It Took a Village (Part I)

“Not I, but the grace of God that was with me.”
~ I Corinthians 15:10


This past week has been full of excitement, but I must admit that I am very happy to be on this side of Keen’s graduation. I’m not one for a lot of pomp and circumstance, although I realize that it was certainly in order! However, I much prefer the “ordinariness” of everyday life.

A few days after graduation, Keen and I celebrated our 27th anniversary a little early by spending the night at our favorite hideaway, The Cottage House in historic Council Grove, Kansas. If you ever need a place to slow down and forget your worries or you just want to renew the love you share with your lifelong sweetheart, The Cottage House is the place to go.* In fact, the town of Council Grove as a whole is just delightful. We enjoyed dinner at the Hays House on Thursday evening, followed by a leisurely walk around town. On Friday morning I had a nice visit with my dear friend, Rebecca Miller. You may recall that I wrote a column about her titled, “The Picture of Contentment.” She is such an inspiration. She entertained me by playing a couple of songs on the violin (the same one her parents bought for her for $5.00 when she was a young girl), and she gave us some fresh-baked cookies.


Rebecca Miller with her violin

On Friday afternoon we ate at The Trail’s End Bakery and Café. The gentleman who served us was local attorney Kenneth McClintock who, along with his wife, started the non-profit organization that raised funds to renovate the historic building. Kenneth is known as the town historian, so we were treated to several interesting history lessons along with our delicious meal. (I highly recommend the Reuben sandwich made with homemade rye bread!)

From Council Grove we drove to Hayes, Kansas to spend Friday night. On Saturday we surprised our old friends, Hal & Jane Rogers, by attending the graduation party for their daughter, Angela. Several years ago, the Rogers family lived and worked on a ranch owned by Simon McGee, which is located along Highway 99 between Alta Vista and Alma.

Keen and I thoroughly enjoyed our mini-vacation before Keen had to buckle down to eight weeks of study in preparation for the bar exam in late July.

The only downside to our busy weekend is that I’m running way behind schedule, which is unfortunate because I want to devote this column to thanking everyone who encouraged and supported us in various ways before, during, and after the time Keen pursued his college education and law degree. I’ll most likely turn this into a two-part column.

Keen would be the first person to acknowledge that it took a village to help him accomplish his goal of earning a law degree. However, those of us whom he so graciously credits agree that he is the one who deserves the recognition for the hard work and determination he exhibited over the past six years.

The story begins in 1981 when a man by the name of Robert Fowks became the first person to suggest that Keen should consider the profession of law. Mr. Fowks was a longtime professor at Washburn Law School who served as an arbitrator in the first dispute Keen had with the Wabaunsee County Commissioners (over his use of the county landfill). After the arbitration panel ruled (2-1) in Keen’s favor, Professor Fowks earnestly offered the following words of advice to Keen:

“Listen, I’ve taught law for twenty-five years,” he began. “I’ve seen them come and I’ve seen them go, and I know how to pick them. Based on your performance today, you’ve got what it takes. I’m telling you – you should go to law school.”

Keen pondered that dream in his heart off and on for the next twenty years. Then my father, Joe Van Kirk, began telling us that we should check into what it would take for Keen to return to college for his degree. However, since Keen was working such long hours on the trash truck and had to support a family, we just couldn’t imagine how it would ever work out. So we never really pursued it (much to my father’s chagrin).

“Where there is no counsel, the people fall; but in the multitude of counselors there is safety.” ~ Proverbs 11:14 (NKJV)

Then in the summer of 1998, Keen became the recipient of The Freedom Forum’s Free Spirit Award (www.freedomforum.org) and $10,000.00. While attending the awards ceremony in San Francisco, we had the privilege of meeting former Mercury astronaut Alan B. Shepard, Jr., who has the distinction of being the first American in space, and his wife, Louise. In addition to being a member of the Board of Trustees for The Freedom Forum, he was also on the Board of one of the top waste management companies in the country, Allied Waste. Mr. Shepard asked Keen if he would ever consider selling his business. Although we had just purchased a brand new trash truck six months earlier and had every intention of being in the trash business for the long haul (pardon the pun), the idea of selling out was definitely intriguing.

After returning home, Keen and I filled out an enormous amount of paperwork from Allied Waste. Unfortunately, the company decided that our trash truck was underutilized, and therefore they would not be interested in purchasing our company, Solid Waste Systems.

Keen’s hopes were dashed. Seemingly, his dreams of making a living “using his mind instead of his back” were dead in the water and he had no choice but to return to the day-to-day business of running the trash company.

In August 1998, Keen was a guest on Jim Cates’ radio talk show in Topeka, Kansas. I have a tape from the show, and recorded the following conversation. After talking about the Supreme Court case and taking a few calls from listeners, they were just about ready to close the show when Mr. Cates asked Keen this question:

“Any desire to pick up a few college credits in hopes of practicing law some day?”
“Well, I always joke about that,” Keen answered. “Several people have asked me why
I don’t become a lawyer. Of course, I’m a trashman, and I always tell them that I’d love to become a lawyer but I just couldn’t afford the cut in pay. I say that in jest, of course. I have a lot of respect for lawyers and all the schooling they have to go through – the college, the law school and the tremendous sacrifices they have to make. I’m not sure I’m there yet, to make that decision, but it is a dream. It would be something I’d really like to do if the situation presented itself.”
“Well, you’re young enough, you could certainly do that,” Mr. Cates said.

“Yes I could, I could,” Keen replied. “It’s within the realm [of possibility]... and what a life that would be.”

The very next month, my father, Joe Van Kirk, decided to come for a visit from his home in Florida. During his stay, he observed Keen talking on the phone to several individuals who had called to discuss some legal quandary or personal dilemma they were facing. These calls occupied several hours of Keen’s free time, which left very little time to visit with my father. Finally, my dad couldn’t remain quiet any longer, and he gave Keen the infamous “kitchen speech of 1998.” Dad emphatically stated: “Judas Priest, Keen! If you would have spent half as much time pursuing your college education as you spend on the phone trying to help people, you could have earned your degree by now! Then you’d be in a position to offer some real help!”

Well, that conversation resulted in what Oprah Winfrey refers to as “a light bulb moment.” A major light bulb moment. Yes, my dad’s comments inspired Keen to reconsider the possibility of selling the business and ignited his desire to pursue every avenue in pursuit of a college education and law degree.

“Listen to advice and accept instruction, that you may gain wisdom for the future. Many are the plans in the mind of a man, but it is the purpose of the Lord that will be established.”
~ Proverbs 19:20-21(RSV)

To be continued ....


My Dad, Joe Van Kirk, with Keen

*The Cottage House Hotel is a part of Council Grove, Kansas' rich heritage. First a 3 room cottage next to a blacksmith and then a Boarding House built in the early 1870's by Reverend Joab Spencer. Owned and operated by the Mead/Marks family from 1879-1933. Major additions in 1898 and 1913. The Cottage House was "favorably known as a home for many of the commercial tourists who visited the city." After use as apartments during World War II, the hotel became the Stage Coach Motertel from 1959-1982. After restoration and renovation work in 1982-84 and 1988-89, the hotel beckons travelers once again. (Information courtesy of The Cottage House's original stationery.)

The Cottage House is located at 25 North Neosho, Council Grove, Kansas 66846 Telephone: (620)767-6828

A Dream Realized

“Learn to do right; seek justice, relieve the oppressed and correct the oppressor; defend the fatherless, plead for the widow.”
~ Isaiah 1:17 (Amp)

“To live fully, we must have dreams.”
~ Tom Parker, columnist, Blue Rapids, Kansas

Today is Saturday, May 14th, 2005; a day Keen has dreamt about for more than twenty years and worked towards for the last six and a half years.

Today is Keen’s graduation day.

The fog is thick outside my window, symbolizing how little any of us can claim to know about our future. The Bible tells us not to say, “I will go to this city and start a business and make a profit," but instead to say: “If the Lord wills, I will go to this city and set up a business and make a profit.” Therefore, Keen can say, if the Lord wills, then he will pass the bar exam on his first attempt, and if the Lord wills he will set up a private law practice in Topeka. Beyond that, we really can’t say.

But as Keen’s wife, I can say that I am so very proud of him and so very happy for him. I have watched him get up at 2:00 in the morning on bitter cold winter nights to warm up his trash truck. I have watched him don layers and layers of clothing in an attempt to protect himself from the elements as he hung off the back end of the trash truck, jumping up and down and running back and forth from the curb hauling heavy bags or cans of trash. I saw him repeat this process for nearly eighteen years, relying on God to help him through every mechanical breakdown and physical difficulty. Then I watched him dig so deep into his limited reservoir to somehow find the strength to wrestle with his four boys on the floor at night. I watched him find time – make time – to be a very present father to them. He took them swimming and camping and fishing. One time, while we were all camping at Council Grove, he took Jared and Josh canoeing. Keener was a baby, so he and I stayed back at the campsite. After quite a bit of time had passed, I began to worry. Then I saw Keen and my two young sons, ages six and four, trekking towards the campsite in their cut off jeans and t-shirts. The winds had picked up while they were out on the water and they ended up across the lake on the opposite shore, forcing them to hike back. Keen told the boys it was “Daddy’s Saturday Adventure.”

I have also witnessed the times when Keen was so weary and overwhelmed that he didn’t think he could make it one more day. This entry in my journal from 1994 depicts one of those times:

May 30, 1994 (12:30 a.m.)

I forgot to write about what happened last Monday, May 23rd. Keen just broke down. The water pump in the trash truck went out last Friday. The part had to be flown in and the repair could not be made until Monday. This meant that Keen could not run his Sunday night route, which put a lot of stress on him. He had to hope the part would come in on time and that the mechanics could fix it right away. Then he had to head out on his route and get everyone picked up. We had several calls about trash overflowing. It’s amazing – people must set their clocks by him because if he’s even a little late then they are on the phone wondering where he is.

On Monday morning Keen was at the kitchen table with his coffee and I left to take Kirk to Janie’s house [his babysitter], so that I could drive him to Topeka to pick up his truck. When I got back, I looked at him and he was just frozen and numb – like a zombie. Then his lips pursed in such a sad, sad way – almost like a small child’s pout. Then he began to cry and cry; the tears streamed down his face. I just reached out to hold him and cried with him. It was so sad.

I wrote down what he said. “I just don’t want another fight, another battle, another long day and that’s all I’ve got in front of me. I just can’t pick it up anymore. It’s just too heavy.” Then he cried some more. I held him and comforted him and cried with him. It broke my heart to see this God-fearing, hard working, loving father and husband so broken – so overwhelmed by his responsibilities. But I believe God will promote him one day. In fact just the night before he told [his good friend] Quentin, “I’ve never graduated from anything in my life, Quentin, and that’s always made me sad.” He believes God that he will graduate from something one day.

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

Lastly, I have watched Keen struggle to make his dream a reality. For the past six years, he has worked diligently on his studies, endeavoring to do everything within his power to achieve his goals. College was not a nine-to-five proposition. Not unlike the trash business, school took nearly everything he had from sunup to sundown – and then some. Keen used to pray that one day God would allow him to make a living using his mind, instead of his back. Today, when Keen receives his law degree, that prayer will be answered.

In December 2001, after taking classes year around in an effort to complete a four-year degree in political science in three years, Keen was dealt a disappointing setback. One week after graduating from Kansas State, Keen learned that he had not been accepted into Washburn University School of Law. He was understandably devastated by the unexpected turn of events; but once again, he picked himself up by his bootstraps and set out to prepare himself to retake the LSAT test. He improved his score, reapplied, and was overjoyed to learn that he had been admitted to Washburn for the fall semester.

During the summer of his senior year at Kansas State, Keen was filling out applications for law school when he decided to sit down and attempt to capture his feelings about exactly why he wanted to become a lawyer. I’d like to close by sharing the result of that exercise:

Why I Want to Become a Lawyer
By Keen A. Umbehr

July 13, 2001

I want to fight injustice. Not from afar, but up close. I want to get in the ring, where the fight is actually taking place. I can't rest until I'm involved in a controversy; a controversy that affects peoples’ lives.

I have to be where the heat is. I have to be where battles, lives and reputations are won and lost. I must be a part of the process where history is made. I must be a part of the history that shapes the future.

I am my brother's keeper. I am sure that I am morally obligated and chosen to fight for those who have no limbs, to run for those who have no feet, to die for those who haven't lived yet.

But only in the chambers of justice can injustice be fought and then, only by the chosen few. Who among us will stand and fight? Who will sacrifice his life for the accused? Who wants to even the score?

Me.

Why will I go? For money? No. Money never made a dying man less afraid seeing his end. Then for fame? Never. All the fame in the world will one day fade so that few will even remember your name or what you did.

No, I must become a lawyer for honor; to complete a life's unquenchable thirst. To test my courage when faced with certain defeat; to absorb it, transform it and cast it back with such fury and force that it shocks the conscience of arrogant barristers.

I must do the very thing that shortens my life. For what is a life good for if not to be sacrificed for a cause?

The stress, the strain, the tremendous expense of the soul is what I acknowledge. I must be a lawyer so I can die satisfied, a man who used his life for noble causes.

A poet must express himself in poems, an artist on canvas, a soldier on the battlefield, and I, in a court of law. The hardships I will endure; the chaos and strain I will bear the burden of, but just let me in. Let me fight for you. Choose me to go in your place.


Also I heard the voice of the Lord, saying: “Whom shall I send, And who will go for Us?” Then I said, "Here am I! Send me."
~ Isaiah 6:8 (NKJV)



Before


After

Good Grief

“Love . . . bears all things, believes all things, hopes all things, endures all things. Love never fails.” ~ I Corinthians 13:7,8a (NKJV)

I hardly know where to begin. Tears fill my eyes as I sit down to share some remembrances from the very special weekend my sisters and I spent on Whidbey Island while attending the Celebration of Life ceremony for our sister, Patricia.

From the moment we landed in Seattle, we were treated like royalty by Nikki and Patricia’s friends and family. Nikki’s brother John, and two friends, Nola and Laura, picked us up at the airport. This alone was no small task, as it took three hours in rush-hour traffic (and a ride on the ferry) to make it back to the island.

Nikki made arrangements for us to stay in a wonderful little bungalow right on the beach with a breathtaking view of the mountains. A bald eagle perched on the end of the dock greeted Peggy & Connie, who arrived first. Nikki & Laura also placed a beautiful bouquet of flowers in our room, along with some snacks and beverages.

That evening, about 40-50 people gathered at a palatial lodge where another friend, Terry, had prepared an authentic Italian meal with all the trimmings. Terry generously donated the use of the lodge, which she had bid on earlier at a fund-raising auction. (She had intended to use it for her 50th birthday celebration.)

As I walked through the door of the lodge, I was overwhelmed by the love I felt in the room. Two of the very first people to greet us were Shawn and her two-year-old daughter, Lucy, who shared a home with Nikki & Patricia. I felt an immediate bond with both of them since I recalled hearing many “Lucy stories” from Patricia. Now it was Shawn’s turn to share “Patricia stories” with us. Shawn said that when Patricia came home Lucy would scream “PISHA!” and run full force into her arms for a big hug. When Shawn tried to explain that Pisha started a new life, Lucy decided they should sing Happy Birthday to Pisha.

Next I was introduced to Bev & Carolyn, who were the two friends that were swimming with Patricia and carried her to the beach after something went terribly wrong. We hugged and cried and talked as though we had known each other our entire lives. I met so many beautiful people that night and throughout the weekend, and I will cherish each and every one of them forever in my heart.

The Celebration of Life service was held the next day at Freeland Hall. As our sister Peggy wrote to our siblings who were unable to attend: “It is difficult to convey to you in words the intensity of the experience and the love and the respect shown for Patricia. It was all quite remarkable.”

The weather that day was absolutely perfect. Nikki even saw a bald eagle circling right above the hall when she arrived to set everything up. There were decorations and bouquets of flowers everywhere, and the walls and tables were filled with pictures of Patricia, along with pictures taken by Patricia. There were also balloons and an incredible array of desserts in honor of Patricia, who loved both.

Whenever I expressed my gratitude to one of the many people working on the preparations, their standard reply was: “Nikki organized everything – we’re just doing what she tells us to do.” I still don’t know how Nikki planned such an elaborate tribute to Patricia in the midst of her own grief, but I’m sure glad she did.

Approximately 200 people attended the memorial service, which began with two of Patricia’s friends, Diana & Sylvia, singing a beautiful song titled, “White Light,” which Diana wrote for Patricia when she was battling breast cancer. The first verse of the song is: “Angels are smiling (3x) - Blessing this room, filling this room, with white light.”

What followed was a series of tributes and accolades from several of Patricia’s friends, family and colleagues. In between the times of sharing we watched two slide shows. One was a collection of Patricia’s nature photographs shown to a magical song titled “Breaths,” by Sweet Honey in the Rock. The other was a DVD Diana created for Patricia, which included some gripping video footage of Patricia playing on the beach and swimming in the ocean just fifteen minutes before she was stricken. At the very end there was a short clip of Patricia laughing while she playfully dodged the camera like a child. It was both heart warming and heart wrenching.

A friend of Patricia's named Linda Ferreira, stood up and read the following poem, (author unknown).

Do not stand at my grave and weep
I am not there; I do not sleep
I am a thousand winds that blow
I am the diamond glints on snow
I am the sunlight on ripened grain
I am the gentle autumn rain
When you awaken in the morning’s hush
I am the swift uplifting rush
Of quiet birds in circled flight
I am the soft stars that shine at night
Do not stand at my grave and cry;
I am not there; I did not die.

Next, Linda read her own personal rendition of the above poem, which she wrote for Patricia. With her permission, I’d like to share the following excerpt with you:

I’m here with you in Lucy’s park – just look, you’ll see me swing
Gently in the morning breeze, the gift that sunrise brings
Look for me at sunset, I’ll remind you to have hope
These painful days will pass; you’ll see, together you will cope.

I’m sitting in the sunshine; I’m meditating in the rain
Close your eyes and pray my friends, it will help you ease your pain
At night time look toward heaven – see star light shine your way
I’m sitting with my mother – believe me, we’re okay.

Keep me in your hearts, my loves, we’ll hug again some day
Find some peace in knowing, that because of you, and your love for me
I will not fade away, I will not fade away.

At the end of the service, Diana and Sylvia led the group in a song titled, “Circle of Friends.” Everyone in the room reached across the isles and joined hands together as we sang and swayed slowly to the music:

Would you join my circle, my circle of friends?
It’s a long and winding chain that seems to have no end
Come with me and take my hand, we’ll reach around the world
Would you join my circle, my circle of friends?

The following day my sisters and I had breakfast with Nikki, Roxy and Jan (two friends who also attended the funeral service in Minnesota). We cried and laughed as we exchanged more Patricia stories. Then Roxy shared something that I will never forget. She said that Patricia left a message on their answering machine the Saturday before she left for Mexico saying that she really wanted to see Roxy and Laura before her trip. After Roxy learned of Patricia’s passing, she deeply regretted not being able to connect with her as they had hoped. Then she looked at each of us and said that she could see Patricia in our faces and hear her in our laughs, and because of that, she felt like she did get to see Patricia one more time after all.

I know this is a little long, but I just can’t close without sharing the most memorable event of all. The evening before we left, the four Van Kirk sisters gathered privately with Nikki, Bev and Carolyn, so they could share additional information about Patricia’s last day on earth and answer any questions we might have. Afterwards, we all held hands in a circle on the beach and, with tears streaming down our faces, we sang the chorus from “On Eagle’s Wings” by Michael Joncas:

And He will raise you up on eagle’s wings,
Bear you on the breath of dawn,
Make you to shine like the sun,
And hold you in the palm of His hand.

Just then, as if on a heavenly cue, a giant bald eagle flew across the water right in front of us and swooped down to retrieve some food that the resort owner had placed on the shoreline. We all watched in utter amazement as we inhaled the wonder of it all.

Looking back on our weekend spent remembering Patricia with the members of her extended family, the following quote seems especially apropos: “Many people will walk in and out of your life; but only true friends will leave footprints in your heart.” Yes, we lost our sister, and because of that, we will never be the same. But now I can honestly say that we have gained many, many true friends who indeed left their “footprints on our hearts.”

My sister Mary summed it up best with something she said when Laura dropped us off at the airport. “Please tell everyone for us," she said, "We came here out of love for Patricia, but we’re leaving with love for you.”

“And now abide faith, hope, love, these three; but the greatest of these is love.” ~ I Corinthians 13:13 (NKJV)


Circle of Friends: Eileen, Nikki, Mary, Roxy, Connie, Jan & Peggy

Together Again

“If only for this life we have hope in Christ, we are to be pitied more than all men.” ~ I Corinthians 15:19

You had love for your family
Love for all people
Love for the Father, and Son
Your heart will be heard
In your unspoken words
Through generations to come
There’s so much that I don’t understand
But I know . . .
You’re dancing with the angels
Walking in new life
You’re dancing with the angels

Dancing with the Angels ~ recorded by Monk & Neagle

I realize that most of you who read this column did not know my sister, Patricia. But I also realize that most, if not all of you, have probably lost someone you loved. For this reason, I hope there is no need for me to apologize for writing about my sister’s life and death one more time in my Reflections column.

When I expressed this concern to a friend of mine, she encouraged me with these words:

Eileen....It is fortunate for us that you are gifted at grieving ~ in prose. So many of the things you have written or copied from songs, scripture and poetry have touched me deeply. Since my mother died in December, I am reminded of her in so many little ways.....and of course, in the big ones. Reading your words about your sister's early passing from this earthly place, and from your family, simply allows me to feel what I need to, and also to be thankful, like you, that I had the privilege of knowing this wonderful woman, of being alive, of loving and losing, and for all the pieces that continue to fall into place along the journey....Love, Kat

**********
My manuscript editor, Barbara Lerma, said that it sounded like Patricia had the “ideal life and the ideal death.” To be vacationing in Mexico, splashing in the water, and feeling like a kid again, right up to your last moment, is a pretty good way to leave this world. Not to mention that she didn’t have to suffer. And the day before she had taken that picture of a sunset which she titled, “What I came for.” Yes, there is some comfort in the knowledge that Patricia was doing what she loved, with the people she loved, right up until the last second of her life. Of course the pain of losing her and the loss felt by those left behind, is still ever-present.

This Saturday, April 23rd, marks one month since our Patricia passed away. It is also the day that Patricia’s partner, Nikki, will be hosting a Celebration of Life service in Patricia’s honor. The ceremony will be held on Whidbey Island in Freeland, Washington, where Patricia and Nikki shared a home. Friends and family from as far away as Alaska, Arizona, Tennessee, Minnesota, Nevada and Iowa will be there.

I had always wanted to visit Patricia and see the home she loved so much on the island where she enjoyed the beauty of nature. The last pictures she shared with the family (via email) were some amazing photos of bald eagles which she took during a walk on the island. You see, Patricia was someone who not only stopped to smell the roses; she took pictures of them, too.


Patricia's Eagle in Flight taken on Whidbey Island

It’s kind of sad that I am finally making that trip after she’s gone, yet I feel the need to connect with Patricia’s world; to see where she lived, walk where she walked, and meet the members of her extended family who loved her so much. I sincerely hope that it will help with the healing and perhaps bring some closure – if there is such a thing.

The first poem I‘d like to share this week is one that my sister Mary came across and was printed in the program for Patricia’s funeral.

You Never Said Goodbye
Author Unknown

You never said I’m leaving
You never said goodbye
You were gone before we knew it
And only God knows why

A million times we needed you
A million times we cried
If love alone could have saved you
You never would have died.

In life we loved you dearly
In death we love you still
In our hearts you hold a special place
That no one could ever fill.

It breaks our hearts to lose you
But you didn’t go alone
For part of us went with you
The day God called you home.

After Patricia passed away, I went back and read the “Reflections” column I had written for her 53rd birthday in 2003. After talking about our family and what a diversified group we are, I finished the article with the following words:

“The bottom line is love. When my mom was on her death bed, she was repeating the word, ‘love, love, love.’ My sister Mary asked, ‘Do you want everyone to know that you love them, Mom? Is that what you’re trying to say? Do you want me to tell everyone that you love them?’ Her eyes widened and she nodded her head up and down. Then she whispered softly, ‘Always stay together….all nine.’”

I’ve been feeling so sad about losing Patricia and having to adjust to being a family of eight instead of nine. How can we stay together when one of us is gone? Then my sister Connie reminded me that we’re still nine; it’s just that one of us has gone on ahead. One day we will all be reunited again, but for now, those of us who remain will try to honor Patricia’s memory by living our life to the fullest, the way she did, and the way she would want us to. In addition, we can rejoice that our precious mother and sister are together again – dancing with the angels on those streets of gold.

This next poem was written on the way to Patricia’s funeral Mass in Minnesota; I later read it as part of the eulogy.

Still a Family
By Eileen Umbehr

They say that there’s strength in numbers
And I know for a fact that is true
But now our numbers are down by one
And we’re wondering how we’ll pull through

First came our sister Peggy
The matriarch of the clan
Followed by Patricia
Everyone’s biggest fan

Then along came Connie
The sweetest soul there ever was
And then there was Joanne
Who filled our home with song and love

When Joseph, the firstborn son arrived
Buttons burst left and right
Then Mary came shortly thereafter
To be our family’s shining light

And although that sounds like quite a crew
Our parents weren’t done yet
Along came number seven, Eileen
The family’s poet laureate

Bill was the next little brother
Giving Joe some company
Oh, how we laughed when we heard him sing
“Oh, my baby.”

Bob came along five years after Bill
Adding one more boy
He was and always will be
Our family’s pride and joy

Although today we gather to grieve the loss
Of our sister, Patricia, so dear
We know if she could she would tell us
To carry on and not to fear

So even though we’ll never be the same
And we’ll miss her terribly
The important thing to remember is
We’re still a family

**********
Finally, I’d like to share a poem with a message that I think Patricia would echo:

Feel Joy
By Liz Hoffmeister

If you can,
Feel joy for me.
Feel joy.
I’ve gone where I most long to be.
Feel joy.
In every babe’s face that you see
From here on out,
See me and thee.
And if you can,
Oh, if you can,
Feel joy with me.

********

Give the kids a kiss for me
And say hello to the family
Tell ‘em all my future’s lookin’ bright
Well, I miss ‘em, but I’m doin’ all right
I said I miss ‘em, but I’m doin all right.

I’m All Right ~ recorded by Jo Dee Messina

“I consider that our present sufferings are not worth comparing with the glory that will be revealed in us.” ~ Romans 8:18


Mother and Daughter: Together Again

Patricia's Story

“The Lord is close to the brokenhearted, He rescues those who are
crushed in spirit.” ~ Psalm 34:18 (NLT)

Nine Minus One
By Eileen Umbehr

Nine minus one
I don’t like that equation
Nine minus one isn’t right
We’re a family
And families always stay together
“Patricia’s lost,” Keen said.
I wanted to physically push the words back -
Back through the air to where they came from.
“We lost our Patricia today,” Nikki said.
NO!
“Why did you tell me that, Daddy?” Caitlyn asked.
Kyle cried. Right before his birthday.
We all cried.
We cried together.
And now we cry again
As a family of eight
Instead of nine
Five girls and three boys just isn’t right
Our circle is lopsided now
Without our Patricia
Nine minus one
Nine minus one

Will we ever get used to this?

I’d like to begin by thanking everyone who sent cards, letters, emails and even flowers – all expressions of sympathy to me and my family after the unexpected death of my sister, Patricia. Every word, thought and prayer has touched my heart. Thank you so much for letting me know that you cared.

“. . . weep with those who weep.” ~Romans 12:15b (NKJV)

This note from my dear friend, Scott, was very special to me:

“Accept the heartache you feel, and cry the tears that come naturally. It is the balm of these tears that begins to heal the broken heart. As long as there is still a twinge of memory in your heart, Patricia will live on. As long as her life's story is told in your column, she will live in the hearts and minds of countless people. When I think of the loved ones I've lost, I remember this quote: "Some people think we're made of flesh and blood and bone. Scientists say we're made of atoms. But I think we are made of stories. When we die, that's what people remember, the stories of our lives and the stories that we told." --Ruth Stratton
Hang in there, my friend. Cry for Patricia, and never, ever stop telling her story.”

This week I’d like to share some of “Patricia’s story” with you, as told through the words of those who knew her best and loved her most.

From Connie, Patricia’s sister:

“Her quick wit made her such fun to be around. Her laugh was contagious . . . I think I’ll be able to hear her laugh, see her laughing, always ….”

From Amy, Patricia’s niece:

She hated to be in front of the camera. She wanted to be behind it. She wanted to be snapping pictures of Connor's funny faces. She wanted to catch me with my hand on the back of my swim-suit, after a nose dive onto the sand. She wanted to say "Get closer together! Zach! Lean in!" – as the cousins laughed, and tried to hold photogenic smiles. She wanted to create collages, calendars, greeting cards – each bearing a bit of her heart – a bit of her spirit, joy and passion in each photograph. She wanted to be outside her home, taking the most fantastic pictures of birds, of green fields, of the people she lived for. The people she lived for. . . .
It makes my head reel and hurt and my fingers go numb, grabbing tissue after tissue after tissue to soak up tears, to soak up memories, to soak up the muffled sound of my mother saying "...Patricia..." into my dad's shoulder.

From Nikki, Patricia’s partner, in a letter to friends and family:

“We are all crying a lot and laughing a lot and sitting quietly a lot. (It is Semanta Santa weekend, the biggest holiday in Mexico, so we have to wait until Monday to do paperwork.) More friends and family have arrived and are continuing to arrive and I am grateful for that. Our Patricia was so loved! And the outpouring of love has been incredible.

The reality of the permanence has not scratched the surface. What everyone knows, without a doubt is that Patricia died while laughing, without pain, and surrounded by people who loved her and the Sea. As Diana said, Patricia’s hand is on all our hearts, helping us. We are so sad and so blessed.”

From Roxy, a dear friend of Nikki & Patricia:

Patricia would always be so choosy when she took a picture. She always had to take it from just the right angle so it looked its best. I think she did the same with all of us. She saw us with all our flaws and quirks, strengths and weaknesses, then chose to look at us at just the right angle. Seeing us as special and talented, wonderful and witty in a way no one else could.

From Joanne, Patricia’s sister:

Patricia, Patty, Patty Paprika
My sister and friend
As children and women
Memories, laughter, crocodile tears
Too few years
To know and love you
And though I know you’re
“Dancing with the Angels”
How my heart will miss you
My sister, my friend
Joanne, Janny, Jan

From Patricia’s niece, Melissa (excerpt of poem by Melissa & her fiancé, Mark)

She’ll surely be missed, today and every day
But we find comfort knowing, she’s just a thought away
And that’s thanks to her pictures, smile, and wonderful memories, too
I know she’ll keep snapping photos from her heavenly view
I understand one of her last pictures, was of the sunset and its beautiful ray
Fitting, I guess, because it will come up again to start a new day.

All of these memories were printed in the program for Patricia’s funeral mass in Minnesota on April 2nd. Our sister Peggy, who was only 18 months older than Patricia, shared several memories under the following subheadings: “The Artist” (Patricia drew balloons on the wall with her name written in the middle of them, but denied any involvement), “The Gardner” (Peggy & Patricia picked a “bouquet” of poison ivy for our mother), “The Traveler” (she once “escaped” from the house to the playground, and she loved to travel as an adult), “Team Player” (they would be in charge of babysitting their seven siblings and would consult about who should get a checkmark by their names), “Musician” (she loved to play the viola as a child and the recorder as an adult), “The Walker” (they would walk to Our Lady of Grace School in Edina, Minnesota, and Patricia continued to enjoy hiking), “The Navigator” (Patricia learned to read a map at an early age so she could sit by our Dad on long trips, instead of being crammed in the back of the station wagon with the rest of us), and lastly, “The Listener.”

Peggy concluded: “Patricia was more than her talents and abilities. She had a heart and soul alive with love. May she continue to shine that light of love upon us all.”
From Joe, Patricia’s brother:

We will miss her beyond what words can say. However, I believe her spirit is now with us all, and we will never truly be without her. I think Josh Groban’s song, You Raise Me Up,” says it very well: “I am strong when I am on your shoulders; “You raise me up to more than I can be.” Patricia has raised us up, all of us.

I hope and pray that Patricia will experience in eternal life what she has shared with us in her earthly life: God’s great strength, eternal peace, and immense joy.

Peace, Patricia.

“…we know that as long as we live in these bodies we are not at home with the Lord.”

~ II Corinthians 5:6b (NLT)


Our Patricia, 2004

A Premature Passing

"The Lord’s loved ones are precious to him; it grieves him when they die.”
~ Psalm 116:15 (NLT)

I will remember you
Will you remember me?
Don’t let your life pass you by
Weep not for the memories

I Will Remember You ~ recorded by Sarah McLachlan

On March 23, 2005, my life changed forever. I was working on book revisions at our house in Manhattan when I heard the doorbell ring. “I’ll ignore it,” I thought. Then I heard knocking on the back door. Perhaps it was our next door neighbor. “Who is it?” I asked. The voice on the other side of the door answered: “It’s Keen.” I wondered what he was doing in Manhattan when I had just talked to him on the phone two hours earlier.

When I opened the door I saw a look on his face that I hope to never see again. Following right behind Keen was our son Kirk and his friend, Sam, wearing the same somber look on their faces. My mind began racing through all the dreaded possibilities as I struggled to imagine what horrible thing happened that they had to tell me face-to-face.

“It’s your sister, Patricia,” Keen said. “She was swimming in the ocean in Mexico….They tried to save her but there was nothing they could do. I’m so sorry.”

The awful news was more than I could bear to hear, comprehend, process or accept. I sobbed. Keen hugged me. I hugged Kirk. After the initial shock wore off, Keen helped me gather up my things so he could drive me home and Kirk and Sam drove the other car back to Alma.

The next couple of days are a blur. The only thing I could focus on was going through photo albums and pulling out pictures of Patricia. Then I scanned them into the computer and called Gordon Schmid from Council Grove to see if he could help me create a DVD. Unfortunately, he wasn’t available. But with the help of God and my son, Kirk, we figured out how to use a basic DVD program that came with my computer. The result was a collection of pictures of Patricia which played to the music of Sarah McLachlan’s song, “I Will Remember You.”

As anyone who has ever lost a loved one knows, the grief is unbearable – whether the death is sudden, like Patricia’s, or the result of a prolonged illness, like my mother’s. Either way, you never really “get over” the void left by their absence. Our family will never be the same.

Patricia and her partner, Nikki, along with several other friends, were vacationing at the Pueblo Bonito Resort in Mazatlan, Mexico, when Patricia was stricken with what we now know was a brain aneurism. She had been complaining of headaches for several weeks, but apparently her doctor didn’t think there was any cause for concern.

Patricia was an avid photographer who especially enjoyed capturing the beauty of nature. The night before she died, Patricia took the most beautiful picture of the sunset over Mazatlan, which she later downloaded to her computer and titled, “What I came for.” That night, she and Nikki and all their friends sat around and talked and laughed for two solid hours. Afterwards, the conversation turned more reflective and several people around the table told Patricia how much she meant to them and what a difference she had made in their life.

Here is Nikki’s explanation of what happened on the following day:

“Caroline, Bev and Patricia were playing in the surf...moments before she slipped into the sea Patricia laughed and said—“Isn´t it amazing how being in the water makes us feel like little children again?” Patricia was full of joy at that moment – bouncing in the waves and laughing with her friends. They laughed and played in the waves for a long time. Bev and Caroline turned away for only seconds and when they turned back Patricia was floating on her back. They thought she was playing--Patricia liked to float. Then a wave turned her over and they realized she wasn’t playing. They carried her to the beach calling for help but there was nothing that could be done. The doctor said Patricia died quickly without suffering of a brain aneurism. It is so hard to believe that someone could be so full of life one moment and gone in the next breath. . . .”

Nikki later told us that several people on the beach gathered around Patricia to pray for her, along with a “woman in white” who had a calming presence and who comforted Patricia’s anxious friends. Then the woman said to Nikki: “You have to let go; she’s gone to be with God now. All you can do is pray.”

Grief is such a painful and difficult emotion. Two days after Patricia died Keen made supper and set the table for four since Kirk’s girlfriend, Loretta, was joining us. When I came to the table, I couldn’t even look at the food, much less eat it. “You’ll have to excuse me,” I said. “I don’t think I’ll be very good company tonight.”

When I went to our bedroom and closed the door, I could hear the conversation and even laughter coming from the kitchen. Then I heard the television playing. It didn’t seem right that I was drowning in grief and they were carrying on as if nothing happened. So I called my sister Connie and we cried together. Connie is an RN who works in hospice care, so she has had a lot of experience with death and dying. “How can they eat? How can they laugh? Don’t they know my sister died? Show some respect!”

“I know, I know. It hurts,” Connie replied in a soft, soothing voice – almost a whisper. “But thank God you can cry, because you need to cry. You need to get it out.”

"If you suppress grief too much it can well redouble." –Moliere

Then Connie played the most beautiful, comforting song for me over the phone. The song is titled, “With Hope.” It was written and recorded by Steven Curtis Chapman.

With Hope

This is not at all
How we thought it was supposed to be
We had so many plans for you
We had so many dreams
And now you've gone away
And left us with the memories of your smile
And nothing we can say
And nothing we can do
Can take away the pain
The pain of losing you

But we can cry with hope
We can say goodbye with hope
'Cause we know our goodbye is not the end
And we can grieve with hope
'Cause we believe with hope
There's a place where we'll see your face again
We’ll see your face again

Never have I known
Anything so hard to understand
And never have I questioned more
The wisdom of God's plan
But through the cloud of tears
I see the Father smile and say well done
And I imagine you
Where you wanted most to be
Seeing all your dreams come true
'Cause now you're home
And now you're free

So we can cry with hope
We can say goodbye with hope
'Cause we know our goodbye is not the end
And we can grieve with hope
'Cause we believe with hope

There's a place … by God's grace
There's a place where we'll see your face again

We wait with hope
And we ache with hope
We hold on with hope
We let go with hope

“Now also we would not have you ignorant, brethren, about those who fall asleep [in death], that you may not grieve [for them], as the rest do who have no hope [beyond the grave]. For since we believe that Jesus died and rose again, even so God will also bring with Him through Jesus those who have fallen asleep [in death].”
~ I Thessalonians 4:13,14



Patricia's Last Sunset

A Day in the Life of a Trashman (Part II)

“And he said unto me, My grace is sufficient for thee: for my strength is made perfect in weakness. Most gladly therefore will I rather glory in my infirmities, that the power of Christ may rest upon me.” ~ II Corinthians 12:9 (KJV)

January 21, 1994
Journal Excerpt
(continued from last week)

On Tuesday, Keen and our loyal employee, Jimmy Hinck, began the difficult task of picking up the towns of Harveyville and Eskridge in our small truck. This involved multiple trips back and forth to the landfill in Alma. Afterwards, Keen and Jimmy decided to go to Flint Hills Foods to borrow a hoist so that they could remove the old engine from big truck for repairs. Well, there was a tragic accident. Keen was pulling the engine hoist on a trailer behind his pickup truck and Jimmy was walking alongside of the trailer to keep the hoist steady, when all of a sudden the hoist fell over, pinning Jimmy to the ground and breaking his back!

Jimmy is going to have surgery on Monday. Keen is praying so hard for him. When he called and heard Jimmy’s weak voice, he cried. He feels terrible. He keeps seeing Jimmy’s face and it’s just tearing him up inside. Jimmy has been one of our best employees ever. He is so dependable and enthusiastic. He actually does cartwheels between stops. He’s always talking about how fun his job is and how much he enjoys working for Keen. We are just devastated that this has happened to him.

Thank the Lord that we have worker’s compensation so Jimmy will receive a portion of what he normally gets paid from us and all of his medical expenses will be covered. He also works part time for Flint Hills Foods and they have a disability policy that will pay him $100 a month. It’s not much, but it helps. It’s just so tragic.

So on Tuesday after he got all of Eskridge and Harveyville picked up, he was headed for Alta Vista when he stopped on the road to pick up a customer’s trash. Just then Norma Conrad was driving by, so she pulled over to see if Keen was having trouble. She told him she was sorry about Jimmy and the truck. “Just remember that things are going to get better,” she said. Somehow those words of encouragement really boosted Keen’s spirits. Just the night before in the trash truck, Keen and I both agreed that despite the chaos and panic all around us, we both had this underlying peace that everything was going to be okay. It was a weird sensation – sort of like looking at the waves and the storm and just knowing that somehow you were going to make it through.

“Peace I leave with you; My own peace I now give to you. Not as the world gives, do I give to you. Do not let your heart be troubled, neither let it be afraid - stop allowing yourselves to be agitated and disturbed; and do not permit yourselves to be fearful and intimidated and cowardly and unsettled.” ~ John 14:27 (Amplified)

We just found out that our new truck is an automatic, so that means I could drive on residential days, [Tuesdays and Wednesdays], and Keen could throw the trash. Since Jimmy is in the hospital, we need a new driver. Plus, this would be another way to save money and make it easier to make our loan payment to the bank. God had that truck all picked out and prepared for us.

That night we returned home around 10:30 to find a note from Josh on our bedroom door. It read, “Mark Shumaker called and he wants you to call him no matter how late it is – even if it’s 11:00. He wants to help you on the trash truck tomorrow. He demanded that you call him so he can know what time to meet you at the shop.”

When I read that note I cried like a baby. It touched my heart so much that we had a friend who was willing to help us in our time of need. When Keen called him back, Mark told him that they so appreciated the way we made them feel welcome in this community. Now he wanted to do something for us. I just felt so touched. We don’t have many friends, but the ones we do have are more precious than gold.

It turned out to be a real gift from God to have Mark help, because if he hadn’t gone, then I was going to drive for Keen. So this way I was able to stay home and work on securing the financing we needed for our truck. I ended up being on the phone all day. Then the sooner we got it approved, the sooner Armor Equipment would put men on it nearly round the clock so it could be ready for us to pick up by Friday.

January 25, 1994

To pick up where I left off – we had applied for a loan at the Alta Vista State Bank and they approved our loan at 8% interest! This is the bank that has loaned us the money we’ve needed for everything we’ve ever done as far as business goes. So the wheels were really turning now.
It was Keen’s idea to ask Armor Equipment to provide two plane tickets and a hotel room and they agreed. Their men worked on it until 2:00 a.m. to get it done and it was ready to roll by 9:30 on Friday. (Grandma May’s birthday)

Keen and I were so excited with the truck – it was a gift from God. Everything was new and it all worked right. I drove it for two hours just to get my feet wet and did pretty well. We talked all the way back from St. Louis and marveled at how God worked everything out for us. Oh, to have a working truck! It’s all so amazing. We are in awe.

“I sought for the Lord...and He heard me, and delivered me from all my fears. Many evils confront the righteous; but the Lord delivers him out of them all.” ~ Psalms 34:4

Tomorrow will be my first day on the job. Keen said, “The idea of going to work with my wife is so intriguing to me. I can talk to you on the route now, instead of these other guys. I mean, we got married because we love each other. All we’ve ever wanted was just to be together and now we can!” He likes the idea of having coffee with me in the morning while the truck is warming up. He’s really excited. Of course, I’m a little less excited; I guess you could say I’m apprehensive.

When I was driving the truck home from St. Louis he said, “I’m proud to be able to show the world that my wife is multi-talented. She can be a Memphis belle when she wants to be; she’s an accountant, a lawyer, a mother, a housewife and now she’s a truck driver.” He’s so sweet and he makes me feel so loved. He also gives me the confidence to believe that I can do anything.
So even though last week was probably the darkest and bleakest week of our life, the end result was the purchase of this truck that will make our life so much more efficient in the long run. God knew we needed it and He also knew we wouldn’t have purchased it unless our old truck had a total breakdown. Since we seem to barely make it financially as it is, we never would have willingly taken on the added responsibility of a large truck payment. In a way, I guess we were forced into this purchase, but now we’re glad we were.

So I conclude that many times life’s greatest joys are born from life’s greatest agonies. That’s why we should never give up. It’s like Job – he never quit believing in the goodness of God and in the end, God showed Job he was right. God will never, ever fail His children – no matter how bleak things may look at times.

“…be satisfied with your present circumstances and with what you have; for He Himself has said, I will not in any way fail you nor give you up nor leave you without support. I will not, I will not, I will not in any degree leave you helpless, nor forsake you nor let you down, relax My hold on you. Assuredly not!" ~ Hebrews 13:5 (Amplified)


Keen & Eileen with new trash truck
Photo by Refugio Garcia

A Day in the Life of a Trashman

“Now go, write it before them in a table, and note it in a book, that it may be for the time to come for ever and ever . . .”
~ Isaiah 30:8 (KJV)

Last week I wrote about leaving a legacy and the importance of recording your thoughts and feelings for future generations. If you’d like to listen to some short stories recorded by ordinary people, check out www.storycorps.net and click on “Listen.” Story Corps is a project that was developed to inspire people to record each others’ stories in sound. To facilitate this goal, a sound proof booth has been placed in the middle of New York City’s Grand Central Terminal. This gives individuals the opportunity to share a special memory with someone they love. The story is then recorded on CD and archived in the Library of Congress.

Lately I’ve been spending the majority of my time on book revisions, so I thought I would share a section of my personal journals with you for the next two weeks. This will give you a glimpse into “a day in the life of a trashman” – and it will give me the chance to focus on my project.

“And may the Lord make you to increase and excel and overflow in love for one another and for all people, just as we also do for you.” ~ I Thessalonians 3:12

January 21, 1994

“When the wire gets so tight that you can walk on it, that’s when the walkin’s the best.”
~ Garth Brooks

Today is Friday, January 21, 1994, and Keen and I are in St. Louis, Missouri, picking up our new trash truck at Armor Equipment. We flew in but we’ll drive the new truck back. Our salesman, Larry Jackson is explaining how the truck works to Keen. It’s freezing outside so I decided to sit in their company truck and write until they’re done.

This has been an incredibly wild week. I’ve been calling it the week from hell; in actuality, it may prove to be the week from Heaven. It has never looked as dark or bleak as it did this week.
It started last Thursday, January 13, when Keen’s trash truck broke. Danny, Quentin, Dave and Keen worked on it all day Friday. Keen drove to Topeka for parts, but they didn’t have everything he needed. So he had to drive back on Saturday at 8:00 a.m. to pick up the rest of the parts.

On Friday night, Keen called me from work to update me on the situation.
He said, “I’m sad.”
“Oh, are you, honey?” I asked.
“Yeah. I’m just deep-down sad.”

So I called Barbara and I told her about it. We visited until Keen came home and then he talked to her. He said, “Yeah, I am sad, Mom. It’s just been so hard for a very long, long time….too long it seems.” So she talked to him about how important it is for him to get those feeling out. It really helped to talk to her.

Then Keen went to bed at 9:00 and he asked me to have the boys come up and sing him a song. It was so sweet to hear them all in there singing “Chantilly Lace” to Dad. Then Keener (age 9) stayed back to talk to his daddy. He told him he felt sad that Dad was never home. So Keen told him he’d wake him up at 4:00 the next morning to go with him to get parts in Topeka. When Keener came out of the room I noticed he was crying and I asked him about it. He told me how sad he was because he never gets to see Daddy. I held him on my lap and I cried right along with him. I said, “I know, Keener. We’re all sad about not seeing Daddy. It is sad.” Little did we know how much worse things would get before they would get better.

Keen worked all day Saturday trying to repair the truck in time for Sunday’s route. I thought to myself, “Keen works trash man hours – from before sunup until after sundown.” He got home around 7:00 Saturday night believing that the job was complete and the problems were solved. When he came home he said, “One day I know God will deliver me from all of this, but for right now He’s giving me the strength to do what I have to do.”

On Sunday morning he left the house at 8:00 a.m. so he could hopefully be home by 3:00 to watch the Chiefs play Houston in the playoffs. Well, he was home by 3:00 all right, but when he walked in the door he announced that he hadn’t even left town yet. His truck barely made it to the landfill and back before it started making a terrific loud noise. Then he worked on it all day until 3:00. He couldn’t go any further with everything being closed on Sunday. He said he went into his office and just broke down.

On Monday morning Keen called home and said, “Well, hon, we don’t have a trash truck.” I was shocked. He told me he was trying to find a loaner. I felt like our whole world had just come crashing down. Suddenly, everything came to a screeching halt. Tuesday was staring us in the face, as was Wednesday and the rest of the week. We found ourselves facing some enormous decisions.

Several attempts to locate a loaner were unsuccessful. One trash truck was available for rent for $500, but it was fourteen hours away. We called every dealer we knew but the only one who had a truck on the lot nearly ready to go was Armor Equipment in St. Louis. They were just finishing up on a 1994 International with a 20-yard Heil compactor. So then we began the long process of obtaining financing. The truck would cost approximately $90,000 dollars. We always knew that a new truck purchase would eventually become necessary, but now it had hit us square in the face. It became quite evident that, after thirteen years, we had gotten all the good we were going to get out of our old truck.

The most frightening aspect of this purchase became the monthly payments. Keen and I knew we were doing the right thing by proceeding forward with the purchase, but neither of us had any idea how we were going to make such a huge payment. We haven’t had a truck payment for the past nine years, and lately we have been struggling to make ends meet. Now how would we come up with $1600 each and every month? It felt as though we were walking into an abyss. We kept marching, but with absolutely no idea how it was going to work out on the financial end. But since it was our only option, we were left with no choice but to proceed by faith; believing that everything would be all right, even though we didn’t have all the answers – or any answers, for that matter.

On Monday night, Keen had to go all the way to Mission Valley School near Eskridge to pick up their overflowing trash, so I told him I’d go with him. Since the trash truck was broken, we had to take the Pak-Rat, which is much smaller and doesn’t have a hydraulic lift to empty commercial dumpsters. It was the coldest day of the year with subzero wind-chill and blowing snow. I didn’t want him to go alone. The world seemed to be falling down around him and I wanted to be by his side to offer my support. I wanted us to go through this trial side by side. So we did.

At the Eskridge Manor I had to climb inside their oversized, 8-yard container to hand the bags to Keen. It was freezing! I felt so sorry for Keen. He said, “You have to learn to work with frozen fingers.” But it felt good to help out and pull together in this trial and tribulation. On our way home, I was especially thankful that I went along as Keen started dozing off and nearly drove right off the road. Still, our trials had only just begun.

To be continued…..



Keen working on trash route
Photo by Refugio Garcia

Leaving a Legacy

“A good man leaves an inheritance [of moral stability and goodness]
to his children’s children . . ." ~ Proverbs 13:22 (Amplified)

In a recent e-mail, my father asked the following question:” Where do you get all the Bible quotes and then be able to relate them to your article?” Here is my response – in case anyone else has wondered the same thing.

“That's a good question. I guess you could say that I collect Bible verses. I have about 50 different categories/subjects saved on my computer. Then, whenever I come across a verse that fits in with a particular subject, I just add it to that category. I also subscribe to a free "Bible verse a day" service from www.heartlight.org, which they send via e-mail. Sometimes I just recall a verse from memory. I often go to a web site called blueletterbible.org, where I can simply type in a word or subject and it will bring up all the Bible verses with that word in it. Then you can click on another button and it will show you that verse in other versions of the Bible.”

While we’re on the subject, there’s something else I’d like to address. Since I frequently write about God and incorporate Bible verses into my weekly column, I imagine that some of you might be curious about our religious affiliation. Well, Keen and I aren’t actually members of any religion and we haven’t attended church for over twenty years. (We used to attend a non-denominational church faithfully, until the pastor had an affair with the piano player.) Keen was raised Baptist and I was raised Catholic, but together we are simply Christians. We love God and we strive to live a life that is pleasing to Him. We seek His will and purpose for our life and pray for His guidance in fulfilling that purpose. With our children, we raised them up “in the nurture and admonition of the Lord.” (Ephesians 6:4) We have turned to God and prayed as a family during times of trials and we have thanked Him in times of triumph. This is the most valuable legacy we can pass on to our children, for it is one that will not only see them through their own life struggles, but more importantly, will last into eternity.

“This is all the inheritance I can give to my dear family. The religion of Christ can give them one which will make them rich indeed.”
~ Patrick Henry

To continue with that theme, I’d like to write about the importance of sharing your thoughts and feelings with those you love, while you still can. This point was driven home to me recently while watching an episode of the Jane Pauley Show. One of Jane’s guests was a middle aged woman who just found out that she was dying from a terminal disease. As a result, she decided to start a video diary for her young son where she told him how much she loved him and shared all her hopes and dreams for his life. She said, “Don’t wait until you’re dying to tell your family that you love them. Sit on the porch step with your sister – and if you have a thought, write it down.”

Several years ago my sister Connie took a seminar on the subject of “ethical wills.” I had never heard of this, but according to their web page, www.ethicalwill.com, it’s a way to share “your values, blessings, life's lessons, hopes and dreams for the future, love, and forgiveness with your family, friends, and community.” In contrast to your last will and testament, ethical wills are shared with loved ones while the writer is still alive.

Barry K. Baines, M.D., wrote an interesting book on this subject titled: Ethical Wills: Putting your values on paper. On page 100, Dr. Baines shares an example of how one father described his purpose in writing to his three grown children:

“It is my hope in writing my ethical will that I will be able to record for posterity some of my values and visions for the future. I hope this will help each of you as you plan and carry out your life. In my studies of leaving a legacy, I was reminded how important it is for parents and grandparents to share and record what is important to them. For posterity’s sake, I have attempted to record some of my experiences and what I believe in, some history of what I have done with my life, and lessons I have learned along the way.”

Isn’t that wonderful? As someone who has spent a good portion of her life grabbing a pen and paper to record the brilliant and/or witty things my husband and children have uttered over the years, I certainly agree with this concept.

Ruth Graham Bell, the wife of Billy Graham, once wrote a book titled, It’s My Turn. Mrs. Graham shared about how she always started a diary optimistically at the beginning of each year, but she never seemed to keep it up. “But I kept writing bits and pieces, things I didn’t want to forget,” she wrote. “It’s rather like snapping pictures. You can capture something for keeps that would otherwise be forgotten tomorrow.”

Here is a perfect example from my own life –a cherished letter I received from my stepmother, Barbara Brady.

February, 2003

Dear Eileen,

Having just received that wonderful Valentines letter from you and all the pictures, I am compelled to write and tell you what's on my mind.

You and Keen should be so proud of your accomplishments. You have raised 4 nice young men who have certainly made you proud of them and with love of family so intact. I read that letter and see what has been accomplished in the Umbehr family in the course of a year, you wonder how it is all possible. We know without the right people at the helm, it would not happen. Not only parents but also friends to their children who have made them feel good about themselves, wanted and loved. A house that has God in its midst for sure.

I just want you to know how proud I am of each and everyone of you. Keen is remarkable and so full of courage. Eileen you have held it all together with your determination and love. I am so proud of Jared. He has done so well and has a beautiful family and rose above his initial problems. And none of us are without them. Which only goes to prove there is a place for everyone, you just have to find it. Josh of course has been so diligent and so full of God it is no wonder that he is where he is. He also has much to look forward to with his wonderful girl, Lisa - and their future is so promising. Keener is doing great and will without a doubt make you even more proud than you are already. Pancake, [Kirk] or should I say Waffle, is going to be the best for sure. He will be just like Keen when he is fully grown. I guess I better get a new name for him.

Anyway, I am so proud of you all and your accomplishments. Eileen and Keen you have done such a wonderful job raising your family and teaching the important things in life to them. Congratulations and Much Love to all of you this Valentine’s Day and always.

Your parents must be very proud of you.

Love,

Barbara

I ask you, could there be any greater gift?

“Beloved, I pray that you may prosper in all things and be in health, just as your soul prospers . . . I have no greater joy than to hear that my children walk in truth.”

~ III John 2,4 (NKJV)


Grandma Barb with Keen and boys

The Truth Hurts

“And you shall know the truth, and the truth shall make you free."
~ John 8:32 (NKJV)

But you pretend and I pretend
That everything is fine
And though we should be at an end
It's so hard admittin'
When it's quittin' time

Quittin’ Time ~ recorded by Mary Chapin-Carpenter

Last week I wrote about the pain associated with telling the truth, hearing the truth and facing the truth. Aldous Huxley once gave this modern-day variation of the above Bible verse: "You shall know the truth, and the truth shall make you mad." This is especially relevant when it comes to the area of relationships.

I’ve said this before and I’ll say it again: I’m not suggesting that divorce is the answer to every issue of incompatibility that arises in a marriage. The Bible says that we shouldn’t let the sun go down on our anger, so if that means staying up until 2:00 in the morning to work out our differences, then so be it.

What I’m referring to are relationships that have gone wrong for valid reasons such as physical or verbal abuse or adultery. In those cases, the marriage is already over, but one or both parties just aren’t ready to admit it yet.

When my sister was struggling with the difficult decision to end her marriage, she went through many stages along the way. At one point, she had finally made up her mind to file for divorce when her husband lost his job. Then he seemed like such a broken man that she just couldn’t bring herself to kick him when he was down – and she also hoped that the experience would change him for the better.

“I’m not backing down,” she explained, “I’m just stepping back.” She needed the assurance in her own mind that she had done everything in her power to make her marriage work. More than anything, she didn’t want to have any regrets.

My skepticism about her husband’s sincerity was reflected in this excerpt from a poem I wrote titled, “Enough is Enough.”

Now it seems you've quit listening to the truth
and started believing his lies;
You turned from the light and shut the door,
because the light was hurting your eyes.

A woman who counsels victims of abuse once told me that periods of indecision shouldn’t be looked at as a step backwards because most women who are involved in abusive relationships attempt to leave several times before they’re ready to leave for good. It’s all part of the process that they have to go through.

Here’s another poem I wrote during that difficult time.

Please Don’t Ask Me

Please don’t ask me to help you stay
because I know too much to pretend,
that everything will be okay.

Never say never, you say,
for people change all the time
But how long will that change last,
when it happens on a dime?

You’ve been down this road so many times before,
he says he’s sorry and hugs you now and then
But it isn’t long before the abuse,
starts all over again.

After the storm passes, he lets down his guard,
and returns to his mean-spirited ways
Then when you put your foot down again,
the change is like night and day.

“I love you, I need you, I can’t live without you,
I’d give you my last drop of blood,” he proclaims.
Then why does he still lie and criticize,
and why does he keep calling you names?

He’s shown his true colors, time and again,
and a tiger can’t change his stripes
What he says and what he does are two different things,
it’s all just a whole lot of hype.

Please don’t be afraid to reach out for help,
for help is all around you
You have family and friends and God above,
and with their love they will surround you.

But please don’t ask me to help you stay,
I know too much to pretend
that everything will be okay.

Written by Eileen Umbehr
October 1, 2001

One day I told my sister that it seemed as if she was watering a dead plant. Her husband had killed their relationship with his verbal and emotional cruelty, as well as with his lies and betrayal. Then she replied that there was actually a dead tomato plant in her garden that she had been watering faithfully. Hope springs eternal, and my sister didn’t want to give up on the plant or the marriage, even though all outward signs indicated that neither one of them were coming back. Despite her optimism and best efforts to revive them, restoration was not to be.

To use another example, one time lightning struck a great, old cedar tree in our front yard. We hated to lose it, so we decided to try to preserve part of it by fashioning a bench out of the wood. We used the stump for one end, and then Keen made another end – placing a bench in the middle between the two. For awhile, we really enjoyed our cedar bench. In fact, it became our favorite spot to pose for pictures. But eventually the wood rotted and we had to haul it off. Sometimes you just have to accept that something (or someone) you loved is gone and there is nothing left to salvage.

"All truth passes through three stages. First, it is ridiculed. Second, it is violently opposed. Third, it is accepted as being self-evident."
~ Arthur Schopenhauer (1788-1860)

Yes, the truth hurts – but ignoring it doesn’t change reality or make it go away. In closing, I’d like to share the words of a song that was recorded by Blackhawk titled, “I Sure Can Smell the Rain.”

She hasn’t done a thing
That really has to mean she’s going anywhere
I haven’t seen it showing in her eyes
But I swear it must be there
I don’t know why I feel it so strong
But I feel it just the same
I can’t see a single storm cloud in the sky
But I sure can smell the rain

She’d still say I love you if I ask
But she never volunteers
Somehow what she never says
Means more than all the other words I hear
Still she should win an Oscar
If she’s lying when she says that nothing’s changed
I can’t see a single storm cloud in the sky
But I sure can smell the rain

Every day I brace myself
To hear the words I’m scared she’s gonna say
And every night I thank the Lord
Somehow I dodged a bullet one more day
Sometimes there are things a man just knows
That he really can’t explain
I can’t see a single storm cloud in the sky
But I sure can smell the rain

I can’t see a single storm cloud in the sky
But I sure can smell the rain

“Therefore each of you must put off falsehood and speak truthfully to his neighbor, for we are all members of one body…”

~ Ephesians 4:25

Telling the Truth

“O Lord, who may abide in Your tent? Who may dwell on Your holy hill? He who walks with integrity, and works righteousness, and speaks truth in his heart."

~ Psalm 15:2,3 (NASB)

“Having the courage to speak your own truth always paves the way for someone else to face their own truth.” ~Oprah Winfrey

One thing I really appreciate about Joyce Meyer is that she’s not afraid to share personal stories about her own shortcomings. For example, she talks about the time she was in McDonald’s and there was only one booth left so she engaged in a foot race with a man who was crippled. “What makes matters worse,” Joyce said, “is that I was right in the middle of teaching a series on walking in love!”

In my own small corner of the world, I am also striving to be real and honest. I have no interest in pretending to be smarter than I am or better than I am. We all struggle with certain aspects of our personality that we would like to change, so I want to embrace that commonality. I can’t help or encourage anyone by purporting to be the perfect wife, the perfect mother, the perfect person or the perfect Christian. After all, there is no perfect human being on the face of this earth; we're all in this together. The only difference is that some people admit their faults and strive to do better each day, and others want to deny that they have any areas of their life that need change or improvement. But nobody grows or learns or reaches their full potential by being in denial.

Having said that, this week I’d like to share a very personal story which illustrates the point I’m trying to make.

A recent conversation/argument at the Umbehr house:

Setting: Eileen is walking on the treadmill in the basement of the Umbehr house while watching TV and listening through a set of headphones. Keen Sr. is studying in his office in the next room.

Enter Stage Left: Keen and Eileen’s two youngest sons, Keen II and Kirk Van, decide it will be funny to catch their father off guard by luring him away from his desk so they can break a clay pigeon over his head. (Don’t worry – it doesn’t hurt; the clay pigeons are as fragile as egg shells.)
Eileen hears Keen shout an expletive and runs into the room to find out what all the commotion is about. Keen Sr. recovers from the shock and joins Keen and Kirk in a round of laughter and high fives. Meanwhile, Eileen is standing in the doorway with her hands on her hips and a look of utter dismay on her face.

One hour later: Keen and Eileen engage in a heated debate over the appropriateness of shouting an expletive loud enough for the neighbors to hear. Keen counters with a complaint about Eileen’s “mothering, disapproving look” while standing in the doorway of his office. Eileen responds by emphatically stating that she most certainly did disapprove of him yelling the expletive at the top of his lungs.

Regrettably, during the process of lecturing Keen about saying the expletive, Eileen manages to repeat the expletive herself several more times throughout the heated exchange.

“But no man can tame the tongue. It is a restless evil, full of deadly poison. With the tongue we praise our Lord and Father, and with it we curse men, who have been made in God's likeness. Out of the same mouth come praise and cursing. My brothers, this should not be.”
~ James 3:8-10

Continued…..

Keen: Do I ever bring up any of your faults…..ever?

Eileen: No, but I wish you would! Because every time I want to talk about something you did, that’s your standard response.

Keen: Well, I’m just not like that. I choose to love you and give you the time and space you need to change.

Eileen: Well, Dr. Phil says you can’t change what you don’t acknowledge - so bring it on!

Fade to black .……

All I can say is….be careful what you ask for.

“If you listen to constructive criticism, you will be at home among the wise. If you reject criticism, you only harm yourself; but if you listen to correction, you grow in understanding."
~ Proverbs 15:31,32 (NLT)

Here’s an excerpt from a poem I wrote for my husband titled, Ode to Keen.

He never chooses to point out my faults,
he acts as if I don’t have any;
and even though I appreciate this,
we both know that I have many.

In twenty years of marital bliss,
not one unkind word has he said;
I only wish that I could say the same,
But Lord, You know I’m the hothead.

As I reflect on the truths about myself that were revealed after I boldly invited Keen to “bring it on,” I realize that the truth really does hurt. But even though Keen obliged me by revealing some painful truths about several of my less-appealing qualities, it doesn’t mean that he was being unkind. Truthful words are not unkind words. They may feel that way to the recipient, but they are not.

“…You took me in and cared for me as though I were an angel from God or even Christ Jesus himself. Where is that joyful spirit we felt together then? In those days, I know you would gladly have taken out your own eyes and given them to me if it had been possible. Have I now become your enemy because I am telling you the truth?”
~ Galatians 4:14b-16 (NLT)

On a recent episode of Joan of Arcadia (which airs Friday nights on CBS), Joan was reluctantly instrumental in exposing a shocking truth about her friend’s mother. As it turns out, the woman was a social worker who had actually kidnapped the girl from an abusive home. Although the woman’s motives were pure, she was still sent to jail.

After the revelation, Joan’s friend became angry and resentful towards her for causing so much pain and disruption in her life. The following dialogue depicts a conversation between Joan and God, who takes the form of ordinary people in the show. This scene took place in the book store where Joan works when she walked into a storage room where God was busy replacing a light bulb.

Joan: Whoa. When did you get here?

God: I’m always here, Joan. Even when you can’t see me.

Joan: Subtle. Why don’t you let me fiddle with the light bulb and you can do your own dirty work?

God: It’s painful, what happened to your friend. It’s very difficult to see something like that.

Joan: Yeah, what did Stevie do anyway to deserve that big lightening bolt from on high?

God: I don’t punish people and I’d never ask you to harm anyone. You know that. What you witnessed was the power of the truth.

Joan: Uh – but isn’t that supposed to set you free – not kick you in the head?

God: The light of the truth can be harsh to those who’ve been in the dark. Could you flip that switch on for me?

Joan: Isn’t it your job to let there be light?

God: It’s everybody’s.

Fade to light…..

“For there is nothing covered that will not be revealed, nor hidden that will not be known. Therefore whatever you have spoken in the dark will be heard in the light, and what you have spoken in the ear in inner rooms will be proclaimed on the housetops.”

~Luke 12:2,3

My Brother, My Friend

“A friend is always loyal, and a brother is born to help in time of need.”
~ Proverbs 17:17(NLT)

Remember how we laughed
Remember how we played
Remember all the lessons
We learned along the way
You were more than my brother,
You were my friend

~ Sound track from The Prince of Egypt


Joe & me

I’d like to dedicate this column to my big brother, Joe, who will be celebrating his 50th birthday on March 3rd.

Joe is the oldest boy in our family of nine, and at one time he was the only boy amongst six sisters. After our brothers Bill & Bob came along, the girl-boy ratio evened out a little more.


Joe surrounded by women (and one lone brother, Bill)

The words to the above song seem to sum it up best; Joe really was more than my brother, he was my buddy. Since I was pretty much of a tomboy when I was growing up, I always wanted to hang out with Joe – and I tried so hard to keep up with him. I remember building these great snow forts in the field across from our house. Then we’d have snowball fights with our other siblings and the kids in the neighborhood. We also played many a game of touch football in that field, and I always wanted to be on Joe’s team. In my mind’s eye, I can still see us all huddled together with Joe giving us the next play. “Okay, Eileen – you’re going to go long, cut right, and then I’ll hit you and you can go in for the touchdown.”

But my all-time favorite activity as a girl was fishing. Since we lived on a lake, many mornings I would wake up before dawn and go out by myself in the canoe. But the biggest thrill of my young life was when Joe and Fr. Hoffman (our family priest) allowed me to tag along with them on real-life fishing excursions to Yellow Lake. In fact, I just saw Fr. Hoffman last summer at my dad’s 80th birthday celebration, and he reminded me of the time I had a whopper on the line and I was screaming at the top of my lungs for Joe or Fr. Hoffman to take my pole, but neither of them would! Let me tell you, I was in seventh heaven on those fishing trips with my big brother.

Throughout our growing up years, Joe and I sat beside each other at the kitchen table and constantly got in trouble for goofing around during supper. Joe would make me laugh and then Dad would yell: “Do you want to laugh yourself up to your room, young lady?” Of course, that made it even harder for me to hold back my laugh!

Joe was a typical brother in every respect. He used to have this wicked flick thing he did with his fingers where he would thump his sisters on the arm, sometimes leaving a welt! He jokingly referred to himself as “My Friend, Flicka,” but the recipients of his “flicks” didn’t think there was anything “friendly” about it!

I remember one time when we drove to Decatur, Illinois to visit our cousins on my mom’s side. Uncle Tom and Aunt Mary Lynch had five children, so we would all pair up with the cousin closest to our age. This particular time, Joe and our cousin Tommy formed their own club, and I desperately wanted to become a member. Even though I was just a skinny ten-year-old girl, I willingly subjected myself to a series of brutal initiation tests in order to prove my toughness; i.e. one of them swung me around in circles like a rag doll and flung me to the ground. I felt like the scarecrow in the Wizard of Oz. “First they took my arm and they threw it over there!” Of course I ended up in tears and loudly protested that they were “too rough!” Nevertheless, they decided that I was worthy of admission to their exclusive club. As I recall, our theme song was: “We’re rough, we’re tough, we’re ready, to freddy…..any time.” (Don’t ask me what it meant.)

To be fair, I wasn’t exactly the model little sister. When I was in the second grade, I had a favorite teacher named Sr. Vivian whom I just idolized. Well, Joe knew exactly how to push my buttons and he used to taunt me by saying that her real name was “Vivian Vulture.” I would get so angry. “She’s not Vivian Vulture! She’s Sister Vivian!” One day I’d had enough of my brother’s appalling attitude toward my saintly sister and so I decided it was time to turn him over to the authorities. Poor Joe. I guess Sister Vivian caught him in the hallway, grabbed him by the ear and gave him a good, stern lecture. I’m not sure if Joe has ever forgiven me for that dastardly deed! But somehow we all managed to survive each other.

After high school, Joe attended St. Louis University and went on to graduate from the University Of Minnesota School Of Medicine. I’ll never forget the time Joe and his new bride, Cindy, called to say that they would be passing through Kansas on their way to Colorado to go “practice hunting.” Keen and I were too embarrassed to admit that we’d never heard of practice hunting. I mean, here in Kansas, most people hunt for real – they don’t just practice. We didn’t understand that they were looking for a place for him to practice medicine. As you can imagine, Joe and Cindy had a full-size belly laugh over that one!

Now Joe is a family practice doctor in Waconia, Minnesota where he and Cindy are raising three beautiful children: Emily, Jenny and Patrick. Joe is such an amazing dad. Even with the demands of his medical practice and community involvement, he’s always made his family a top priority. In fact, Joe has coached his daughters’ basketball teams for years and they’ve gone on to compete and win many tournaments throughout the country. (Kansas State University and several Ivy League schools have even expressed interest in having Jenny play for them.) With parents like Joe and Cindy, I know all three of their kids will go far.

So Happy Birthday, buddy – and thanks for the memories. You’ll always hold a special place in my heart.

Here’s to fifty more!

“With long life will I satisfy him and show him my salvation.”

~ Psalm 91:16

Jenny, Joe, Cindy, Patrick and Emily