, blood pressure; another was to the colostomy bag. There were IV’s that fed and sedated him.
I am surprised that the ICU personnel allowed these many people in his room. The nurse was very kind. As each of us sisters were introduced to her, she gave each of us a hug. She was kept busy as she worked on his monitors that sometimes flashed red or yellow lights, or sounded off with a whistlelike alarm. She would check the ports in various parts of his body. She was a picture of intense efficiency and focus. But she was never too busy to answer our questions.

We were at a loss. There were attempts at short conversations with him. We believe he could hear us, but just could not respond. But we went on our visits, taking turns going out to the waiting room and back to ICU.

65th Wedding Anniversary

Months before this day, we received invitations to come to Florida from Beth, his daughter, as they celebrate her parent’s 65th wedding anniversary in May. But a month before, Terry was diagnosed with colon cancer and a week later he had surgery. He did well. The cancer was still localized and the doctors thought they had taken out all the cancer cells. A week later, he developed gall bladder problems and had to have a second surgery. As he recovered, he developed pneumonia and peritonitis set in. Massive doses of antibiotics were administered, but the two surgical assaults on his body left him so weak and had to be put on a respirator.

Beth, who lives in NY, left for Florida two weeks before the anniversary, went home after a week, only to go back with husband Randy, the week of the party. His son, Joel and wife Beth, flew in from Arizona. Sisters Lu and Ruth, also from NY, decided to change their flights to a much earlier one to be by his bedside. The California sisters - Josephine and her husband, my husband and I arrived the week of the anniversary party. Ariel, Josephine’s son, flew in from NY on Monday afternoon and flew back home the following day, having spent a couple of hours at his uncle’s bedside.
The daily visits to ICU continued with more of us trooping in every morning. The security guys were amazed at the number of visitors to Room 214. “What a lucky guy!” one of them blurted out to us. It was obvious there was so much love there.

The Conference

The hospital conference room was packed. Dr. Ramos sat at the head of the table. Behind him were the managing nurses. Terry’s wife sat next to the doctor, all the children and their spouses, all his siblings and their spouses, two grandchildren and the brand new husband of one. There was also a close friend – the Pastor who now takes care of the West Manhattan Church which Terry started and pastored for over 30 years. On the speaker phone was Terry’s grandson, Nathan, who is a Crisis Ward doctor of a hospital in Arizona. Dr. Ramos and he were exchanging notes on Terry’s condition and what medical options the family had.

“His organ systems are stable, but he is so weak that taken off the respirator, he will not survive. But he is not getting any worse nor any better,” Dr. Ramos told Nathan.

Both doctors were puzzled. Dr. Ramos was hard-pressed to give the family any idea as to what direction to take. Nathan agreed. There was somber discussion. Gloria was breaking down. She was reminding them that he did not want to be artificially kept alive. The doctor said we were not there yet. His organs were functioning fine. He was just too weak to be taken off the respirator. The next step was to do a tracheotomy to help him breathe easier. The doctor and nurses left the room to allow the family to confer. Finally, a decision was made. “Let’s give him a couple more days; we’ll wait and see if he gives any positive response.” Eli, the younger son, asked Joel to pray. Joel thanked God for his concern and love. He told Him how everyone would accept God’s decision about Terry, but it was our request that He reveal to us the direction the family should take. His prayer was halting at times and there was an instant of emotional breakdown but it was clearly a prayer of submission to God’s decision.

The Party

The children decided to proceed with the 65th anniversary party. It was at Emeril’s Tchoup Chop in Orlando. It was a good temporary relief from the ICU visits. The beautiful fusion menu was a welcome departure from the quick meals that we were having either at the hospital cafeteria or at our rented condominium in Kissimmee, where all of us siblings and Paul, West Manhattan’s Pastor, were housed. There was our first cousin and her boyfriend who drove in from Jacksonville; there was Rudy, our first cousin from Orlando, and his wife, Angela. Then there were their bowling friends. It was a good night.

Monday Afternoon

The days went on. We remembered the doctor’s advice. “He hears you, so talk to him.” We prayed, engaged him in one way conversations. Don read Scripture. His Pastor from the Poinciana Church visited daily and prayed. I whispered Gospel songs and hymns. Ador, a bowling friend, suggested, “Sing the Sparrow song.” Ruth sang “His Eye is on the Sparrow.” Paul read more Scripture. We thought we saw some response. He slightly moved his head, and wiggled his fingers under the sheets.

Then on Monday, we trooped to the hospital once more. Back to ICU. We took turns going into his room. He seemed to be the same. We were praying. Then late in the afternoon, he opened his eyes and looked at each one in the room in the manner of one waking up from a long sleep. It was only for less than five minutes, but it sent our spirits soaring. We went home with a great deal of hope in our hearts. Soon as we got back to our rental townhouse, I emailed a quick message to our Community Bible fellowship updating them on Terry’s condition – please pray.

The Days that Followed

Tuesday morning Lu’s cell phone rang as we were preparing to leave for the hospital.
“Dr. Ramos was in the hospital early and was just so thrilled to see the change in Tatay’s condition. He opened his eyes longer this time and was responding quite well. There has been a tremendous improvement for the last 10 hours. We’ve decided to do the tracheotomy tomorrow, but as God would have it, a surgery by another doctor has just been canceled, so we have room to do the trache now. He will be in the operating room in 30 minutes! Pray!”

We arrived at the hospital as the staff was preparing Terry for our visit. He was clean shaven and his cheeks had much more color. His eyes were open and seemed more aware. He was responding to our comments with his eyes and with slight movements of his head. He looked much, much better than we have ever seen him.

That evening Gloria invited everyone to her house for dinner. Eli & Ruth brought Buffalo wings and salad, Roxanne & Alvin (Terry’s bowling pals) brought homemade pancit. Ador brought watermelon. Gloria cooked rice, provided drinks, fruits and coffee. There was a lot of food, stories, getting to know those friends being met for the first time. It was one big family, supporting each other, praying together, expressing concern and love for one another and an overwhelming respect and love for the one person who couldn’t be there. We all found strength and beauty in the midst of pain, in the shadow of death.

KEEPING BALANCED

Charisse, a Young Star


A few nights ago, I looked into You Tube and searched for the latest goings-on in the life of Charisse, the young sensation from the Philippines, who was introduced to the world through You Tube. She was first featured by Ellen Degeneres and Oprah Winfrey who described her as the most talented singer in the world. She was mentored and represented by no less than music world icon David Foster.  

I was so taken by this young girl during her early days as an entertainer. I would listen to her on the Internet and follow her career. She was only 16 years old, plucked from her simple surroundings in the Philippines, where she was born and raised. She was catapulted onto the world stage of entertainment, receiving accolades and the admiration of millions. She has been making a lot of money that she probably never dreamt she would ever have.

I watched a video of her as she walked with security officers to perform in a mall in Toronto, Canada. She smiled and waved at the hundreds of people waiting to see her. I saw a very young girl having the time of her life, looking very innocent and eager to please her fans. Her life story, more than her singing talent, drew me to her. She did not know me, but I started to pray for her. How is she going to handle all of this sudden success?

Michael Smith, a Contemporary Christian Singer
On the same night I watched and listened to videos of Michael Smith, a very popular contemporary Christian singer. I saw and listened to him perform before thousands of adoring fans, and wondered, how does he handle all of this success?

Then I thought. If I were to come to sudden wealth, or get the world’s attention and admiration for some spectacular accomplishment, I wonder how I would do. 

Heirs & Heiresses

 Years ago, I worked with a very nice medical secretary. One day she told me that a New York lawyer had called her. He had been trying to get hold of her. He was able to track her down through the Mormon Genealogy Rock in Salt Lake City, Utah. He had a client who had died and left his fortune to ten relatives and she was one of them. It turned out that his client was a famous architect in New York who had invested in acreage where deposits of oil and natural gas had been discovered. A big oil company wanted to negotiate with the heirs and heiresses in order to extract these deposits. There would be an initial lump sum of money for each one and a weekly income for each to the tune of several thousand dollars for life.  

My friend, who at first was very skeptical, was flown to the land sites and met other heirs and heiresses. My friend was terribly incredulous. This was definitely a big change of fortune. She was the sole family breadwinner. Her husband had been an invalid for years and they had been struggling financially for a long time. I was so happy for her as she continued to update me with developments.  

My friend told me that there were ten heirs and heiresses. Among them were a retired school principal and a Baptist pastor. The latter waived all his rights to the inheritance. He didn’t want any part of it. He was afraid of what it would do to him and the rest of his family. The retired school principal held out the longest in signing the contract. He wanted a better deal from the oil company. When the reality of it all started to sink in, my friend began talking about their plans. They would buy houses for their married children. She would not want to quit her job, so there would be normalcy in her life. But slowly, her husband began talking about buying his dream cars (emphasis on the “cars”). We were going to keep in touch and they would plan a visit to California (we were in the Midwest at the time) to see us. To make a long story short, I left for California and lost track of them.  

Success & Failures and What They Do to Us
A family counselor once told me that there were people who were afraid of success. I couldn’t understand that. Why would anyone be afraid of success?

Failures, financial distress, hurts, misfortunes all can make life hard to bear, but so can success and a great deal of wealth. From my life journey, I can attest to the first, but have yet to experience the latter. We have seen lives destroyed by both.  

In the movie Fiddler on the Roof  we see this exchange between Perchik and Tevye:
                Perchik: Money is the world’s curse.
                 Tevye: May the Lord smite me with it. And may I never recover.


Most people probably secretly share Tevye’s wish, and may think my friend’s Baptist Pastor relative foolish. I don’t think I have any fears that I would ever face this dilemma. I share the prayer of a very wise man from long ago.

  Two things I ask of you, Lord . . . give me neither poverty nor riches, but give me only my daily bread. Otherwise, I may have too much and disown you and say, ‘Who is the Lord?’ Or I may become poor and steal, and so dishonor the name of my God. 
Proverbs 30: 7-9 NIV

STORIES THAT WILL NEVER MAKE THE HEADLINES (but color our lives) or

LITTLE ACTS OF KINDNESS THAT DOT MY DAY

When Hank the Cat wakes us up with his urgent meowing in the mornings, I reluctantly open my eyes and coax my body to go vertical. Sometimes it takes longer than at other times. And as half of me wakes up, I sit on the bed and utter a prayer of thanks for the night’s rest and for whatever the Father has in store for the day.

 Off to Work

 I walk into the office at 10:05 and as I pass Robert’s and Stephanie’s desks we exchange lively “Good mornings” to which I add, “It’s Friday! It’s Friday!” I work only 20 hours a week, but Friday holds an excitement for me as for those who work 40. Then I hear Stephanie say, “Robert got you coffee this morning.”

 “Oh, how sweet you are!” I exclaim.

Sure enough there is a cup of hot coffee on my desk. What a pleasant way to start a work day. Dave, our accountant is already hard at work. I am so thankful for this man’s patience as he trains me in bookkeeping and in the software we have to use, new skills for me to learn. I then go to my usual routines – put lunch in the refrigerator, check phone messages, check emails. A few minutes later I decide to check any mail that might have come in. We have a mail slot where the mailman drops the mail onto the floor of a little room that has a separate entrance from my office. As I get out, I hear the furious honking of horns. There is a little red car driven by a young Asian lady who has about a third of her car into a parking spot. In front of her is an SUV driven by a guy possibly in his forties, who is trying to back his car into the same parking spot. Neither of them budges. They just keep honking at each other furiously. I watch intently. “Parking rage,” I tell myself. Then the SUV driver surrenders and gives the infamous digit salute to the lady in the red car. But he pays me the same “respect” as his car goes by. Huhm, this is going to be one interesting day.

Nothing earthshaking happens in the office as I do the chores I have assigned myself for the day. But I learn to spell “Cocanougher” which is the last name of a caller. I call back a lady I got acquainted with yesterday to ask for an update on her husband’s condition. They are from out of town but have been in the City for a few days now. He has cancer and is being treated at the VA Hospital. She was quite distraught yesterday when I talked to her. I promised to pray for him. Today she tells me that he is 40% better and thanks me for the prayers. There are many others praying for him. Soon it is time to go. I’ve put in my 5 hours.

 My Friend Joe

As I get out of the gate I spot Joe, a homeless man who hangs out in our neighborhood. I reach for a Fuji apple in my lunchbag.

“Joe, would you care for a Fuji apple?” I offer.

“Oh, I can’t bite it. I don’t have top teeth,” he replies.

I feel so silly. Duh, Raquel. How many times have you seen and talked to him and you never noticed he didn’t have upper teeth?

On the 8X Muni

I can’t get on my usual 3:47 8X because it is so packed, so I have to take the next one. As usual I am in the senior citizen section. I stand in front of a lady who doesn’t look like a senior at all, but she doesn’t offer me her seat. “I’d just stand here and look sweet,” I mutter to myself.

Soon I hear an argument between a young black father who is hanging on to a baby stroller full of stuff and a Hispanic mother who has a daughter about 5 and a son about 8 who are sharing a seat while she hangs on to a strap trying to keep her balance.

“You should have your kids get up and offer the seat to my wife,” he says to the mother, “Can’t you see, she is holding a baby?” His wife is holding a little boy about two years old.

I don’t hear her answer, but I can tell that she is not about to have her children do that. There are a few more exchanges but the mother stands her ground.

The woman seated in front of me joins the discussion, siding with the young father. I think, “You better stay out of this, lady. Look at you, you’re not a senior and you’re not giving me your seat.” But I just smile at her. In reply to my smile she says, “I like your earrings. They’re the same stone as my ring,” and she holds her ring up to me.

“Garnet, right?” I reply.

“Yes,” she says with a smile.

She sees the young dad trying to ram the Hispanic mother with his baby stroller. The lady with the garnet ring intervenes.

“Don’t do that,” she says quietly, “you don’t want to end up in jail.”

At the second stop on San Bruno Avenue, a few passengers get off and the young dad has his two-year old sit next to the lady with the garnet ring. The boy starts staring at her and crying. His dad moves him to the seat closer to him, next to an old Asian man. The little boy stares at him. The Asian man hands him a cellophane-wrapped cookie. He smiles at the old man, the old man smiles back. The young dad smiles, I smile and the lady with the garnet ring smiles. All’s well that ends with smiles.

“Bayshore and Arleta,” the bus speaker announces. The next stop is mine. I pull on the cord for my stop. The bus driver lowers the steps for me and I get off. I see Don coming, so I hurriedly walk to the spot where he usually picks me up. I pass a couple of nice-looking black ladies and one of them says, “I like your scarf.” I turn around and say, “Thank you.” I get in the car and tell Don, “What an interesting day I’ve had.”

LANGUAGES, LANGUAGES

A French Non-Connection

A couple of years ago, Don and I had a short layover in Paris on our way to Hungary.  We had some difficulty at the Charles de Gaulle Airport. It just wasn’t organized in the way American minds work. When we finally found our way to the Immigration booth, the officer said something in French. Don answered, "English only" and the following ensued:

Officer in the booth: Je ne comprends pas.

Don (smiling but getting uncomfortable): Don't speak French. English only.

Officer: Non, non. Parlez-vous le français?

Me (trying to salvage situation and "charm" the man. We've heard of mean French people at CDG airport): Un peu.

Man: Ah, ah, Comment allez- vous?

Me (Now, I'm really in trouble! Think, think back to +50 years ago when you took college French!): Ah, ah . . .

Man (eyes beginning to widen and glare at me): How are you? I say "how are you?"

Me: I know, I know. I just can't remember how to answer that!

Man: Ah, ah (meaning, I got you!)

Me (suddenly remembering my French teacher in college): Trés bien! Trés bien!

Man : Aha, mademoiselle. (grinning from ear to ear, turning to Don with a big thumbs up. I was so happy I made him glad. He hands our stamped passports to Don.)

Me: (Trying to be even more charming.) Merci beaucoup!

Don: Where do we go from here?

Man waves us off to a direction behind him to the left.

And thus, started about 30 minutes of getting lost looking for F1, where supposedly we could find Gate 31 for our flight to Budapest. I'm glad we did not have to go back through Paris on our way home. The Dutch were a little more merciful.

“Kelapa” or “Kepala”

There aren’t too many experiences that humble one more than trying to learn a foreign language.  On our first few months in Indonesia so many years ago, while still learning the language, I was subjected to some strange reactions as I tried to communicate with the new words I learned from our language teachers.  I remember being stared at as I pointed to my head and told someone, “Kelapa saya” when I meant, “Kepala saya.”  The “Kelapa” meant “coconut” and “Kepala” meant “head.”  Then I went to a little store looking for matches.  I asked for “kereta api” which meant “train” rather than “Koret api.”  A favorite story that went the rounds of our missionary circle was about a very dignified senior missionary lady who was one day talking to the young man who helped with the chores in her home.  One morning she told the young man to “Buka yang chelana” to the great shock of the young man.  What she meant was “Buka yang chendela,” which meant “Open the window.”  Instead, she had said, “Open the trousers!”

            My own favorite story was about the first time I taught a group of about 30 Indonesian kids.  I had my flannelgraph board and was skillfully putting the figures on.  I was teaching in Indonesian for the first time as I animatedly told the creation story from the book of Genesis.  The children were all so very attentive and I thought, hanging onto every word I said.  The more attention I was given, the more animated I became.  After the class and everyone but our neighbor Ambarwati was left, I asked her how the lesson went.  “Kami tidak memahami kata-kata apa yang Anda katakan! She plainly told me as only an 8-year old could, “Ibu, we did not understand a word of what you said.”  After a whole year of reading, memorizing and practicing, this was the judgment on my language skills.

The Heart of a Language

            But the more difficult thing about communication is it really is not just a matter of reading, memorizing and practicing.  Language has to be learned in its context.  It cannot be learned well unless it is learned in its culture.  I call this learning the heart of the language.  Language may be part of a people’s culture, but the people’s culture is also part of the language. 

            I often hear a new language from my young friends, the millenials.  I am learning their language through social media.  It is taking me awhile to get used to their language as there is a part of me that is resistant to it.  I am still enamored with English the way I learned it – complete words and sentences, expressive and always takes time to say what it wants to say.  It does not say BFF when it means “Best Friends Forever.”  It uses all 18 letters to say it.  My millenial friends don’t have the time to say all these letters.  Then there is “peeps.”  They shorten the 6-letter “people” to 4.  “Husband” becomes “Huz.”  I’m still trying to learn the heart of this language.  I want to be able to communicate with my young friends effectively.  My “Huz” tells me that it comes from their texting and twittering that require them to say more with less.  I’m trying to find the heart of this language. I have come to the conclusion that this new language requires that things be said as quickly as possible with as little as possible.  It seems to be a language of the hurried, hurrying and would be hurried.

I’m probably just an old stick in the mud.  I remember my discussions with my children when they were still in school and writing papers.  I’d read them over and where I saw contractions, I’d tell them to use complete words.  They would tell me nobody wrote like that anymore.

I wonder what this millennial language would grow to.  Will it ever produce literary masterpieces such as Psalm 23 of King David, or Lincoln’s  Gettysburg Address, or the poetry of Robert Frost’s “Walking Through the Woods on a Snowy Evening” and those of Robert Browning, Emily Dickinson, etc.  Let me try my hand in a FB version of those famous lines from Frost.

D wds r lvly, drk n dp,

Bt I hv prmses 2 kp,

N myls 2 go b4 I slp.