Father Knows Best

The Lord said, "I am going to do something in your days that you would not believe, even if you were told." ~ Habakkuk 1:5 (NIV)

“Don't trust to hold God's hand; let Him hold yours. Let Him do the holding, and you the trusting.” ~ Hammer William Webb-Peploe

The inspiration for this week’s column came from a story I received from the latest edition of “Letters from Larry.”

The Big Picture
Author Unknown

A high school hired my friend George, an artist, to repaint the school mascot - a yellow jacket - on the football stadium wall. This was a difficult task because the painting was so large that the painter could only see a small portion of it at a time.

George had to stand a distance away in order to see the whole picture and give directions to another painter. If George's assistant had tried to paint according to his own limited perspective, seeing only a small part of the picture, he would have made a mistake. By following George's directions, however, he helped create an image that delighted the school’s sports fans.

Our life with God is something like George's view of the wall. As we face life's challenges, we are not in a position to see the whole picture – neither of the world nor of our own lives. We see only a small portion. If we rely only on our limited perspective,we risk calamity. Instead, we can choose to trust God - the One who sees the whole picture - to direct our efforts. If we do, God can work through us to create something delightful.

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So many times in our lives we simply do not understand what is happening to us or why. That’s because we don’t see the big picture – but God does. I remember when Keen and I moved into a house owned by his parents; Jared was 6, Josh was 4 and Keener was a newborn. People would ask us how we liked the house and we’d reply, “Oh, its fine – but we won’t have a fourth child in it!” That was because the house was too small the day we moved in. Of course, we ended up eating our words when Kirk Van joined our family five years later – and he was four years old when we moved out!

The bigger the boys grew, the smaller the house became, and I honestly thought that I was in danger of losing my mind. Then, in an effort to comfort me, my sister Mary assured me that my feelings were normal. “They’ve done studies on rats,” she explained. “When they put too many in a small space they start to eat one another!”

The only thing that saved our sanity during those nine years was our weekly dates, when Keen and I would hire a sitter just to get a break. (A practice I recommend for all parents of young children!) In the meantime, we were always looking for a larger house, but never found one. So we decided to make lemons out of lemonade. Since Keen’s parents only charged us $150 per month in rent, it gave us the rare opportunity to build up our savings account in preparation for the day when we did find a larger house.

I distinctly remember crying on Keen’s shoulder one day about our cramped living conditions. He wrapped his arms around me and said, “I know, I know. It’s hard. But just when the answer seems the furthest away, it’s right around the corner.” And he was right.

One day in the fall of 1992, my father decided to surprise us with a visit. During his stay he expressed his dismay over the fact that we were living in such a small house. He also said he was worried about the house being a fire hazard. So he announced that we were going house hunting. I tried to explain that Keen drove up and down every street on the trash route each week and he would know if anything new came on the market, but Dad would hear none of that. I even tried to persuade him to go to a movie with me. “No!” he replied adamantly. “The only thing on my agenda today is: find you a house!” So I decided to placate him by going along with what I perceived to be an ill-conceived plan.

So Dad and I set out in the car and headed down the road past the courthouse into the country. As we approached a fork in the road, Dad asked, “What’s down this road?” So I turned the car and headed down the country road leading past the cemetery. Much to my shock and amazement, we came across a house with a “For Sale by Owner” sign. I seemed to recall checking into that house many, many years ago when the asking price was $125,000 (more than we could afford at the time). Keen and I had wanted to live in the country since 1979 when we left the busy metropolis of Minneapolis, Minnesota, as newlyweds and headed for Alma, Kansas.

Dad and I pulled into the driveway, walked up the steps and rang the doorbell. Ruth Say answered the door. After a brief introduction, I inquired about the specifics of the house and land. She explained that the house was built in 1972, it had about 2,800 square feet and the amount of land that went with it was just under 40 acres. So far, so good. Then I asked about the price. When she said $78,500, I thought I’d died and gone to Heaven. Apparently, the Says had dropped their asking price on the house incrementally over the past ten years since I had initially looked at it. So I quickly called Keen at work and he rushed right over, and we put money down on it that very day.

So while Keen and I were busy lamenting our fate in the small house, the price on the house God had waiting for us dropped nearly $50,000. In addition, we were able to save a substantial amount of money during that time – money that we desperately needed for the down payment and remodeling expenses. You see, the basement was only partially finished, so we finished that off with bedrooms and a family room for the boys. Then the carpet, which was multicolored green shag, had to be replaced, as did the linoleum and countertops. We also decided to add central air conditioning.

We ended up needing every bit of the money we had saved, and then some, to complete the job. In fact we ran out of money with the formal living room, which sat empty for several months since we didn’t want to go into debt for furniture. But God had that all worked out, too. At the same time, my father was moving out of his house into a smaller place and needed to get rid of the furniture he and my mom had owned during their married life. So he shipped two beautiful, nice quality couches, a coffee table, and two end tables directly to our new home. They not only fit in perfectly, but they have great sentimental value for me as well. Then, on top of that, my stepmother Barbara came for a visit and filled out the rest of the living room with lamps, tables, artificial plants and flower arrangements and an antique roll top desk which she decorated with unique little knick-knacks and antique books. And if that weren’t enough, my stepmother blessed our socks off when she surprised us with all new appliances! I’ll never forget the day I received the telephone call from Rosemary at Ed Marlings informing me that my stepmother had purchased a new microwave for our home. Well, I was totally shocked. As I was busy oohing and ahhing, Rosemary interrupted, “. . .And a new electric stove….” Again I started in with the oohs and the ahhs – and once again I was interrupted. “. . . And a new refrigerator . . . And a new dishwasher!” Keen and I hadn’t even planned to install a dishwasher, and we were just going to use the old stove. Plus, Barbara had already given us a new washer and dryer earlier! You can imagine how overwhelmed we are by all this generosity. (I know what you’re thinking, but she’s already taken!) Our years of famine were over. We were so thankful to God for blessing us with the house of our dreams, and we were so thankful to my Dad and Barbara for blessing us with everything we needed to fill it up!

Sometimes God’s answer to our prayer isn’t “Yes, or No,” – it’s “Wait.”

Truly, Father knows best.


"....as the Scripture says, What eye has not seen, and ear has not heard, and has not entered into the heart of man, all that God has prepared - made and keeps ready - for those who love Him ....." ~ I Corinthians 2:9

Pop-Pop Van Kirk at the new house with Keener and Kirk in 1993

Meeting Grandma Barb at the airport in 1993

Don't Wait

"All men are like grass, and all their glory is like the flowers of the field; the grass withers and the flowers fall, but the word of the Lord stands forever." ~ I Peter 1:24

“We’re all going to die; that’s why we should dare to live.”
~ Keen A. Umbehr

Last week, just moments after I finished writing my column about the importance of telling the ones you love how much they mean to you, my daughter-in-law Erin called to tell me that her mother had been rushed to the hospital with a medical emergency, and they didn’t know if she was going to make it. Initially, she asked me to fly to Mississippi to watch the boys, but then Jared received a one-week leave of absence from the Navy, so they decided to drive to Ohio as a family. Thankfully, Erin’s mother pulled through, but she is not completely out of the woods yet, so please keep her in your prayers.

The unexpectedness of this health scare really illustrates the frailty of life and the importance of not waiting until it’s too late to say “I love you.”

“If you knew you only had one more day to live, who would you call, what would you say and what are you waiting for?” ~ Anonymous

Room 712
(Author Unknown)

The hospital was unusually quiet that bleak January evening, quiet and still like the air before a storm. I stood in the nurses' station on the seventh floor and glanced at the clock.

It was 9 P.M. I threw a stethoscope around my neck and headed for Room 712, last room on the hall. Room 712 had a new patient. Mr. Williams. A man all alone. A man strangely silent about his family.

As I entered the room, Mr. Williams looked up eagerly, but dropped his eyes when he saw it was only me, his nurse. I pressed the stethoscope over his chest and listened. Strong, slow, even beating. Just what I wanted to hear. There seemed little indication he had suffered a slight heart attack a few hours earlier.

He looked up from his starched white bed. "Nurse, would you -" He hesitated, tears filling his eyes. Once before he had started to ask me a question, but changed his mind. I touched his hand, waiting. He brushed away a tear. "Would you call my daughter? Tell her I've had a heart attack. A slight one. You see, I live alone and she is the only family I have."

His respiration suddenly speeded up. I turned his nasal oxygen up to eight liters a minute. "Of course I'll call her," I said, studying his face. He gripped the sheets and pulled himself forward, his face tense with urgency. "Will you call her right away - as soon as you can?"

He was breathing fast - too fast. "I'll call her the very first thing," I said, patting his shoulder. I flipped off the light. He closed his eyes, such young blue eyes in his 80-year-old face.

Room 712 was dark except for a faint night light under the sink. Oxygen gurgled in the green tubes above his bed. Reluctant to leave, I moved through the shadowy silence to the window. The panes were cold. Below a foggy mist curled through the hospital parking lot.

"Nurse," he called, "could you get me a pencil and paper?" I dug a scrap of yellow paper and a pen from my pocket and set it on the bedside table. I walked back to the nurses' station and sat in a squeaky swivel chair by the phone. Mr. Williams's daughter was listed on his chart as the next of kin. I got her number from information and dialed.

Her soft voice answered. "Janie, this is Sue Kidd, a registered nurse at the hospital. I'm calling about your father. He was admitted tonight with a slight heart attack and... "No!" she screamed into the phone, startling me. "He's not dying is he?" His condition is stable at the moment," I said, trying hard to sound convincing. Silence. I bit my lip.

"You must not let him die!" she said. Her voice was so utterly compelling that my hand trembled on the phone.

"He is getting the very best care," I assured her.

"But you don't understand," she pleaded. "My daddy and I haven't spoken. On my 21st birthday, we had a fight over my boyfriend. I ran out of the house. I haven't been back. All these months I've wanted to go to him for forgiveness. The last thing I said to him was, 'I hate you."

Her voice cracked and I heard her heave great agonizing sobs. I sat, listening, tears burning my eyes. A father and a daughter, so lost to each other. Then I was thinking of my own father, many miles away. It has been so long since I had said, "I love you."

As Janie struggled to control her tears, I breathed a prayer. "Please God, let this daughter find forgiveness."

"I'm coming. Now! I'll be there in 30 minutes," she said.

Click. She had hung up. I tried to busy myself with a stack of charts on the desk. I couldn't concentrate. Room 712; I knew I had to get back to 712.

I hurried down the hall nearly in a run. I opened the door. Mr.Williams lay unmoving. I reached for his pulse. There was none. "Code 99, Room 712. Code 99. Stat." The alert was shooting through the hospital within seconds after I called the switchboard through the intercom by the bed.

Mr. Williams had a cardiac arrest. With lightning speed I leveled the bed and bent over his mouth, breathing air into his lungs. I positioned my hands over his chest and compressed. One, two, three. I tried to count. At fifteen I moved back to his mouth and breathed as deeply as I could. Where was help? Again I compressed and breathed, compressed and ... He could not die!

The door burst open. Doctors and nurses poured into the room pushing emergency equipment. A doctor took over the manual compression of the heart. A tube was inserted through his mouth as an airway. Nurses plunged syringes of medicine into the intravenous tubing.

I connected the heart monitor. Nothing. Not a beat. My own heart pounded. "Oh God,” I prayed. “Don't let it end like this. Not in bitterness and hatred. His daughter is coming! Please let her find peace."

"Stand back," cried a doctor. I handed him the paddles for the electrical shock to the heart. He placed them on Mr. Williams's chest. Over and over we tried. But nothing. No response. Mr. Williams was dead. A nurse unplugged the oxygen. The gurgling stopped. One by one they left, grim and silent.

How could this happen? How? I stood by his bed, stunned. A cold wind rattled the window, pelting the panes with snow. Outside – everywhere – seemed a bed of blackness, cold and dark. How could I face his daughter?

When I left the room, I saw her standing against a wall by a water fountain. A doctor who had been inside 712 only moments before stood at her side, talking to her, gripping her elbow. Then he moved on, leaving her slumped against the wall. Such pathetic hurt reflected from her face. Such wounded eyes. She knew. The doctor told her that her father was gone. I took her hand and led her into the nurses' lounge. We sat on little green stools, neither saying a word. She stared straight ahead at a pharmaceutical calendar, glass-faced, almost breakable-looking.

"Janie, I'm so, so sorry," I said. It was pitifully inadequate.

"I never hated him, you know. I loved him," she said.

“God, please help her,” I prayed. Suddenly she whirled around towards me. "I want to see him," she exclaimed.

My first thought was, “Why put yourself through more pain? Seeing him will only make it worse.” But I got up and wrapped my arm around her and we walked slowly down the corridor to Room 712. Outside the door I squeezed her hand, wishing she would change her mind about going inside. She pushed open the door.

We moved to the bed, huddled together, taking small steps in unison. Janie leaned over the bed and buried her face in the sheets. I tried not to look at her during this sad, sad good-bye. I backed against the bedside table. My hand fell upon a scrap of yellow paper. I picked it up. It read:

My Dearest Janie,

I forgive you. I pray you will also forgive me. I know that you love me. I love you, too.

Daddy

My hands were shaking as I handed the note to Janie. She read it once. Then twice. Her tormented face grew radiant. Peace began to glisten in her eyes. She hugged the scrap of paper.

"Thank You, God," I whispered, looking up at the window. A few crystal stars blinked through the blackness. A snowflake hit the window and melted away, gone forever. Life seemed as fragile as a snowflake on the window.

Thank you, God, that relationships, sometimes fragile as snowflakes, can be mended together again, although sometimes there is not a moment to spare.

I slipped away from the room and hurried to the phone. I would call my father. I would say, “I love you.”

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The Last Time
By Sheryl Hale Black
(www.scrollcardsonline.com)
Used by Permission

If I knew it would be the last time
That I would see you walk out the door,
I would hold you close and kiss you,
And beg God to allow me more.

If I knew it would be the last time
I would hear your voice so clear,
I would tape each beautiful word,
So I could replay it year after year.

If I knew it would be the last time,
To stop and say "I love you,"
I would spare that extra moment,
And not assume that you know I do.

If I knew it would be the last time
I would be here to share your day,
I would put all aside to be with you,
For a memory that would never fade.

With our hopes for our tomorrows,
And our hopes for peaceful nights,
I pray that we never overlook,
Those times to make things right.

But just in case I could be wrong,
And our tomorrows we may never see,
I'd like to tell you how much I love you.
And that you mean everything to me.

Tomorrow is not promised to anyone,
And today could be our last chance,
To hold our loved ones tight and say,
Those things that only we can.

So if you're looking for tomorrow,
To kiss and hold the ones you love,
Tomorrow may never come for you,
Only today is given to us from above.

Take the time to say "I'm sorry,"
"Thank you" or "It's okay."
For surely once you clear the air,
You will never regret this day.

To hold your loved ones close and say
All those things you feel within,
And let them know how much you care,
And how your love will never end.

You mean the world and more to me,
You were given to me from God above.
And forever throughout eternity,
You will always have my love.


“…we know that as long as we live in these bodies we are not at home with the Lord.” ~ II Corinthians 5:6b (NLT)

If You Could Read My Mind

Now when he departed from there, he met Jehonadab . . . coming to meet him; and he greeted him and said to him, "Is your heart right, as my heart is toward your heart?"

And Jehonadab answered, "It is."

~II Kings 10:15 (NKJV)

Lately I have been thinking about how important it is to tell our loved ones how we feel about them.

I feel so privileged and grateful to be married to a man who reaffirms his love for me on a regular basis. As some of you learned from the love letters Keen wrote while I was in Nevada working on my book, he is not afraid to share his feelings or speak from his heart. Here is an excerpt from one of those letters: “You are so precious to me; the most important thing in my life – air to my lungs, blood to my heart, life to my soul. I feel so grateful, that out of all the men in the world, you chose – and continue to choose me as the recipient of your affections. I am the most blessed man in the world.” Just the other day Keen said: “I’m half of nothing without you.” His expressions of love feed my spirit and reach the deepest crevasses of my heart and soul, making me feel so loved and secure. That is the power of words.

The night before my sister Patricia died so unexpectedly last March while vacationing in Mexico, she and all of her friends were sitting around a table talking. For some reason, Patricia’s friends began telling her how much she meant to them, and the difference she had made in their lives. One by one they shared their heartfelt sentiments with Patricia, never knowing that it would be her last night on earth. Before she died, Patricia told Nikki how much their words had touched her heart.

Another example that comes to mind is when I received a phone call from my brother Joe (who is a doctor) telling me that our mother’s health was rapidly deteriorating and she appeared to be losing her seven-year battle to cancer. I still remember sitting in a restaurant with Keen crying my eyes out. I told him, “If Mom dies before I get the chance to tell her how much I love her, I just couldn’t bear it.” You see, although our family was very loving and affectionate (we’re big-time huggers), and every night we would hug and kiss our parents and say, “Good night, God bless you, sweet dreams, sleep tight,” for some reason we rarely said the words, “I love you.” Consequently, the thought of saying those words created a deep feeling of awkwardness for me. But Keen looked at me with gentle eyes of understanding and encouraged me to move past my fear.

So a few days later I made the call to my mom. When she got on the phone, I said, “Mom, I’m not saying you’re going to die, but if you did die and I never told you how much I loved you, I just couldn’t live with myself." Then I said, "I love you with all my heart, Mom.” Mom got choked up and replied, “Well, thank you, Eileen. That means more to me than you’ll ever know.” I went on to tell her that now that I was a parent myself, I understood what a difficult job it was, and that I had nothing but love, gratitude and the utmost of admiration in my heart for her. That conversation gave me a feeling of total peace, because my dear mother did not die without knowing – and hearing – that she was deeply loved and appreciated by me.

My mother and father, Peggy and Joe Van Kirk in 1979

Here is another example from one of the journals I kept when our boys were growing up:

January 15, 1990

Recently I was telling the boys how they need to tell me if something is bothering them. I said I didn’t want them to think: “Oh, well, she’s Mom. I can’t say that to her.” I make mistakes, too. The only way I know if I hurt their feelings or if they think a decision I make is unfair, is if they tell me. I told them that if they hold anger in, that’s not good. It’s like a splinter; if you don’t remove it, then it could get infected. I always want them to feel like they can come to me with anything. I don’t want to be intimidating to them or have them put me on a pedestal so they don’t feel comfortable in approaching me – or like there is something disrespectful about it. I always want to have a good line of communication with my kids, and I want to encourage open communications by positive reinforcement.

So the next day Josh (age 8) came to me crying. He said: “Sometimes I just feel sort of left out. Jared got $5.00 for feeding McQueen’s dog and Keener got a thermos, but I didn’t get anything. And you buy new clothes for Jared and Keen but I hardly get any.” I hugged him and cried and said I was sorry he felt left out sometimes and that made me feel sad, but I was glad he told me. I did remind him that he got to have a friend over the other night and about his big birthday party and some new pants he just got. He said, “I know, but sometimes I just feel left out.” I could tell these were his heartfelt feelings, and I didn’t want to talk him out of feeling that way. He was crying the whole time. He also said he wanted to go to Manhattan or somewhere with just me or Dad – all by himself.

So the next day Josh and I went to Manhattan and spent the whole day together. We had such a fun day. It was a special time and a unique experience for both of us to have that time alone. He kept saying: “I love you, Mom. You’re the best.” I told him I loved him, too, and he was so sweet and that I was so proud to have him for my son. I let him pick where he wanted to eat. Then he played some video games, had a giant cookie, and bought a new eraser and toy for himself, and I bought him a new hat (and one for Jared & Keener, too). Several times throughout the day he said, “I’m sure glad I told you I felt left out.” Then he added: “But I won’t just say it to get my own way.”

On our way home in the car, a song came on the radio [sung by Gordon Lightfoot] with the words, “If you could read my mind . . . what a tale my thoughts could tell. . . .” And Josh said: “Just like that, Mom. If you could read my mind, I wouldn’t have to tell you I felt left out, but you can't, so I do!”

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When I asked my friend Shawn if it was all right for me to share excerpts from some of her letters, she wrote: “No problem about reprinting anything I have to say. I try and live by the idea that whatever I say can be said anywhere and to anyone. Sometimes that means I am eating my words so I try to say tasty things.”

I love the way Shawn writes and the fun stories she shares about her young daughter, Lucy, who is three years old. This next “Lucy story” fits in perfectly with the theme of my column this week:

“We are having a great start to our year. Lucy is happy to be back on a regular routine. She had a big meltdown on New Years Day, just one too many social events sans a nap. In the middle of a screaming fit, she stopped and asked me, "Mama, can I say stupid?" I said that she can but I would prefer that she not. So she let me know that I was a stupid stinky face. I love that she wants to ask permission to be "bad". Mostly, she just needed to let off steam. Now we are back to my sweet, happy girl.”

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I think it’s so important for children and adults alike to tap into and express their truest, deepest feelings, whatever they might be. Several times throughout our married life, I have made the mistake of keeping something in because I didn’t want to cause a problem. But I have found that openness and honesty are so much more important than the fear of a conflict. Even if what you say (i.e. “stupid stinky face”) does result in an argument, at least the matter is out in the open where you can confront it and deal with it. Sweeping problems under the rug doesn’t resolve anything; it only leaves a big lump in the middle of the living room and causes those we love to trip and fall.

So whether what you have on your heart and mind is positive, or not-so-positive, I encourage you to give your loved ones the gift of honesty and truth. If something is bothering you or you feel “left out” – tell them. And by all means, don’t let anyone in your life leave this world without letting them know how much you love them.

“For out of much affliction and anguish of heart I wrote to you, with many tears, not that you should be grieved, but that you might know the love which I have so abundantly for you.”

~ II Corinthians 2:4 (NKJV)

Do You Hear What I Hear?

“And straightway the father of the child cried out, and said with tears, Lord, I believe; help thou mine unbelief.” ~ Mark 9:24 (KJV)

I raise my hands, bow my head
I'm finding more and more truth in the words written in red
They tell me that there's more to life than just what I can see
Oh, I believe

I can't quote the book
The chapter or the verse
You can't tell me it all ends
In a slow ride in a hearse
You know I'm more and more convinced
The longer that I live
Yeah, this can't be
No, this can't be
No, this can't be all there is . . .

Believe ~ Recorded by Brooks and Dunn

Christmas is a time when we all take a little closer look at exactly what we believe and in Whom we believe.

This past week in our local paper, a citizen expressed her dismay over the fact that people were talking about Christmas being over already, when, according to her Christian beliefs, the twelve days of Christmas would not be over until January 5th. The writer stated that she felt compelled to make a witness to what she believed. “Love (Jesus Christ) came at Christmas and is not gone,” she wrote. “Love came at Christmas and will never go away.” She went on to say that it is wonderful to live in a country where she can hold these views and express them publicly.

The controversy over whether to say Merry Christmas or Happy Holidays was another issue which generated deep emotions and diverse opinions. My high school history teacher from Singapore had this to say on the subject: “Thanks for sending Merry Christmas greetings. If I get another “Happy Holidays” card I am gonna barf!! (And that is from a total unbeliever).”

More than anything, I think it is important for each of us to respect the differences in others – whether we agree with them or not. As author Naomi Patterson said in a recent column: “We’re all more alike than different. Where differences do arise, respect and protect them. Honor diverse gifts. There is no one to envy or idolize and no one to whom you should feel superior.”

From the time God created the heavens and the earth, and later mankind (if you believe that He did, which I do), He has been the best example of this philosophy. God told Adam and Eve that they could enjoy the fruit of every tree in the Garden of Eden – except one. Being typical children, they disobeyed and did the very thing their Father told them not to do. The point I’m trying to make is that God could have built a barbed wire fence around the tree of the knowledge of good and evil. I mean, He was God, so He could have forced Adam and Eve to obey Him and do things His way. But God relinquished His right to control His creation from the very onset, because He doesn’t want anyone to be forced to follow Him, serve Him or love Him. God is all about free will and freedom of choice. He offers us His love, His gift of salvation and His promise of total forgiveness and an eternity in Heaven – but it is up to us whether we choose to accept His free gift.

“Behold, I stand at the door and knock. If anyone hears My voice and opens the door, I will come in to him and dine with him, and he with Me.” ~ Revelations 3:20 (NKJV)

In the past I have often shared stories I received from Larry Perry who lives in the Smoky Mountains of Tennessee with his wife, Eloise. Larry is a Christian who always shows the utmost respect for people of all faiths, as evidenced by the Christmas newsletter he sent out this past year. (Larry's e-newsletter, "Letters from Larry," is sent to over 40 countries around the world.) His Christmas newsletter contained three parts; one was titled, “To All of our Christian Friends Around the World”, the second was titled, “To our many Jewish Friends around the world”, and the third was, “To our many Muslim Friends around the world.” In each of the parts he shared a story which explained the beliefs and celebrations of the three different religions. At the end, Larry and Eloise wished all of their friends a Merry Christmas, Happy Hanukkah and Happy Ramadan.

Now some might question Larry’s approach or disagree with it altogether, but I believe Larry is right on. As Christians, we are instructed by God to walk in love towards all of our brothers and sisters.

“Beloved, let us love one another, for love is of God; and everyone who loves is born of God and knows God. He who does not love does not know God, for God is love. In this the love of God was manifested toward us, that God has sent His only begotten Son into the world, that we might live through Him. In this is love, not that we loved God, but that He loved us and sent His Son to be the propitiation for our sins. Beloved, if God so loved us, we also ought to love one another.” ~ I John 4:7-11 (NKJV)

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My other friend, who is also named Larry, shared some wonderful quotes in the latest edition of his e-newsletter titled, “On the Run...in Singapore.” Here are two of those quotes:

“My idea of Christmas, whether old-fashioned or modern, is very simple: Loving others. Come to think of it, why do we have to wait for Christmas to do that?”

~ Bob Hope (1903-2003)

“Let us remember that the Christmas heart is a giving heart, a wide open heart that thinks of others first. The birth of the baby Jesus stands as the most significant event in all history, because it has meant the pouring into a sick world the healing medicine of love which has transformed all manner of hearts for almost two thousand years . . . .underneath all the bulging bundles is this beating Christmas heart.”

~ George Mathew Adams, Michigan newspaper columnist

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I received this next Christmas letter from Shawn (one of Patricia’s dear friends and now one of mine), whose writing style seems poetic to me:

It is a bittersweet Christmas. Lucy is full of the magic of Christmas. I have been lax in my Christian duties of really explaining Christmas to her but she is on track now. She asked me, “Now Mama, exactly whose birthday is on Christmas?” So we talked about baby Jesus, who she insists on calling “she” no matter how many times I tell her Jesus is a boy. My boss gave her a nativity set that she loves to play with and then take the baby “she” Jesus out so she can take her on a sleigh ride. They get in the sled and fly up into the sky. We will be making a chocolate cake for the baby's birthday.

I really do miss Patricia right now. This is the age she was looking forward to teaching all of those traditions from your family like the songs and simple rituals for the holidays. Lucy would have eaten them up. She has a bit of Patricia's spirit in her. Her enthusiasm for other people reminds me daily of Patricia. She loves to say, “Hooray” for (whomever) and (their accomplishment).

It has been nice to receive you reflections. I am so glad to hear how well your son and his family have recovered from the hurricane, etc. Family is a great thing to have in years like this. I am glad to hear that you have had so much good to temper the not so good times this year.

We hope you have a wonderful holiday season and a really peaceful New Year!

Love, Shawn and Lucy

*****************************
Yes, Christmas is also a time to remember the loved ones we have lost in the past year or years. As a friend of mine (who also lost her sister) wrote: “The years bring both sweet and sad.” Yet, during these times of reflection we are reminded of how precious life is, and how we should treasure each and every day as if it were our last. Most importantly, we are reminded to not only cherish those we love and who love us, but all people with whom we cross paths, because we are all God’s children and part of the same family. So let’s carry on the Christmas Spirit all throughout the coming year!

In closing, I’d like to share the following poem, which was sent to me by Patricia’s partner and my precious sister, Nikki:

The Work of Christmas
By Howard Thurman

When the song of angels is stilled,
When the star in the sky is gone,
When the kings and princes are home,
When the shepherds are back with their flock,
The work of Christmas begins:

to find the lost,
to heal the broken,
to feed the hungry,
to release the prisoner,
to rebuild the nations,
to bring peace among the brothers,
to make music in the heart


“May the God of peace, who . . . brought back from the dead our Lord Jesus, that great Shepherd of the sheep, equip you with everything good for doing His will, and may He work in us what is pleasing to Him, through Jesus Christ, to whom be glory for ever and ever. Amen.” ~ Hebrews 13:20-21

Patricia enjoying the sunset

Christmas Present

The following is my Umbehr family Christmas poem for 2005.  I thought it was easier to hit the highlights of our year, rather than write a newsletter and go into detail on each event. This was an eventful year, without a doubt, with many ups and downs – which is the excuse I’m using for failing to include one of the major milestones of 2005 – Erin’s graduation from nursing school (summa cum laude)! I felt terrible about it after I realized it, although Erin never said a word.   In an attempt to make up for my oversight, I’ve included a picture taken on the day Erin graduated.   We’re so proud of you, Erin!




Merry Christmas One and All!

Some of you hear from us
Quite frequently
If my Reflections column
You do receive

But for those of you
Who feel out of the loop
This poem will provide
The Umbehr family scoop

March brought much sadness
Heartache and tears
With news that we lost
My sister Patricia, so dear


In spite of our sorrow
Life continued indeed            
And on May 14th
Keen earned his degree


The celebration was short-lived
Then the real work began
As he studied and prepared
For the bar exam

On the 1st of September
We learned the good news
He could now practice law
And charge fees for his views!

But the summer had other
Surprises in store
When Hurricane Katrina
Hit the Gulf Coast shore


Jared, Erin & boys
Lost all their possessions
Except their cars and their lives
Which was a major concession!


Josh & Lisa keep busy        
With both still in school
Lisa graduates in May
In time to sit by the pool


But that won’t last long
For the parents-to-be
That’s right – they’re expecting!
Then baby will make three!

And if that wasn’t enough,
For the proud grandparents to swallow
Jared & Erin soon announced
That their new baby would follow!

Keen II is still working
And refereeing at night
Plus he takes on-line classes
He’s so ambitious and bright


He won the 5K race
In Alma this year
And began dating Emily
In love they appear


Kirk made a big move
To a larger school nearby
Expanding his horizons
Under God’s and our watchful eye


He’s earning good grades
And joined a paintball club
But he was most excited when,
He made the basketball cut!

Now it’s time to wrap up
This warm Christmas greeting
May God bless you and keep you
Until our next meeting!          
                    

Keen, Eileen, Jared, Erin, Asher, Gabe, Josh, Lisa, Keen II and Kirk

Christmas Past

This week I’d like to share a poem about a Van Kirk Christmas past, which was written in 1997 by my sister-in-law, Connie, when she and my brother Bill and their four kids were living in Louisiana.

Connie titled her Christmas newsletter, “The Van Kirk Times.” I hope you enjoy it as much as we did.

I’d also like to wish all of you - my friends, family and “unknown readers” – many blessings of health, happiness, and prosperity this Christmas season and in the coming year. ~ Eileen

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

Our New Year started out with a bang, because on New Year’s Eve in Louisiana, fireworks everywhere rang.

A January outing to an amusement park is another story, where Kyle climbed high on Captain Hooks’ ship and cried out, “I FEEL THE GLORY”!

A special visit came from my Mom & Dad, with sightseeing & Mardi Gras parades, what a time we had!

For beads, toys & trinkets we’d say, “Throw me something, Mister!” It’s the biggest free show on earth for every brother & sister.

Joey had at first, a struggle to read, But almost overnight, he’s now in the lead!

My sister and family did visit for just one full day. A zoo trip in a forecast of rain was changed to sunshine, because we did pray!

Early March Spring planting was fun in a sleeveless shirt, just wish because of red clay, we didn’t have to buy all this dirt!

Luke played his trumpet and made honor band. He played as one of the best in the district, so let’s give him a hand.

On a river we did go with our local pastor, who loved to drive the boat faster and faster.

Except when the cruise ships came by, we submarined their waves and not a one of us was dry.

In April all 3 boys played baseball, playing through June, we were in for the long haul.

Luke started a business, mowing grass, and good for him the price was first class.

To the bank he did take half of his dough, he wonders now, where did the rest of it go?

What’s this bill I owe to the school cafe'? Why it’s Joey, who secretly decided to eat breakfast there everyday!

Bill received a promotion to level S-2, with all his hard work, 3M knew he was due.

High humidity & 90’s started early in May. And the first day of comfortable weather was still 5 months away.

Blueberry picking in June was quite a treat, the bushes were like trees, with large berries, abundant and sweet.

We had to soon travel far for a reunion with the VK clan, so we bought ourselves a ’95 Ford Windstar van.

For a Singapore school reunion came Bill’s sisters Eileen & Mary, fun and a whirlwind weekend of seeing classmates, some a bit too friendly – it was scary!

Just as I was about to breathe a sigh of relief, the baseball season went 6 more weeks with All-Stars - Good Grief!

A nice trip to Astro World in Houston with Renee, oh what could be the matter? It was hotter than blazes, the thermometers must have shattered.

Seeing Bill’s family in N.C. ocean shore made many memories to save, we all enjoyed seeing who could catch the biggest wave.

On this very trip the shocking news came, Bill’s key account is sold! Will his territory remain the same?

In August discussion of more territory, maybe a move? No move was the answer, so I focused on getting back in the groove.

The last weeks of summer reaped far more than I could bear! A 5-year-old girl cut short Callies’ hair!

Nerf gun ink pen ammo made carpet stains and all the bedroom wall-ball marks drove me insane.

Since I was due for a break, I went to a pampering party one day, to my surprise, a job offer came my way.

Come teach Spin Cycling at our health club (another dream come true), I took the job along with Aerobic Instructor Certification to pursue.

It was a busy Fall, with Luke and Joe in football. They both played center, hooray! Kyle in gymnastics, Callie in ballet.

The boys and I deep in our studies, some more news flashed. A transfer to Kansas City, our future here was slashed.

October brought Bill’s Dad to see us, He was quite a sport in all the scheduled ruckus.

At Thanksgiving we drove to see him, and the cup of hospitality he filled to the brim.

Mishaps of Joey’s sprained finger and Kyle’s black eye, I passed my Aerobic Exam, after studying so hard, I could die.

Kyle happened to lose four teeth in one week, he proclaimed, “Mom, I am on a losing streak”!

My friend, Renee, came to have a blast, and it felt like fun days we had had in the past.

We had such a blast you see, because Bill, he was baby-sitting for me.
To New Orleans we will soon say good-bye, it’s good news, yet makes me cry.

Bill will have a territory of five Midwest states, we will move the first quarter of 1998.

This holiday season we’ll drive to Minnesota to see y’all. COME TO OUR OPEN HOUSE FOR ONE AND ALL!

“For unto us a child is born, unto us a son is given: and the government shall be upon his shoulder: and his name shall be called Wonderful, Counselor, The mighty God, The everlasting Father, The Prince of Peace.” ~ Isaiah 9:6 (KJV)
Bill, Connie & kids at Van Kirk family reunion in Nags Head,1997

The Van Kirk Family in 2005 ~ Luke, Callie, Connie, Bill, Joey and Kyle

True Gifts

“And what a difference between our sin and God's generous gift of forgiveness. For this one man, Adam, brought death to many through his sin. But this other man, Jesus Christ, brought forgiveness to many through God's bountiful gift.”
                         ~ Romans 5:15 (NLT)

     With all the discussion about whether it’s appropriate to wish people a Merry Christmas or whether we should simply use the generic greeting, “Happy Holidays” – I’d just like to say one thing: Christmas is what Christmas is, just as Hanukkah is what Hanukkah is – and no one should have to apologize for that. Whether a particular holiday is set aside to honor a past president, veterans of war, Martin Luther King, or any other entity or religion, changing the name doesn’t change the original meaning.  Christmas is the celebration of the birth of Jesus, who came to Earth to save us from our sins.  How (or whether) individuals choose to participate in the celebration is up to them.
     The following poem was written by my friend, Pat Barrett:
     
Why Do We Celebrate Christmas?
By Patricia Kohls Barrett

It’s that time of year again
Decorations are up in the store
Advertisements try to entice us
To buy two, three, or four

We check last year’s decorations
To see if we need some more
We hang fragrant green wreaths
To welcome who come to the door

People hurry, scurry and rush
As they count the calendar days
Running around like little mice
Scampering through the maze

Is this why we celebrate Christmas
To get caught up in flurry and hype?
Do we appreciate the true meaning
Or negatively complain and gripe?

If we stop and listen to the music
“It Came Upon a Midnight Clear”
Listen to the words and message
The reason to celebrate we’ll hear

The baby born in a manger
Wasn’t just a homeless infant
God Himself became human
For our sakes from heaven was sent

He left his glory in heaven
Because of great love for all sinners
He came to die on the cross
All who believe can be winners

Attention and contemplation
Of such incredible, wonderful love
Gives reason for praise and adoration
Of our wonderful God up above

It’s the real reason to celebrate
Gives us peace and a big smile
Rejoice, be happy and praise Him
The motive was there all the while.

“I will praise you, O Lord, with all my heart; I will tell of all Your wonders.” ~Psalm 9:1

Pat’s poem not only captures the true meaning of Christmas, it also addresses the hectic pace that is typically associated with the various holiday preparations.

Every year I struggle with becoming overwhelmed by the stress that comes from having too much to do in too little time. So this year I broke a record by mailing my Christmas cards out a few days after Thanksgiving. I am also endeavoring to de-emphasize the material aspect of Christmas, by keeping the amount of money I spend on gifts within a reasonable limit.

Some of you may recall reading the following poem I wrote several years ago about the gift of time.  In my opinion, it is and always will be the greatest gift you can offer your loved ones – not only at Christmas, but all year through.

The Greatest Gift
By Eileen Umbehr

The greatest gift of all
Isn’t diamonds or gold
The greatest gift of all
Never rusts or gets old

The greatest gift of all
Isn’t being wined or dined
The greatest gift of all
Is the easiest to find

The greatest gift of all
Isn’t the latest craze
The greatest gift of all
Lasts more than three days

The greatest gift of all
Can’t be purchased in a store
It comes straight from the heart
And lasts forevermore

Yes, the greatest gift of all
Doesn’t cost a dime
For the greatest gift of all
Is the gift of time.  

“. . . [T]he only true gift is a portion of thyself.”
                   ~ Ralph Waldo Emerson

     Someone emailed me the following list of eight gifts that don’t cost a cent:

1.  THE GIFT OF LISTENING
      But you must REALLY listen.
      No interrupting, no daydreaming,
      no planning your response. Just listening.

  2.  THE GIFT OF AFFECTION
       Be generous with hugs, kisses, pats on the back,
       and handholds. Let these small actions demonstrate
       the love you have for family and friends.

3.  THE GIFT OF LAUGHTER
      Clip cartoons.
      Share articles and funny stories.
      Your gift will say, "I love to laugh with you."

4.   THE GIFT OF A WRITTEN NOTE
        It can be a simple, “Thanks for the help" note,
        or a full sonnet.  A brief, handwritten note may
        be remembered for a lifetime, and may even change a life.

5.  THE GIFT OF A COMPLIMENT
       A simple and sincere,
       "You look great in red," "You did a super job,"
       or "That was a wonderful meal" can make someone's day.

6.  THE GIFT OF A FAVOR
       Every day go out of your way to do something kind.

7.  THE GIFT OF SOLITUDE
       There are times when we want nothing better
       than to be left alone. Be sensitive to those times
       and give the gift of solitude to others.

8.  THE GIFT OF A CHEERFUL DISPOSITION
       The easiest way to feel good is to extend
       a kind word to someone, really it is not that
       hard to say, “Hello,” or “Thank You.”

Too often we underestimate the power of a touch, a smile, a kind word, a listening ear, an honest compliment, or the smallest act of caring, all of which have the potential to turn a life around.  
~ Leo Buscaglia

THE BEST GIFTS THIS SEASON
Author Unknown

To a Friend: Loyalty
To an Enemy: Forgiveness
To your Boss: Service
To your Child: Patience and a Good Example
To your Father: Honor
To your Mother: Gratitude and Devotion
To your Spouse: Love and Faithfulness
To Yourself: Respect
To All Men and Women: Charity
To God: Your Life

In closing, I’d like to share a poem which was written by another gifted poet and friend of mine, Gale Rogers.  Gale said that he was trying to show and tell about some of the gifts he received growing up. “Sad or melancholy as the poem might seem,” he wrote, “I wanted to make the reader think what Christmas is all about, by comparing the impending traditional gifts one looks forward to and the real gift that is the true meaning of Christmas . . . .”

CHRISTMAS GIFTS
By Gale Rogers

I remember Christmas past with memories that forever will last.

I remember fresh green fir trees lit with lights and multicolored glass balls.  Mistletoe, strings of cranberries and popcorn hanging on gala decorated walls.

I remember stockings filled to the brim with oranges, apples and sticky ribbon candy. Pencils, small wooden toys, nuts handkerchiefs and other things so handy.

I remember going caroling, while holding hands with a very special girl. Followed, by hot chocolate back at the church and peppermint canes of red and white swirl.

I remember being a shepherd, in the church play about the Birth. My first Midnight Mass with a friend, and the gifts of incense and myrrh.

I remember the American flyer, maroon and white. How it did gleam beside the tree brand new, with a horn and a big chrome headlight.

I remember Lincoln logs, spinning tops, and tinker toys. Footballs, bats, new overalls a pair of mittens and other gifts for boys.

I remember Shirley Temple dolls, with hair hanging in curls. China playhouse dishes, ribbons, bows, fancy skirts, story book dolls and other presents for girls.

I remember the gathering and the warmth, shared by family and friends. Exchanging cards with those far away, singing "White Christmas" and other old trends.

I remember a Christmas when family, was scattered from Texas to Nome.  How sad it was that year, knowing we could not be home.

I remember my children's first Christmas, and their impending glee. How happy I was to be able to give them their very own memory.

But most of all I stop, to remember just why. Nothing will ever compare to the gift given long ago, when a single star shone in Eastern sky.

“For God so loved the world, that he gave his only begotten Son, that whosoever believeth in him should not perish, but have everlasting life.”    ~ John 3:16 (KJV)

Matters of the Heart

“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

     I hope you don’t mind that I am taking a little break from writing during the holidays by sharing some poems and stories others have passed along to me over the years.  This week I’d like to share two stories which refer to matters of the heart, compliments of my friend Larry Perry who lives in the Smoky Mountains of Tennessee. I hope you’ll find them as inspiring as I did.   ~ Eileen

“Faith is realizing that I am useful to God - not in spite of my scars, but because of them.”   ~ Pamela Reeve

The Beautiful Heart
Author Unknown

One day a young man was standing in the middle of the town proclaiming that he had the most beautiful heart in the whole valley. A large crowd gathered and they all admired his heart, for it was perfect. There was not a mark or a flaw in it. Yes, they all agreed it truly was the most beautiful heart they had ever seen. The young man was very proud and boasted more loudly about his beautiful heart.

Suddenly, an old man appeared at the front of the crowd and said, "Why your heart is not nearly as beautiful as mine." The crowd and the young man looked at the old man's heart. It was beating strongly, but full of scars, it had places where pieces had been removed and other pieces put in, but they didn't fit quite right and there were several jagged edges. In fact, in some places there were deep gouges where whole pieces were missing.

The people stared. “How can he say that his heart is more beautiful?”  

The young man looked at the state of the old man's heart and laughed. “You must be joking," he said. "Compare your heart with mine, mine is perfect and yours is a mess of scars and tears."

"Yes," said the old man, "Yours is perfect looking but I would never trade with you. You see, every scar represents a person to whom I have given my love. I tear out a piece of my heart and give it to them, and often they give me a piece of their heart which fits into the empty place in my heart, but because the pieces aren't exact, I have some rough edges, which I cherish, because they remind me of the love we shared. Sometimes I have given pieces of my heart away, and the other person hasn't returned a piece of his heart to me. These are the empty gouges . . . giving love is taking a chance. Although these gouges are painful, they stay open, reminding me of the love I have for these people too, and I hope someday they may return and fill the space I have waiting.

“So now do you see what true beauty is?"

The young man stood silently with tears running down his cheeks. He walked up to the old man, reached into his perfect young and beautiful heart and ripped a piece out. He offered it to the old man with trembling hands. The old man took his offering, placed it in his heart and then took a piece from his scarred heart and placed it in the wound of the young man's heart.

It fit, but not perfectly, as there were some jagged edges. The young man looked at his heart, not perfect anymore but more beautiful than ever, since love from the old man's heart flowed into his. They embraced and walked away side by side.

How sad it must be to go through life with a whole heart.

********************
A Twenty Dollar Bill

Motivational speaker Zig Ziglar started off one of his seminars in Kansas City by holding up a $20.00 bill. In the room of 2000, he asked, "Who would like this $20 bill" Hands started going up. He said, "I am going to give this $20 to one of you.  But first, let me do this.  

He proceeded to crumple up the $20 dollar bill. He then asked, "Who still wants it?" Still the hands were up in the air. “Well,” he replied, "What if I do this?" And he dropped it on the ground and started to grind it into the floor with his shoe. He picked it up, now crumpled and dirty. "Now, who still wants it?"  Still the hands went into the air.

“My friends,” he said, “we have all learned a very valuable lesson. No matter what I did to the money, you still wanted it because it did not decrease in value. It was still worth $20.

Many times in our lives, we are dropped, crumpled and ground into the dirt by the decisions we make and the circumstances that come our way. We feel as though we are worthless. But, no matter what has happened or what will happen, you will never lose your value. Dirty or clean, crumpled or finely creased, you are still priceless to those who do love you.

The worth of our lives comes not in what we do or who we know, but from WHO WE ARE.  YOU are special.  Don't EVER forget it!"

    “And we have known and believed the love that God has for us. God is love . . .”
                                  
                ~ I John 4:16a (NKJV)

Remembering Patricia

"Remember the days of old, consider the years of many generation.” ~ Deuteronomy 32:7a (KJV)

“Grief is a real wound, a mutilation, a gaping hole in the human spirit. Some beloved person has been wrested, torn bodily from one’s life. Yet it is God alone who can finally heal the brokenhearted ....”

~ To Live Again, by Catherine Marshall

This Saturday, November 26th, would have been my sister Patricia’s 55th birthday. Those of us who knew and loved Patricia miss her more than words can say, and we will never fully heal from the heartache of losing her or the void her passing left in all of our lives.

“She is missed – she is deeply and widely missed.”

~ Letter from Patricia’s friend, Jenifer

Patricia’s life partner, Nikki, remains close to our hearts and will always be a cherished member of the Van Kirk family. After Patricia’s untimely death last spring, Nikki and many of her friends combined their efforts, energies, and talents to host a memorial in Patricia’s honor. As I shared in an earlier column, the Celebration of Life on Whidbey Island was attended by approximately 200 people. It was such a beautiful and fitting tribute to Patricia’s all-too-short life.

Patricia and Nikki













Nikki and her loving circle of friends/family will be remembering and celebrating Patricia’s life once again over Thanksgiving weekend. Here is an excerpt from an email Nikki sent us about their plans:

“It is with much love and gratitude that I/we in Seattle and Whidbey will include all of Patricia's family for our special celebration of Patricia on the 26th of November. We invite you to join us in your own way through prayer, song, dance, laughter, silence... any way the spirit moves you to celebrate Patricia. I envision all of us lighting a candle for Patricia and sending her a blessing from our heart. Maybe we can come up with a time where we can all light our candles at the same time.

It will be a day where many of us from Seattle and Whidbey and maybe Martha from Alaska will come together to remember Patricia. We'll spend time throughout the day sharing stories, taking walks, talking, singing and creating a mural, painting a rock.... writing a poem, something to honor Patricia. I will light a 24-hour candle in the morning and we will light 55 candles in the late afternoon or early evening. Diana and Sylvia will be singing and leading us in songs . . .”



Sylvia & Diana singing at the Celebration of Life for Patricia







During the time my sisters and I spent on Whidbey Island, we formed deep and lasting friendships with the members of Patricia’s extended family. This week, I’d like to share some correspondence I’ve received from two of our new friends.

This first letter is from Martha, who described Patricia as “my dearest friend of the heart.” After the service, Martha and I cried and shared memories together on the deck of Patricia and Nikki’s home, overlooking their beautiful yard and view – a view that will never look quite the same without Patricia.

Dear Eileen,

Well, as you may have considered, I am a terrible procrastinator and not that easy with words as both you and Jenifer have been blessed to be. Nonetheless, I have thought of you often and have appreciated your card and e-mails very much.

I still cannot believe that our dear Patricia won’t be answering the phone when I call her house. I miss her every day. Sometimes grieving seems so selfish – I so much want to see her again and just then, when it feels overwhelming, Jenifer tells me of a dream she had. It’s a party and Patricia is there with all her friends. She is dead, but just the same there and enjoying being with her dear ones. She looks radiantly happy. She and Jen talk – no one else can see her (it is, after all, Jenifer’s dream); she tells Jenifer that everything is wonderful. Jenifer asks if she knows the meaning and purpose of life now. Patricia laughs that wonderful Patricia laugh and says, “Oh, I can’t tell you that!” Jenifer replies that she doesn’t want her to tell her what the meaning and purpose of life is, just if Patricia knows what it is, and with another laugh she says, “Well, of course!” Anyway, there was certainly more detail Jen could say, but I like to remember the story, hear that laugh in my heart and choose to believe that she is radiantly happy and watching over us and right here with us when we need her.

I must tell you it was wonderful to spend that time with you and your sisters in April, to laugh and cry and tell stories together. It’s my belief that friends become friends through shared experiences and I now do feel blessed to count you all as my friends and hope to have many more times to share of ourselves.

With much love,
Martha


Patricia with Martha, Jenifer & their two boys, Denali (left) and Rogelio










I received this next letter from Shawn shortly after returning from the memorial on Whidbey Island. Shawn and her daughter Lucy shared the house that Nikki and Patricia lived in, and they continue to share it now with Nikki.





Shawn & Lucy at the Celebration of Life












Hey Eileen,

Thank you for the pictures. It was an extraordinary weekend. We were so glad to meet the four of you and have a greater context to Patricia's life. There was not a day that I can remember in living with Patricia that the Van Kirk influence was not spoken of. She would sing a song to Lucy or tell a family story or mention one of you. Out of sight was definitely not out of mind and heart.

Lucy is doing well. We broke off of the bottle last weekend and that has been the BIG transition. She does not like this getting to be a big girl and all of the burdens that growth carries.

Lucy does still think of “Pisha.” She has 3 coasters with coffee cup prints on them. She makes "hoffee" for Nikki, Pisha and herself. I am not included in the hoffee parties because she only has 3 coasters. The other night when she was taking a bath, she asked me where Pisha is now. I told her that Pisha is in Heaven and can't come back like she used to and see us but she is now with us in our hearts and thoughts. Lucy took that in and contemplated it for awhile. Then, she asked me, "Mama, what is thinking? What are thoughts?" So, I said that thoughts are what she is having when she asks me if we are going to Jody's (her babysitter) and she can picture Jody in her mind and see Jody's house but we are at home so she can't see Jody. Then, the next day, we go to Jody's house and she sees Jody and sees the house and it looks just like it did in her mind's eye. Pisha can only come back to us through our hearts and thoughts and we can see her that way but we won't ever see her like we used to when she could come home in her body. Lucy thought about it for a minute and then shrugged that satisfied way that toddlers have. Sometimes she says goodbye to Pisha as we leave the house so I know Patricia is still hanging around. I like to believe Lucy has the best Auntie Guardian Angel ever.

Nikki is struggling her way through it all. Her pain is immense and we just try and help her make it from one day to the next. Some days are better than others. "Blessed are they that mourn, for they shall be comforted." Nikki mourns in a good way and finds comfort in it and from her loving circle. She really is good at letting people help hold her up right now. That is a gift for everyone.

Well, I am finishing up work and heading for the ferry. I wanted to respond right away. I will leave you with one more bit of prose. It is from the Mass card from my aunt's funeral, and I think it holds true for Patricia, too.

Your gentle face and patient smile
With sadness we recall.
You had a kindly word for each
And died beloved by all.

The voice is mute and stilled the heart
That loved us well and true.
Ah, but bitter was the trial to part
From one so good as you.

You are not forgotten loved one
Nor will you ever be.
As long as life and memory last
We will remember thee.

We miss you now, our hearts are sore,
As time goes on, we miss you more,
Your loving smile, your gentle face
No one can fill your vacant place.

“And God shall wipe away all tears from their eyes . . . .” ~ Revelation 21:4

























“She is missed – she is deeply and widely missed.”

Roses and Thorns

“Oh, give thanks to the LORD, for He is good! For His mercy endures forever.” ~I Chronicles 16:34 (NKJV)

“Happiness is to be found along the way, not at the end of the road, for then the journey is over and it’s too late. Today, this hour, this minute is the day, the hour the minute for each of us to sense the fact that life is good, with all its trials and troubles, and perhaps more interesting because of them.” ~ Robert R. Updegraff, author of "Be Thankful For Your Troubles"

The other day I saw a story about a little girl who was born without the ability to feel pain. At first her parents thought it would be a blessing, but they soon learned that it was much more like a curse. For example, when their daughter was teething, she nearly chewed the ends of her fingers right off. And when she got older, she received third degree burns from grabbing a hot light bulb. The girl’s mother stated that no one realizes how important it is to be able to feel pain, and how necessary it is to our physical well-being.

While pain of any kind is unpleasant – whether physical or emotional – it is that very pain which stretches our faith, making us stronger and more equipped to face the next trial that comes our way. These painful experiences also help keep our hearts tender, so that we’re in a better position to extend compassion to others who are facing difficult situations in their own lives.

“Tonight Keen was talking about how he treasures our walks and the times we’ve danced on the patio. Then I said, ‘But do you know what’s sad? There would have been so much more of that, if there had only been less of this,’ (the lawsuit). Then Keen replied, ‘But would it have been as sweet? If we’d never climbed the mountains, would we appreciate the plains?” ~ Journal entry, 1996 (after the lawsuit settled)

I hope that the following story and poem will serve as gentle reminders for all of us to maintain an attitude of thanksgiving to God, even in the midst of our darkest hours.

Thanksgiving Bouquet
Author Unknown

Sandra felt as low as the heels of her Birkenstocks as she pushed against a November gust and the florist shop door. Her life had been easy, like a spring breeze. Then in the fourth month of her second pregnancy, a minor automobile accident stole her ease.

During this Thanksgiving week she would have delivered a son. She grieved over her loss. As if that weren't enough, her husband's company threatened a transfer. Then her sister, whose holiday visit she coveted, called to say she could not come. What's worse, Sandra was infuriated by a friend’s suggestion that her grief was a God-given path to maturity which would allow her to empathize with others who suffer. "She has no idea what I'm feeling," Sandra thought with a shudder.

Thanksgiving? Thankful for what, she wondered. For a careless driver whose truck was hardly scratched when he rear ended her? For an airbag that saved her life but took that of her unborn child?

"Good afternoon, may I help you?" The shop clerk's approach startled her.

"I....I need an arrangement," stammered Sandra.

"For Thanksgiving? Do you want beautiful but ordinary, or would you like to challenge the day with a customer favorite I call ‘the Thanksgiving Special?’ the clerk asked. "I'm convinced that flowers tell stories," she continued. "Are you looking for something that conveys gratitude this Thanksgiving?"

"Not exactly!" Sandra blurted out. "In the last five months, everything that could go wrong has gone wrong." Sandra regretted her outburst, and was surprised when the shop clerk said, "I have the perfect arrangement for you."

Then the door's small bell rang, and the shop clerk said, "Hi, Barbara...let me get your order." She politely excused herself and walked toward a small workroom, then quickly reappeared, carrying an arrangement of greenery, bows, and long-stemmed thorny roses – except the ends of the rose stems were neatly snipped and there were no flowers.

Sandra watched for the customer's response. Was this a joke? Who would want rose stems with no flowers! She waited for laughter, but neither woman laughed. "Yes, please," Barbara replied with an appreciative smile. "You'd think after three years of getting the special, I wouldn't be so moved by its significance, but I can feel it right here, all over again,” she said, gently tapping her chest.

"Uh," stammered Sandra, "that lady just left with....she just left with no flowers!"

“That’s right," said the clerk. "I cut the flowers off. That's the Special. I call it the Thanksgiving Thorns Bouquet."

"Oh, come on, you can't tell me someone is willing to pay for that!" exclaimed Sandra.

"Barbara came into the shop three years ago feeling much like you do today," explained the clerk. "She thought she had very little to be thankful for. She had lost her father to cancer, the family business was failing, her son was into drugs, and she was facing major surgery.” “That same year I lost my husband," continued the clerk, "and for the first time in my life, I had just spent the holidays alone. I had no children, no husband, no family nearby, and too great a debt to allow any travel."

"So what did you do?" asked Sandra.

"I learned to be thankful for thorns," answered the clerk quietly. "I've always thanked God for good things in life and never asked Him why those good things happened to me. But when the bad stuff hit, boy, did I ever ask! It took time for me to learn that dark times are important. I have always enjoyed the 'flowers' of life, but it took thorns to show me the beauty of God's comfort. You know, the Bible says that God comforts us when we're afflicted, and from His consolation we learn to comfort others."

Sandra sucked in her breath as she thought about the very thing her friend had tried to tell her. "I guess the truth is that I don't want comfort. I've lost a baby and I'm angry with God. I don't know if I can be thankful for the thorns in my life. It’s all too...fresh."

“Well,” the clerk replied carefully, "my experience has shown me that thorns make roses more precious. We treasure God's providential care more during trouble than at any other time. Remember, it was a crown of thorns that Jesus wore so we might know His love. Don't resent the thorns."

Tears rolled down Sandra's cheeks. For the first time since the accident, she loosened her grip on resentment. "I'll take those twelve long-stemmed thorns, please.”

"I hoped you would," said the clerk gently. "I'll have them ready in a minute."

"Thank you. What do I owe you?"

"Oh, nothing. Nothing but a promise to allow God to heal your heart. The first year's arrangement is always on me." The clerk smiled and handed a card to Sandra. "I'll attach this card to your arrangement, but maybe you would like to read it first."

“Dear God, I have never thanked You for my thorns. I have thanked You a thousand times for my roses, but never once for my thorns. Teach me the glory of the cross I bear; teach me the value of my thorns. Show me that I have climbed closer to You along the path of pain. Show me that, through my tears, the colors of Your rainbow look much more brilliant."

Praise Him for your roses; thank Him for your thorns.

“Blessed be the God and Father of our Lord Jesus Christ, the Father of mercies and God of all comfort, who comforts us in all our tribulation, that we may be able to comfort those who are in any trouble, with the comfort with which we ourselves are comforted by God.” ~ II Corinthians 1:3,4 (NKJV)



The following poem was written by my friend, Pat Barrett, who has graciously allowed me to share it with you.(She also took the above photograph.) Pat is an amazing woman of strength, who recently suffered the loss of her younger brother to lymphoma. Yet, in the midst of her pain, Pat was still able to write this inspiring poem of thanksgiving. God bless you, Pat.

Thanks and Joy Always
By Patricia Kohls Barrett

Yearly we have a special time
To thank you and pray
But you want a thankful life
Joy and thanksgiving every day

Your will for us in Christ
Is to pray through good and bad
Not just when we are pleased
But also when scared or sad

When we think of benefits
Of having you as our God
There’s much reason for joy
As on this earth we trod

We often disappoint you
Still perfectly you love
You shower many blessings
From your throne up above

You loved before we knew You
Planned salvation free and clear
To send Christ to the cross
So we never need to fear

When we have the hard times
You are with us all the way
You will turn them to our good
As in the promise you did say

To keep a joyful heart
We must keep in your Word
We’ll get the peace and comfort
From what we’ve seen and heard

Through this the Spirit fills us
With happiness and peace
To soothe our pain and sorrow
Our complaining to cease.

He will lead us to look
For the good in the bad
To concentrate and focus
On what we have, not had

If we keep in his Word
We can be joyful each day
And pray without ceasing
And do things His way

“Be joyful always; pray continually; give thanks in all circumstances, for this is God's will for you in Christ Jesus.” ~ I Thessalonians 5:16-18 NIV

My Brother, Bill

“But there is a friend who sticks closer than a brother . . . .”
~ Proverbs 18:24b (NKJV)

You are my brother, you are my family
And it seems like only yesterday,
we were running wild and free
Down the corner buying candy,
or messin' 'round in the neighborhood
Hanging out with you night and day,
it was good, so good . . .

My Brother, My Brother ~ recorded by Aaron Neville

This week I’d like to write about my younger brother, Bill, who will be celebrating his 46th birthday on November 10th.

Bill and I are only sixteen months apart, even though we are the seventh and eighth children out of nine. I don’t know how our dear mother managed to keep her sanity having all those kids so close together. (Maybe she lost it by the time we were born, which would explain a lot.) At any rate, Bill and I go way back.



Rumor has it that I thought I was the boss of Bill from the time he was born. Mom said that when he started crawling, I followed him around everywhere he went. Poor kid. We even have a family picture with all of us kids lined up in a row. I was probably about two and Bill would have been about eight or nine months old. There we were at the end of the line, and I had my arm around Bill’s neck, holding him in a headlock.

Our favorite Bill story is about how he made up a song when he was only about seven years old. He would sing the chorus over and over as he strummed on his little ukulele: “Oh my baby, Oh my baby, Oh my baby, Oh my baby, Oh my baby, Oh my baby, Oh my baby, Oh my baby.” Then someone asked him, “What’s the name of your song, Billy?” In total exasperation, he replied, “Oh my BABY!”

My siblings and I used to torment Bill by singing this song called, Billy Boy. It went like this: “Oh where have you been, Billy Boy, Billy Boy? Oh where have you been, charming Billy? I have been to seek a wife, she’s the joy of my life; she’s a young thing and cannot leave her mother. Did she ask you to come in, Billy Boy, Billy Boy? Did she ask you to come in, charming Billy? Yes, she asked me to come in, there’s a dimple on her chin; she’s a young thing and cannot leave her mother.”

It should come as no surprise that Bill and I fought like cats and dogs when we were younger. (And I mean that literally.) But thankfully, we grew up, and I’m happy to report that now he is one of my dearest friends.

Bill is the business head in our family, and he graciously shares his ideas and wisdom with anyone willing to listen. It doesn’t matter how busy he is with his own family and business, he always makes time for his siblings. In an earlier column, I shared an example of how we benefited from Bill’s insights. It was about the time we were trying to sell our business in 1998 so Keen could go to college, and the guy we offered it to never returned Keen’s calls. Well, Bill became absolutely indignant about that and practically chastised us for wasting our time. “Call one of those big trash companies!” he exclaimed. So we took his advice and by 5:00 that night Keen had received a return telephone call from Waste Management. Within three months we closed the deal and Keen enrolled at Kansas State.

Recently I made the mistake of telling Bill that I was in the process of having business cards made up for Keen’s new law practice. Well, let me tell you, he was all over that! (I guess the tables have turned and now he thinks he’s the boss of me!) To make a long story short, after it was all said and done, Bill had dragged me kicking and screaming into the latest “must have” for the business world: a web page and a domain name. He said, “The whole idea behind a business card is to include as much contact information as possible.” He convinced me that now was the time to implement these changes – even though I had neither the time nor the desire to cooperate.

Then a couple of weeks ago I was feeling anxious about my book and decided to send out a preliminary query letter to the agent in New York who had expressed interest in my project several years ago. I was just going to send a letter, but Bill thought I should send the manuscript with the letter. I kept trying to explain why I simply wanted to ask her if she was still interested, but he kept insisting that I should wait. In one of his many e-mails he wrote: “I am thinking that you should send this letter with the manuscript, not asking permission to send it. Don’t leave her room to say no. (Old salesman’s trick.)” Nevertheless, I stuck to my guns and put the freshly composed letter in the mailbox. When I returned to my computer, I found yet another email from Bill asking if I’d sent the letter yet! I was tempted to tell him to back off, but instead I conceded and retrieved the letter before the mailman arrived. What can I say? I had to reluctantly admit that I did have a very slight, nagging doubt about it, and since he’s been right every other time, I was afraid not to listen to him!

“The godly give good advice . . . .” ~ Proverbs 10:21a (NLT)

I’ll say one thing, he sure is persistent! But seriously, Bill has a heart of gold and genuinely cares about everyone in his family.

"We need someone to believe in us - if we do well, we want our work commended, our faith corroborated. The individual who thinks well of you, who keeps his mind on your good qualities, and does not look for flaws, is your friend. Who is my brother? I'll tell you; he is one who recognizes the good in me." ~ Elbert Hubbard

Bill and his wife, Connie, have been married for over twenty years and together they are wonderful parents to their four children: Luke, Kyle, Joey and Callie.



Bill, Connie & kids with our father at Josh & Lisa's wedding in 2003

Whenever we visit their house it’s like Grand Central Station with friends constantly calling or coming over. In fact, just a couple of weeks ago Keen and I were in Olathe and we decided to drop by for a short visit. When we arrived, their house was swarming with teenagers who had gathered to celebrate Callie’s 13th birthday. There were pizza boxes galore and pop cans everywhere, and Connie was sitting on the floor organizing some games for the partygoers. If that wasn’t enough excitement for one night, they allowed their son Joey to invite four or five of his friends over, too! Yes, Bill and Connie are two of the most hands-on parents I know. They always attend their children’s’ various sporting events, even when that means traveling back and forth from one end of town to the other every Saturday and Sunday.

I might also add that Connie and I have two things in common: we both kept detailed journals of the funny things our kids said and did while growing up, and we both like to write poems. In fact, this Christmas I’d like to share a humorous poem/newsletter Connie wrote several years ago (with her permission, of course).

Lastly, I’d like to write about the way Bill and I seem to share the same warped sense of humor. Sometimes we can get pretty silly. For example, once we got off on a goofy tangent during an exchange of emails. It started with Bill saying: “If you need a proof reader, I could do it, for a fee.” Then later he sent me a picture that his son Kyle took at Josh and Lisa’s wedding, and he wrote: “I must copyright the photo Kyle took before it goes too far. I could ask him to sign your copies, for a fee.” But the straw that broke the camel’s back was when, in a more serious e-mail, I asked him to say some prayers for us. Believe it or not, he replied that he would be happy to, “for a fee.”

That’s what instigated me to write the following ditty:

What's all this about a fee?
We should charge you!
You little turkey!

And I don't think God
Would be very pleased
To hear that you’re charging
For petitions and pleas!

And besides, I thought blood
Was thicker than water
Are you forgetting,
I'm your mother's daughter?

So for your sake
I'll pretend you never said it
And I suggest you drop your suggestion
Or else you're gonna get it!

Your loving sister, Eileen

But Bill still got in the last word with this response: “I'll drop it, for a fee.”

So I guess I’ll wish my little brother a Happy Birthday ... “for a fee!”
I love you, bro!