Creative Playground…by ARHuelsenbeck

One of my fondest childhood memories is of the hours I spent at the playground in the park near my New Jersey home in the 1950s. Two ancient swing sets stood in the shade of mature trees, their massive wooden seats fastened to the crossbar not by chains, but by rigid iron bars with hooks on both ends. They let out a satisfying metallic screech as each arcing motion reached its zenith.

The mountainous silver-surfaced slide had a huge bump about halfway down, which made us kids scream with delight—except when the hot summer sun shone directly on it, and you burned your bottom. Sometimes the slide was “slow,” and you’d stick to it. An enterprising child would run home for a sheet of waxed paper and wax the slide by riding down it a few times while sitting on the waxed paper.

There were seesaws, too—wooden planks that teetered on a horizontal pipe. I didn’t like them—if your partner suddenly jumped off, your end of the board came down hard on the ground.

With the simplest equipment, we kids were able to have lots of fun. However, I am blown away by the imaginative playgrounds built today.

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I love the organic look of this wooden structure. Photo by Martin Vorel.

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Adventure Playground in High Park, Toronto, assembled by volunteers. Can you imagine playing in that castle? Unfortunately, the castle was destroyed in a fire. Photograph by Alaney2k.

ship playstructure in Estonia

“Ship” play structure in Estonia. Photo by Jaanus Silla.

Suspension_bridge

Suspension bridge. Photo by Nino Barbieri.

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Vivo City playground. In a shopping mall in Singapore. Photo by William Cho.

Hotel_Playground_Yachthafenresidenz_Hohe_Düne_Rostock_2

This playground is located at Yachthafenresidenz Hohe Düne (Yacht Harbor Residence High Dune) at the Baltic Sea, Rostock, Mecklenburg, Germany. Photo by Beauwell.

To my way of thinking, these beautiful playgrounds could only enhance imaginative play.

But the truth is, many of today’s children spend more time in virtual play than on an actual physical playground. Does it matter?

In the United States, elementary schools are pressured to devote more time to instruction in order for children to perform better on standardized tests. In that high-stakes environment, recess and physical education look like wasted time. But are they? Evidence suggests that students who have ample opportunity to move and play actually concentrate better and learn more with less effort because their brains and bodies are refreshed.

Playgrounds need not be expensive propositions. It’s possible to build beautiful play structures out of inexpensive, easily obtainable materials assembled by volunteers.

For more information on play and to see more examples of well-designed playgrounds, visit these websites:

In the olden days, many parents were with their children much of the day. Many parents worked in the home, some came home for the lunch hour. In a simpler time, children went off to play in the neighborhood with their friends.

Today’s parents have complex occupational requirements that prevent them from spending the day with their kids, and they may not be comfortable with them being outside and out of sight. Certainly, we are aware of the danger of children not being supervised. Yet, in those precious off-work hours parents might not have the time or energy for a trip to the playground.

What do you think? Do you like the play spaces in this article? Are modern playgrounds a waste or a necessity? How do we balance children’s outside play with their safety? Share your thoughts in the comments below.

Posted in Creativity, Doing Life Together, Play | Tagged , | 7 Comments

When You Long to Escape

Some days I dream about escaping. I picture myself at the Hotel del Coronado (“the Del”) on the southern California coast for three days. By myself.

The dream is most vivid seconds before I open the door for the first time in the morning into my 91-year-old mother’s room. With my hand on the doorknob, I sigh. Then I pray. I know what waits on the other side.

The stench of urine from nighttime diapers she can’t remember to change. Once in awhile, a trail of feces leading into the bathroom, where sometimes the results of “an explosion” remain splattered on the wall and floor around the toilet.

That’s when I long to breathe in ocean air.

Mother’s scripts are gone. But I remember. She used to say every night, “Thank you for everything you do for me. And I am well aware of what all it is.” Now she parrots my words, “Sweet dreams.” “Sweet dreams.” “I’ll see you in the morning.” “I’ll see you in the morning.” “I love you. “I love you.”

I remind myself God says, “This is the day the LORD has made; let us rejoice and be glad in it.” (Psalm 118:24) Yes, it is, and yes, we will.

I know I also will see the smile I have loved for all of my 64 years, when the look of recognition eventually registers on her face. I am blessed she still knows me. I’m aware the day may come when she doesn’t. I also know I will hear, “Well, good mornin’, darlin’,” in her Southern drawl that I have memorized, and I know one day I will miss it. One day soon. Hospice thinks she has weeks to live.

And then I realize I really don’t want to escape. There’s nowhere else now I’d rather be right now than with her. My husband Jim (her “son-in-love” for more than 33 years) has offered to stay with her so I can go. But I want to see the twinkle in her eye for as long as I can.

But I also want to sip coffee on the patio of the Del and watch the sun dance on the waves. I want to hear the music of the deep crescendo on the shore. But that is not for now.

If I were at the Del, I would linger over brunch enjoying outside dining, mesmerized by the rhythm of the waves. Since I’m at home, I’ll sip Breakfast Blend on my patio, absorbing the beauty of my desert-view backyard.

If I were at the Del, I’d relax with an anti-aging facial in the ocean front spa. Since I’m at home, I’ll scoop out the used coffee grounds from my Keurig pod and exfoliate in the shower.

If I were at the Del, I would walk barefoot on the beach, playing tag with the Pacific. I’d enjoy the resulting smoothness of my feet from the sand and feel the stretch in my calves. Since I’m at home, I’ll lace up my tennies and walk around my neighborhood. I’ll stretch on playground equipment and lather on Pretty Feet after a morning shower.

Have you ever wanted to run away? To escape, even momentarily, from your daily reality? Oh yes, I know blessings often come disguised as burdens. There is character to be built and grace to be experienced. And I know that all will be well and all will be well, and all will be well. I also know, once in awhile, everyone needs a break. You don’t have to be caring for an elderly, demented parent to fantasize about life on a tropical island or in a mountain cabin.

You probably know the feeling. If so, you understand how much of a blessing a note from you could mean to someone else who could use a break. A word of encouragement. A small gift perhaps. My daughters have given me the present of mini vacations in the form of gift certificates for a massage. Their love and thoughtfulness mean as much as the gift itself.

I heard of a woman who longed for a trip to Florida. She scrimped and saved, sacrificing all but the essentials. At the last minute, she was not able to go. Friends, knowing her disappointment, showed up with a shopping bag full of oranges. “We brought Florida to you!” they exclaimed.

One more thing.

If I were at the Del, I would spend leisurely mornings delighting myself in the Lord, savoring His word, enjoying His company, meditating on His thoughts and making them my own. Since I’m at home, I’ll do the same thing, rising early to begin my day with Him.

When I am tempted to despair, to dread, to discouragement, or to doubt God’s goodness in the daily drudgeries, I have learned to re-focus on the words of Jesus, “Do not let your hearts be troubled. Trust in God; trust also in me. I have told you these things, so that in me you may have peace. In this world you will have trouble. But take heart! I have overcome the world.” (John 14:1; John 16:33)

The refreshment that comes from Him alone beats any spa treatment, even at the Del.

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Why I Love the United States of America…by Andrea R Huelsenbeck

As the two-hundred-fortieth birthday of our country approaches, it’s appropriate to consider what it means to be an American. Personally, I am thankful to be a citizen of the United States, proud to be a part of what it stands for.

  1. Freedom. Our constitutional form of government empowers citizens to actively participate in self-determination. The Bill of Rights ensures our individual civil liberties. But where there is great freedom, there is also great responsibility. Apathy is not an option. Our freedom is vulnerable, and we must be ever vigilant to retain it. Spend your vote wisely, and support the men and women who serve to defend us.1024px-Declaration_independence
  2. The American Dream. We believe that through hard work, every person can become successful and prosper. In this century, the media and politicians challenge that belief, but the fact remains that the United States enjoys one of the highest standards of living in the world. Seriously. If you earn $25,000 a year, you are in the wealthiest 10% of the world. Don’t believe me? Check this 2013 Gallup poll, this article from Investopedia, and the website Global Rich List.
  3. Compassion. As blessed as we are, it is only right to share with those less fortunate. After World War II, the U.S. did something unprecedented—through the Marshall Plan, we contributed $13 billion (that would be about $130 billion in 2016 dollars) to help rebuild Western Europe’s economy (including vanquished Germany, our sworn enemy). In 1961, President John F. Kennedy established the Peace Corps, which sends American volunteers overseas to tackle the most pressing needs of people around the world. In 2015, the US distributed an estimated $8 billion world-wide in international disaster relief and refugee assistance (see report, p.11). In addition, hundreds of thousands of American individuals contribute to religious and private charities that also respond to catastrophes, development, and other needs abroad.

    Naturalization Hesitation

    Newly sworn U.S. citizens celebrate at a July 4, 2012, ceremony in Portsmouth, N.H., from cronkitenewsonline.com

  4. The Melting Pot. Drawn by hope for a better life, people pour into our country from around the world. I, myself, am a beneficiary of the American immigration policy. My parents entered the United States from Germany in March, 1952, after applying and being screened (to be sure they weren’t undesirables, like Nazis or war crimes perpetrators). My parents proudly became citizens five years later. Immigration has helped our country grow in human resources. However, there is an official process that should be followed (though it needs to be made less unwieldy). No one should be allowed to sneak into our country.
  5. America the Beautiful. Bookended by oceans, bounded by Canada and Mexico, with Alaska extending into the Arctic Circle and Hawaii smack dab in the middle of the Pacific, the United States covers three million, eight hundred six thousand square miles and spans nine time zones. Its landscape includes glaciers and tropical paradises, mountains, valleys, and prairies, rivers, lakes, and deserts. Its astounding diversity and natural wonders inspire delight, surprise, and humility. Who wouldn’t want to live here?

Kansas prairie

America, America, God shed His grace on Thee
And crown thy good with brotherhood from sea to shining sea!
—Katharine Lee Bates

Do you love your country? Why? Please share in the comments below.

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Waiting to Hear Their Voices in Orlando by Betty Mason Arthurs

broken-man

Waiting to Hear Their Voices in Orlando by Betty Mason Arthurs

Once again we are a nation in mourning. We mourn over the horrific mass shooting and killing of the innocent Americans enjoying a night out at an Orlando nightclub.

We weep with the fathers and mothers who long to hug their children once more, but their children are dead. We tremble with outrage that one violent man’s hatred could rain down terror and express itself in killing so many people. We cry with the grandparents who have lost their beloved grandchildren in the blink of an eye. Our hearts go out to those who sit in anguish by the hospital bedsides of the injured and hope for good news. Aunts and uncles, friends, sisters and brothers all join in prayer for healing of hearts, minds and bodies…and we join with them from near and far around the world. We pray for the medical personel who used their skills to save lives and also held the hands of the injured who didn’t make it. We thank the police who rushed to rescue those in danger.

My prayers and thoughts were a chaotic mess over this tragedy and out of the blue came the song from the 1960s by Paul Simon, “The Sound of Silence.” Perhaps this title came to my mind after people at the killing zone reported the cell phones ringing and ringing from inside the nightclub. I visualized the phones beside the lifeless bodies and the mortally wounded, calls from loved ones longing to hear the voices, to know if they were alive. But there was only the sound of silence.

One phrase from The Sound of Silence that the duo Simon and Garfunkel sang is:

“Hello darkness, my old friend
I’ve come to talk to you again
Because a vision softly creeping
Left its seeds while I was sleeping…”

This link will lead you to them singing this touching song.

https://www.youtube.com/embed/L-JQ1q-13Ek?rel=0”

Yes, this is a time of darkness and I can imagine a mother listening to her son’s message on his cell phone, “Hi, this is Mike, leave me a message,” then there’s the beep and the silence. Again and again she calls and the voice she longs to hear never answers; she will never hear his voice again.

Perhaps you’ve lost a parent and long to chat with them. I imagine the young mother and father whose toddler drowned in a pool last week in Phoenix, listening for her sweet giggles. All they hear is the silence. And they watch the videos of their precious girl again and again to bridge the silence.

When my husband and I lost our first-born son in 1968 when he was only six weeks old, we no longer heard his hungry cries from our nursery. We reeled from the shock of his death and the silence of our home. We wept and prayed in one another’s arms many nights. God gave us hope in ways only He can. In one year we gave birth to a precious girl and once again our home was filled with newborn cries. In a few years we had another son…we traded sorrow for miraculous joy. Now they are grown and have given us seven grandchildren.

The Bible says in John chapter three, verse 16 that God so loved the world that he gave…what did he give? He gave his only son Jesus that we might have hope and everlasting life. Verse 17 says “For God sent not his Son into the world to condemn the world; but that the world through him might be saved.”

God’s love is beyond human comprehension and to me that means he cares deeply about what happened in Orlando. Debate all you want about gun ownership, deranged terrorists, hate-filled humans who set out to destroy their neighbors, but why become heartless men and women? Can we say with Saint Francis, “where there is hatred let me sow love?”

Another 1970s song from Simon and Garfunkel is “Bridge Over Troubled Water.” Every time I hear it, I shed tears. The words ring true today as never before:

“Oh, when darkness comes and pain is all around
Like a bridge over troubled water I will lay me down
Like a bridge over troubled water I will lay me down.”

This link will lead you to a video of them singing this beautiful, comforting song in 2012.

I join with millions around the world who pray for the bereaved, for those who are in a weeping place, an endless dark place. It may take years but, I pray they will reach a time where they can cherish the memories of good within the sound of silence and be comforted.

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Honoring People You Don’t Respect

Honoring someone you don't respect...

You may wonder, Why would I want to honor someone I don’t respect? If I don’t respect them, do they really deserve my honor? 

Chances are, you don’t want to honor that difficult person in your life. And no, they probably don’t deserve your honor. There. Glad we’ve settled that, So now what?

As a Christian, I can’t leave it there. Because God challenges me to honor people I may not respect. It may be a boss, a fellow church member, or even a family member. Check out these verses:

Honor your father and your mother, as the LORD your God has commanded you, so that you may live long and that it may go well with you in the land the LORD your God is giving you. Deuteronomy 5:16

The elders who direct the affairs of the church well are worthy of double honor, especially those whose work is preaching and teaching. 1 Timothy 5:17

Honor all people, love the brotherhood, fear God, honor the king. 2 Peter 2:17

Not one verse says to honor people if they deserve it. It really has nothing to do with the difficult person’s behavior. It has everything to do with the person being asked to do the honoring. It makes them better people. It makes a better life for them. In Deuteronomy the Israelites were told if they honored their parents, they would live long and things would go well. Who doesn’t want that?

Isn’t that still true today? When you dishonor people it stirs up strife in your relationships. It becomes hard to be civil. Stress builds, blood pressure rises. Life doesn’t feel so good.

But what if you tried to see that person through God’s eyes? What are their fears, problems, struggles? What do they love? What are their interests? What makes them unique?

Try focusing on compassion instead of frustration when you see that person who’s a thorn in your side. Kindness trumps impatience. Smiling wins over rolling your eyes. A gentle answer turns away wrath, but a harsh word stirs up anger (Proverbs 15:1 NIV).

And here’s the good news. God will help you honor others. He’ll even help you change your attitude toward that impossible person if you only ask Him and believe He’ll do it.

So give it a try. Keep honoring and see your own quality of life improve.

Have you tried to honor someone you don’t respect? How did you do it? What was the outcome?

Linda

Posted in Doing Life Together, Faith, Grace, Honor, Image of God, Kindness, Legacy, Life, Respect, Uncategorized | Tagged , , , , | 2 Comments

Don’t Rain on My Parade…by Andrea R Huelsenbeck

Lately, incidents long past, things I haven’t thought about for a half-century or longer, are popping into my memory.

When I was in second grade, my mother signed me up for Brownies. Meetings were held in Borough Hall, a community center within walking distance from our home. I had no idea what Brownies was, but Mommy promised it would be fun, that I’d make new friends and take part in activities.

e6147f5ab3ec43cd9c23b65fbe5da09aI discovered that half of the troop were classmates of mine from my parochial school; the other girls went to the local public school. They were my instant new friends, who would be constants in my life through high school. Two of their mothers served as leaders. Mrs. Chapin and Mrs. Jenkins were sweet, patient women.

Folding chairs ringed the spacious meeting room. While we waited for others to arrive, we engaged in a lively game of tag.

After the meeting, Mom asked if I had fun, and I responded affirmatively.

The next day, when I returned home after school, my mother met me at the door with a furrowed brow and crossed arms. “Mrs. Chapin just called me. She said you were very wild at Brownies yesterday.”

I was mystified. The word wild conjured visions of jungles and tigers in my brain. How had I been wild?

I assured my mother that, no, I had not been wild at Brownies.

Unconvinced, Mom warned me, “If you act wild at your meetings, you will not be allowed to be a Brownie.”

As I was growing up, I always considered my behavior to be exemplary. Of course, remembering this incident now at my advanced age, I recognize that my hysterical laughing and running around during the game of tag certainly could be classified as wild. If I had been Mrs. Chapin, I would have called my mother, too.

The highlight of that first year of Brownies (which would be an annual event throughout my Girl Scout career) was marching in the Memorial Day parade.

Memorial Day Parade by Jose Oquendo

Photo by Jose Oquendo

The parade was already a big deal for me. I had watched it from the curb every year of my life. The marchers gathered in a nearby schoolyard, the parade route passing close by my house on the way to Victory Park. There, in front of a World Wars monument, the  brave fallen warriors were remembered in speeches by elected officials, followed by the playing of Taps and a twenty-one-gun salute.

But that year, the parade was all about ME, dressed in my Brownie uniform, while thousands of adoring fans cheered as I marched past. Obviously, I was now famous.

It’s funny how children perceive themselves as the center of the universe. I had missed the whole point of the parade—that thousands of servicemen and women had given their lives to defend my country’s freedom. They were the heroes, not me.

Memorial

Let us never forget.

Did someone you love perish in a war? Are you or a family member or friend deployed overseas, or serving in the armed forces within the United States? Please share in the comments below.

Posted in Celebrations, Doing Life Together, Family Life, Life, Memoir, Mom, Parenting, War | Tagged , , , , , , , , | 5 Comments

Prayerfully Paying Bills

It’s my turn to post today, so I thought I’d tell you about how I pay bills. I mean, it’s not earth-shaking or anything, but it may include one element some folks leave out.

paying billsWhenever I sit down at my computer to do my online bill paying, I pull up my bank account and check the balance. Either it looks good or it doesn’t. It might cover all that we owe or not.

Regardless, I pray.

My husband is self employed as  a computer consultant. He works super hard and is better than anyone I know at drumming up business without ever spending a cent on advertising. But sometimes customers don’t pay for his services in a timely fashion. We have to wait for payments. Sometimes they come in before bills come due and sometimes they don’t When the account is low, barely meeting our financial responsibilities, I pray for God’s provision. I speak to God about our trust in Him and that I know He cares for us. I ask for increased faith that will allow my husband and I not to worry about money, because that’s not where our true treasure is. I tell God that I know he sees our needs and we trust Him to provide at the perfect time.

You know what? He has never once failed us. Just about the time we think we’re going to have to pay a bill late or borrow some money, God comes through in spades. We receive an unexpected check. We get that late payment from a customer. Or we get a notice in the mail that our account was incorrectly billed and we don’t owe as much as we were originally billed. God really does care about the details of our (and your!) finances.

When our account has more than enough to pay the bills, I thank Him. I reflect on the times we didn’t have enough and God’s faithfulness to us even then. I thank Him for always providing and loving us, showing us what a good, loving Father He is. I ask Him what He would like us to do with the extra money He lavished on us. It’s a great time of thanksgiving and worship.

You can truly worship even when you pay bills. That includes paying your taxes or any other task you might find less than appealing. Any time you focus on God and communicate with Him through prayer, you’re worshipping.

I just finished a bill-paying worship service this morning. This month it was a time of thankfulness for all He’s given us. I don’t know what next month holds, but I know God’s provision will be enough.

Linda

Posted in Christian Living, Faith, Faithfulness, Finances, Prayer, Uncategorized | Tagged , , , , , , | 7 Comments

A Mother’s Legacy by Betty Mason Arthurs

Mom and kids in churchMother’s Day was celebrated this month. For those of us whose mothers have died, it’s a bittersweet day; a sad day missing our moms and a day to rejoice that we can be with our children and grandchildren. For me, it was my first having a great-grandddaughter, Noelle, born to my oldest grandson and his wife in December.

If this was your first Mother’s Day without your mother, my heart goes out to you. No one can take the place of a mother and the memories you share. I think of the mothers whose military sons and daughters died in combat; I pray God will bring divine comfort into their broken hearts and peace to all mothers who have lost children. Every Mother’s Day I think of my two infant sons who died without warning. In remembrance, my husband buys a bouquet of carnations, ten are the color red and two are white.

My mom was born in 1911. One sweet childhood memory I have is when I said my bedtime prayers. With my cat sprawled on my blanket, we knelt by my small bed. I must have been long-winded because I often had to wake mom up when I finished. Her response to any crisis was to pray, “God, we know you will help us.” Her Bible now belongs to me and I treasure its worn pages and appreciate the Christian faith she passed on to me.

Dennis Fisher wrote in the devotional booklet, Our Daily Bread, “As we face devastating experiences, we can define them either in terms of despair or of hope. Because God will not abandon us to our circumstances, we can confidently choose hope. His enduring Word (the Bible) assures us of His unfailing love.” This best describes the focus of my mother’s life.

Visit any hospital around the world and you’ll experience the miraculous love of mothers for their children in many different ways. When I was a nursing student in the 1960s at Buffalo Children’s Hospital, one morning my duty was to collect babies from their rooms and take them to an examination room for blood work. I couldn’t hide my shock when I first saw a toddler named David. With a misshapen head, abnormally wide-set eyes and huge mouth, he had the face of a small monster. Clothed in a hospital gown and diaper, his body seemed normal as he jumped up and down in his crib while holding on to the rail.

“Oh, hello!” A cheerful voice called behind me. His attractive mother came up, swung him out of the crib and kissed him on the cheek. “This is my sweet boy, David. Are you here to take him for some tests?” In an instant, for me, he went from being a monster with black curly hair to a baby with some problems the doctors hoped to fix, all due to his mother’s unconditional love for him.

His mother gave him two cookies, one for each hand, and handed him over to me. He whimpered and I cooed to him and snuggled his warm body in my arms. “Hi David, we’ll be back to mommy soon,” he smiled and clung to me like a small monkey.

After I gently laid David on the examination table, the white-coated interns and residents pushed me aside. He meekly submitted to their touches as they prodded, poked his face and pulled his head side to side. I imagined since he was born such exams were a part of his life and he accepted them as normal. The expressions on their faces mirrored my own initial shock when I first saw this toddler. In a cold, detached manner they analyzed his condition like he was a specimen in a Petri dish. Frightened, David’s eyes searched each face until he found mine. With my eyes, I poured all my love and acceptance towards him.

After the doctors were done I scooped David up and rushed him back to his beautiful mother. Because of her love and support I knew he would be okay. And the memory of the sacred bond between this mother and her deformed son was something I would treasure…forever.

Right now in the news, we’re hearing about the Zika Virus and the frightening effect it’s having on the babies of infected pregnant women. One TV journalist in Brazil interviewed a young mother cradling her daughter who was born with microcephaly, a lifelong birth defect. It can be caused by the Zika virus, where the baby is born with a small brain creating slow development and intellectual disabilities. The mother’s response to the sharp questions posed to her was, “I don’t care what’s wrong with her. I’ll always take the best care of my little girl as I can.” Her loving response, translated from Portuguese, brought tears to my eyes.

A mother has so many different roles:  a child’s advocate, a spiritual advisor, first teacher, loving nurse, best friend, prayer partner, protector from bullies…and many others. I praise the Lord he gave me a daughter and son to mother after our loss of two boys. Now we have their children, a total of seven precious grandchildren. Every mother, with God’s help, can have a legacy that will have a positive influence on the next generation for years.

Posted in Babies, Celebrations, Doing Life Together, Faith, Grandparenting, Greatest love ever, Hope, hospitals, Legacy, Life, Love, Uncategorized | Tagged , , , , , | 5 Comments

A Photo a Week Challenge: Towers

I enjoy following Nancy Merrill’s Photo a Week Challenge, and this week’s theme, towers, reminded me of my old high school, Rumon-Fair Haven Regional.

Tower

The central clock tower of the building served as a symbol of our school. Its image graced R-FH’s letterhead; our yearbook was called The Tower; I sang in Tower Singers, the concert chorus.

The uppermost regions of the tower were kept locked and off-limits to students. That’s not to say that covert expeditions didn’t happen.

When my graduating class held its fortieth reunion, we were granted access into the lofty pinnacle. We climbed the ladder and surveyed the interior, marked with names of past explorers:

Tower 2

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Some Things I Don’t Understand

(This article by Kitty Chappell was first published in The Sierra Star, Oakhurst, California on May 5, 1994 in conjunction with the National Day of Prayer)

I have driven automobiles for over 40 years and I still don’t understand how their engines work. I merely aim the car in the direction I want to go and press the gas pedal. By rote I drive them to places that expose me to hard work, frustration, beauty, fun, and inspiration.

Old car

I have learned the hard way that a car won’t go anywhere without gas in the tank, that the battery will go dead if I leave the lights on, that the engine will overheat without water and oil—and that I should read the operator’s manual. Despite my negative experiences and my lack of understanding as to how a car works, I will continue to believe in and drive automobiles.

I have used cameras for the same length of time and I don’t understand them either. I simply aim the lens at something and press the button. I don’t understand how a gadget can clutch from thin air an image of what I point it at, memorize it, materialize it onto a negative and transfer it to paper in a recognizable form. In spite of my ignorance, I have a collection of priceless moments—a parade of precious people and events suspended in time, memories on paper positioned on walls and in albums.

Ricoh CameraI learned the hard way, however, that my old Ricoh camera required film and what is seen through its lens will appear in the picture—and that I should read the operator’s manual. I have cut off the heads of subjects, taken detailed pictures of my feet, and missed my grandbaby completely while capturing upon print an open toilet and dirty towels on the bathroom floor. I once took 36 shots of the Disneyland Electrical Parade—with no film in the camera. In spite of such failures, I won’t part with my Ricoh.

For over 40 years I have prayed. I understand the functioning of prayer even less than that of my Buick and my Ricoh. Yet, because of my use of prayer I have experienced wonders that surpass those of the automobile and camera. How can one become born again as Jesus instructed Nicodemus in the third chapter of St. John in the Bible? I don’t know. It sounds rather far-fetched. But when I was 14 I left the mechanics of this miracle to God and was born again—through prayer. How could God help a bitter teenager release her anger, forgive her father for years of physical and emotional abuse and almost murdering her mother—and become a happy, fun-loving, responsible and productive adult? I don’t understand how, but through prayer God did that for me.

I have learned the hard way that as I pray, I should read my Operator’s Manual, the Bible, carefully. When I doubt its promises, ignore its warnings and avoid its wise rules for living by substituting my own, I bring about unwanted consequences. Yet, through prayer I know God continues to love me. As with my Buick and my Ricoh, I haven’t the foggiest notion as to how prayer works—but I will use it the rest of my life.

Kitty

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