OF MAMMOGRAMS AND ULTRASOUNDS

A Doctor’s Finding

I saw the concerned look on her face as she physically examined my right breast. “I feel a dense area right around the nipple,” she said quietly. She continued in a much softer voice, almost a whisper, “but maybe it’s just fiber.” 

Dr. Yuen has been our doctor after our former doctor retired. She took over Dr. Lo’s practice. She was quite fresh out of medical school, but came very highly recommended by Dr. Lo. He wasn’t mistaken. She has now been our doctor for over 15 years. She has seen us through my daughter Kristy’s nearly ruptured appendix, Don’s two angiograms/angioplasty and had even taken out a stud earring that dug deep into my ear lobe years ago.  These days she monitors our hearts, cholesterol levels, reminds me all the time to take my medications and warns me against donuts, frappuccinos, cookies and pies.  

Now this. A lump in my breast. It took me sometime to process what Dr. Yuen told me. I decided to keep this to myself, but consistently talked to God about it. I was not praying that God take it away, but that His will be done. But, if my opinion mattered, I did mention to Him that I would certainly rather not have cancer.

As Dr. Yuen ordered, I immediately made an appointment with the Breast Center. However, it took several days before I could be seen. It was only by God’s grace that I was able to function as normally as I did in the intervening days without breathing a word of my problem to anyone. So many thoughts were running through my mind. I had plenty of questions. Why would this happen, and what would happen to us. Our lives would be terribly altered. 

Always a Clean Bill of Health Until . . . 

I have been blessed with excellent health until about 8 years ago when I was diagnosed with diabetes 2. Other than this, I’ve never had any major health problems. Before the diabetes, I’ve never had to take medication on any regular basis. I have quite a low threshold for pain. Though I’ve had blood drawn countless times, it still scares me. Dental visits are plain torture regardless of how simple the procedure. I have often wondered how I would respond to a major medical crisis. I’ve seen one of my closest friends, a woman ten years younger than I, succumb to breast cancer after a five-year battle. That was a pretty frightening picture. I saw a pretty, bright, vibrant and lovely person slowly disappear into the shadows as her body was subjected to chemotherapy, radiation and the ravages of the disease. Then I thought of what would become of us. Here we were just a short time into our retirement.

I am reminded of how fragile life is.  Life holds no guarantees. I flippantly make appointments, schedule activities, promise attendance at events, expect each day to be pretty much like the day before.  But I do not hold even an hour, a minute nor a second of life in my hands. When day breaks and I awake, I look out the window and think of all the things I have planned for that day, without any thought of possibilities that could change those plans. In a minute, in the twinkling of an eye, things can change. I feel as if James, the brother of Jesus was personally saying to me, “Now listen, you who say, ‘Today or tomorrow we will go to this or that city, spend a year there, carry on business and make money.’ Why, you do not even know what will happen tomorrow. What is your life? You are a mist that appears for a little while and then vanishes.” (James 4:13-14 NIV)

The night before my appointment with the Breast Center, I decided to tell Don what Dr. Yuen found. “Would you like to pray about this?” he asked, taking my hand. And we prayed together.

At the Breast Center

It was a bit overcast and chilly in the City. As we walked in to the Breast Center, I headed to the receptionist and handed her my prescription from Dr. Yuen. As she read the “found a lump on right breast” she looked up at me as if trying to read my thoughts. Very kindly, she told me the technician would come to get me in a few minutes. Sure enough, a smiling and friendly technician came, informing me that she was doing the mammogram. After about 10 minutes of x-rays, I was told to wait in the dressing room, while she gave the results to the radiologist. He would then decide whether further diagnostic ultrasound testing would be necessary. A few minutes later a nurse came to get me and led me to another examination room. She also introduced herself to me and explained the procedure. I lay quietly as she did the ultrasound testing. I could see the monitor partly and the expression on her puzzled face. She was very methodical and took much care as she scanned my breast with the wand. Soon she told me to wait as she conferred with the radiologist. It may have been just 15 minutes that she was gone but it felt like eternity to me.

 My thoughts were interrupted by the nurse’s footsteps. She had a smile on her face. “Mrs. Major, you are all clear.” Then she gave me a pink slip that had the information. Though I understood clearly what she said, I had to confirm what she meant. They could not find any evidence of a lump!

Thankful to God for this answer to prayers, relieved and a bit numb from it all, I got dressed and in a few minutes, was back to the reception room where Don was waiting for me.

 “Negative,” I told him with a smile. And then we just got quiet. We both knew how life-altering a contrary finding would have meant.

 It was raining as we got out of the Center, and we did not have an umbrella. As we felt the raindrops, Don asked, “Are you okay walking in the rain and getting wet?”

Looking up at him and meeting his blue eyes, I smiled. “I have just been spared from breast cancer, do you think a little rain will bother me?” Then we headed to the Starbuck’s across the street for steaming cups of black coffee.

HOMEWARD TO THE CITY BY THE BAY

"Connections", a Christian library

More than three years ago, Don and I went on a 6-month missionary term in Berlin, Germany. That was a very special time, an enriching experience. As precious as that was, our homecoming was just as exciting. We saw a good number of world famous tourist-y attractions, met a lot of wonderful people, had some fantastic German bread, savored Bratworst and sauerkraut as only Germans can make them, learned to make gourmet coffee for the library coffee bar and got educated in the country’s culture firsthand. But by the fifth month of our stay, we were counting the days, then the hours till we would be home in our City by the Bay. As Dorothy has said “There is no place like home.”[1] We think the going-aways make us appreciate home better. This afternoon I was thinking of what I would write about. I came across this letter I wrote a day after we got back from Germany. I thought I’d share it with you.

 29 July 2010

Don and I are still in a daze. Our daughter, Kristy, met us at the airport and it was
such a glad reunion seeing Roc, Shekinah and Jon again. Kristy and Jon did an awesome job of straightening and uncluttering our little condo. They painted, organized, cleaned, changed fixtures, put up shelves. They worked very hard.

Safeway had a sale on Breyer’s ice cream, so Kristy bought a lot as this is Don’s favorite ice cream. We had ice cream in Berlin only twice in the whole six months we were there. Quite a feat for us, if I may say so.

We had a good flight home with no hitches at all. Don had all his foreign money exchanged in London and he was happy about that. I was quite hungry when we got to London, but unfortunately, all the English money he had was the £5 left from our earlier trip to London. Don said he wasn't hungry, so I spent the money on a £4.99 salad which I shared with him some.

As we were coming in for the landing, a stewardess announced that if we looked to the left we would see some of the famous sights of the Bay Area, including Alcatraz and the Golden Gate bridge. I got very emotional! Berlin and all the experiences we had there were precious and enriching, but nothing beats going home. Our processing through Customs and Immigration must have taken all of five minutes. The immigration officer asked how long we were abroad. We told him 6 months, that we had worked as volunteers in a Christian library in Berlin. His response was "Wow, welcome home!" Makes you proud to be American (He did not even notice how brown I was - sunburn and all! It was intensely hot in Salzburg and Vienna that we didn’t get to see many of the sights. We had to stay indoors half of the day while in Vienna. It got to 37 deg, C and I was afraid I would faint if we went outdoors.)

We were so tired and sort of numb because of all the last few days of traveling and preparations for home. Kristy had set up a dinner with Matthew, Helen, Francine and Haley last night. The babies are so beautiful and healthy. Matthew and Helen looked so happy. Roc and Shekinah love their brand new cousins so much. It was such a precious time. Unfortunately, because our inner clocks were still ticking Berlin-way, both Don and I fell asleep while we were visiting in the living room!

It's 4:15 am and I have been awake since 3. The rest of the household are fast asleep. It is still quite dark. I will now have my Quiet Time with God and thank Him for all that He has given us in Berlin- good, loving friends and experiences He has specially carved out for us to bring us more closely to Himself. God is so good!

In Him Who is faithful,

Raquel

THE MAKING OF A MOTHER

It was a dark and stormy night. Suddenly, a shot rang out! A door slammed. The maid screamed. . . ..[1]

No, it was not that way at all, the first time I earned my “mommy” title. But now that I’ve got your attention,

It was a beautiful, balmy sunrise on August 9, 1977 at 5:57 at the Brayat Minulya

One-year old Kristy w/Sukatmi

Hospital in Surakarta, Central Java, Indonesia, when beautiful 8 lbs. 12 oz. and 21-inch Kristy Inez made her entrance into this world and our lives. As she was put in my arms within minutes of birth, Don met her for the first time. My first words to Don were, “I guess you’re not getting your football player.” His answer was, “She smiled at me. She smiled at me.” And so it was 35 years ago!

Then on January 30, 1979, at 11:30 in the morning, we were blessed by the birth of

Almost one-year old Matthew

Matthew Steven, 7 lbs. 3 oz. and 20 inches, in the same hospital where Kristy was born.

Don and I had been married three years before I got pregnant. We had concerns if we would ever have children. We knew that age 35 was a bit late for a first baby.

My water broke on Sunday night, but it was not till the early morning of Tuesday when Kristy was born. As I was going through the labor pains, there were two medical Sisters on either side of me, holding my hands patiently. They took turns saying everything would be all right. Then one of them assured me, “It wouldn’t be that bad.” I wanted to say, “How do you know?” (Brayat Minulya was a Roman Catholic Hospital specializing in training Indonesian midwives. It was managed by medical missionary Sisters from the Netherlands.) Kristy was a big baby and I needed an episiotomy, then they had to put in the stitches afterwards. The labor was long. The birth, the episiotomy and the stitching were all done without the benefit of anesthesia. The good sisters believed in natural childbirth, very natural childbirth, if you ask me. This first birth was long, painful, and difficult, but nothing could compare with that ecstatic moment when I first saw my baby and held her in my arms. All the pain and hard labor were completely wiped out by that singular moment.

By the time Matthew came ready to be born, I felt like an old pro. I had just finished clearing the breakfast table at about 7:30 when I heard a lady friend knocking at the door. I let her in and we sat across each other at the dining table. She came to talk to me about my eyeglasses. During our conversation, I felt the onset of labor pains, and a couple of times I gasped. She looked at me and asked, “Are you having pains?” “I think I am,” I replied. She went running for Don at the other side of the house and I could hear her say, “Get her to the hospital. Quick.” And off we went in a “betchak” (manually driven pedicab). It must have been a little past 9:00 when we got to the hospital. Two and a half hours later, Matthew was born.

Some would say that birthing children makes one a mother. True. But every mother knows that is only the beginning to the process of being one. It takes a lifetime, and there is no resigning from it though some have tried. I think of birthing my children as my entry to the fellowship of mothers. Then I learn more and together with these precious children for whose growth and well-being I am now responsible, I, too, would grow.

I am very blessed to have both Kristy and Matthew. They have helped me learn so much about myself, the potential I have and how I can become a better person. Sometimes they mirror me and I may like or dislike what I see. Sometimes they tell me things like “Mom, what you said was really ethnocentric!” Sometimes they do things I never would have had the courage to attempt. More than anything else, they have made me spend more time in prayer, realizing that I definitely needed God's direction and wisdom in the parenting business. 

Kristy joined the Royal Servants when she was 15, raised funds to tour Europe for 6 weeks with this Christian youth group doing various ministry events. While still in high school, Matthew worked first as a busboy, then as host in one of the popular Mexican restaurants in the City, taking care of making deposits in the bank, among other things. I had also been told that he was the first one of his class to make a frightening high dive into the water while on a school trip to Hawaii. On graduation day, he affectionately ruffled the high school principal’s hair while being handed his diploma. Sometimes my children made me do things I would never have tried. In my early 40’s I donned ice skates for the first time, so I could be on the ice rink with them as they ice-skated for the first time. They made me realize that falling on the rink and getting embarrassed before a crowd of people was not a deathly experience as I had previously thought. For her wedding Kristy asked me to make her wedding dress. The only dress I had ever made was a simple one that was a project for my Home Economics class in high school. My sewing expertise was limited to sewing straight lines. I refused but she wouldn’t hear of it. This, she said, was my part in her wedding. And so I did this labor of love. A couple of nights before the wedding, her maid of honor saw her try on the dress. Jerusha exclaimed, “I cannot imagine you in any other wedding dress!” This had been one of my most daring attempts at anything.

They have given us joy. They have made us proud. But we have shared their pain,  hurts and disappointments also. We wished we could have saved them from these. Probably, we could have some, but we also knew that some life lessons are better learned from the school of hard knocks.

Now, Kristy is a mother, too, and Matthew, a father. We  believe they are doing well at it. We couldn't have asked for better in their choices of life partners.  We see their children being raised and we are in awe.  God has been good to us.

Mothers, on this your special day, I greet you. You belong to the fellowship of the selfless, ever-loving and ever-wise, and given the stewardship of the world’s greatest natural resource. “The hand that rocks the cradle rules the world.” No matter how much the world has changed, it still rings true.

Note:  My apologies as I've had a difficult time putting the captions on the last two photos.  The first group photo is that of Matthew, Helen, Francine and Haley.  The lower photo is that of Kristy, Jon, Roc, Shekinah and R. Mateo,


[1] Charles M. Schulz, It Was a Dark and Stormy Night, Snoopy

CERTAINTY IN UNCERTAINTY

Spring 2013 has sprung!  But this cherry blossom tree
didn't start blooming till late March.

“If only I can believe. If only I can have faith.” A cousin who did not share my faith told me once. An intelligent man, well-educated and quite accomplished in his field, held in high respect in his profession, he had a difficult time accepting anything by faith. He has to prove things, to have empirical evidence in order to believe. A Doubting Thomas who questioned Jesus' resurrection after death, who had to see and touch Jesus' tangible and physical wounded body in order to believe.  

 

I then asked, “Did you take the plane to come here?” His answer was “Yes.” I further asked, “Did you know the pilot?” His answer was ”No.” “Well, then,” I said, “Bet you didn’t even check his license. Wasn’t it your faith in the pilot and in the mechanical integrity of the plane that brought you here?"  

Do these ducks and geese know for certain they will
 have food from day to day?

As I have grown in years, there have been many more things that I am learning not to take for granted. When one is young, one takes more things for granted. As a young person, I would plan for the next day, week, month or year as if I had control in the number of hours, days, months and years that I would have. But now that I have lived longer, and seen more things, I have become more aware of things I do not control. And really, to live a life with meaning is to live a life of faith. If we didn’t have faith that when we cross the street on a green light , the motorists will stop for us, we would never be able to cross any street. If I had no faith that the people in the restaurants who prepare my food and the waiters that served me would do their job honestly and could be trusted, I would never dine out. If I didn’t trust that the bus drivers or the train engineers knew how to drive the buses and operate the train, I would just have to walk everywhere or drive my car. But then that will require me having faith in the motorists stopping on red lights and the other motorists to obey the traffic rules or they might hit my car. And on, and on, it goes, things that we do on faith, actually.  Then there are things that happen beyond our control or expectations.  The Berlin Wall. Did we expect it to fall?  Or who would have known that the World Trade Center, hub of world commerce and trade would be completely deleted from the famous New York City skyline?

 

Sometimes we try to control our circumstances only to have some monkey wrench thrown in by someone. Sometimes we get completely blindsided.  We do need to plan and try to do our best to get prepared for whatever might come our way, but there really is so much uncertainty to life and for this we need faith.  Many years ago, I put my faith in One who is Certain and Unchanging and found out that through my uncertainties, He was the only certainty I had and that was so comforting. Oswald Chambers in his My Utmost for His Highest says,

Certainty is the mark of the commonsense life—gracious uncertainty is the mark of the spiritual life. To be certain of God means that we are uncertain in all our ways, not knowing what tomorrow may bring. This is generally expressed with a sigh of sadness, but it should be an expression of breathless expectation. We are uncertain of the next step, but we are certain of God.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

A DOG, A CAT, A TURTLE AND MORE

 Remember this from Cecil Frances Alexander?


Kit, the Turtle

All things bright and beautiful,
All creatures great and small,
All things wise and wonderful,
The Lord God made them all.

We’ve had our share of “critters”, as we raised children alongside them. There was Mr. T, the Conure who poked holes in our curtains and made a lot of noise. We had hamsters that got out of their cage one night and chewed on our electric cables. No, they were not electrocuted, but we had to get rid of them. We also had Luther, the cockatiel. He got sick and went on to bird paradise within a month of living with us. Then there was the arrogant Mr.
Pugs, a purebred Himalayan who was pedigreed and had “papers.” He got very sick one day and was rushed at midnight to the all-night veterinary clinic. He was dehydrated and also needed blood transfusion. The following day he was transferred to the SPCA hospital
and given the transfusion. I didn’t know they had a cat blood bank. Shadow was mostly German Shepherd. We adopted him from the SPCA. He was Mat’s dog of choice. I wanted the corgi. But Mat took one look at Shadow looking back at him with those beady eyes and, it must have been love at first sight.

If you ever come to see us in our little home in San Francisco, I will show you into Don’s library where we have a 30-gallon aquarium. There reside Kit, the turtle, and his co-tenant, a nameless goldfish that is about 8 years old. Kit is named after the talking car in the 1982 TV series The Knight Rider. We gave her to Mat for his fourth birthday. Mat is now 32. Originally, there were two goldfish with her which Mat named Princess Leah and Luke Skywalker. But alas the fish did not last very long. We’ve thought Kit was a male until a young friend of Mat’s found out the “he” was a “she.” One day, I brought home a little plastic baggie of baby goldfish. They were supposed to supplement Kit’s diet. Kit found them to be more fun to play with than to eat, so for many years, they shared the aquarium with her until they grew so big that we had to give most of them away. Only one was left with Kit. I’ve often wondered why this goldfish was never given a name. Probably, because it was just one of the 13 I brought home that day. You’d think turtles are not much fun and can’t really be part of a family’s life, but Kit has become that. As to the unnamed goldfish, it is a friend to old Kit. They have bonded through the years. And there is no question as to who has the upper hand. We’ve seen Kit swim over the fish. Sometimes they would be in a little corner of the aquarium together. Kit rests on the brick while the fish is in the water right next to her. One year we took Kit to the veterinarian because she was turning pink.  The vet examined her and pronounced that she was just molting.  The following year, we received a card from the vet reminding us that it was time for Kit's annual physical.  Don takes care of these “critters.” In the mornings, you’ll hear him in the library as he feeds them. “Good morning, girls, did you have a good night?” I wonder what he’d do if they answered him!

 Shadow wasn’t quite your ideal pet. He failed obedience school and had to have extended training. He was domineering, controlling and manipulative, but he worshipped the ground that Mat walked on. They shared Mat’s room. He and Mat went through the teenaged years together and they seemed to understand each other quite well. When Mat left home, Shadow claimed his room for himself and all the other things his friend left behind. After three years, I decided to get the room back from him. It took me that long to accept that Mat was now on his own. As I started to move things, Shadow sat in one corner, eyeing my every move. When I headed for Mat’s closet, he wouldn’t let me open it, putting his 65-pound body between me and the door. When I finally succeeded in opening it, I started to take things out of the closet – some old clothes, posters, shoes, and set them down on the floor. I left for a few minutes to get some plastic bags and when I returned, Shadow was laying on top of Mat’s things, threatening me harm if I decided to take them (baring his teeth, sounding off in a low growl while giving me menacing looks).  Like me, he was waiting for Mat to change his mind and come back home. He understood that we felt the same loss. We had Shadow for 16 years. During his last few months he was so disabled, he could hardly get up. One day, Mat came home and told me it was time for his faithful friend to rest.

Hank is currently our foster cat, about 20 pounds and very affectionate. We’ve had him for a little over two years now. He belongs to Mat and Helen but we’re taking care of him for them. Hank behaves more like a dog than a cat. He will not let us out of his sight. We think he has separation anxiety as we have been gone once for a week and another time for a month. We’ve had someone housesit for us but he missed us terribly. He is very assertive and I think he thinks our special mission is to keep him entertained. He doesn’t like it when we read or do computer work. When I’m working in the kitchen, he watches my every move.  He would make a good homeland security guard working with Director Janet Napolitano! Sometimes he gets upset with us, but he doesn’t have a long memory for offenses. Something we humans can learn from.

Cecil Frances Alexander concludes:

He gave us eyes to see them, And lips that we might tell,
How great is God Almighty, Who has made all things well.

Not only have we seen them, they have lived with us and allowed us in their world, as much as we have allowed them in ours.  Indeed they were made well, and we have stories to tell.  And He who created them in great detail created you and me, too.  Should I take a superior attitude as Homo sapiens and say, in much greater detail?

MY FATHER'S COUNTRY

My father fell in love with America, her people and with just about everything that he had experienced in this beautiful country. America had been so good to this Filipino who had nothing but third grade education, broken English and a great sense of adventure. He spent 33 years in the US Navy, rising to the position of Chief Petty Officer. Upon retirement, he went back to his country of birth but came back to the US years later with his family.

My father joined the US Navy as a 13-year old kid during the American occupation of the Philippines. He added three years to his age and ate a lot of bananas to gain weight. It was easy then to falsify his age.  Off he went to the United States and countries he only knew about from the geography books.

Growing up in the Philippines, I heard a lot of stories about America.  "God’s country," my father used to call her. He told us how generous and compassionate Americans were. They were honest, hardworking and always ready to help those who were less fortunate. They were Godly.  As a young man my father was mugged in one American city. A Christian man came to his aid and helped him find faith in Jesus Christ. He was so in love with this country that in our extended family, he earned the nickname “The Americano.”

When I first came to the US, I found most of my father’s stories to be true. We made friendships quite quickly. We found kind Americans helping us adjust to our new culture. Within two weeks of my arrival, a woman at an employment agency, coached me, gave me tests and found a job for me. When I was hired I could hear the pride in her voice as she talked to the man who hired me. “Didn’t I tell you, didn’t I tell you. She does not even have an accent!” (But I did!  She just didn't hear it.)

Three months later, through a new friend, I found a better job with a manufacturing company. The hiring manager told me, “I will make you the best purchasing personnel we’ve ever had!”

I can tell countless stories of all the wonderful experiences we’ve had as a family newly arrived from a third world country. The church family that welcomed us provided us with a loving community. One of the biggest thrills I had was listening to my father pray in Tagalog in a completely Anglo congregation. Only our family understood what my father said, but the congregation always added their “amen” to it. They respected him and loved to hear him pray. I married an American, born and raised in California. His family accepted me with open arms. 

Though, yes, we’ve had our share of difficult adjustments to our new culture, America has been very kind to us. We found the people to be just as my father used to tell us, with a few exceptions. We felt safe, very safe. We, in fact, felt that America was the safest place in the world.

But things have changed, I don’t know when, why, how. 9/11 changed American life forever. Three thousand people were killed on a morning that was supposed to be just like any other, as they went to work and about their business. Then there was the Columbine shooting, the Newtown killings, and others. And just a few days ago, the Boston Marathon, the oldest sports event of its kind and the most iconic became victim to another vicious attack. What has happened to this beautiful country?  Why?  My heart aches. 

A lot of people dream of coming to America.  From across the American borders come many who risk life and limb to come here to find a better life.  But lately, there are also those bound and determined to destroy this country.  And each day, we find more and more of them. I am saddened, angry and confused.  I keep asking why, when and how did things change in this country?   Please forgive me if I am trying to find simplistic solutions to very complicated issues. 

.

SHAKING MY FIST AT GOD

The carton of eggs was on the sidewalk, and so were the loaf of bread, the frozen chicken, the apples and the quart of milk.  A Pepsi can was pierced by a piece of sharp wire hanging in my grocery cart.  It was leaking onto the sidewalk.  I was on my way back from Kroger’s. It was 20 degrees below with the wind chill factor. Kroger’s was ten city blocks from our home.  The return ten blocks home was miserable. I trudged through puddles, occasional snow pile and icy sidewalk while pushing my cart.  Then it happened.  I slipped. I came down with a great thud, upturning my grocery cart.  I remember how angry I was.  I was thrown into a self-pity I’ve never felt before.   Could things get worse?

While we were serving as  missionaries in Indonesia, Don felt a strong desire to pursue further education.  He was grappling with some important doctrinal issues.  Searching for answers, he wrote to a professor whose books he had read, and who was teaching in a midwest seminary.  They corresponded and upon our return, Don decided he wanted to learn more from this professor.  So, when we came home, we moved from sunny California to New York and on to this midwest city.

Things did not seem to turn out well for us.  Finding housing for a couple with children was difficult because we did not have much money.  We borrowed from our life insurance policies to get us started and planned to take out student loans.  The bank turned down our loan application.  One of Don’s professors found out about his housing problem and offered to rent out the finished attic of his parents’ former home to us.  Two other young families rented the first and second floors.  The attic had no kitchen, though it had an old refrigerator that I had to defrost about every three days. I cooked our meals in an electric skillet given us.  We did not have a ceiling so, there was only the tile roof over us.  Thankfully, Don was able to work nights at a bank’s mailroom.  In the mornings he would go to school. 

Adding to the problems our dire financial situation caused us was our encounter with a culture so different from what we knew. We were California folks.  People come to this state from all over the world, settle in, get integrated into American life while bringing in the flavors of their own nationalities.  This midwest city though not completely homogenous clung to old traditions and what it was used to.  The sight of interracial couples was not one of them.  Sometimes when Don and I would get on a bus, people stared.  Other times, they would get downright mean by completely ignoring me.  I have never experienced racism such as this in all the years I have lived in California.  I remember going to a three-day spiritual retreat with Don and except for two of Don’s professors, no one would talk to me.  One Sunday, as we sat in the third row pew in church, the Pastor concluded his sermon on Samson and Delilah by saying “I don’t know about men who marry foreign women.”  Don and I were the only interracially married couple in the church.

It was all very new to me.  There were the freezing winters, and the even more freezing attitude of the people towards those who were not like them.  Then, we were always counting pennies.  One of the classic stories Don and I tell from this period in our lives was how I would stretch one chicken to feed our family of four for a week.  Yes, it can be done.  For a once-a-month special treat, the kids would get ice cream cones from MacDonald’s; Don and I would buy a six-pack of Pepsi, which we would make to last as long as we could.  Without a kitchen I couldn’t do any baking.  For a period of time, Kroger’s would give kids a cookie card. While I shopped, Don would take the children to claim one freshly baked cookie each with their card.

As I sat on the icy sidewalk, all my complaints against God came rushing to the fore.  I got angry with this “supposedly” loving and kind God.  I remember telling Him, “Is this the way you treat your children after they have so faithfully left everything to serve you in a foreign land?  Is this how you reward us?”

Have you ever been angry with God?  Have you ever thought you deserved to be treated better than He was treating you?  Well, I definitely did at that moment.  I was cold, wet and ANGRY.  I picked up what I could of my grocery and slowly headed for home.

But I could not stay angry for very long, simply because love won out over the anger.  I loved God, and with that love I had to trust that He knew what He was doing.  Many times God gives me blessings that I don’t deserve, that I cannot understand, but I accept them.  Why won’t I accept hard times in the same manner?  I may think I don’t deserve them, but He always has a reason for what He does.  And you know what, those hard times have been among my richest experiences of walking in faith.  Faith in the one we love involves trust even when we don’t understand.  And oh, yes, you can get angry, even with God.  He is big enough to understand you, but don’t stay angry with Him too long, for eventually, you will only hurt yourself.  Anger and bitterness are toxic to the soul.

“ ‘. . .  Shall we accept good from God, and not trouble?’  In all this, Job did not sin in what he said.”

 (Job 2:10 NIV)