Facing Reality

“Besides this you know what a critical hour this is, how it is high time for you to wake up out of your sleep – rouse to reality.”
~ Romans 13:11

Before I begin my article this week, I would like to thank everyone who takes the time to read my stories in The Prairie Post. In the good times and the bad times of my life, this column has been such a therapeutic outlet for me. And a big thanks to Joann Kahnt for making it all possible.

First of all, I want to share our latest baby news! On June 7th at 5:37 p.m., our son Josh and his wife Lisa had a beautiful 8 pound baby girl named Katelyn Seraphina. We feel so blessed to have two grandsons and two granddaughters. As Asher told his Mommy, “Now it’s equal!”

I had the privilege of being in the delivery room (along with Lisa’s mom) when Katelyn was born. Lisa did an amazing job going through eleven hours of labor – all natural! Shortly after Katelyn’s birth, however, we knew that there were problems, and the doctors and nurses asked the grandparents to leave the room. After waiting in the hallway for what seemed like an eternity, Josh came to get us. We soon learned that our new little granddaughter has Down Syndrome. Of course it came as quite a shock to everyone, and there have been many tears shed, but with God’s amazing grace we have accepted the news and are anxious to surround little Katelyn with all the love and nurturing she will need to thrive in this life and reach her highest potential. We fully expect that this one special little girl will add a new dimension to our lives and bring us unimaginable joy. In fact, she already has. Grandpa Keen thinks that she will surprise us all. “We’re going to be an audience to a miracle,” he said.

Mommy Lisa and Baby Katelyn

Daddy Josh and Katelyn Seraphina

It goes without saying that I’ll be writing more about little Katelyn in future columns, but for now I’ll continue where I left off last week when Josh had finally convinced me of the need to have the reexcision done after the lumpectomy. Yes, it was time to face reality, but I still felt terrible about the idea of having to go through surgery all over again. It just seemed like I was in a hole and I was never going to work my way out. So that night while I was lying in bed, I began mulling everything over in my mind. As I reflected on what I went through last year (mammogram, magnification views, biopsy), and what I have gone through this year (mammogram, magnification views, biopsy, wire localization, lumpectomy – to be followed by reexcision and seven weeks of radiation), combined with what I’ll have to go through in future years (all of the above, plus yearly MRI’s, just to keep close surveillance on the situation), I began wondering whether I should consider getting the bilateral mastectomy done after all – even though I didn’t test positive for the abnormal gene. With four out of seven women in my family with breast cancer, there still seems to be something genetic going on. (Dr. Einspahr explained that there are some cancer-causing genes which haven’t been identified yet.)

After considering the pros and cons of a bilateral prophylactic mastectomy, I decided to get up and make a list. The results were extremely persuasive. On the pro side were things like: no need for further mammograms, magnification views, biopsies or lumpectomies, and no need for future radiation or chemotherapy. But the most compelling benefit would be that I can reduce my risk of developing an invasive cancer by 90-95%. In my mother’s case, she had a mastectomy, but it was too late. Although I realize that there are no guarantees in life and I may still have to undergo some measure of monitoring, since the type of cancer I have did not spread, I just feel like I’m in a unique position to obtain the maximum benefit from a bilateral mastectomy by attempting to prevent something invasive before it has a chance to get a foothold.

After I finished compiling my list, I began paging through a resource book titled “Show Me” (published by Penn State Hershey Medical Center). The book contains pictures and personal stories of women who have undergone various breast surgeries followed by breast reconstruction. One of the stories was about a woman who started out with the same thing I have, DCIS. They performed a lumpectomy, but they didn’t achieve clear margins. (Apparently this is quite common with DCIS since it is too small to be seen.) So she had the reexcision done and hoped that would be the end of it. But they still didn’t get clear margins. In fact, that time they found an invasive cancer, so she opted for a mastectomy. Her story really made me think.

The next day Keen and I went on a long walk and I told him what I was thinking. Even though he’s never wanted me to have to go through such a drastic procedure, he heard me out and could understand my point of view. I told him that it would be like having gangrene in your leg. Yes, you may have to lose your leg – and nobody wants to go through that – but the realization that it will ultimately save your life greatly diminishes the emotional impact of the ordeal. I also explained that I didn’t want to have my life hijacked and disrupted every year about this time. The stress, anxiety, and pain I will have to go through year after year (not to mention the time and expense), just to monitor the situation, is too much. In my mind, a double mastectomy provides a long- term solution, as opposed to a short-term solution that only gets me through this year.

Later that day we had a family meeting to discuss my change of heart. Josh, Keen II, and Kirk all understood my reasoning process and agreed with it. (My daughters-in-law, Erin and Lisa, our parents and siblings have been incredibly supportive, too. And Jared even called from overseas to offer his support.) Basically, if I am comfortable with my decision, then my family will support anything I want to do – especially if it will reduce my risk of developing something invasive in the future. I told them that I don’t want to spend my life putting out little fires and hoping that an ember didn’t get missed. I would rather fight one big war than multiple little battles, especially when my chances of success are greater. As Keener pointed out, the seven weeks I would have spent driving back and forth for my daily radiation treatments, I could be spending in recovery.

I have spent a great deal of time researching this issue from every angle and I have spoken with several women who already had this procedure done. In addition, I’ve consulted with a nurse oncologist at Mercy Hospital and several doctors including Dr. Bernita Berntsen, Dr.David Einspahr, Dr. Diana Katt, and my brother, Joe – and they all agreed that a prophylactic mastectomy is a reasonable approach for women like me who are at a higher risk of developing breast cancer. In fact, my brother said that I’m a prime candidate for the procedure, due to the fact that I have already had a form of cancer myself, and I have a strong family history. Apparently, our insurance company recognizes the benefit in prophylactic mastectomies, too, because they informed me that they will pay for the procedure if I have two or more immediate relatives (i.e. mother, sister) who have had unilateral breast cancer. (I have three; four including myself.)

That’s not to say that I haven’t experienced any fear or trepidation about all of this – especially now that they have scheduled a date for my surgery – June 21. I told Keen it feels like I’m walking a plank, and he replied, “It’s not a plank, it’s a bridge.” Even though I have other options, those options only get me through this episode, and I just don’t feel like I can go through all of this year after year. It would destroy my spirit. I don’t like any part of this. I am not a good patient. I hate all the procedures and the anxiety that accompanies them. I don’t like sitting in hospital waiting rooms waiting for the beeper to go off. I do not like it, Sam I Am. I want to live! I have a husband, children, and grandchildren to love; people to help and books to write.

Although I feel comfortable with my decision, there is one obvious aspect that is particularly difficult – losing my breasts. I came into the world with these breasts. I nursed four babies from these breasts. I’d kind of like to keep them. Recently I had a dream/ nightmare where I was introducing myself to someone and I felt like I should announce: “Hi, my name is Eileen. These aren’t my real breasts.” There’s a part of me that wonders if I will still be a real woman if I don’t have real breasts. Dr. Berntsen put it simply this way: “We are not our breasts.” I will be the same Eileen Umbehr I have always been on the inside.

“The Lord does not look at the things man looks at. Man looks at the outward appearance, but the Lord looks at the heart." ~ 1 Samuel 16:7b

And the heart of a person is the important part anyway.

“Do not let your adornment be merely outward--arranging the hair, wearing gold, or putting on fine apparel-- rather let it be the hidden person of the heart, with the incorruptible beauty of a gentle and quiet spirit, which is very precious in the sight of God.”
~ I Peter 3:2-4 (NKJV)

My friend Scott shared an inspiring story about his own mother who made the same decision 20 years ago, and she hasn’t had a recurrence since. He wrote:

You are so very much in my heart and in my prayers--all of you. So much is going on in your world with the decisions you face, your sister’s announcement, the arrival of Emma Eileen, and the upcoming arrival of the new baby. I've known you a long time and one thing I've always been certain of, even when we were scrawny, green little pups at SAS, is that you are a wise woman. You are able to look at all sides of an issue--no matter how unpleasant--and wrestle with it however long it takes until you come to the conclusion that is the wisest and godliest one available to you. Whatever you decide will be the best for everyone concerned--I truly believe that. As your family surrounds you with their loving arms and prayers, know that your old pal Scott is in the circle too.”

“My soul, wait silently for God alone, for my expectation is from Him.” ~Psalm 62:5
Lisa and Eileen ~ Two weeks before Katelyn's birth

That Was Then

"You will forget your misery; you will remember it as waters that have passed away. And your life will be brighter than the noonday; its darkness will be like the morning. And you will have confidence, because there is hope." ~ Job 11:16-18 (RSVB)

In my last update, I shared the good news about our first little granddaughter being born. Emma Eileen is two weeks old now and is doing great. She spent the first week in the hospital while they helped her with some breathing issues, regulated her temperature, and treated her for some jaundice. But she is back home now with her Mom Erin, big brothers, Asher and Gabe (who just adore her), her maternal grandparents (Papa John and Nanny Lu), Aunts Misty and Michelle and lots of cousins and other relatives who love her very much. Unfortunately, Jared is still stationed overseas so he has had to settle for pictures of his new little daughter. Now we are anxiously awaiting the birth of our next grandchild, as Josh and Lisa’s baby is due on June 14th!

Also included in my last update was information about my lumpectomy surgery scheduled for May 24th. As you can see from the following e-mail I sent to family and friends, everything went fairly well:

Hi All -

Just a note to let everyone know that the lumpectomy procedure went well yesterday and I am doing fine. I had one short spell (I think they called it a "vagal response”) where I became lightheaded and felt hot and my heart rate dropped to 38. On the way home, I was nauseated and vomiting, but the doctor prescribed some medication and I was able to eat a regular meal later in the day. I slept well last night and feel only minimal pain this morning. I'll see the doctor again next Friday to find out when we will start radiation. It usually starts four weeks after surgery.

Thanks to everyone for all the prayers! God's grace definitely saw me through.

Love to all, Eileen

Well . . . that was then . . . .

Two days later I contacted the surgeon’s office to see if the pathology report had arrived yet. A couple of hours later Dr. Berntsen called to deliver some “good news and bad news.” The good news was that they did not find any invasive cancer cells – they only discovered additional DCIS cells, which was what they had expected. The bad news was that they did not get a large enough margin around the involved area. All the margins were clear, but in two out of the three they only got 1 ml. instead of the standard 2 ml. Dr. Berntsen explained that the remedy for this problem was to “simply” go back in to get the additional tissue (also known as a re-excision). The last thing I wanted to do was to go back under the knife again! I asked her if there were any other options available and she replied that the 2 ml. margin was the “gold standard.” However, she did agree to consider the possibility of letting the radiation pick up any cells that might have been left behind. Of course, that was music to my ears.

But that was then . . . .

The very next day I received a call from one of my sisters. After we talked about my surgery, she said, “Do you remember how I told you that I was with you, sister? Well, I meant that in more ways than one.” Then she asked, “Are you sitting down?” She told me that three weeks earlier she was diagnosed with another form of breast cancer known as Invasive Lobular Carcinoma (ILC). It is a form of cancer that is difficult to identify on a mammogram. Consequently, it went undetected for at least a year, resulting in the development of one very large tumor and another smaller one. I couldn’t believe what I was hearing. It seemed surreal to learn that this dreaded disease had attacked yet another member of our family. But my sister is a woman of faith, and she is drawing strength and comfort from the knowledge that God is sovereign and He loves her.

“'For I know the plans that I have for you,' declares the Lord, 'plans for welfare and not for calamity to give you a future and a hope. '” ~ Jeremiah 29:11 (NASB)

Although I realized that my sister’s history was now my history and that her diagnosis had implications for me as well, it still didn’t change my mind about not doing the re-excision.

But that was then . . . .

That evening I received another telephone call; this time it was from our son, Josh, who is a 3rd year medical student at KU. Josh was inquiring about what decision I had made regarding the second surgery. I told him that I didn’t want to do it because I was looking at a three inch gash in my breast and the thought of having it cut back open again did not appeal to me in the least. I also explained that I felt comfortable with the 1 mm margin because the margin was clear and it was 50% of what they wanted to get. In my way of thinking, since the tissue closest to the involved area was clear, then chances are the tissue on the other side of it would be clear, too. Besides, DCIS is considered Stage 0 or pre-cancer. At that point in the conversation, Josh proceeded to give me an old fashioned “butt-chewing.” (The kind I used to give him when he left his wet towels on the floor.) He said, “You’re lying to yourself, Mom. You’re lying to yourself.” He said he just emailed me some information which showed that statistically the number one risk factor for recurrence was the failure to achieve a full 2 mm. margin, and anything less than that was “sub-par care.” By then I was crying because I just did not want to have to undergo another surgery. But Josh was unaffected. “Your tears mean nothing to me right now, Mom. I’ll hold your hand and cry with you later if you want me to, and there are medications they can give you to help ease your anxiety. But to allow those fears to keep you from making the right decision is just plain foolish!” He said that statistically 1 in 7 women will get breast cancer, but we have 4 women out of 7 who have developed it in our family. “That’s huge, Mom,” Josh exclaimed. “This is serious. It’s nothing to mess around with!” Finally I agreed to “think about it.” Josh replied, “Then I’ve failed. I’ve failed.” He simply would not take no for an answer. By the end of the conversation I was convinced. “I’ll probably do it,” I said through my tears.

Josh’s voice immediately softened. “Okay, Mom. I’m sorry I yelled at you. I love you, Mom.”

“I love you, too, Josh.”

To be continued . . . .

Josh & me on his 25th birthday, April 15, 2006

Reflections of My Mother

Note: I wanted to give you all a brief update. The results from the genetic test are going to take longer than we originally thought. In fact they won’t be available until the middle of May. So I’ve decided to take a trip to Mississippi to help Erin with the boys since her doctor has put her on total bed rest. She isn’t due until the end of June, but she has been experiencing various signs of early labor. So I’m going to do my part to make sure our little granddaughter stays put until it’s safe to come out. Besides enjoying my time with Erin, Asher and Gabe, it will help me keep my mind off things until the test results are released. After that, it will be decision time for us. The oncologist we visited with, Dr. David Einspahr, was very kind and helpful. He wants to visit with us again after I return from my trip. Meanwhile, Dr. Berntsen recommended that I have a colonoscopy done, so I bit the bullet and took care of that last week. Thank God, the results came back fine.

With Mother’s Day coming up, I’ve decided to share something I wrote shortly after my mother, Peggy Van Kirk, passed away from breast cancer in 1989. Some of you may have already read this. If so, I hope that you will enjoy reading it again. Happy Mother’s Day and God’s blessings to each of you! ~ Eileen

The Van Kirk Family, 1960 (Before youngest brother Bob was born.)

“Honor thy father and thy mother: that thy days may be long upon the land which the Lord thy God giveth thee.” ~ Exodus 20:12 (KJV)

On Sunday, May 7, 1989, exactly one week before Mother’s Day, my own mother passed away. I don’t know that this will interest anyone, but I somehow feel the need to write down my thoughts and share them with someone. I hope you don’t mind.

My mother was born on November 25, 1925. When she was two and a half years old her father died. She had one younger sister, Mary, who was six months old at the time. My grandmother could have married again, but she always said there was no one for her but her Bill. So she never did. Much of my mom’s growing up years were spent at the home of my grandmother. She had several brothers and sisters who all helped take care of them.

My mom met my dad while she was attending nursing school. Both of their moms were friends. So when my dad got stood up by his date for a night at the Ice Capades, his mother called mom’s mother. She asked whether her Peggy would like to go out with her Joe. Mom agreed. Dad says that he knew the moment he helped her with her coat that night that she was the girl he would one day marry. He was right. They were married on June 19, 1948. Last summer they celebrated their fortieth wedding anniversary by returning to the place of their honeymoon in Vermont. It was something they always wanted to do. I’m so glad they did.

My mom and dad always wanted a large family and have one they did. It started out with a daughter, Peggy, named for my mom, followed by Patricia, named for my mom’s Uncle Pat who had been a father figure for her all her life. Then came Connie and I’m not sure who she was named for. While in the hospital after Connie was born, Mom told my dad, “Joe, I had a dream last night. I dreamt I had six little girls. They were all dressed alike, standing in a row.” That dream eventually came true. After Connie came Joanne and then their firstborn son, named Joseph Edward Van Kirk, Jr. After Joe came my sister Mary, who was named for Mom’s only sister. Then I came along. Mom said I was named after her best friend from nursing school. My brother Bill (William Augusta) followed just sixteen months later. He was named after our maternal and paternal grandfathers. Last, but not least, was my brother Bob (Robert Alois) who was named after two lifelong friends of the family.

My dad worked for the 3M Company and was transferred around quite a bit. They moved about fourteen times in their married life, usually to different states and once overseas to Singapore. Until their last move to Florida, they always had several kids in tow. I don’t know how she did it.

My mom worked so hard. She was such a loving wife and mother. I can remember coming down for breakfast on school mornings and finding a long line of bowls with soft boiled eggs and toast in them. Those who ran late had hard boiled eggs. Then when we were all dressed and ready for school we’d come down and find a row of brown sack lunches waiting for us.

Mom always made holidays special. On our birthday we got a day off from doing household chores and received several gifts. We also got to choose the kind of cake we wanted. I always chose angel food. Every year on Thanksgiving we had the traditional turkey feast with all the trimmings. On Easter Mom would make up individual Easter baskets for all of us and hide them around the house. What fun! Even on Valentine’s Day she would give each of us a card and a small gift chosen especially for us. But the biggest holiday of all at our house was Christmas. Each year they’d take home movies of all the kids in their pajamas, lined in a row from oldest to youngest. Mom made us all big red stockings with our names on them and these were hung along the fireplace. When my sister Connie was old enough, she would dress up as Santa and come around the house from the outside, surprising the younger ones to no end. We never noticed that she was missing from the crowd and we never recognized her! We all took turns on Santa’s lap, telling him what we wanted for Christmas. On Christmas morning we would all rush down the stairs to find a living room full of presents. We would scurry around trying to find our own individual pile. I know how much effort it takes to shop for that many people and then wrap all those presents. Again, I find myself wondering how she did it.

In 1982, my mom was diagnosed with breast cancer. They did a mastectomy but found the cancer had already spread. The past seven years she has undergone many different types of chemotherapy. She lost her hair and was very sick from the treatment much of the time. She did manage to have some good years, though. It was like a yo-yo. She fought so hard to live and enjoy life and she never complained. Last month her doctor said that she was a master at masking the pain. Even when she smiled and seemed well we can only wonder how much pain she was actually in.

My mom always thought of others. She really started going downhill this past March and on March 7 she entered the hospital. She was in and out for the next six weeks but mostly in. When she was home, though, she found the energy to shop for a gift for her daughter-in-law because the blouse she’d sent her for Christmas hadn’t fit. Then she insisted on shopping for shirts for two of my sisters who both had upcoming birthdays. My sister Joanne was there at the time. She said that Mom was actually shaking but she was determined to wrap each present individually. She also included a gift for me and one for her new little grandson, Kirk Van. From the hospital she wrote Keen and me a letter thanking us for some flowers we had sent. Her handwriting was not good. You could tell it took a great deal of effort for her to write it. I think she knew it might be the last time she wrote for she closed it by saying, “Take care, dear children. I love you. Mom.” I cry every time I read it. She also wrote one to Jared, Josh and Keen II, thanking them for the cards they made for her. She wrote, “I will try to draw a picture of the hospital, although I am not as good as you.” I will also enclose lots of kisses and hugs….you know I love you.” I cry when I read that, too.

Mom grew progressively worse in April, but one day in there she felt well enough to talk. Dad called me and said, “There’s someone here who wants to talk to you.” Our new son, Kirk, was only ten days old. Mom wanted to ask me about him. We had always shared the births of my babies and she hadn’t wanted to miss out on that. Her voice was weak and shaky but she asked, “Is he a good baby? Does he sleep good at night? How are you feeling? Are you getting your strength back?” All those mother-daughter things. When we were finished talking, something welled up inside me. It was like deep down inside I knew that this might be the last time I ever talked with my mom. So before we hung up I cried and said, “I love you with all my heart, Mom.” As it turned out, those were the last words I ever said to her.

During the last two or three weeks of Mom’s life she was on morphine constantly for the pain. She slept most of the time, but when she woke up enough to say something, it was always something loving and sweet. She was herself to the end. One time she actually sat up in her bed, clenched her fists and said, “I want all the people of the whole world to know that I have the greatest husband in the whole world!” One or more of my brothers and sisters were with her all the time. Of course my dad was with her from morning to night every day. They cherished every word she uttered and even wrote them down so we could all share them. My youngest brother Bob took it especially hard. He was just sobbing and sobbing by her bedside. Her protective mothering instincts were still an active part of her. After seeing how hard it was on him, she became adamant about him leaving. “Go home! Get out of here! Enough! Enough of this! I don’t want you to see me like this!” She was actually yelling. She was trying to protect him from the pain. Later, she held Bob’s hand and said, “I will show you by the strength of my hand that I want you out of here.” She squeezed as hard as she could, showing amazing strength. When my sister Mary told her that they wanted to be with her, she sighed and said, “Oh, boy.” Later Mary said, “Mom, we owe you so much. How do you repay someone for a lifetime of love?” In a weak voice, Mom replied, “You don’t owe me anything.” Another time she softly said, “We’ll be together forever.” I hope that’s true. She uttered words of love and caring whenever she spoke saying things like, “You’re beautiful; I’ve always loved you; you’ll be fine.” Once she kept repeating the word love, love, love. So 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 said, “Always stay together….all nine.”

Before Mom passed away Mary was crying and hugging her. With her face so close to Mom’s she was able to hear the words she whispered ever so softly, “Don’t cry.”

I’m going to miss my mom so much. Right after I received the news of her death I can remember looking around outside and thinking to myself, “The whole world looks different without a mother.”

It will never be the same without Mom. I’ll never be the same. Our eight-year-old son, Josh summed it up best with a note he wrote. It read, “I love you Grandma. I wish you didn’t have to die.”

The Van Kirk Family, 1979

The Road Never Traveled

“Fear not, (there is nothing to fear) for I am with you; do not look around you in terror and be dismayed, for I am your God. I will strengthen and harden you (to difficulties); yes, I will help you . . . When you pass through the waters I will be with you; and through the rivers, they shall not overwhelm you; when you walk through fire you shall not be burned, and the flame shall not consume you. For I am the Lord your God . . .” ~ Isaiah 41:10; 43:2,3a

I’m not quite sure where to begin, except to say that this past month has been a difficult one, to say the least. For that reason, I’m going to have to take a break from writing my column for awhile.

As you know, I took a trip to Mississippi in February to visit our oldest son Jared, his wife, Erin, and our two grandsons, Asher and Gabe. The night before my arrival, Jared learned that he would be deployed overseas for an undetermined length of time. (He just left last week.) Then Erin started having some premature contractions and had to be admitted to the hospital. Thankfully, she is doing fine now, but I had hoped to go down to help her for several weeks if necessary. Then life threw me a curve ball.

In mid-March, I went in for my yearly mammogram, which I’m faithful to get because my mother died from breast cancer and my late sister Patricia was diagnosed with it at the age of 38. The test results showed some signs of microcalcifications, which are tiny flecks of calcium – like grains of salt – which can either be non-cancerous or an indication of an early breast cancer.

The next step was to have magnification views taken of that specific area. The radiologist who read my films said that the results were “indeterminate.” In other words, he couldn’t really tell if it was something, and he really couldn’t say that it wasn’t. So he recommended a biopsy.

Keen and I arrived at St. Francis Hospital for the biopsy on Thursday, March 23, which was the one year anniversary of my sister Patricia’s death. Not a good day.

The doctor removed eleven samples during the procedure, and the following Monday I received a call from my doctor’s office saying that two of the eleven samples revealed the presence of “ductal carcinoma in situ” (DCIS). Our son Josh (a third-year medical student at KU), immediately began researching this type of cancer and learned that DCIS is the most common form of non-invasive breast cancer in women. Ductal carcinoma refers to the development of cancer cells within the milk ducts of the breast, and in situ means “in place,” referring to the fact that the cancer has not moved out of the duct into any surrounding tissue. (Thank God.)

One of the internet links Josh sent me was www.breastcancer.org, where they answered the question about whether DCIS is really cancer:

We generally think of cancer as a type of disease that grows out of control. DCIS, on the other hand, is not an invasive cancer. It stays inside the milk duct of the breast in which it started. . . .it does not spread outside the duct into the normal surrounding breast tissue, to the lymph nodes, or to other organs. In the staging system that doctors use to classify cancer, DCIS is known as Stage 0. And it is sometimes called "pre-cancer."

So that’s the good news within the bad news. I’m sure you can imagine how relieved I am to know that we caught it at this stage before it spread to any other part of my body.

Whenever one of my kids or friends have gone through trying times, I’ve always encouraged them to focus on the positive aspects of the situation rather than the negative, because focusing on the negative only brings you down and destroys your spirit. So now I guess it’s my turn to practice what I preach.

“Summing it all up, friends, I’d say you’ll do best by filling your minds and meditating on . . . the best, not the worst; the beautiful, not the ugly; things to praise, not things to curse. Put into practice what you learned. . . .” ~ Philippians 4:8 (The Message Bible)

That’s not to say that fear has not reared its ugly head a time or two this past couple of weeks, or that I have not shed my share of tears. Someone commented about how it must be hard for me not to think about what happened to my mother. But my situation is very different from my mother’s. By the time they discovered her breast cancer it had already spread to the lymph nodes. Although she took all the treatments and fought it bravely for seven years, it eventually took her life at the age of 62. But in my case, it was discovered before it had spread to any other part of my body. Therefore, the doctors have said that my prognosis is very good – and for that, I am extremely grateful.

“Why are you downcast, O my soul? Why so disturbed within me? Put your hope in God, for I will yet praise him, my Savior and my God.”
~ Psalms 43: 5

Our next step was an appointment with Dr. Bernita Berntsen, a surgeon from Topeka. I was blessed to have plenty of family support from my husband Keen, our sons Josh & Keen II, and Josh’s wife, Lisa. We all agreed that Dr. Berntsen was just wonderful. She spent at least 45 minutes with us interpreting the pathologist’s report and explaining all of the options. Her first recommendation was for me to have my blood drawn and sent to a company in Utah which conducts a test for hereditary risk of breast and ovarian cancer known as a BRAC Analysis (www.myriad.com). With the history of cancer in my family (my father also had two bouts with cancer), combined with the fact that my sister was diagnosed before the age of 40 and I am under 50, Dr. Berntsen felt it would be worthwhile information for us to have, and it will help us determine the best course of treatment. If the test comes back positive, showing that I have a genetic abnormality or mutation, then my risk of developing breast cancer sometime in the future increases to 56% to 86%; and my risk for ovarian cancer increases to 27% - 44%. In that case, the doctor would recommend a double mastectomy and the removal of my ovaries. However, if the test comes back negative, then I can opt for a less drastic and less invasive form of treatment which would involve removing the breast tissue around the affected area (also known as a lumpectomy), followed by seven weeks of radiation treatment. Either way, I am looking at a challenging couple of months, which is why I need to take some time off from writing my weekly column. I also hope to spend some of this time researching the various options for getting my book published, now that the manuscript has been revised and is completed.

The other day I came across this verse from II Corinthians 12:9:

He said to me, “My grace is sufficient for you, for my power is made perfect in weakness.” Therefore, I will boast all the more gladly about my weaknesses, so that Christ’s power may rest on me.”

That’s what I’m clinging to and counting on – that God is faithful and His grace will be sufficient for me, regardless of what road I may have to travel in the future. In addition, it is my sincerest hope and prayer that something positive will come out of this negative situation, and that perhaps my experience will serve as a wake-up call to other women who have been procrastinating about getting a mammogram. Even though it can be frightening, (and no one relishes the thought of having their breast squished between two flat surfaces) – early detection is the key. It’s like my son Jared said, “It’s not the cancer that kills you; it’s the spread of cancer.” In fact, the microcalcifications found in my breast could not have been detected by a simple exam. So this is one situation where "what you don’t know can hurt you."

Of course Keen has been incredibly loving and supportive throughout this whole ordeal. He even brought me a dozen white roses the day I received the results of the biopsy. But something he shared with me has really helped me through some rough spots. He said that our situation reminded him of the story about when the disciples were in the boat with Jesus during a terrible storm. The winds were blowing and the waves were getting higher and higher. All the while, Jesus was sleeping peacefully. Finally the panicky disciples woke Him up and said, “Lord, save us, we are perishing!” And Jesus replied, “Oh ye men of little faith.” Then He rebuked the winds and the sea, and there was “a great calm.” The disciples remarked to each other: “What manner of man is this, that even the winds and the sea obey him?” Keen compared that to what we are going through. The waves are beating against our boat and the winds are blowing fiercely, but Jesus is in our boat, and He has everything under control. He has promised never to leave us or forsake us. So our level of peace during this difficult time is dependent upon our level of faith. Do we really trust God to take us safely to the other side?

“Do not pray for easy lives; pray to be stronger men. Do not pray for tasks equal to your powers; pray for powers equal to your tasks. Then the doing of your work shall be no miracle, but you yourself shall be a miracle. Every day you shall wonder at yourself, at the richness of life which has come to you by the grace of God.” ~ Phillips Brooks

After I learned that Jared was going to be deployed, I was reading through Asher’s little Bible (which Rocky, their Labrador, chewed into a million pieces the very next day), and I came across the following verse:

“No one knows what lies ahead. So who can tell what’s going to happen? He can’t stop the wind from blowing. And he doesn’t have the power to decide when he will die. No one is let out of the army in times of war.” ~ Ecclesiastes 8:7-8a (NIRV)

As much as we would like to think that we can control the outcome of our lives, or that we can protect ourselves or our children from all harm, we really can’t. No one knows the future except God. Our part is simply to trust. Trust in His wisdom. Trust in His mercy. Trust in His love.

“One of the ways that our faith expresses itself is by our ability to be still, to be present, and not to panic or lose perspective. God still does his best work in the most difficult of circumstances.” ~ Tim Hansel

There is a very special poem called The Rosebud (author unknown), that talks about how we humans cannot unfold a rosebud, no matter how hard we try. It is something that happens in its own time, and in its own miraculous way.
Photograph by Patricia Van Kirk

The poem reads in part:

If I cannot unfold a rosebud,
This flower of God's design,
Then how can I have the wisdom
To unfold this life of mine
So I'll trust in God for leading
Each moment of my day.
I will look to Him for guidance
Each step along the way
The path that lies before me,
Only my Lord knows.
So I'll trust Him to unfold the moments,
Just as He unfolds the rose.

“Would you question Me of things to come concerning my children?”
~ Isaiah 45:11b (Amp)

Before I close, I would like to thank my family and friends for their love, support and prayers. I would also like to thank Joann Kahnt for graciously allowing me to share the journey of my life for the past three years. Thank you for your understanding, Joann, and for assuring me that you will welcome me back whenever I am ready to start writing again – even if it is only once a month. My heartfelt thanks also go out to you, my readers, because without you, I would be talking to myself – and Heaven knows, I already do enough of that!

Lastly, I would like to share the following poem I wrote several years ago during another difficult period in our life:

IN THE STILL OF THE NIGHT
By Eileen Umbehr

I sit here, Lord, with my paper and pen
Wondering why, wondering when
My heart seems to beat out of my chest
Help me, Lord, to enter Your rest.

So many questions, so few answers
Fear runs rampant, like a dreaded cancer.
I feel so alone, in the still of the night,
How do I overcome this unbearable fright?

Night after night, I lose hours of sleep
Unable to trust in the Shepherd of the sheep
But I cannot run, neither can I hide
So I will face the future, with God by my side.

For life, though a struggle,
is a gift nonetheless
We must keep the faith
until we pass the test.

“Do you not know? Have you not heard? The Lord is the everlasting God, the Creator of the ends of the earth. He will not grow tired or weary, and His understanding no one can fathom. He gives strength to the weary and increases the power of the weak. Even youths grow tired and weary, and young men stumble and fall; but those who hope in the Lord will renew their strength. They will soar on wings like eagles; they will run and not grow weary, they will walk and not be faint.” ~ Isaiah 40:28-31

On the Wings of Love

"Let no one despise or think less of you because of your youth, but be an example (pattern) for the believers, in speech, in conduct, in love, in faith and in purity."~ I Timothy 4:12

“Do you know that your soul is of my soul such a part, that you seem to be fiber and core of my heart?” ~ Excerpt from “To My Son” by Margaret Johnstone Grafin

Time got away from me this week, but I wanted to share a collection of poems in honor of our youngest son, Kirk Van, who will be turning 17 on April 2nd.

I remember the day we brought my little namesake home from the hospital (my former last name was Van Kirk, so we just reversed the order). It was Election Day that year and Keen was running for a seat on the local school board as well as the Alma City Council. With our newborn son in tow, and my hospital band still on my wrist, we drove straight to the voting center to cast our votes. Keen joked that he would get elected even if he had to raise the voters himself! (He did win both races.)


I have often said that Kirk Van was born responsible. All his life, I never had to prod him to do anything, from making his bed to doing his homework – he’s always just known what he needed to do and done it. As his principal said to me recently, “Kirk really steps up to the plate and takes care of business.” In fact he just earned straight A’s on his report card – and he’s taking some challenging courses such as Chemistry, Advanced American Literature and Algebra II. On top of that, he played on the basketball team, joined a paintball club, and just got a job as the youngest disc jockey ever hired by Complete Music in Manhattan. Kirk is, and always has been, beyond his years.

In Catherine Marshall’s book, “To Live Again,” she writes about the loss of her husband Peter, and the difficult process of letting go of her son, Peter, who attended a prep school in another state. She wrote: “…as love is progressively purified, possessiveness is dropped out. The deeper and truer the love, the more completely it releases the beloved. . . .As my child was growing up, I saw an analogy in my love for him. The highest function of my mother love would be fulfilled when my love was strong enough to cut the apron strings and let my . . . child move off into his own life. I would succeed as a mother only when I had so reared my child that he would no longer have need of me. Yet this is not tragedy; it is growth. This is no betrayal of love. This is love.”

Not too long ago I saw a television story on 20/20 about mothers who were still calling their kids in college to wake them up for class. One mother said it usually took four telephone calls before her daughter would finally get up for good. An expert on the show commented that while the mother feels like she’s doing the right thing, she’s actually doing the opposite, because she is unintentionally sending a message to her child that: “I don’t think you’re capable of managing your own life, so I will do it for you.”

"Spoon feeding, in the long run, teaches us nothing but the shape of the spoon." ~ E. M. Forster

This is a poem I wrote for Josh after he transferred to Manhattan High in 1997 during his junior year in high school:

Roots and Wings
By Eileen Umbehr

Some people say,
There are only two things,
That you can give your children,
One is roots; the other, wings.

They'll have their share of ups and downs,
At times the skies will be bleak,
But we must allow them to spread their wings,
Even if they bump their beaks!

It's hard to know when to let them go,
Some are ready sooner than others,
But no matter when that time comes,
It’s always hard on their mothers!

But deep down in our heart of hearts,
We have always known,
We can't keep them with us forever,
One day they will be on their own.

And we really wouldn't want it,
Any other way,
We have to allow them to fly and be free,
Even though we wish they could stay.

So we'll raise our children
With faith, hope and love,
And a prayer that God will watch over them
From Heaven up above.

Then when the time arrives,
For them to leave the nest,
We’ll wave good-bye with a tear in our eye,
Knowing that we've been blessed.

“A ship in harbor is safe, but that is not what ships are built for.”
~ William Shedd

This next poem was written for Kirk when he was just six months old:


For Kirk
With love from Mom

You are the youngest of our four sons
Our pride and joy, our precious one

You were sent to us from God above
To fill our hearts and home with love

Although having a girl
Would be a dream come true
That doesn’t mean
We regret having you

Just one look
at your smiling face
And we forget all about
those ruffles and lace

Loving you, holding you
Makes our heart sing
Kirk, we wouldn’t trade you
For anything!


And this is the latest poem I wrote for Kirk Van:

On the Wings of Love
(For Kirk)

My child, fly free
With the wind on your face
In this brave new world
To discover your place

We’ve tried to prepare you
The best that we can
By teaching the importance
Of holding God’s hand

There will be challenges, obstacles
And goals to pursue
But with the Lord as your Shepherd
You’ll always know what to do.

Don’t follow the crowd
Instead, follow your heart
Even though that might mean
That you’ll be set apart

For your future is bright
Young son number four
Just stay on the narrow path
And discover all God has in store

We know that you’ll go far
With help from up above
Just remember that you’re flying
On the wings of love.

You're gonna fly with every dream you chase
You're gonna cry, but know that that's okay
Sometimes life's not fair, but if you hang in there
You're gonna see, that sometimes bad is good
We just have to believe, things work out like they should
Life has no guarantees, but always loved by me
You're gonna be

~ You’re Gonna Be ~ recorded by Reba McEntire

Life After Patricia

“... the time of my spirit’s release from the body is at hand and I will soon go free.” ~ II Timothy 4:6b (Amp)


But when I get where I'm going
And I see my Maker's face
I'll stand forever in the light
Of His amazing grace
Yeah when I get where I'm going
There'll be only happy tears
I will love and have no fear
When I get where I'm going

~ When I Get Where I’m Going – recorded by Dolly Parton and Brad Paisley

It’s hard to believe, but March 23rd will mark the one year anniversary of my sister Patricia’s death. I must admit that I’ve been dreading writing this column. I just don’t want to feel so sad, because that’s not what Patricia was about, and that’s not the way she would want the rest of us to feel after her passing.

In some ways it is still such a shock. One minute Patricia was frolicking on the beach, dodging Diana’s video camera, joking about only taking pictures of her from the “eyes up,” playing in the water with Caroline and Bev, watching the jet skis go by and talking about the time her crazy brother-in-law Keen let their niece Emily take him for a ride on the jet ski after Emily’s parents had strictly forbidden her to, and laughing about how Keen fell off and Emily didn’t realize it until she drove by the boat that picked him up and saw him waving at her.

One of the last things Patricia said before she was stricken with a brain aneurism was: “Every time I get in the water, it makes me feel like a kid all over again!” Some have said it was the perfect way to die – doing something you love with the people you love, right up until the very last minute. When I think about how our mother battled cancer for seven long years, I honestly don’t know which is worse – losing someone you love suddenly, without warning, or watching them suffer over a long period of time.

Two months before Patricia died, I had to have a suspicious lump removed from my left breast and I decided not to tell everyone because I didn’t want them to worry needlessly. But Patricia called me that day – right out of the blue. She said she’d been thinking about me and just wondered how I was doing. You see, Patricia was a breast cancer survivor herself, having been diagnosed at the age of thirty-eight. After going through all the treatments, she went into remission and had been cancer-free ever since. So when she called that day, I couldn’t keep my secret in, because I knew if anyone would understand the fear that gripped my heart, she would. And she did. After I received the results that the lump was benign, Patricia was one of the first people I called with the good news. I told her how the experience really put things in perspective for me and made me appreciate my life so much more. I will never forget Patricia’s reply. “I guess I’ve always assumed that I would die young,” she said. Taken aback, I replied, “Oh Patricia! Why would you say such a terrible thing?” She explained that since she had breast cancer and also had several skin cancers removed, she always just felt that her life would be short. When she passed away two months later, her words echoed eerily in my mind.

Over time, however, I have come to see Patricia’s premonition as a positive thing. Perhaps that is why she had such a genuine zest for life. Perhaps that is why she would drag Nikki out at 5:00 in the morning to go bird watching. Or why they bought a second place known as Periwinkle where they loved to relax and walk on the beach. Perhaps that is why she took trips and traveled when most of us only talk about it. Perhaps that is why she celebrated life the way she did. Perhaps she truly, truly understood, as Robert Louis Stevenson once said: “The best things are nearest: breath in your nostrils, light in your eyes, flowers at your feet, duties at your hand, the path of God just before you.” Perhaps that is why she loved to capture so much of the beauty in the world around her. Perhaps ... she just knew.

I would like to dedicate this column and short poem to Patricia’s partner and our other sister, Nikki.

You have been brave
You have been strong
You’ve found a way to laugh again
You’ve learned to carry on
Your circle is wide
And their love is deep
We’ll be here for you always
Please do not weep.

I love you, Nikki. Shine on.

Nikki & Eileen after Celebration of Life for Patricia on Whidbey Island, March, 2005

Nikki shining on, 2006

I’m already there
Take a look around
I’m the sunshine in your hair
I’m the shadow on the ground
I’m the whisper in the wind
I’m your imaginary friend
And I know I’m in your prayers
Oh, I’m already there

~ I’m Already There – recorded by Lonestar
Eagle above and sunrise below photographed by Patricia

Silencing Hate

“If someone says, ‘I love God,’ and hates his brother, he is a liar; for he who does not love his brother whom he has seen, how can he love God whom he has not seen?” ~ I John 4:20,21 (NKJV)

“Hate destroys the vessel it’s kept in.”
~ Author Unknown

When I see the so-called “Reverend” Fred Phelps of Topeka, Kansas, and his band of followers picketing the funerals of soldiers and/or gay men across this country (all in the name of God), I become enraged. This man is hate personified.

The Phelps clan recently traveled to Dodge City, Kansas, to wreak havoc on the funeral of Army Sgt. Jesse Davila who was tragically killed by a suicide bomber in Iraq on February 20, 2006. Holding signs saying “God Hates Your Tears” and “Thank God for Dead Soldiers,” the Phelpses promoted their hate-filled message while the family and friends of Sgt. Davila gathered to mourn his loss.

Although Keen and I are firm believers in freedom of speech, we also recognize that it is a double-edged sword. The same freedoms that give us the right to speak out against the picketers, also give them the right to espouse their despicable views. We cannot decide which views will be tolerated and which will not, because this great country we live in is not only free, it is diverse. There are Christians and atheists; those who support the war and those who oppose it. There are individuals who staunchly lobby for abortion rights at all stages of pregnancy, and those who seek to ban it all together. There are those who believe in equality for all, and those who express extreme hatred toward various minority groups. But the fact remains that we are all Americans, and as such we possess certain inalienable rights – first and foremost, the right to vigorously support the views we hold dear.

In spite of the fact that I cherish freedom and wholeheartedly believe all of the above to be true, I still find myself wondering if there couldn’t be some exception made for people like the Phelpses. In fact, last year when I read that the Phelpses planned to rent advertising space at the newly-constructed Hummer Sports Park in Topeka, I placed a call to Paul McMasters, the First Amendment ombudsman for The Freedom Forum (www.freedomforum.org). After explaining how hateful the Phelps's messages were, Mr. McMasters responded by saying that the answer to offensive speech is more speech – not less speech. In other words, we have to fight speech with speech. He went on to say that people such as the Phelpses are like schoolyard bullies who get away with hurtful tactics because nobody has the courage to stand up to them.

Well, that was not exactly what I wanted to hear; it’s not exactly what any of us want to hear, because it requires something from us,and we just want it to stop - we don’t want to have to get involved. Although I believe most Kansans are embarrassed by the Phelps’ family and their abhorrent conduct, we feel helpless to do anything about it. The protesters and their gaudy neon signs are everywhere – and they seem to have a boundless amount of energy for picketing any time, any place, in any kind of weather. Although they claim to be Christians, the Phelps family members have been known to hurl vile, disgusting insults at anyone who dares to confront them.

In a March 7, 2006, article about the Phelps’s decision to picket Sgt. Davila’s funeral (published on CNN's web site), CNN reporter Ed Lavandera quoted family patriarch Fred Phelps as saying: “You can’t preach the Bible without preaching the hatred of God.”

He couldn’t be more off-base.

"Woe to you, scribes and Pharisees, hypocrites! For you travel land and sea to win one proselyte, and when he is won, you make him twice as much a son of hell as yourselves. . . Woe to you, scribes and Pharisees, hypocrites! For you . . . have neglected the weightier matters of the law: justice and mercy and faith. These you ought to have done, without leaving the others undone. Blind guides, who strain out a gnat and swallow a camel!"
~ Matthew 23:15, 23,24 (RSV)

Shockingly, Mr. Phelps was also quoted as saying: “Every time a soldier gets blown to smithereens, we rejoice.”

How sick is that?

Getting back to what Paul McMasters said about answering speech with speech, there is a valiant group of volunteer motorcyclists known as the “Patriot Guard Riders” who have undertaken the task of doing just that. About 400 riders gathered in Dodge City last Saturday to line the streets and block the protesters – drowning out their hateful chants during the funeral procession.

The article further reported that Sgt. Davila’s mother, Linda Claus, was very grateful to the Patriot Guard Riders. "When people begin to know what they're (Fred Phelps's family) really doing -- killing the American Dream -- they won't be around very long, because nobody's going to let them. They'll drown them out. They'll be gone." Claus said.

Famed African-American photographer Gordon Parks, who sadly passed away last week, left an inspirational legacy for us all. A recent tribute published in The Manhattan Mercury reported that when Mr. Parks was once asked what propelled his life and work, he replied, “I wouldn’t let bigotry stand in my way.”

By the grace of God, neither will I. Neither should any of us.

“And this commandment we have from Him: that he who loves God must love his brother also.” ~ I John 4:21 (NKJV)

An Otherwise Ordinary Week

An Otherwise Ordinary Week
By Eileen Umbehr

Have you ever had a case
Of the Grandma blues?
Well last week I got the bug
And didn’t know what to do.

So I booked the first flight
Out of Kansas City
And two days later
I arrived in Mississippi.

Jared and Erin came to greet me
Along with Asher and Gabe
Who ran as fast as they could
For hugs and kisses I had saved.


The day after my arrival
Erin surprised me with a treat
When our future granddaughter
In utero I did meet!

Our next stop was the girls' section
Of the local department store
I think she’ll be the best-dressed baby
From birth to age four!

After seeing his sister's wardrobe
Asher asked Grandma to think
"Do you know Mommy's favorite colors?"
Answer: "Pink, pink and pink!"

Gabriel was his usual
Cutie-patootie self
He said, "Don't interrupt me, Grandma –
I'm talking to myself!"

But not everything about my trip
Created laughter and joy
You see our firstborn son found out
He soon may be deployed.

But I have to remember
Freedom isn't free
That’s the reason he enlisted
In the United States Navy.


The news just made us treasure
Our time together that much more
We talked and laughed and reminisced
And said, "I love you" many times over.

Since none of us knows the future
‘Tis best to leave it in God's hands
And live one day at a time
As the Good Book does command.

On the day of my departure
Asher said that he would miss me
And little Gabriel cried
Making my eyes a little misty.

My next stop was Josh and Lisa's
To check out their new place
And attend Lisa's next sonogram
To meet our grandchild face-to-face!


What a miracle to see
Those tiny feet and hands
It almost makes the three-month wait
Impossible to stand!

But soon enough June will arrive
And with it two "grand-Umbehrs"
It's such a thrill to contemplate
We’ll be doubling our numbers!

In conclusion I would have to say
That my vacation was complete
But otherwise it really was
An ordinary week.

“Grandchildren are God's way of compensating us for growing old.”
~ Mary H. Waldrip

Asher and Gabe at the park

Thanks, I Needed That

“For I have derived great joy and comfort and encouragement from your love. . . .” ~ Philemon 7a (Amp)

Last week I shared some examples of times when we were blindsided in a hurtful way. This week I’d like to share some examples of when we were blindsided in a positive way – by gestures of love.

This first example comes from a special note Keen taped to my computer on Valentine’s Day. If none of the other dreams in my life ever come true, I am more blessed than I deserve to be.

February 14, 2006

Happy Valentine’s Day!

You have been the love of my life since I was fifteen years old. I love you, Eileen! Through good times and bad times, I have always known that you love me more than life itself. Your love for me gives me the strength to face the unknown trials each day brings. Thank you for always being there for me. The love and affection you show me every day is a gift to me. You may think I’m as close to perfect as any man could be – but I know I’m not. I just spend a lot of time in the cleansing river of forgiveness that God provides all of us.

Eileen, you are the flower forever planted in my heart that I cherish each day of my life. Every day that I wake up with you and experience the love, the laughter – is a new Valentine’s Day for me. I feel like my whole life – since I was fifteen years old – has been a special Valentine’s Day, repeated over and over, thousands of times. Please, never doubt that we are one heart, one soul, one spirit.

Happy Valentine’s Day, my sweetheart! My day is blessed because of your love for me.

Love,

Keen

Another unexpected blessing arrived in the form of an email from our third born son, Keen II, who touched our hearts by sharing the following excerpt from his online journal:

“I have a really awesome dad. The older I get the more I am able to see just how much he did for us when we were kids. He loved us unconditionally, he worked hard for us, he disciplined us, he taught us how to do guy stuff, and always looked out for us. I always say that my dad taught me how to be a man and my mom taught me how to be a gentleman. I just really appreciate my parents and all that they did for their family to ensure their success in life. . .”

Keen and Keen II (who, at the age of nine, informed us that he was going to grow up and have two children; a girl named Christine and a boy named Keen. "So I can keep up the tradition!")

“Therefore be imitators of God [copy Him and follow His example], as well-beloved children [imitate their father]. . . .” ~ Ephesians 5:12

Next, I’d like to share this note that our second son, Joshua, (who will soon become a father himself), wrote to his dad in 1994 when he was thirteen years old. He had taped one of his school pictures to the bottom of the page and left it in the trash truck so Keen would find it when he went to work.

November 2, 1994

Dear Dad,

Lately you have looked really sad and sorta in a daze. I hope you know how good of a dad you are. You are always there to encourage any of us in what ever we do. I can always talk with you about anything and everything but I felt this letter would be better than a talk. This way whenever you feel down you can look at this letter and hopefully it will help you realize how wonderfully great you are. I just want you to know I really pray to God every night to have such a loving, caring dad. You work your butt off every day to make sure your family, us, has everything we could need. I can't express how much I love you and I know that you are truly, without a doubt, the most loving, caring dad in the world. I want you to know how great you are.

LOVE Dearly,
Josh Umbehr

Keen wrote the following response to Josh’s note:

Dear Josh,

Today when I started my trash truck, I read your letter to me. I am so thankful that I have a son who loves me so much. Thank you for expressing your thoughts in writing. You are so grown up and mature for your age. I love you so much. I’m going to keep your letter in my truck, so that when I get down or have a hard day, I can re-read it and that will make me happy again. I love you, Josh.

Love,
Dad

It was a beautiful moment in time, one that makes you believe you must be doing something right. After school I praised Josh over and over for his caring and sensitivity and I told him how happy his letter made Dad. Then Josh said, “I thank God for both of you, every night. You could replace your name in that letter, Mom. Because I mean it all for you, too.” What a dear heart.

Josh and Keen

". . . If you love somebody, tell them." ~ Rod McKuen

Lastly, I would like to share another poem written by my friend Pat Barrett who has a unique gift of capturing simple truths and expressing them through poetry. Pat is one of the most positive people I have ever met, mainly because she chooses to concentrate on all of her blessings. Thanks for being such an inspiration to your friends and family, Pat, and thank you for allowing me to share your insightful, heartwarming poems with others.

Valentine’s Day Every Day
By Patricia Kohls Barrett

It is the holiday of romance
When lovers show affection
With cards, flowers and sweets
Or some other special selection

It’s not limited to those in love
Anyone can show how they feel
To a special friend or relative
With attention fondness reveal

Why wait for the festival of hearts
To expose your feelings within
Anytime can be a special heart day
To appreciate buddy or kin

Think of someone important to you
See that smile when you show you care
With a compliment or little gift
Or a piece of yourself you share

Make today the holiday of hearts
Find a way to show value and worth
To someone important in your life
Express gratitude for their birth

“ Beloved, let us love one another, for love is of God. . . .”
~I John 4:7a

Photo taken by Pat Barrett

Blindsided

"Even my own familiar friend, in whom I trusted (relied on and was confident), who ate of my bread, has lifted up his heel against me."
~ Psalm 41:9

Blindsided: 1. attack from blind side: to take somebody unawares suddenly, with detrimental results; 2. attack when vulnerable: to attack somebody suddenly and physically by hitting the person on a side where his or her peripheral vision is obstructed.

Have you ever felt blindsided? If you’re a member of the human race, my guess is that you have. This past week I was blindsided by a longtime friend, so I’ve decided to make it the topic of my column.

My first experience with being blindsided came at the hands of my fifth grade teacher who pointed her finger in my face and said, “You think you’re the cat’s meow!” Well, I was only ten years old, so I didn’t know exactly what that meant, but I was pretty sure it wasn’t a compliment. Then two years later a teacher became so angry at me for interrupting him during a meeting that he composed a one-page diatribe about me and told me to write it out fifty times. The opening line of nearly every sentence was: “Cute, funny, Eileen, thinks she is so cute and funny. . . .” Well, I didn’t feel either cute or funny after that. In fact, the experience caused serious damage to my self-esteem.

Many years ago I was blindsided by an individual who stopped me on the street and blasted me for a column Keen had written in the newspaper. Let me tell you – this guy was ticked – with a capital “T.” I remained calm but his anger became personal. “I’m just sorry you find it so hard to believe that everyone doesn’t agree with your husband!” he snapped. I explained that I didn’t have any trouble believing that everyone didn’t agree with my husband since he had just lost another election for county commissioner.

Another time when we were at an outdoor social gathering at the home of someone we thought was our friend, I was stunned to hear him tell one of our sons to make sure he didn’t grow up to be like his father. My stepmother, who was visiting at the time, immediately retorted, “He should be so lucky to grow up to be like his father!”

One time we were blindsided by a neighbor who was angered by the election sign we had displayed in our yard for a senatorial candidate. She went on and on about how she couldn’t even pull in her driveway or look out her bedroom window anymore because she would have to view the sign. She even went so far as to say that she couldn’t sleep!
After listening to her rant and rave for several minutes, I replied, “But it’s our yard.” Then Keen suggested that she show support for the candidate of her choice by displaying her own sign. Well, the neighbor grew furious and stomped off, shaking her fist in the air. According to her definition of a good neighbor, we should acquiesce and remove the sign. (Actually, that’s exactly what we ended up doing – just to keep the peace.)

Last fall we were blindsided once again at Keen’s swearing in ceremony. You see, there were four people from Wabaunsee County who were sworn in as practicing attorneys on the same day. The mother of one of the students approached Keen at a local football game and said that we should be sure to get a picture of “The Wabaunsee Four.” Silly me, I followed through and made the effort to gather the four new attorneys together for the photograph. But my heart sank when one of the mothers informed me that she was going to submit the photo to the Alma paper and she only wanted it to be the three Wabaunsee High School graduates, because they wanted to promote Wabaunsee High. It felt like someone had punched me in the stomach. There was Keen, happily gathered for the group shot, when I had to tell him that they only wanted the three others in the picture. Then the woman said, “Oh, that’s all right, I already got my picture for the paper.” It was such an awkward moment, and it really put a damper on an otherwise happy occasion.

Some of you may recall reading in a previous column about the woman who sent me a letter about my book project. She stated that God told her I was a “bitter young woman” who had not been able to forgive. Then she wrote: “I’d like to suggest you go to a timber area and dig a big hole and bury that 620 page manuscript in that deep hole and turn to Jesus and ask His forgiveness for yourself and for all the people who hurt you. Then you can begin living as a free person.”

“A writer lives with rejection…A writer needs the sensitivity of a butterfly in touching the outside world – and the skin of a rhino to withstand its disregard.” ~ Sophy Burnham, For Writers Only

Since Keen started his new law practice, he has been blindsided several times by the reactions of potential clients to the fact that: 1) he charges the going hourly rate for attorneys; 2) he does not choose to take every case that walks through his door; and 3) he confines his work to regular business hours. For example, when he informed his very first potential client about his fees, the individual responded, “So you think you’re a big shot attorney now and you can charge that much for your time?” I kid you not. Another prospective client accused Keen of becoming “one of the good old boys” after he declined to represent him free of charge. “If being a businessman and having bills to pay makes me one of the good old boys,” Keen replied, “then I guess I’m guilty as charged.” When we were discussing these situations later, Keen said, “If I choose to donate my time, that’s my decision – but I’m not going to have it taken or demanded from me.”

“What I must do is all that concerns me, not what the people think. This rule, equally arduous in actual and intellectual life, may serve for the whole distinction between greatness and meanness. It is the harder, because you will always find those who think they know what is your duty better than you know it. ” ~ Ralph Waldo Emerson

Lastly, this woman I’ve known and done business with for over fifteen years called my cell phone at 5:30 on a Friday night saying that a friend of hers needed some legal advice “right away.” When I asked her if the woman could call Keen’s office on Monday morning to set up an appointment, she became indignant. I explained that I couldn’t speak for Keen and I didn’t know when he would have an opening. However, I offered to call her friend the following day after I had a chance to talk to him. Once again, she became exasperated. “Put yourself in her shoes,” she pleaded. “This woman has been on pins and needles for several months now, and I just can’t tell her that you’ll get back to her.” I told her that this was the way we chose to operate our business and I would appreciate it if she would respect that. She commented that she would like to have weekends off, too, but when friends call . . . Then she said that she recalled reading something Keen wrote several years ago about how he would “die for justice.” “Quite frankly,” she continued, her words dripping with disdain, “I haven’t found that to be the case at all. In fact, I’ve been very disappointed in Keen because every time that I’ve asked him for [free] help, he’s turned me down!” (When Keen was in law school, she wanted him to drive nine hours, round trip to Liberal, Kansas, to attend a meeting where she was trying to resolve a conflict over a business deal.) Working hard to maintain my composure, I told her that her comments made me very angry. She said, “Well, I’ve kept my opinion in for years now and I’m just telling you how I feel.” I replied, “And I’m just telling you how I feel. For you to say that Keen doesn't care about justice simply because he doesn't jump on the bandwagon of every issue you’re involved in is deeply insulting.”

With friends like that, who needs enemies? I guess I should be thankful that her true colors were revealed. On one hand, I know the Bible tells us to pray for our enemies, and bless those who curse us (Luke 6:26,27) – which I can do and have done. But I don’t think that means you have to continue to have a relationship with someone who inflicts emotional pain on you or harbors ill will towards you. As Maya Angelou says: “When people show you who they are, believe them.” So I will accept the fact that my former friend and I have different views of what friendship is really all about.

"Eat and drink, saith he to thee; but his heart is not with thee." ~Proverbs 23:7b

Love is Having to Say You're Sorry

“Confess [your] faults one to another, and pray one for another, that ye may be healed. . . .” ~ James 5:16a (KJV)


"The story of love is not important – what is important is that one is capable of love. It is perhaps the only glimpse we are permitted of eternity." ~ Helen Hayes

. . . Continued from last week

My friend and fellow-writer, Tom Parker, is one person I try to emulate when it comes to being honest and real in my columns. If some of you think I am “open to a fault,” you should read Tom’s writings. He has shared his personal struggles with faith, immortality, fatherhood and depression.

Tom’s recently released book, Dispatches from Kansas, is a collection of some of his best columns. (It is available through Amazon.com or by contacting Tom directly at tlparker1@sbcglobal.net.) In the blurb I wrote for the back of his book, I stated in part: “Tom Parker is one of those rare individuals who have the courage to share their deepest and most intimate thoughts. His weekly column is a window into his very heart and soul – a sometimes tormented but always triumphant soul. . . .”

“We refuse to wear masks and play games. We don’t maneuver and manipulate behind the scenes. . . . Rather, we keep everything we do and say out in the open, the whole truth on display, so that those who want to can see and judge for themselves in the presence of God.” ~ II Corinthians 4:2 (MSG)

Along those same lines, recently I saw Ruth Bell Graham (daughter of evangelist Billy Graham) on a Christian television talk show discussing her book titled, In Every Pew Sits a Broken Heart: Hope for the Hurting. Ruth Graham has been through two divorces and her teenage daughter had two babies. The first baby was put up for adoption and she kept the second one, a little boy who is now eight years old. Ms. Graham writes about that experience in her latest book titled, I’m Pregnant . . . Now What? – which she co-authored with Sara R. Dormon Ph.D. (They have also established a web site – www.forpregnancyhelp.com.) During the interview, Ruth Graham said: “Being transparent about our struggles and faults brings freedom, not shame.”

I couldn’t agree more. So many of us try to put up a façade in an attempt to fool people into thinking that everything in our life is always hunky-dory. How phony. The only way to salvage something good out of a painful or negative experience is to share that experience with others so that they can benefit from the lessons you learned and hopefully gain inspiration from hearing about how God helped you make it through your personal crisis.

Having said all that, I would like to continue last week’s Valentine column by sharing a snapshot from a not-so-pleasant moment in our married life – a time when I fell into self-pity (big time). To make matters worse, Keen and I forgot (or ignored) God’s number one rule for couples, which is: “Never let the sun go down on your anger.” Ephesians 4:26)

Even the happiest marriages hit rough spots when they have hurdles to overcome and differences to work out. So here’s my weekly dose of humble pie from a note I wrote to Keen about two years ago:

Dear Keen,

I was wrong.

I was wrong not to stop what I was doing and greet you with a smile and a kiss when you came home last night. Not because that’s my “obligation” as your wife, but because it sets the tone for the rest of the evening – what little bit of evening we had left. I was wrong to be so engrossed in the stresses of my day, that I couldn’t listen objectively when you told me about your day.

I was wrong to spiral down into a sea of self-pity by going on and on about how overwhelmed I was by the endless projects staring me in the face. I should be thankful God has allowed me to stay home during this time in our lives when most people would agree I “should” be working to support our family while you are in law school.

Sometimes I feel so close to God – but this is not one of those times. I am so far from being and acting like my Heavenly Father, it’s not even funny. I guess it just shows that I haven’t arrived and I never will arrive until I reach Heaven when all earthly sins are washed away for all eternity. But until then, I will try to remind myself of what the Bible says. Such as:

Be a doer of the Word and not a hearer only.

If I speak with the tongues of angels, but have not love, I am a clanging cymbal.

Wives, adapt yourselves to your husbands. (I’m still working on that with your new semester schedule – but I’ll get there)

It is better to live on a rooftop than with a nagging, contentious wife.

I know what you’re thinking right now. “That girl of mine: I can always count on her to admit when she’s wrong. It might take her a little while, but she always comes around.”

Well, you’re right – I was wrong.

Again. As usual.

Come to think of it, you didn’t do anything wrong. All you did was come home. But you came home to a grouchy, fault-finding wife who was feeling sorry for herself and looking for a fight. So I got one. And I’m sorry. I’m sorry I yelled at you. I’m sorry I wasted what precious time we did have together arguing about nothing. I paid a price though. I lost my peace. I’ve been up since about 2:00 a.m. and it’s 4:40 now. All the while you’ve been sleeping like a baby. That’s good. You deserve a good night’s sleep.

I love you, Keen. And I’m sorry for causing strife in our marriage. I felt like I had to write this, and I’m hoping it helps me to avoid making the same mistakes in the future. It’s never easy to admit when you’re wrong, but that’s what I want to do.

I was wrong, and I’m sorry.

I love you,

Eileen

“Love is patient and kind. Love is not jealous or boastful or proud or rude. Love does not demand its own way. Love is not irritable, and it keeps no record of when it has been wronged. It is never glad about injustice but rejoices whenever the truth wins out. Love never gives up, never loses faith, is always hopeful, and endures through every circumstance.” ~ I Corinthians 13:4-7 (NLT)

********************
'Cause you are
the one light
that shines on me
Without your love
God knows where I'd be

Lost without a prayer
Somewhere way out there
My soul would turn to dust
Heaven help me
If I ever lose your love

Heaven Help Me ~ recorded by Wynonna Judd

"Oh love, as long as you can love." ~ Ferdinand Freiligrath

Keen & Eileen at age 16 in Singapore and 25th anniversary in 2003

The Circle of Love

“There are three things that will endure – faith, hope, and love – and the greatest of these is love.” ~ I Corinthians 13:13 (NLT)

Keen and I had our first date on March 15, 1974, so we’ve been celebrating Valentine’s Day together for over 30 years now. The other night I told him how privileged I feel to be married to him. Keen is so much fun to live with. He keeps me laughing. He makes me feel loved and important. And even though I don’t have a college education, he tells me that I’m “a hundred times smarter” than he is. (Untrue – but still nice to hear.) Keen makes me feel like I can accomplish anything.

"How bold one gets when one is sure of being loved!" ~ Sigmund Freud

Here’s a poem I wrote for Keen for our 25th anniversary on June 10, 2003:

My Privilege
By Eileen Umbehr

His parents call him son
his siblings call him brother
But even though his name is Keen
he’s been called so many others

County officials called him dirt
the stuff he hauled in his trash truck
A troublemaker and an s.o.b.
were some other names that stuck

Reporters have called him a gadfly
who starts fires and fans the flames
I guess I could go on and on
with the list of unflattering names

But I would be amiss,
not to mention the positive ones, too
Lest you get the wrong impression
and the truth be misconstrued

To call him a hard worker
would certainly apply
A man of faith and principle –
the underdog’s best ally

A devoted family man
who loves his wife and sons
He’s even known as Grandpa
to his two young grandsons

A visionary with a sense of humor
and keen political insight
A man determined to achieve his goals
and stand up for what is right.

The Freedom Forum called him a First Amendment hero
The Capital-Journal – a Distinguished Kansan
But for twenty-five years its been my privilege
to simply call him “husband.”

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

When I was a teenager, I had to write an English paper for school and I chose to write about the subject of love. When I interviewed my mother for the story, she said that love was a one-way street – in the other person’s direction. As an adult, I have pondered that thought and wondered about its validity. At first glance, there’s something about that statement that just doesn’t seem right. I mean, isn’t love supposed to be 50-50? But upon further examination, I think my mother was right. As I reflect on my own marriage, I can see that it has worked as well as it has because Keen and I do just that.

I liken it to a circle of love. Think about it – if both people in the relationship direct their love toward the other one, then there will be a continual circle of love. When you give, you receive – and when you receive, you have something to give back to the other person. But when one or both of the parties is on empty, then the circle of love is interrupted – and that’s when we get into trouble. In fact, some of our biggest fights have happened just like that. One of us is lower than a snake’s belly, so we decide to retreat into self-pity – that arch enemy of love and harmony. Then we shut down and quit giving, feeling quite justified in doing so because, after all, we have it so rough. We become convinced that no one understands how hard our life is. The next thing you know, you’re engaged in a senseless argument about who has the more difficult lot in life. That’s a dangerous road to travel (don’t ask me how I know). The bottom line is: life is a struggle for most of us. Whether you’re rich or poor; whether you’re in the prime of your life or in your retirement years. Whether you are a stay-at-home mom or you work outside the home; whether you have a physically demanding job, or a mentally draining job – every job and every life has its challenges and drawbacks. On any given day, there isn’t a person alive who doesn’t feel like their job is the toughest. So why even go there? What is the point in debating that issue? Why not respect yourself as well as those you love? Let them know you appreciate what they do and tell them that you understand that their job has challenges and stresses that yours does not. There’s that circle of love again. I express appreciation to you and you return the recognition to me. That’s all anybody really wants. As Dr. Phil says, we need to become each other’s “soft place to fall.”

“We find rest in those we love, and we provide a resting place in ourselves for those who love us." ~ Saint Bernard of Clairvaux

To be continued . . .

Keen and I (age 16) at the Botanical Gardens in Singapore

Keen and I kicking up our heels at the Van Kirk Family Reunion in 2003