Blizzard Babies

How much do you know about your mom's pregnancy with you? How about your birth story? All I know is that I was born on my sister Linda's confirmation day, one day before my due date. I also know that if I was a boy, my name would have been Kelly Dale. In the past, parents didn't share many of those details with their children. My kids have been told far more about my pregnancies and their birth stories than us kids ever were. But, I bet if I asked each of my siblings which of our birth stories they know the most about, they would all answer the same: "Charlie."

In early March of 1959, Mother was due with her sixth child. The winter of 1958-1959 was the snowiest winter on record for Houston County, Minnesota. Almost 92 inches of snow fell that winter, 45 of them in March alone. My mom often told the story of how every weekend in February and March, there seemed to be another snowstorm. At times the snow was so deep that the milk truck could only make it to the neighbors just up the road from us. Then Daddy would put full milk cans onto wooden skis that he had made and skied the milk over the fences to the neighbors to be picked up by the milk truck. The ditches were already drifted full when the snow started on March 5, 1959. Over the next 3 days, 18.5 inches of snow came down. That, accompanied by strong winds, caused blizzard conditions.


The morning of March 6, started out just like any other Saturday morning at our house. My sisters, Linda and Jo, were busy watching cartoons on TV. (They still can't agree as to whether they were watching Mighty Mouse, Pixie and Dixie or Tom and Jerry!) Just a mile further down the road, our neighbors began calling to have a snowplow sent out to clear the road. The reason? The wife, Nadine, had gone into labor. The roads were completely blocked by huge snowdrifts and there was no way Nadine's husband, LaVern, could get her to the hospital. He had gotten his car stuck trying to get out of his driveway. Two snowplows were sent out, but it took a good part of the day to clear the 8 miles to their house. Nadine knew that my mom was also pregnant and due about the same time as she was. So, she called to let my mom know that the snowplows were clearing the road and to see how my mom was doing. Mother said she was fine. Nadine and LaVern offered to take Mother with them, just in case she should go into labor, but Mother said there were no signs of labor. I am willing to bet that she was also thinking that she had four children at home that she needed to care for and that with the weather as it was, she was needed at home. Daddy, though, thought differently. He told her that she needed to go with LaVern and Nadine, just in case. If she didn't, and she went into labor, the snowplows would have to make another trip, as the snow was still falling steadily and the wind was blowing fiercely. I also am betting that Daddy was thinking about my mom's last pregnancy. One and a half years earlier, Mother had given birth to my sister, Cindy, who was stillborn due to a cord accident. I am sure that Daddy knew if something happened to this baby and Mother wasn't at the hospital, she would blame herself. So he insisted that she go to the hospital, even though she wasn't yet in labor. (Luckily, my Grandma Betz lived with my family at that time, so she was able to care for my 4 oldest siblings.)

Several hours later, the snowplows made it past our house, and continued on for the last mile to the neighbors' house. A while later, Uncle Dale climbed up the ladder of the windmill so he could see when the snowplows were on their way back. I have always found it funny that he climbed up there in treacherous conditions so he could let Daddy know when Mother needed to be down at the road to be picked up. As the snowplows headed back toward our farm, LaVern and Nadine followed behind the first snowplow in their car (which the snowplow drivers had helped LaVern dig out). The second snowplow followed behind their car. When they came over the hill just west of our farm, they saw Dale at the top of the windmill. They stopped at our driveway long enough to pick up Mother and headed for the Caledonia Hospital. Daddy stayed at the farm to do chores. The plow drivers warned LaVern to let them escort him all the way to the hospital as the streets in Caledonia hadn't yet been plowed. I have often imagined the scene at the hospital when LaVern arrived with not one, but two very pregnant women. It's probably a good thing it was a small town and everyone knew each other. I can only imagine the rumors that would have started circulating otherwise.

After dropping the women off at the hospital, LaVern left his car there and walked to his parents house where he would be staying. The streets were unplowed so his car couldn't make it through. He had recently had hernia surgery and had a hired man at the farm to do chores for him. That was the only reason he was able to stay in Caledonia. LaVern's parents lived near the Catholic Church, which was a good hike from the Caledonia Hospital on a good day. Considering the snowfall and his recent surgery, it must have been a very tough hike for LaVern. When he arrived at their house, there was so much snow that the front door was inaccessible. He climbed a snowdrift to a second story window and removed the screen so he could get into the house. The following morning, he went out the window and down the drift again and shoveled the doors out.


I am not sure if my mom was checked into the hospital as soon as she arrived or if they had her sit in the waiting room, but she still had no signs of labor. Shortly after midnight, on March 7, 1959, Nadine gave birth to her daughter, Beverly. A few hours later, Mother delivered my brother, Charles Michael (Charles after my Grandpa Charlie and Michael after my mom's favorite uncle, Mike). The phone at the farm rang early that morning letting my dad know that he had a healthy baby boy.  I recall hearing that it was several days before the roads were in good enough condition for Daddy to make it to town to see his new son. The first time that Daddy made it to the hospital for a visit, LaVern joked with him and asked Daddy if he needed him to bring Maxine and the new baby home for him too.

In June of 2011, when my mom was in hospice, Bev's sister-in-law, Sandy, stopped in to visit. Sandy and her husband now live on that farm where Laverne and Nadine lived. She works at the hospital where Mother died. LaVern and Nadine had both already passed away. Sandy told us a very touching story of signs from God that she'd witnessed after LaVern's death. As she was getting ready to leave, she said to Mother, "Maxine, I reckon you are getting ready to go and see Earl again.  When you get there, be sure to say "Hi" to LaVern and Nadine for me." That reduced me to tears. I am sure Mother did tell them "Hi" when she made it to Heaven. And I'm sure that Mother and Daddy and LaVern and Nadine are all sitting up in Heaven now, reminiscing about that snowy day all those years ago when Charlie and Bev were born.

Life is Like a Rubik's Cube

In the early 1980's, when I was in high school, Rubik's Cube made it's debut on store shelves.  My brother, Mike and I spent hour upon hour trying to figure out how to solve it. There was no Internet back then so we couldn't easily find the solution. Daddy was convinced that we would never figure it out. That only made us more determined. Daddy then told us that if either of us solved Rubik's Cube without cheating, he would pay that person $100. I know he thought it was a safe bet. I've promised outlandish things to my own kids when I knew there was no way I'd ever have to pay up. Lauren still reminds me of the time when she was about 6 and still sucked her thumb. I promised her a big flat screen TV for her room if she stopped that very minute and never sucked her thumb again. Lucky for me, she wasn't ready to quit yet. Living on a farm in 1984, that $100 offer was as big of a deal to me as the big flat screen TV was to Lauren. Lucky for me, Daddy didn't set an immediate deadline. Weeks later (Okay, probably months later), as I was endlessly working my Rubik's Cube, I made a turn on it, and it was solved! I had no idea how I had solved it, but I had. And Daddy came through on his promise. He paid me $100. To this day, I don't know the solution. I know how to get all the corners correct and then I am stuck. I just checked the Internet to see how many possible ways a Rubik's Cube can be arranged. The answer is approximately 43 quintillion (that's 43 with 18 zeros after it). I'm pretty sure that's about how many ways I had it arranged before it fell into place for me. So what does this story have to do with anything? Maybe nothing, but I'm going to try to make a connection anyway.

This year during Lent, our church is doing a series of Wednesday night services that piece together our journey from brokenness to wholeness...from death to life. At each service a piece is added to a puzzle that is displayed. My understanding is that we are each a piece of that puzzle and really that each of our lives is made up of pieces that have to be fit together in order for us become whole. I think each of us at times has met someone or had an experience where we felt like a piece to our life puzzle was just put in place.

Last week's Wednesday night speaker was incredible. Mark is a Jewish man who regularly attends services at our church. It kind of sounds like it should be the beginning of a joke: "A Jewish man walks into a Lutheran church..."  Mark's girlfriend, Cindy has been a member at our church for many years. I've known who both of them are for a few years but really only met them at a graduation party last summer. Cindy and I have talked at church a few times. She knows about my red fox sightings and she told me of signs she had seen when her own dad passed away. I had no idea what Mark was going to speak about, but in hindsight, when he started out by saying that he can't speak about God without crying, I should have pulled out the tissues right away. His story was about being in the depths of depression, losing everything he had, and being on the brink of suicide. And by "on the brink of suicide" I mean he met with his therapist and told him he was going to end his life. While the therapist never told him not to do it, the conversation they had that day saved Mark's life. At some point down the road, Mark saw a tiny speck of light...hope. He called out to God in prayer and asked for a sign to be sent to him. Shortly thereafter, he met Cindy. He later realized that Cindy was (in his words) a sign and an angel from God. Never before in his life had he entertained the idea of dating a non-Jewish person. Cindy was Christian. She invited him to a service at our church. He has been returning for years. He remains Jewish and she remains Christian. A couple of years ago, Mark saw an obituary for the therapist who saved his life. The therapist had committed suicide. Mark was unable to attend the funeral and attempts to contact the family were unsuccessful. Then a week later, he and Cindy were leaving our church together when Mark noticed a prayer request in the bulletin. The request was for a woman named Millie, who had recently lost her nephew. The nephew's name was listed and it was Mark's former therapist, the one who had committed suicide. Cindy had known Millie for years and introduced Mark to her. Mark was able to provide some comfort to Millie's family....comfort in knowing that their family member had saved another life, even though he had taken his own. I know Millie, but never knew any of this story before. Millie's family was with her in church, not far from where we were sitting. Also present were Mark's dad and step-mom. Mark told us that he'd had a strained relationship with his dad, but in the past few years, they had reconciled. He thanked both his dad and step mom for being there for him throughout his struggles.

After the service, I spoke with both Mark and Cindy. I told them how touched I was by their story. I've had my own issues with depression and anxiety. I've had my own experiences with signs from God, but the signs Mark received were so incredible. I truly don't know how anyone could not see it as God's hand at work. It was as though God's hand truly was putting pieces of a puzzle together.

A couple of days later, I had a note from Cindy saying that she and Mark would like to meet with me for a few minutes. I was afraid I'd offended them in some way. She assured me that was not the case. When I met with them, they handed me a little box. Inside was a beautiful collectible red fox figurine. Mark and Cindy told me that there was a story behind it. After Mark's talk at church, they had gone out for a bite to eat with Mark's dad and step mom. They were chatting about the church service and signs from God. Cindy mentioned that I'd seen signs in my red fox sightings. Mark's dad asked if they were good signs and Cindy said yes. He then went on to say that he had a red fox figurine and wondered if they would like to give it to me. Mark told me his dad has hundreds of animal figurines and was surprised he remembered this particular one. I hadn't met Mark's dad, but some how my fox sign stories combined with Mark's talk which included several signs from God, inspired him to offer this collectible figurine to me. I was incredibly touched.

Later that evening, it dawned on me that Cindy's name is Cindy. Okay, that sounds kind of stupid. Obviously I knew her name, but Cindy was also the name of the stillborn baby girl my mom had in 1957. I sent Cindy a note telling her the story about my sister and it turns out that this Cindy was born in 1958. It is also interesting that both of them were named Cindy, not Cynthia. I told Cindy that maybe it's a sign that she should be my honorary sister.

This week's speaker was a woman named Monie. She spoke about the importance of focusing on God, not other things in our lives. The way she explained it was that God designs us as a puzzle, a puzzle where there is one empty space left, one piece missing. Throughout our lives we try to fit different pieces into that empty spot. We might try money, fame, reputation or even seemingly good things like family or friends. But these things never fit perfectly into the empty spot. That is because God is the only piece that really fits. He is the only thing that really completes us and holds us together.

I love jigsaw puzzles and I assemble several every winter. While Monie spoke, I thought of how often when putting together a jigsaw puzzle, I spot what I think is the piece I'm looking for. It looks like the right size, shape and color. But when I try to fit it in place, it doesn't work. I don't give up easily, so I often push a little harder on the piece hoping it will slip into place. But there is only one piece that fits into each spot in the puzzle and try as I might, I can't make the piece fit in the wrong spot. How true is that in our lives as well? How many times do we try the same things over again in the same way we always have, and some how we think we will get a different result? It doesn't work that way. I know I personally have done this with many areas of my life. No matter how hard we try, we can't make the wrong piece fit. The more I think about it, the more I believe that we are each like a jigsaw puzzle. God is the only piece that fits into that God shaped space within us. He is the only thing that completes us.

I also think that our lives are like a Rubik's Cube. We are all held together by one central force: God. Life twists and turns each of us in every imaginable direction. Some days things look pretty good and it seems that everything is starting to fall into place. Then without notice, our lives are turned completely around by a diagnosis, a tragedy, a bad decision, etc. Suddenly, nothing looks familiar to us. We are that green square on the Rubik's Cube that is completely out of place. We are lost in the midst of differently colored squares. Things look frightening from here. Surely nothing will ever be the same. Yet when we are lost in a sea of blue, red and yellow squares, those other colored squares are away from their familiar surroundings as well. They each feel the same way...lost and alone. We can take comfort in each other. Only when we are lost and alone do we learn that everyone is in one way or another. We each have stories, issues and wounds. Each square we touch, each person we meet, has a purpose in our lives. With a twist, we meet someone who understands, is willing to listen, who helps us along this road called life. Sometimes after a while, we feel ourselves getting back to familiar surroundings, the other green squares. But we realize that at any moment, another twist can throw us out of sync again. We are unable to control the twists and turns of life. Yet with each turn our lives are touched by another. With each twist, we touch another's life. Maybe we aren't lost after all. Maybe we are exactly where we are supposed to be. God always remains at the center of us. He holds us all together. We are all connected through him. We are all equal. We are all the same under our colored stickers, under the labels we put on ourselves and each other. God is bigger than any parameters we try to put around Him. He made each of us, regardless of our race, religion, income level, or issues. He is there with us through every one of the 43 quintillion twists and turns of life. He's there when we are in familiar territory and when we feel lost. Just like that internal mechanism of the Rubik's Cube, He is deep within us, binding us to each other and holding us close to Himself.

*When I researched how many possible arrangements there were for a Rubik's Cube, I found that the inventor, Erno Rubik's birthday is July 13. That is also my sister Cindy's birthday. That convinced me to write this post.

Footprints in the Snow

Thinking how often I write about my early morning walks, I realize just how important they are to me. I inherited a love of nature from my dad. Walking so early I rarely see another human. It is just me and nature. Whether I see wildlife or notice the trees swaying in the breeze or watch the sunrise, in these quiet moments, I feel as one with nature.  While these walks are always taken under the pretense of exercise, more often than not, my soul seems to benefit more than my body.  

This morning, there was a light coating of fresh fluffy snow on the ground. Mornings like these are some of my favorites. The fresh snow reveals that I am the first human to walk here today. This feels like a gift to me.  I will be the first to experience the pure beauty of the new snow. As I continue along, I notice mine are not the only footprints in the fresh snow. Rabbits, deer and fox have been here overnight.  I love to see their tracks in the snow. Even though we live in the metro area, we are blessed to have wildlife living nearby. Occasionally I am fortunate enough to see it, either in my backyard or on these pre-dawn walks. Seeing the animal tracks in the snow is a reminder that the animals are always close by, even if I don’t see them.

My mind wanders to thinking how God is always nearby, even when I don’t feel His presence. I think of the Footprints in the Sand poem where two sets of footprints fade into one and the author realizes that when God appeared to have left his side, He was actually carrying him through the rough spots of life. I know that He has carried me on more than one occasion. I think how incredible it would be to see God’s actual footprints in the snow and realize all the places where He had been, even though I couldn’t see or feel Him near.  I wonder what God’s footprints would look like. Every animal has footprints unique to their species. I can identify a few of them. But would I be able to identify God’s footprints if I saw them?

I think about the snow itself. Few things can rival the beauty of a gentle snow fall. Even those who despise winter can’t help but smile as the fluffy flakes gently fall around them. The snow doesn’t discriminate where it lands. Nothing is too lowly or too mighty to be touched by the beauty. The world is transformed into something pure and peaceful. It’s as if a bit of Heaven is falling to earth.

Then it occurs to me that the snow itself is God’s footprint. Everything in nature is. We just need to learn to recognize it as such. Seeing God’s footprints is exercise for my soul. Perhaps this is what draws me out the door early each morning.

A Twinkle in His Eye

I've recently started attending a Wednesday morning bible study at our church. It's a small group of people who meet with one of the pastors each week to discuss the bible verses which will be used in the coming weekend's services. This week one of the readings was Jeremiah 1:4-10. It is about Jeremiah being called by God to be a prophet when he was just a young boy. Jeremiah doubts that he can do what God wants him to do. But God basically tells him that He has known Jeremiah before he was even born and will provide him what he needs to do the job.

When I read this, I thought of myself recently being asked to be on the church council. When I initially received the call about it, I wondered why they were asking me. Yes, I go to church and worship there. I love our church and the people there. But I know nothing about "running" a church. I wondered aloud if others had already said "no" to being on council and if perhaps I was a 2nd, 3rd, 12th or 274th choice. I was assured that my name was brought up and well received by the nominating committee and that I was in fact first on the list to be asked. My next question was about who was on the nominating committee. I did know several of the people, but I still didn't understand why they thought I'd be a good fit for council. I met with one of our pastors and asked if he thought I would be an asset to the council. And I told him to be brutally honest in his answer. He said that yes, he thought I would. But he did remind me that I'd told him previously that I prefer to "stay in the background". Then he also said that maybe it would be an opportunity for growth for me and maybe I'd discover it was something I was good at and liked. Quite a lot for me to think and pray about. I did both. It is very true that I like to stay in the background. I know much of it is self doubt on my part. But I felt God tell me to take a chance and that He'd get me through it. So I said, "Yes". Then I was asked to be the council secretary this year. Yikes! This meant I'd have to pay attention in meetings and take notes and write up minutes. (Not that I didn't plan to do the first two of those three, but it was the third one that scared me.) I have been a stay at home mom for the last 15 years. I can make up a pretty good grocery list, but meeting minutes I wasn't so sure about. I kept hearing my high school shorthand teacher's favorite saying over and over: "A good secretary always carries two pens." For the record, I haven't used shorthand since high school and I wasn't even very proficient at it back then. But surely, if God was going to get me through being on council, He could probably get me through being secretary too. So I said, "Yes."

Now back to the reading from Jeremiah. Something in it really struck me: "Before I formed you in the womb, I knew you, before you were born I set you apart." Wow! God knew me before I was born, before I was even conceived. And He had plans for me then. It made me think of when Mother used to say, "That was back when you were just a twinkle in Daddy's eye." Even though all she meant by that was that something had happened long before I was even born, to me it always meant more. Hearing that I used to be a twinkle in Daddy's eye made me think I'd been thought about and wanted before I was born. As I grew up and got married and we struggled to have children, I knew how much that "twinkle" held. It held the hope of having a baby. It held the dreams of raising a child and teaching it and watching it grow. Now, years later, as a mom of three I know that "twinkle"holds even more. It holds the amazement of seeing your baby for the first time, the joy of seeing your child smile, laugh, walk and say "I love you". The "twinkle" also holds tears for the things you can't fix for your child. It holds the heartbreak of seeing your child struggle with something, perceived imperfections they see in themselves. But mostly, in fact always, that twinkle holds love. Pure and simple love.

God knew me and all my strengths and all my imperfections before I was born or even conceived (or in other words, back when I was just a twinkle in His eye.) And He loved me. He knew the joys I'd have and the struggles I'd face. And He loved me. He knew about every scraped knee I'd ever have. He knew that when I loved it would be with my whole heart. He knew the self doubts and anxieties I'd struggle with in my life. And He loved me. This amazing God had a plan for me before I was "me". He's watched me on my path of life, straying off now and then from His planned route for me. And He loves me. He continues to walk beside me every step of the way and He will continue to love me. Pure and simple love.

I always felt special when I was told I used to be just a twinkle in Daddy's eye. Imagine what abundant joy I feel in hearing that I was also a twinkle in God's eye!

Fading

Like an old photo

The edges start to fade

What once was vivid

In my mind

Begins to lose its shape

I tighten my hold

On the memories

But the edges wrinkle and rip

I must lighten my grip

Allow time to go on

Or the image

Will be lost forever

More treasured

Are yesterday’s fading photos

Brought out to view

From time to time

Than those

Crumpled and ruined

In our hands

When we refuse

To set them down

Fly Away Angels

This time of the year, it's still dark when I set out on my early morning walks. A few days ago, it was quite breezy when I stepped outside. A slight crescent moon offered just enough light to see numerous puffy white clouds flying across the sky to the east. Behind them the sky was quickly clearing. It was easy to imagine they were angels hurrying back to Heaven before daybreak.

Fly Away Angels

Fly away angels

Ride on the breeze

Get back to Heaven

Before you are seen

Your night watch is over

Dawn will soon break

Your loved ones slumbering

Soon will awake

You kept guard over them

As they rested last night

Longing to reach out

And hug them all tight

A smile on their lips

As you filled their dreams

Your presence was felt

Or so it would seem

It’s easy to tarry too long

At this job that you love

And not heed the call

To get back to Heaven above

Fly away angels

Ride on the breeze

Get back to Heaven

Before you are seen

Medicine

I've been feeling a little under the weather the last couple of days. It's nothing serious. I'm just achy and tired with a slight sore throat and occasional low grade fever. Lots of sleep, liquids and Advil will have me better soon. Of course as I'm spending time laying around, I can't help but think back to being sick when I was a kid.

Mother had a "remedy" for us when we had a bad cough or croup:  melted butter. Honest, that is what she would give us. A couple of my older sisters have told me that would pretend their coughs were worse than they were just to get this "medicine". I, on the other hand, would try to convince Mother that my cough wasn't as bad as it was so that I wouldn't have to drink the "medicine".  It was usually in the middle of the night that I'd wake up coughing. Mother would tell me that a little melted butter would help. Despite my protests, soon I'd be sitting at the kitchen table while Mother prepared my midnight snack. She had a small little pan that no longer even had a handle that she would use to melt the butter on the stove. Then I'd be given a couple of teaspoons full to swallow. That awful taste of pure melted butter in the middle of the night is still as vivid as if it were yesterday. I will never understand how my siblings thought it tasted good. To this day, I'm not much of a butter user.

Unfortunately, sometimes melted butter didn't cure the illness and we'd end up with real medicine prescribed by the doctor. Luckily, this didn't happen to me often, but the memory of liquid penicillin is forever etched in my mind. I honestly do not remember what ailment I needed it for, but I can still see that bottle of pink medicine inside the refrigerator when I was about 4 years old. If I ever considered running away from home when I was a kid, it would have been then. It's been over 40 years since I took that nasty medicine and yet the horrible taste lingers in the back of my mind like a bad nightmare. I tried everything to not have to take it. I'd hide or pretend to be asleep. I'd claim that I felt better. Still Mother would  make me take it. It may have only been a teaspoon at a time, but it seemed like a gallon. I know I fussed and whined and cried and none of it did any good. I still had to take the medicine. Then, apparently I came up with a plan. I don't remember this, but have been told the story many times. Considering I was only 4 at the time, I think I was very clever. I told Mother that I could take the medicine but I had to be alone. No doubt having everyone watch me take the medicine was what made it so difficult for me. So Mother agreed. She gave me the medicine in a little cup and put me in the laundry room, which was right next to the kitchen. Everything was going just as I planned, until my snoopy older sister, Jo, had to peak in the door from the kitchen, just as I was pouring the penicillin down the sink. I should mention that not only was she snoopy, but she was a tattle tale as well! Needless to say, I was never allowed to take my medicine alone again. Some how I survived taking the rest of that medicine. And maybe even more surprising, Jo and I are pretty close.

Fast forward to a few years ago and my darling daughter Lauren needed a prescription. Unable to swallow pills yet, she was given liquid medicine. One guess who got to try to get her to take it! Yes, it was me. And guess what? She is her Mother's daughter. Surely I never carried on the way she did. One would have thought I was torturing her by making her take her medicine. It's a wonder social services didn't come to the door since I was apparently abusing her. I swear those were the longest 10 days of my life. After getting Lauren out the door to school after finally getting her to take her medicine one of those days, I picked up the phone and called my mom. When she answered, I immediately apologized for my behavior from all those years ago. I am certain Mother was laughing more on the inside than she let on during our phone conversation.

In the spring of 2011, Lauren had strep throat. When the doctor told us, Lauren was hysterical. The doctor told her she had three options: pills, liquid or a shot. Lauren immediately chose the shot! Good choice. Of course she screamed so loud when they gave her the shot that the entire clinic heard her, but at least I didn't have to fight her for 10 days to take her medicine. If she'd chosen the liquid, I would have asked for a shot for myself...tequila!

Feeling a little under the weather like I do, I wish I could pick up the phone and call Mother. Just hearing her voice would be medicine to my soul.