REAL JOY

Burbank 1948 Evy, me, Jay

The happiest times in my life were my childhood in Burbank and then Fairbanks.  I had food, clothing, and shelter.  I had friends near by to play. I had parents who took care of me and took me to church. In California we had great weather.  We could spend most of our time outdoors.   It snowed one time but we wore our summer clothes out to play. In Alaska we had treats of huge blueberries, huge vegetables grown in the short growing season, king crab,  fur parkas, and moose running through the neighborhood. 

It was in 4th grade that my struggles began.  Our family moved to a strange new area.  Nobody in our family had ever lived in the southeast. There was no one to explain the cockroaches, humidity, or the formality of the people. I was embarrassed several times by my teacher.  First she asked if I would show the class where Alaska was on the map.  I had no idea where it was.  Then the teacher made an example of me when I tried to draw one picture then tried to cover it up with another drawing using color crayons.  She held it up and told the class to not do what I did. Then when I was just making friends in one neighborhood we moved to another neighborhood and changed schools.  I just couldn't make friends with anybody in my new class. When we all started high school in 8th grade once again there wasn't anybody in my class in my neighborhood.  Finally my sophomore year I made a friend.  Nancy from then on was a good friend.  She even boarded with my parents for student teaching when she was in college. We have kept in touch ever since. 

College was a fun time for me.  My parents footed most of the bill.  I did work at part time jobs and contributed to the expense. I was chosen for several honors on campus, was able to have several different boy friends, and even made friends with sorority sisters who I am still in touch with. I was also able to borrow clothes from friends.  That way I didn't have to shop.  It was great that I could eat all meals at the college. No cooking or grocery shopping was necessary.  After interpretive dance practice or practicing with the ROTC Sponsor Corps my appetite wasn't there so I ate small amounts.  Because of that I didn't gain the freshman 15. Another thing I loved about college was that everybody paid attention in class.  High school had been such a drag as all the teachers could do was tell the kids to pay attention and stop talking. Now we know home schooling takes 1/4 to 1/2 the time as the student gets the one on one attention. Another thing I enjoyed about college were the mixers, plays, concerts, and other events right on campus.  It was like a little community separate from the rest of the population. 

When college was about to end for us Chris and I fell in love.  The next logical thing to do was to get married.  We planned to buy a boat and sail off into the sunset.  We should have realized that we needed to sign up to crew on a "Tall Ship" or find employment on a tramp steamer.  But we were not very knowledgeable in that area.  We ended up taking normal jobs--  Chris for a daily newspaper and me teaching. Then later kids came along so we needed to bring them up.

That is why I cried out to the Lord in my need. Children are a big responsibility. God helped us.  Our children are exceptional people contributing to society in very meaningful ways. Then I came down with fibromyalgia. This has put a crimp in many things. But now instead of asking why me I ask why not me.  Through these trials I have come to look to Jesus and He has helped me through difficult times.  I now have real Joy. 

Looking back, I can see that happiness came easily in childhood, but joy—the kind that lasts—was something I found through challenge, change, and faith. The moves, the loneliness, the responsibilities, and even illness all shaped me in ways I could not have understood at the time. What once felt like detours or hardships have become part of a greater story of growth and grace. Today, I am grateful not only for the sweet memories of blueberries and moose in the yard, but also for the struggles that led me to depend on the Lord. In Him, I have found a steady, enduring joy that carries me through every season of life.

II Timothy 1:12  which is why I suffer as I do. But I am not ashamed, for I know whom I have believed, and I am convinced that he is able to guard until that day what has been entrusted to me. 

TO THE MOON AND BACK

Message from the Moon

I’m a colonist, and I’m glad my ancestors colonized America. In fact, many came to the eastern shores to escape religious persecution. At first, they were being forced to become Catholic, and later, they were being forced to become Protestant. Eventually, they were required to join the state church. At the same time, however, with the invention of the printing press, Bibles became available for ordinary people to read for themselves. As a result, when Martin Luther posted the 95 Theses in 1517, many came to understand that God’s salvation from sin and death was free. So, when the Americas were discovered, brave souls chose to leave behind what they knew and establish a new kind of society.

Today, however, society is again growing dark. Because of this, some wonder if it is time to leave once more—to establish a new kind of society on the Moon and on Mars. Personally, I find myself looking forward to the day when the Moon and Mars are colonized.

Even so, there are those who are convinced we are meant to remain on Earth. They argue that we should focus on solving the problems here. Yet, at the same time, as Jesus said, “For you always have the poor with you…”

Meanwhile, space exploration promises new opportunities—advances in communication, discoveries of water and minerals, greater understanding of climate, new career paths, and technologies we have yet to imagine. Still, this raises an important question: how did our ancestors deal with the fear of stepping into the unknown? And likewise, how should we deal with fear in our own time?

In a recent example, Butch Wilmore, the astronaut who was “stuck in space,” explained that he dealt with fear by trusting that God was with him. Because of that, he recognized that fear was not his friend and refused to let it drive his decisions. Instead, he fell back on his training and focused on the next step of the job. In other words, he did not allow his mind to dwell on fear—he chose not to entertain it.

Ultimately, the question is not whether there will be fear—there always has been. From those who crossed the ocean to those who now look toward the stars, uncertainty has never disappeared. What truly matters, then, is how we respond to it. As Butch Wilmore reminds us, fear is not a guide; it is something to be acknowledged but not obeyed. Like them, we move forward not because the path is safe, but because it is right. We trust in God, rely on what we have learned, and take the next step in front of us. Whether building a new life on distant shores or someday on the Moon and Mars, the call is the same: not to retreat from darkness, but to carry light into it.

With that in mind, the words of Epistle to the Philippians remind us of our direction forward:

Philippians 3:13 Brothers, I do not consider that I have made it my own. But one thing I do: forgetting what lies behind and straining forward to what lies ahead, 14 I press on toward the goal for the prize of the upward call of God in Christ Jesus. 

FROM FROZEN RIVERS TO EASTER JOY

 

Evy-- Fairbanks Alaska 1952

Our sister Evy was especially happy in the spring of 1952. Even though she was only four—and wouldn’t turn five until October—she would be allowed to start school in the fall. That alone filled her with excitement. Add to that her new Easter dress and the welcome arrival of “shirt-sleeve weather,” and life felt full of promise. After a long winter of 30 to 40 below zero, the temperature had climbed all the way up to zero, and to us, that felt almost warm.

As spring slowly began to take hold, Evy was ready with her boots for breakup season. The ice and snow were beginning to melt. All winter long, the Chena River and nearby Tanana River had been locked under thick, unmoving ice. By late April or early May, however, longer daylight and warming temperatures weakened that ice from above and below. What looked solid one day could suddenly become unstable the next. Everyone watched closely, especially because of the annual contest—guessing when the tripod placed on the river ice would finally fall as the ice broke apart. Tickets were sold, and the winner received a cash prize. It was a big event and gave everyone something to anticipate.

In the midst of the lingering cold, we still made time for simple pleasures. Picnics at Harding Lake were a treat, even if they were chilly. We didn’t think much about the cold—we were young, after all. Our dad, chief of the Weather Bureau, had the important job of forecasting the weather for the picnic. One year, it rained before the picnic, stopped just in time for us to enjoy it, and then started again afterward. To us, that felt like perfect timing.

When we weren’t at school, my cousins and I spent our afternoons exploring. We would trudge over to the latest gravel pit, wading in shallow water or balancing on pieces of floating wood. One day, we discovered a small lean-to made of branches hidden in the woods behind their house. It felt like a secret world of our own. We even gathered buds from a budding plant to make tea, certain we were creating something special.

All of these small signs—melting snow, running water, longer days—told us the same thing: spring was truly on its way. And with it came Easter.

We dressed in our best clothes and attended both Palm Sunday and Easter services. The music filled the church and our hearts. We sang:

• Low in the grave he lay—Jesus, my Savior,
  waiting the coming day—Jesus, my Lord.
  Up from the grave he arose,
  with a mighty triumph o’er his foes.
  He arose a victor from the dark domain,
  and he lives forever with his saints to reign.
  He arose! He arose!
  Hallelujah! Christ arose!
• Vainly they watch his bed—Jesus, my Savior;
  vainly they seal the dead—Jesus, my Lord.
  Up from the grave he arose,
  with a mighty triumph o’er his foes.
  He arose a victor from the dark domain,
  and he lives forever with his saints to reign.
  He arose! He arose!
  Hallelujah! Christ arose!
• Death cannot keep his prey—Jesus, my Savior;
  he tore the bars away—Jesus, my Lord.
  Up from the grave he arose,
  with a mighty triumph o’er his foes.
  He arose a victor from the dark domain,
  and he lives forever with his saints to reign.
  He arose! He arose!
  Hallelujah! Christ arose!

Another favorite echoed that same message of hope:

Hear The Bells Ringing, They’re Singing
That You Can Be Born Again!
Hear The Bells Ringing, They’re Singing
Christ Is Risen From The Dead!
The Angels Up On The Tombstone
Said, “He Has Risen, Just As He Said.”
“Quickly Now, Go Tell His Disciples”
“That Jesus Christ Is No Longer Dead!”

Joy To The World!
He Is Risen! Hallelujah!
He’s Risen! Hallelujah!
He’s Risen! Hallelujah! Hallelujah!
Halle! Hallelujah!

Hear The Bells Ringing, They’re Singing
That You Can Be Born Again!
Hear The Bells Ringing, They’re Singing
Christ Is Risen From The Dead!
The Angels Up On The Tombstone
Said, “He Has Risen, Just As He Said.”
“Quickly Now, Go Tell His Disciples”
“That Jesus Christ Is No Longer Dead!”

Joy To The World!
He Is Risen! Hallelujah!
He’s Risen! Hallelujah!
He’s Risen! Hallelujah! Hallelujah!
Hallelujah!

He’s Risen, Risen, Risen From The Dead!
He’s Risen, Risen, Risen From The Dead!
Hallelujah!
Hallelujah!

And in the end, that was what Easter and spring meant to us.
After months of darkness, cold, and waiting, everything came back to life—the rivers, the land, and even our spirits. Just as the ice broke and the waters began to flow again, Easter reminded us of new life and fresh beginnings. For a little girl like Evy, starting school, and for all of us emerging from a long Alaskan winter, it was a season of joy, hope, and the promise that something new was always just ahead.

WAIT AND HOPE

Chris and me 1965

Today is St. Patrick’s Day, a time when we celebrate a fifth-century British monk who brought Christianity to Ireland. However, his story did not begin with strength and success—it began with suffering. At just sixteen, Saint Patrick was captured in Britain and taken to Ireland as a slave, where he lived for six long years.

During that difficult season, something remarkable happened. In isolation and hardship, he drew close to God—talking to Him, trusting Him, and learning to wait. Day after day, he held on in faith until, at last, an opportunity to escape came.

After returning home, Patrick did not simply move on with his life. Instead, he became a monk. Then, in time, he had a dream—one that called him back to the very place of his suffering. In obedience to that call, he returned to Ireland, this time not as a captive, but as a messenger of hope, ultimately helping bring Christianity to the nation.

In a different way, I see how God works through seasons of waiting in my own life as well.

War, for example, shaped much of Chris’s life and mine. We were born during World War II, and later, during the Cold War, hiding under our school desks became a normal part of childhood. Then, as young adults, we were married during the Vietnam War. At that time, Chris was in the Army Reserve and could have been sent away at any moment.

So we waited. We worked, paid our bills and taxes, and lived with the quiet uncertainty of not knowing what would come next. Fortunately, he was never activated, but the waiting itself was real.

Even today, life can feel like a holding pattern—waiting for the next shoe to drop. At any moment, circumstances can change: war, illness, financial struggles, or difficult relationships can enter without warning.

Looking back, I realize my life, like Patrick’s, has been marked by waiting. I waited to grow up. I waited to have a boyfriend. I waited to get married. When we finally became engaged, it felt like stepping off a cliff into the unknown.

Yet in that moment of uncertainty, God gave me comfort through a poem by Ruth Bell Graham:

Dear God, I prayed, all unafraid
(as we’re inclined to do),
I do not need a handsome man
but let him be like You;
I do not need one big and strong
nor yet so very tall,
nor need he be some genius,
or wealthy, Lord, at all;
but let his head be high, dear God,
and let his eye be clear,
his shoulders straight, whate’er his state,
whate’re his earthly sphere;
and let his face have character,
a ruggedness of soul,
and let his whole life show, dear God,
a singleness of goal;
then when he comes
(as he will come)
with quiet eyes aglow,
I’ll understand that he’s the man
I prayed for long ago.

— Ruth Bell Graham

And so, as I reflect on both Patrick’s life and my own, I see a common thread: waiting is not wasted time. Rather, it is often where God does His deepest work. In the waiting, our faith is shaped, our trust is strengthened, and our hearts are prepared for what comes next.

Perhaps the real lesson of St. Patrick’s story—and of our own—is this: the very seasons we would never choose may be the ones God uses most powerfully. And in the waiting, He is never absent—He is quietly at work, leading us, just as He always has, toward His purpose.

“Never forget that, until the day comes when God will deign to reveal the future to man, all human wisdom is contained in these words: Wait and hope!” Alexandre Dumas, The Count of Monte Cristo

HOW TECHNOLOGY GAVE MY WORDS A VOICE

 

Dorothy and me EWU 1961

Setting off for college in 1961 was exciting; but college was not going to be easy. My high school English teacher said that I would never be able to make it through college because I couldn't write. My typing teacher said I would never be able to work as a secretary because I couldn't type more than 23 words a minute and I couldn't spell. According to them, writing was simply not going to be part of my future. 

Even so, I did make it through college as a PE major. I did no writing for any of my classes. Mostly it was memorization and physical activity. Because of this, I was able to get campus jobs cleaning offices, running the switchboard, and working in the library. Up to that point, no writing or typing was needed.

After graduation, I worked for three years as a first-grade teacher. That involved running off mimeograph copies. Once again, no typing or writing was required. However, in 1984 when I was diagnosed with fibromyalgia, these jobs were no longer possible for me. I prayed and asked God what I could do for a job. Everybody needs a job. Even in the Garden of Eden Adam tended the garden.

During that time, God put on my heart that I could pray and I could write. Yet from a human standpoint, my ability in the area of typing and actually writing profound words seemed impossible. I would never be able to send in perfectly typed pages for publication. I would never be able to put words together in a meaningful way.

Then something unexpected happened. A computer appeared in our house. I could type slowly, spell atrociously, and have everything corrected. Encouraged by that, I signed up for writing correspondence courses. I took writing courses at the vocational college. I joined a senior citizens writing group. Even so, nothing was accepted for publication except one column, which my husband rewrote before I sent it in.

Meanwhile, prayer groups did not require wonderful words. I learned how to pray God's Word back to Him. Fortunately people in prayer groups are not critical, and God isn't either. I know God loves me, and the people in the prayer group are commanded to love me. So in that sense, I was set.

That still left one question: what about editing my thoughts as I form them? I have found that AI is a good partner. It helps me organize my ideas and shape the words I want to say.

Of course, I now hear that AI is using too much power and too much water. But I believe people will solve those problems. Human beings have always found ways to improve the tools they create. New power sources will be discovered, water will be conserved, and perhaps—like the Israelis—more water will be desalinated from the sea. Sorry to hear that teachers have to run papers through an AI checker to be sure it was not used. That is one drawback.

What matters most is this: God can use whatever tools are available. Long ago it was pen and paper. Then it was the typewriter. Later it was the computer. Now it may even be AI.

For someone who was told she could not write, could not type, and could not spell, it is remarkable that God has provided ways for me to do all three. The tools changed, but the calling did not.

And so I keep writing—not perfectly, but faithfully.

“Whatever you do, work heartily, as for the Lord and not for men.”
Colossians 3:23

LATE BLOOMERS AND DIVINE DETOURS

 

Dave, Grace, Heather, Expo '74

We are late bloomers in our family. Our mom and dad hadn't planned to get married so soon. They enjoyed roller skating out to a nearby park, climbing trees, riding the carousel, and just hanging around. They didn't talk of marriage. But Emily, our dad's new sister-in-law, suggested that getting married might be a good idea since our dad had a good job.

And so, almost unexpectedly, their carefree days turned into a commitment. Twelve months after the wedding our brother, Jay, was born. Then our dad was shipped out to fight in World War II. This left our mom on her own. Fortunately her parents had a second house that she was able to rent. Her sister Ruth lived with her and was able to finish out her high school years without changing schools. Even in the uncertainty of war, God was quietly providing stability and support.

Years later, I found myself walking a similar path of hesitation. I carried on the tradition of not wanting to get married, as I didn't want the responsibility of housework. When Chris suggested that we could live on a sailboat, this appealed to me. It sounded adventurous and unencumbered. We got married and then ended up in a house. Fortunately I always managed to hire help to clean — first a college student and then later professionals. Even when my plans shifted, I still tried to arrange life on my own terms.

But God had other plans for shaping my heart. It was when our daughter Heather was two that I called out to God for help. In that moment I began to realize that God had been leading me all along, in spite of my childish thoughts and resistance. God worked with me just as He had done with the Israelites. Sometimes we need to go in the opposite direction of our own desires in order to find His best.

That reminds me of this verse:

Exodus 13:17 —
“When Pharaoh let the people go, God did not lead them by way of the land of the Philistines, although that was near. For God said, ‘Lest the people change their minds when they see war and return to Egypt.’”

Sometimes the longer road is the kinder road. And sometimes what feels like a delay is actually protection — a loving Father leading us the way we need to go.

NATURE, SIN, AND THE MAKING OF A HEART

 

Grandpa Claude 1879

Are babies born good and have to be taught to be bad, or are they born bad and have to be taught to be good? This question has been debated for centuries, and it confronts us almost as soon as a child enters the world. From the very beginning, we notice differences. Some children are strong-willed and demand their own way, while others are more compliant, cheerful, and agreeable. These variations suggest that temperament is partly inherited. Yet regardless of personality, each person must learn how to rise above mere instinct and overcome the pull of their own genes.

To understand this tension more clearly, it helps to look at the Christian perspective. Christian theology holds two truths at the same time. On the one hand, humans are made in God’s image—good and valuable. On the other hand, humans are fallen—morally broken. Because both are true, babies can be understood in a particular way.

They are innocent in experience, but not morally complete. They do not need to be taught how to sin, but they do need to be taught how to love well. In other words, goodness must be nurtured, shaped, and guided.

From here, the role of culture becomes impossible to ignore. Just as families shape a child, so do societies. The culture into which a child is born powerfully influences what that child learns about love, fear, and loyalty. Unfortunately, some societies pass along hatred instead of compassion.

History offers sobering examples. For generations, Catholics and Protestants in Ireland were taught to hate one another. That legacy caused deep wounds, though thankfully much of that hostility is now being overcome. In a different context, some Palestinian Authority–approved textbooks have contained material that demonizes Jews, glorifies violence, or erases Israel. These practices have been criticized by international monitors, including the EU and independent education review groups. At the same time, it is important to recognize that not every Palestinian child is taught hatred, and many parents, teachers, and NGOs actively resist such messaging. ( See Rawan Osman blog.)/

By contrast, Jewish children are not taught to hate Muslims. Within Judaism, teaching hatred toward another people or religion runs counter to core Jewish values. This contrast highlights a crucial truth: hatred is learned and reinforced—or challenged—by what a culture chooses to teach.

The United States provides its own illustration. Even today, old regional stereotypes linger. In the South, some once said, “They swear like a Yankee,” while in the North many assumed the South was defined by racial hatred. These ideas grew out of real historical events, but over time they hardened into sweeping judgments. Scripture reminds us that sin and virtue are matters of the heart, not geography. When we trade truth for caricature, we fail to see one another as God does.

Taken together, these examples point to a sobering conclusion. Children must be taught to love. Hatred comes naturally, but love does not flourish without guidance. As Scripture tells us in I John 4:8, “Anyone who does not love does not know God, because God is love.”

So we return to the opening question: Are babies born good and taught to be bad, or born bad and taught to be good? The answer is not a simple either–or. We are born bearing God’s image, yet marked by a fallen nature. From our earliest days, we are capable of self-interest, fear, and division—but we are also capable of great goodness when love is modeled and taught. Left on their own, children do not naturally grow into love; they must be shown what it looks like, practiced in it, and corrected when they fall short. This is why families, churches, and cultures matter so deeply. Love must be intentionally taught, patiently lived, and faithfully passed on, because God Himself is love—and to know Him is to learn how to love.