I have a terrible memory. Oh, I can remember inane and unimportant things like the names of movie stars and their hit films or short stories I read in high school, but real memories, you know, events that actually happened to me, elude me.

I hold only little pieces of my childhood in my memory. Even then, many of the recollections come from pictures stored in photo albums and slide shows. I don’t know that I remember the actual occurrence or just the picture of the activity.

Tim tells the children elaborate tales of his youth; times he went camping with his family, places he explored as a child and teenager, insightful lessons he learned along the way. The children, eager for more glimpses into the ancient past, look over at me, ready to hear my childhood anecdotes.

I look back at them blankly.

I never knew I had a poor memory. It was something I discovered as an adult, about the time my kids asked me to tell them a story from my past.

I had a wonderful childhood and a rich, full life. I just can’t remember it.

Today is my youngest son’s birthday. David is seven years old. By now I’m an experienced mom, I know what happens: these precious little ones grow up! They change, mature, and blossom into young adults.

My sister-in-law, Elizabeth, blessed our family with this Birthday Hat.

I guess our days are too full of living to hold all of the precious moments of our days in my finite brain. I keep trying to get an upgrade on memory storage and brain power but the shipping costs are out of this world.

I don’t want to forget the sweetness of today. I don’t want to forget what my children are like at this point in their lives. Joshua is fourteen. I barely remember what he was like as a brand new 7 year old.

Butterscotch pancakes for the birthday breakfast. Yum!

And you all tease me for taking so many pictures. I need them to bolster my pathetic memory. I wonder if we will have perfect retention in heaven. Will we be able to look back and clearly remember all that we did during our life time? Can I request the Good Parts Only version? Maybe the glories of heaven will so outshine anything that occurred during our brief time here on this earth, that we won’t need to waste time on old memories.

You are my beloved youngest son. You have an incredibly bright smile and sweet spirit. I treasure your ready hugs and cheerful personality. Several times a day you enthusiastically run over to me for a hug me or kiss on the cheek. You let me hold and snuggle you. You do a wonderful job of making me feel loved and appreciated. You love presents and are thankful for everything from little treats to a homemade meal.

On Friday you were upset because you didn’t have your “speedy” tennis shoes. You were gloomy and worried about running and playing in shoes that were too loose. You LOVE to zoom about at top speed. You have a wonderful daddy who drove out of his way to bring you your special shoes.

You are quickly becoming an excellent reader. Some days you fuss about all the school you have to do, and other times you rush through your work, laughing at how simple it is. You play easily with all of your siblings. You and Sarah are buddies and she adores you. You and Daniel can often be found playing computer games together or sitting on the floor with Legos, marbles or Playmobil. You and Joshua are great friends. Neither age or size difference seems to matter in your relationship and you were very dismayed that he was going to be out of town on your birthday. You and Rachel enjoy all manner of creative games. At the pool this week you played a game involving a slave and his master.

I try not to ask too many questions.

Rachel lit the candles for our second round of Happy Birthday To You!.

I’m afraid my memory is poor. You are going to grow up and ask me what type of a little boy you were. You’ll want to know what books you read, where you sat in the car, what types of games you played, and how much you were loved.

Forgive me for forgetting so many of the little details. With all my heart, I want you to know that you were a cherished six year old and will most certainly be a treasured seven year old. I’ll do my best to photograph, journal and blog your life so our memories of these sweet times will be carefully preserved and venerated.

Mommy
Project 365 - Day 47

It’s important to create a little suspense and anticipation on the blog. Keep people hungry (and that’s a difficult thing during the holidays) for more.

Here’s a little clue about my new present.

Obviously this picture creates more questions than it answers:

• Tim and Kathy’s folks are a little stingy and got her a new hat and scarf for Christmas.
• Kathy’s tastes are simple and she is “thrilled, tickled, delighted and excited” about winter wear.
• Kathy needs a haircut and some time at the salon
• Tim went all out and carved Kathy a new walking stick for the holidays

Perhaps this is a better clue (this is fun, right?), the hint is not what’s IN the picture but the picture ITSELF.

Did you guess?
I know, this is killing you.
Okay, you’re bored silly and wish I would just get on with the blog and post some other cute pictures (preferably of the children).

Tim and my parents decided taking 11 thousand pictures this past year, give or take a thousand, proved I really was interested in photography. They put their heads (and cash) together and treated me to a wonderful new camera.

A fancy, schmancy new digital SLR camera by Nikon.

I picked up the “fancy, schmancy” name from Cindy who also received a new camera for Christmas. Mine is a Nikon D40X - the name alone sounds cool and impressive.

Tim got a fantastic deal and then went back and convinced the sellers to drop the price even further (he threw around the words price matching and Nutella, it’s a powerful combination).

I was totally surprised and amazed. Now I can take “real” pictures and turn this blog into something truly special.

Oh, the pressure is on now.

I am still learning about all the different settings and options. We took around 400 pictures between 1 pm Christmas day and 6 pm Wednesday. At that rate we’d hit something like 73K pictures in the upcoming year.

Gulp.

It’s a good thing I have one of these on hand. Nothing like a nice, little external hard drive to store your photos.

Joshua, Tim and I had a great time using the action function of the new camera to take some shots of the kids sledding this morning.

I’d love to hear from other Nikon photographers - share your comments, tips, favorite lens, books, etc. I want to learn everything!! I think I need to add the Nikon D40X field guide to my Amazon wish list.

Now to find the perfect camera bag. This one in chocolate brown by Jill*e is gorgeous but seems a wee bit pricey.

Happy shooting!
Kathy
Project 365 - Day 360

Thanks, Carl, for encouraging Tim to consider this camera.

My oldest daughter recently celebrated her 12th birthday, and Kathy asked me, “Aren’t you going to write a post about Rachel for her birthday?”

Talk about time flying. It seems only yesterday she was 11 …

One of our many traditions is that, on each child’s birthday, Kathy and I nostalgically reminisce about the actual day of that child’s birth. Rachel’s birth-day is memorable in terms of weather (a very cold Michigan day), in terms of inconvenient timing (born at 4:50 am during a snowstorm), in terms of worry for me (Kathy lost a lot of blood at her birth), and in terms of the joy of having a first daughter. The kids never seem to tire of hearing the story each year — of course, I try to liven it up with snide comments and family jokes.

As important as the birthday is, what happens after that seems much more significant, which is why it is no trouble at all for me to come up with a list about my beloved daughter:

Twelve things I love about Rachel …

1. She has a quick wit, and a clever and quirky sense of humor

Rachel loves to laugh, and has the rare sense of timing necessary to maximize the humor of a remark. Her wry but soft-spoken comments often have me straining to hear what she says, not wanting to miss out, even if I am the one being roasted. She often fires an amusing Parthian shot, just as she exits a room — leaving her victims ruefully shaking their heads in admiration of her verbal prowess.



2. She believes in Justice

If there is anyone who is most like me in my love for justice, it is Rachel. She carefully watches the ebb and flow of family relationships and is quick to point out any improper favoritism (or lack thereof), especially among her siblings. Holding unflinchingly to personal integrity, she knows the difference between fairness and justice and seeks to order her own conduct according to the highest standards.



3. She is kind to David and Sarah

Reading books tirelessly or playing with them, Rachel enjoys her youngest two siblings and cares for them graciously, sharing her time and toys unstintingly. In spite of Sarah’s tendency to use her sister’s things without permission, Rachel is patient and almost unfailingly kind to her little sister, even to the extent of giving her little jobs so she’ll feel useful. Last night, as I went to bed, I ran into Sarah, heading into the bathroom with a plastic cup. “Rachel makes me get her a glass of water every night,” she informed me cheerfully. “Yeah,” observed a gently sarcastic voice from the top bunk. “Every night she climbs up and begs me, asking if she can go get water for me; so sure enough, I ‘make‘ her do it.” Rachel has earned the trust and loyalty of her smallest siblings, and is storing up great treasure in heaven for herself through her consistent kindness to them.



4. She is generous

Buying gifts for her siblings or sharing her stuffed animals, Rachel does not cling tightly to possessions over relationships. Last year when I bought some gifts for a missionary family of our acquaintance, I put them all on the table and allowed the children to ‘buy’ them from me, so that they could give the gifts in their own name. Rachel did not disappoint me, but dug deep into her bank to purchase a number of the gifts. She carefully tithes on her income, and (like her Mom) is open-handed with kind words and encouragement.

5. She is a good friend

Rachel is a soft-hearted girl, and she doesn’t enjoy sarcasm that hurts, or comments that really put others down. She is also somewhat of a thoughtful and solitary girl, often preferring to be alone, yet she seems to thrive (like her mama), on good girl friends. One thing I know: when she has a good friend, she knows how to keep them. Rachel is loyal and true and sweet and fun, and almost always thinks of the needs of her friends ahead of her own.



6. She loves music

Last summer I won an iPod Shuffle, and I immediately thought to give it to Rachel. Ever since she was a little girl, she has always been the first to learn the lyrics to a new song, and has spent many a happy hour singing along in the car or in her room. As she leads worship in the children’s program at church or listens to the Christian radio station, it is exciting to see how her love for music draws her along in her love for Jesus. She is a little more of a hard-rocker than others in our home, but not obnoxiously so; she pushes us to listen to new music and stretch our ears a bit.

7. She loves to serve at AWANA

This year Rachel was invited to serve as a helper in the Cubbies AWANA class, teaching three- and four-year-old children in our church’s Wednesday night program. I guess I shouldn’t have been surprised that my daughter would enjoy the prospect of trying out her spiritual giftedness (teaching? service? evangelism?) at church. So far, we hear nothing but good things from the adult teachers, who are already campaigning for Rachel to help them again next year, in spite of the temptation of the Middle School program.



8. She has a soft spot in her heart for animals

Even before she could talk, Rachel clearly loved animals, especially kittens and cats. That deep, abiding love has continued, fueled perhaps by our staunch resistance to the idea of having a dog or cat as a pet. Rachel’s advocacy has been the reason for our adoption of both guinea pigs, in spite of the sorrowful demise of Martin, our family’s first pet. One day I was trying to reassure her: “When you grow up, you can have a cat of your own, or even more than one!” Rachel countered with her own assessment. “It is true that I love animals now, but what if I grow up and don’t care about them the same way any more? I should have a pet now, just in case.” It is hard to argue with such logic.

9. She is cheerful

When we named her, we chose ‘Joy’ as Rachel’s middle name, in contravention of our intent to use middle names to honor family members. At the time, we were focused on our joy, but Rachel has made that name her own, in the cheerful and joyful way she relates to our family. She truly takes after her mother in that, for which I (and her future husband, should the Lord bless her in that way) are very grateful.



10. She knows her Bible

Throughout the years, Rachel has paid careful attention to her Bible lessons at home and at church, and understands her Bible remarkably well, for a person her age. Her ability to interpret the scriptures and her knowledge of God’s character are the envy of many of her instructors. It is a delight to my soul to hear her explaining spiritual truths to her younger brothers.

11. She loves Jesus

As the apostle says in 3 John 1:4: “I have no greater joy than to hear that my children are walking in the truth.” Throughout her life, it has given us great joy to know that Rachel gave her heart to Jesus at an early age. Like every other Believer, she struggles with the invisible nature of God, and she recently confided to me, “Sometimes I don’t feel very close to Jesus.” But she prays and she reads her Bible and she walks in righteousness, growing in grace and in favor with God.

12. She asks hard questions and thinks deeply

Of all the children, Rachel has always been the one to ask ‘thorny’ questions. I remember picking blackberries when she was three, and how she got a thorn in her finger even after she prayed that she would be protected from the prickers. “Why does God let bad things happen, Daddy?” she asked. Just tonight, she engaged Kathy in a long discussion about why people take drugs. “Did you ever take drugs, Mom?” Rachel is never afraid of being too direct. Joshua loves using Rachel to ask the questions, when he is curious but too reserved to ask.

The other day, Kathy was shopping with her two girls, and the checkout cashier commented on their resemblance to my wife: “You have Two Mini Me’s there,” she laughed. Not to in any way minimize her uniqueness as a person, but I think one of the nicest things I can say about my daughter is that she reminds me of my beloved wife.

Not a bad start to your life, sweet Rachel.

I love you!
Tim-Daddy

Well, not exactly an open fire. Or roasting, really. Or chestnuts, to be completely truthful.

It all started on a quiet Saturday. Nobody was away on an overnight, nobody had friends over, nobody had meetings or other engagements out of the house.

Kathy and I opened the day in prayer, asking God specifically that He would help the day to be a fun relational day, and that the attitudes of the kids would reflect the fact that we like being together as a family. At breakfast, as I tickled and laughed with the children, David asked me, “Why are you being like this, Daddy? Usually you don’t act like this. I have been a bit preoccupied many recent Saturdays with work and other responsibilities. Time to have some silly family togetherness.

Around 2 pm, I inveigled everyone into a walk around the lake near our house; although it started to drizzle, we had a good time. As we left the park, I noticed two large chestnut trees, having recently dropped hundreds of their glossy mahogany-colored fruit and their prickly husks.

This crew, however, was not particularly prickly about being photographed.

Apparently none of us know the actual words to ‘Chestnuts, Roasting on an Open Fire’, but that didn’t stop us from bellowing out the few lines we did know, on the way home. Following my lead, the children have learned to compensate with volume for a lack of musical talent. Never having roasted chestnuts over any heat source, let alone an open fire, I decided to sponsor an expedition back to the park to harvest the chestnuts.

We gathered bags and bags of them, to the evident dismay of a rather scruffy-looking squirrel, which seemed intent on eating them all. We did him a favor — overdose by chestnuts is probably a painful way to pass from this world. Arriving home, I did a quick search for chestnut recipes online, and we began to prepare a batch of the nuts for roasting on a cookie tray.

Don’t they just look too good to eat! Our mouths were watering …

Kathy was on the phone with her mom, who was very impressed with our foray into the world of Christmas lore. Unfortunately, she had never actually tasted roast chestnuts, and was not a good source of information on the topic.

I immediately thought of my Mom, who grew up at least part of the time on a farm. She used to tell us stories about the many old-fashioned Christmas traditions they enjoyed. I figured her generation probably had more in common with Little House on the Prairie than the hustle and bustle of this modern age. “After all,” I figured, “she’s old — she probably knows about this stuff.” We got her on the phone.

“Nope,” she answered. “I’ve never even tasted them.” I guess all that old-time Christmas nostalgia is a crock. She compounded my disappointment by mocking me: “Also, watch out for those poison chestnuts. They’re just like mushrooms, you know.”

I rolled my eyes, which had little effect, over the phone. “We saw a squirrel eating them, Mom. Shows what you know.”

For some reason, we all wanted to show Kathy (who didn’t go nut-gathering) the prickly husks.

Mom was quick with an answer to that. “Ah, but as everyone knows, squirrels can tolerate a much higher level of toxicity than humans.” She’s a hoot, my Mom is. I laughed patronizingly and hung up, threatening her with some of our culinary efforts when she next visits.

Except that this time, she was right.

Prodded by a feeling of unease (that I have come to recognize is from the Holy Spirit), I did a little more research online. As it turns out, Sweet American chestnuts were nearly obliterated in the United States by the dreaded Chestnut Blight, so that most American chestnut trees were wiped out by 1940. Apparently the blight continues, and so even chestnut trees that have grown up since 1940 are often killed by the blight fungus before they reach maturity. Chestnuts eaten today in this country are almost entirely imported. The chestnuts we harvested so gleefully are from an unrelated horse-chestnut tree, toxic to humans (but not, strangely enough, to deer or squirrels).

Fortunately, most of us, no longer toddlers, are past the ‘put everything in your mouth’ stage.

I’m told that the horse-chestnuts have a very bitter taste, which may have limited the number we would have eaten, but I felt we had a narrow escape. As I read on one website: “Chestnut poisoning is rarely fatal, but typically causes vomiting, loss of coordination, stupor, and occasionally, paralysis.”

As I read on another website:

Horse chestnut trees do not produce the “chestnuts roasting on an open fire” that Nat King Cole croons about every Christmas. The edible chestnut grows on the European sweet, or Spanish, chestnut. The ones we buy for the holidays are most likely imported from Italy.

Horse chestnuts contain a bitter poison called aesculin. Even though we see squirrels going after them, horse chestnuts are toxic for humans.

I’m thinking of a new Christmas Carol, adapted for modern times:

Aesculus, baking on an aluminum cookie sheet,
Drizzly mist, falling on your ears
Yuletide carols, being sung out of tune
and folks without raincoats, standing in the rain.

Everybody knows, some stomach ache and stupor
help to make the season memorable
tiny tots, with vomiting and paralysis
will find it hard to sleep tonight.

… but I don’t want to give away the whole song. I contacted Freddy Cole (Nat’s younger brother) about singing it for me; so far, he hasn’t returned my call.

Tim
Project 365, Day 279

This is a post I wrote back in May, that has been simmering in my subconscious. Finally, with Kathy away at camp, it has a chance to see the light of the blogosphere. It is hard to live with a blog-hog, but somehow I manage.

*******************************

It is the weekend before Memorial Day, and I am about to celebrate my fifteenth anniversary with my beloved. Hard to believe that we have been married for so long, and yet in some ways I feel as though we have always been husband and wife. We had hoped to spend four or five days alone in a fancy bed-and-breakfast (well, OK, in our own home) devoid of the scampering feet of our five children. My parents had agreed to take the kids from Wednesday evening through Sunday … I had arranged to take both days off from work — what plans we had! Alas, it was not to be.

‘Great’ Grandma with Sarah (June, 2003)

My Grandma’s death on Tuesday changed all that, and instead of snuggling down with my sweetie, I flew to the east coast to attend my grandmother’s funeral. We scurried around finding a rather expensive last-minute airline ticket for me, but a blow was struck for democracy when I arranged an inexpensive rental car and hotel reservation through Hotwire, my favorite source for rental car bargains.

Sister Posie and cousin Kristi, thick as thieves, as always.

One of the defining characteristics of my grandmother was her propensity for bargain-shopping, so it seemed appropriate to get a good deal when attending her funeral. I only wish US Air would have cooperated.

Strange to discover that both cousins Kevin and Kurt are in the Telecom business these days, like me. Makes you want to rush out and buy a cellphone, doesn’t it?

I traveled to Baltimore with my parents, and, after crossing into Pennsylvania, we stayed overnight in York. Mom and Dad had a bit of an adventure at their hotel, and so we departed more hurriedly than we had intended, heading for the Harrsiburg area without a single Peppermint Patty to cheer our way. Enjoying a delicious luncheon at my aunt and uncle’s home and meeting up with my siblings and my uncle David’s family, we arrived at the church a good 90 minutes before the funeral.

Grandma was very fond of her great-grandchildren, even scruffy ones.

Less than two weeks ago, I had the sorrowful duty of attending a memorial service for six fallen soldiers from the Stryker Brigade at Fort Lewis, killed in Iraq by an explosive device in the road. One of the soldiers was a friend from our church, who had attended our Small Group Bible Study and our Sunday School class. He had married just five months before being deployed, and our church family spent the last several weeks in deep sorrow, struggling to find ways to console his widow, Emily.

In the year that Grandma lived with my folks, David used to play cars with her for hours. It isn’t every day your leg can serve as a superhighway.

As I sat in the church before the memorial service, I was struck by the contrast between this death of my grandmother and the deaths of the young soldiers. Although we feel a sense of loss at Grandma’s home-going, it is mixed with gladness, as we celebrate her long and faithful life, and her ‘promotion’ to Heaven and a new body. I couldn’t seem to find a silver lining in the loss of those six young warriors.

The final roll call for the six soldiers who died was very poignant, as each soldier’s name was repeated three times without answer. “Sergeant Harkins. Sergeant Jason Harkins. Sergeant Jason R. Harkins!”

• At 92, my grandmother’s life was lived and her work was finished; at an average age of 23, the soldier’s lives were cut off before much of their promise was even dreamed.
• Grandma’s eternal destiny in Heaven seems about as certain as you can get, this side of the grave; for several of the young men, their lack of faith in Jesus does not bode well for their fate.
• Grandma outlived her husband, nearly all of her peers, and two of her daughters; those soldiers were survived by mothers and brothers and (in several cases) wives.
• Grandma’s death crept upon her slowly and gradually, while the soldiers were cut off in the instant of a sudden treacherous explosion.
• Grandma’s death was in some sense a relief from pain and decline, while the bitterness of the soldiers deaths still stings sharply.

My cousin Jon Mark has the most joyful, infectious laugh of anyone I know. Hard to believe it of a man who looks so respectable in a suit, but Jon Mark is one of the craziest of a crazy bunch.

I was glad that I had taken the opportunity to attend my grandmother’s birthday party in November, 2005; I felt as though I had said “Goodbye” to her then. I hope I’ll always remember her sitting in the sun in Steve and Sue’s driveway, surrounded by generations of her descendants, enthroned in their love, smiling upon us all from the vantage point of 91 years of life.

Grandma’s pictorial display, complete with her fishing hat.

It was good to have a little time to look at the display Steve and others had assembled, commemorating and highlighting some of the events of Grandma’s life. In a side room, Grandma’s body was laid out in her casket so that we could pay our respects to her ‘in person’ as it were. I was prepared for a strong, sorrowful reaction to seeing her body, but my response was actually very matter-of-fact; my heart seemed to know that wasn’t my Grandma – it was only the body in which she lived for a long time, and which had finally been exchanged for a better model.

A Tree of Grandchildren

All three of my Grandma’s surviving children were present, and eleven out of the thirteen grandchildren attended as well, some bringing their entire families. I wish I could have brought my sweet wife and children, but we couldn’t afford it, having recently spent all our frequent-flyer miles (and then some).

Uncle David always seems to have great stories involving strange hand motions.

The memorial service focused on the difference Grandma’s faith had made over the course of her life; I was particularly touched by letters from some of the six foster children that Grandma had helped to raise, after her older four kids were out of the house. I was challenged with the hope that I might finish as well as my Grandma did, who loved the Lord with all her heart, from the day she trusted Jesus until the day she died.

Cousin Jon amazed us all with his tricks with cutlery and witty banter.

The graveside service was brief, and we all returned to the church for a fellowship meal. As friends and acquaintances from Grandma’s church drifted homeward, and the family was left more or less alone, the atmosphere quickly turned festive. Our family doesn’t get many chances to assemble together, and we were eager to catch up on news and retell old jokes. As I circulated from table to table, I was struck by the legacy that my Grandma leaves behind – a whole family that loves Jesus – three surviving sons (two daughters already with Jesus), thirteen grandchildren, 29 great-grandchildren and a great-great-grandson! All of these hearts and souls and more were changed forever because Grandma said ‘Yes’ to the Lord when she was 17 years old, and because she said ‘Yes’ to Grandpa’s proposal of marriage when she was 22. I tremble even now as I think of the long-term ripples from the choices I make so blithely (even insouciantly?) today.

Cousin DJ’s family sure has grown up fast!

Toward the end of the evening, my cousin Kevin pointed out that we (as a whole family) are unlikely to assemble together again, unless we take specific steps to make it happen. We are spread all over the map and we don’t stay in touch as well as we would like. I mentioned this to my Dad, who suggested a family reunion out in Washington once the Retreat Center is built. The idea was well-received, but I think it will still take some pushing to make it happen. A large part of the family is still in Pennsylvania, and airfare isn’t cheap, these days.

My uncle Steve and his bride, who faithfully and sacrificially cared for Grandma in these last years of her life.

As we laughed and joked together so naturally, I felt profoundly thankful for the blessing that God has given to me by putting me in this family. It is very good to be reminded that I am rooted in a lineage that has been loving God for at least four or five generations, and that I can count on His love for myself and for my family.

Know therefore that the LORD your God is God; he is the faithful God, keeping his covenant of love to a thousand generations of those who love him and keep his commands. (Deuteronomy 7:9)

Grandpa preceded Grandma in death by 13 years; what fun it must be for him to show her around Heaven!

Only 995 generations to go … I can hardly wait to see what God continues to do in our family, as we say ‘Yes’ to our King!

A small part of the whole family at the graveside service