The 50 Year Puzzle

My half-brother, Larry, died in Vietnam on March 26, 1968. Larry was the only child of my dad and his first wife, Vivian.

I was 4 when Larry died and I have no memory of him at all. His senior picture was displayed in our home so I knew who he was and I knew that he died in a war. Beyond that there wasn't much information about Larry. My family didn't talk about him much. Actually my family didn't talk about much of anything that was intimate or personal or difficult.

As I entered my teen years and did some snooping in my parents' belongings, I found a telegram my dad had received in April 1968 telling him that his son had died in a helicopter crash due to adverse weather conditions. The crash happened over the South China Sea and his body was not recovered. I also found a letter written by Larry's commanding officer telling the story of Larry's heroic actions in an incident in February of the same year he died. Larry was a Marine who flew in medevac missions, rescuing injured soldiers from the field and trying to get them to a medical base before they died. In this particular incident after a long day of several harrowing flights resulting in nearly 100 men beng rescued, Larry was in a helicopter preparing to take off with 17 injured soldiers on board. As the pilot started to lift off the ground a soldier was hit outside their aircraft. Larry jumped out of helicopter, ran to the man amid enemy fire, threw him over his shoulder and made it back to the helicopter. The commanding officer was recommending Larry for a special award for his bravery that day.

That was the extent of my knowledge about my half-brother's service and death as a United States Marine.

My father died in 1983 and what I knew of Larry's death was all that he knew. There were no other details.

Growing up we knew that Larry's mother had moved to Michigan and had another family. We knew his mother's new last name and that there were 3 other siblings. Although we knew their names this was in the pre-internet years when information was difficult to discover and people were harder to find.

In a quest for information, my sister Debbie made a trip to DC in the mid 80's and later requested and received the investigation report from the accident. Uncovering some pieces of the puzzle only drove us deeper in our quest for more details.

Fast forward to the mid-90's. The internet was exploding with information never before available. My sister, Debbie, found a website run by Vietnam Vets and discovered a detailed account of the accident that claimed our brother's life. To read that story, go here: Larry's Story

Through determination and diligence, Debbie found and contacted the helicopter pilot, Brook. Over the years they communicated occasionally but Debbie was cautious to ask too many questions at that time. Although Brook did not know Larry well, he was able to answer some questions and provide details of that horrific night.

Another fast forward to December of 2017. Brook sent Debbie a message saying he had received an email from Larry's sister, Nina. Brook didn't know that name and was confused because he didn't know Larry had other sisters besides myself and Debbie.

Debbie knew the name Nina. She knew that was Larry's half-sister on his mom's side. She had searched for Larry's family for years but came up empty every time because names were changed when marriages took place and shortly after Larry's death, his family moved to a smaller town in Michigan.

Debbie immediately contacted Nina and that's when the floodgate began. There was a bit of worry that Nina would be closed to talking to us because of the divorce/half-sibling situation. Sometimes families turn things ugly when divorce takes place but gratefully that did not happen.

I should note here that Debbie is 7 years older than me and has many memories of Larry. She looked up to him and had felt a gaping loss when he died. The same was true for Nina because she was also older and had dear memories of Larry. Because I was so young, I only knew Larry through stories. I have been a privileged bystander this last year as this story has unfolded. Although it doesn't have the same personal impact on me that it does on my sister, my life was altered because of what happened in Vietnam.

Over the last 8 months Debbie and Nina have shared pictures of Larry as well as cards and letters written by Larry. Larry's mom received his personal effects after he died and Nina now has possession of those things. Debbie shares each email with me so that I can share her joy in discovering new details of Larry.

We have been able to read letters Larry received from our family members while he was in Vietnam. We've seen letters, cards, and postcards that Larry mailed from Vietnam. We were able to see the letters Larry wrote just hours before he died.

There have been countless moments in the last 8 months that feel insanely surreal. Not only have we learned more about Larry, but Nina has told us things we didn't know about our own father through stories that her mom shared with her before she died.

Many mornings I have sat down to read a new email and been reduced to tears in minutes. I feel like pieces of the puzzle of my life are being put into place when I never knew they were missing. This story has been 50 years in the making!

Last weekend was the high point of this 50 year puzzle. There is a large groups of Marine Vietnam vets who gather every 2 years in different locations around the country for a reunion. This year the reunion was held in St. Louis on a weekend that I happened to be in the country. Because of our travel plans I was only able to attend the Friday night dinner and missed the other weekend events.

Brook drove from California to be there. Nina flew from Michigan. Debbie and I were thrilled that it all took place in our hometown.

We heard stories from men who knew Larry and remembered him well. Over and over we were told what a truly great guy he was, so kind and always smiling. We were told what we already knew - that Larry was proud to be a Marine! We were able to ask any questions we had. The men were so eager to share information and stories.

It was humbling to be with these men; to know the sacrifices they made for their country, to hear them talk about the men who didn't come home with them, and to listen to their stories told in vivid detail.

Here is a picture of Nina, Debbie, Brook and myself at the dinner:

I am still a little shell-shocked as I think of all that has transpired in the last year. I am humbled, overwhelmed, grateful, and grief-stricken simultaneously.

I have left out many more details than I have included in this narrative.

But I wanted to share our story to give you hope. If you have someone you are looking for, if you have answers without questions, if pieces of your puzzle are missing - - - don't give up! Be diligent in your search and take heart that just maybe someone is out there searching for the same answers, just waiting to find you.

When They Know Your Name

We recently had our friends, David and Lindsey, over for lunch. We mostly invite them over so we can enjoy the company of their 15 month old son, Cooper.

Cooper can walk now and he is building quite a vocabulary. When Lindsey asks him, "Where's Miss Dianna?", he points to me and says, "Nana."

The first time (and the second and third, etc.) he did this I was caught unaware. Without notice I felt my heart melt instantly. It was the sweetest thing to hear him say, "Nana." Oh my goodness.

A few days later I was working at the shelter. We have a family living there temporarily as guardians because it's not a good idea to leave a house vacant in Guatemala. They are staying there while we do the renovations in preparation for reopening El Refugio this fall. Wilson and Karla are the parents to a cute 2 year old boy, Dan (pronounced 'don').

I was working in a large room when Dan appeared at the door and said, "Ninana, blah blah blah." This was the first time that he had attempted to say my name that I could recognize it. And it happened again. My heart melted right there.

What is so sweet and adorable about a toddler learning to say your name? I have thought about this a lot over the last week and I really can't figure out why it is so sweet to me. But I have already realized that when we have grandchildren and when they begin calling me Nana or Gramma or Granny or whatever they are able to say, I will probably be reduced to tears in an instant. I have no doubt I will be a pushover to whatever is asked of me.

And as I mulled this discovery over in my mind, I began to wonder what it would feel like if God spoke my name out loud like these 2 sweet toddlers had.

"Dianna."

I can barely type the words without tears pooling up.

He knows my name.

What an incredible thought. I'm not just a soul wandering aimlessly on this earth; I am a child of the King whose name is written in the Lamb's Book of Life.

Close your eyes (well, after you read this next sentence, then you can close your eyes.) and imagine what it would sound like to hear God speak your name audibly.

Again, what an incredible thought.

Cabinet Doors

We are in the process of moving into a new rental house. The new house is very close to the shelter where we work and we will save a lot of time and money with less traveling.

We worked through a realtor to find this place and he speaks no English. Our Spanish is getting better but he speaks really fast and it is hard to pick up everything he says. In many of our conversations about what still needed to be done to the house to get it ready, we talked about doors for the kitchen cabinets. It was our understanding that wooden doors would be put on.

And then we moved in and met the owner of the house. She speaks slower and our conversations are much more comprehensive. When she told me that there would be no kitchen cabinets I did not even attempt to hide my sadness or shock. She said it was stylish and I told her I didn't want people seeing all the stuff in my cabinets. I think she felt sorry for me because she eventually agreed to have doors put on the cabinets.

In the meanwhile, as we wait for our contractor to measure all the cabinets and find doors, the whole world can see everything in my kitchen: dishes, spices, silverware (there are no drawers either), sandwich bags.

Trying to have a positive attitude as we wait, a few days ago as I walked past the pantry and saw all of our food on display like a grocery store (yes, I have all the items lined up straight, facing forward) this is the thought that ran through my mind:

"Well, it is nice that I can just stand in one spot and see all of my options for breakfast. I don't have to open one door and then another. I know I have yogurt in the fridge and bananas on the counter. But from right here I can see granola bars, oats, pop tarts (do not judge - it's the first time I've bought them in 4 years!), toast, peanut but-UGH!!!"

That was the moment it hit me. The previous week we'd had a mission team from Indiana here with us in Guatemala. We had built 2 homes in an extremely poor community, we'd spent several days painting and renovating the shelter where we work, and on the team's last day we served soup to a community of people living next to a dump.

None of the people we ministered to have choices for their meals. In fact, most of them don't have the assurance of a meal at all. If they are offered beans for breakfast, they eat it. There is no questioning what might taste good for that particular meal. They are just grateful to have something to eat.

Ugh again. You can imagine the shame I felt at worrying about cabinet doors or laundry room doors or electricity or paint that is evenly applied or window curtains.

I am ashamed at how quickly I forget the people I am here to serve and get wrapped up in my own ridiculous desires.

God used those stupid cabinet doors to remind me of the rich life He has given me and to give me even more compassion for the people He has sent us here to love.

What choices do you have the privilege to make every day? What hides behind your cabinet doors?

Looking For My Mother

The first year that I began visiting her she still knew who I was. She spoke to me by name and knew the names of my husband and children.

The second year she still knew my name but often called me by my sister's name.

The third year she recognized me as someone she knew and was excited when I showed up for a visit.

Now I am another face in the crowd. Just someone to talk to but not anyone she knows from her former life.

I have watched my Mother progress in her journey with Alzheimer's. I have watched as more recent events have faded in her memory and she could only remember things from her childhood. I have seen other people who are in a much more advanced stage of the disease and I know where it's going to take my Mom unless God intervenes first. 

I know these things but something inside of me still fights to find my Mom somewhere in that body. My head knows it's not possible but my heart won't quit hoping.

During my last visit, in my struggle to find my Mother, I ran through the same set of questions that I often ask. I asked her about some of her favorite places to fish during her lifetime. I asked about picking cotton when she was a young girl. I tried to talk about people or places that she once loved. 

Our conversation was full of nonsense. Her answers were garbled with a few words that made sense, but most things were foreign even to me. She occasionally pulled out a name or a place that surprised me. But for the most part there was no evidence of my Mom. There was no evidence of her remembering her life at any stage. And yet I continued to search. I continued to have hope that there was something in there, something that resembled who I knew she had been.

Then I began to sing to her. And that reminded me that I had my phone with me and in my music list were some songs she would know. So I started to play songs and sing. At first she wasn't paying much attention, but soon I caught her humming the melodies. Before long she was trying to sing a few words that came out more like just sounds. The next thing I knew, she was singing right along with Merle, "Mama tried, mama tried!"

And for just a couple of minutes, I found my Mom. All of my searching was answered by a 47 year old song. 

Running Up The Stairs

When we're in the U.S., we live in my mother-in-law's basement. Recently I caught myself running up the stairs to the first floor. I wasn't in a hurry and I had nowhere to be. But I was running. I am 52 years old and I realized that I run up the stairs often. I began thinking deeply about this; much deeper than I probably should have.

I thought back to when my mother-in-law was my age and realized I had never seen her run up the stairs. At any age. I don't think I've ever seen my own mom run up the stairs.

In our language school in Guatemala my teacher and I met on the roof for class. I had to climb 2 sets of narrow stairs to get to the roof. Not only did I often run up those stairs, I almost always ran down them. I usually did it in some methodical pattern. In my head it sounded something like "ba-bump-bump-bump" as I tackled the stairs in groups of four, barely touching each step before bouncing to the one below.

So why do I run? Is it just because I can? Maybe.

Do my actions reflect that in my heart I still think I am 17 years old? Maybe.

I have no clue why I run up the stairs but I've decided I am going to keep doing it for as long as I possibly can. It keeps me young mentally and reminds me that my body still works the way it should.

If your body is still agile enough to navigate the stairs at a quick pace, I encourage you stay young at heart and race right up!

I Miss My Life

We moved to Guatemala in June but have been back in the U.S. for the last 7 weeks for fundraising, holidays and family time. I have discovered I miss my life.

Maybe it’s the arrival of Christmas that has me melancholy. I don’t have a Christmas tree, I don’t have a home to decorate, my children don’t have bedroom doors that I can hang their “12 Days of Christmas” gift on each morning, and I don’t have all of my children together.

I miss my life. I miss having my family together. I miss going to the same Christmas parties at church. I miss knowing what radio station to turn on to hear Christmas music. I miss holiday baking. I miss the small group that met in our home every Sunday night.  I miss having full conversations in English.  I miss my life.

But at the same time, I miss my other life. I miss walking to Spanish school every morning. I miss my teacher’s jubilant cries of “Buenos Dias! Buenos Dias!” I miss the coffee shop across the street from school and the lady who works there. I miss fresh fruit three times a day. I miss the beautiful volcanoes I can see every day. I miss the smells, yes even the bad ones. I miss the warmth of the sun on my face. I miss walking on cobblestone streets. I miss the open market and bargaining for the best price for strawberries. I miss sitting at my kitchen table with the windows open and the sounds of Spanish words floating into my home.

I miss my life. I feel like I’m wandering through two countries, not sure where to call home. I miss feeling planted. I miss the comfort that routine brings. I miss having my family all together, all the time. I feel like I don’t have a life as would be defined by most people.

My life is now chaotic. There isn’t much routine. There isn’t much that could be considered normal. There is no feeling of being settled.

But one thing I am not missing is being where God wants me because I’ve learned that even in the wandering, I am where He has planned. During our time in the U.S. we have had many opportunities to do ministry, to strengthen relationships. We have listened to heartbreaks and we have prayed with friends. We are missionaries regardless of what country we reside.

Soon we will return to Guatemala. And as we settle back in to our life there, I am certain there will be tears as I remember our time here and all the people we hugged and all the love we shared. I am certain I will miss my life. I know I will miss my kids fiercely.

But I will be determined to be content knowing that I am where God wants me. I will be determined to remember the joy that each place has brought and then discover the joy of where I am.  I will work on building a life with routine and a feeling of comfort brought in daily tasks. I will be thankful that my life is good, regardless of where I lay my head at night.

4 Mays in Northern Indiana

It is always the 3rd weekend in May. And it is always Northern Indiana.

The first one was the 3rd weekend of May, 2012, and we were attending my niece's graduation from Taylor University in Northern Indiana. My son, Logan, had just completed a very hard year at a state school in Illinois. He hated everything about that school year.  I could make a list of all that he hated but it is easier to say he hated everything. As I watched my niece walk into her graduation I was overwhelmed at the stark difference I witnessed. Her professors hugged her and congratulated her and smiled and called her by name. They knew her. She had not become lost in union contracts and wages, and I was certain that they knew her name was Rachel and cared about her. She had not just been a number at this school; she had been a person whom they invested in for the last 4 years. This was the first time I realized that a college experience could be something other than what we had gone through in the last 9 months.

The second one was the 3rd weekend of May, 2013. I found myself driving to Northern Indiana to pick Logan up after completing his junior year of college at Huntington University. What a difference one year makes! He'd had a great year and had found a real friend in his roommate, Alec. The professors at Huntington had invested in Logan; they had invited him to their home and invited him into their lives. They had taught him in the classroom and discipled him in life. Logan had taken a mission trip to Haiti during Spring Break that left him changed. And he began asking me to pray about a girl he really liked and hoped to date. I actually came home that evening with only Logan's stuff because Logan was staying an extra night. One of the university staff members was taking some of the students on an end-of-the-year float trip. Even as I recall these things 2 years later, I finally myself amazed at what a difference one year makes.

The third one was last year and it was indeed the 3rd weekend of May. My daughter, Maddie, and I had driven to Northern Indiana to pick Logan up from another great year at Huntington. This trip was a little different though because we went up earlier that day so we could attend the Nurse Pinning Ceremony for Logan's girlfriend, Essie. They had started dated in October and we had already grown to love her. She was graduating that weekend from Huntington with a 4 year degree in Nursing. Maddie and I were able to meet Essie's parents for the first time and became instant friends. Before we left that day, Essie's Mom and I giggled privately about our hopes of where this relationship might lead. Oh what a difference one year makes.

And the fourth May in Northern Indiana is this weekend. It is again the 3rd weekend of the month and again Maddie and I made the drive up Highway 69. Logan no longer lives there; he has been in California since last August. This time our trip was for the purpose of attending Essie's bridal shower! We enjoyed meeting more of her family and friends and celebrating the beautiful union that God has orchestrated. In just 3 weeks Logan and Essie will be married in Northern Indiana. I am once again filled with sweet amazement at what a difference one year makes.

And really I am just filled with sweet amazement at what a difference God can make in time and in life and in plans. He is simply perfect.

Christmas Eve Reading

Many of us have known the feeling of sending our children to their first day of kindergarten. We have a groundswell of emotions that all take place in a short span of time. We feel anxiety – will the teacher be attentive to her runny nose? Fear – will the other children be kind or will there be a bully to push him around at recess? Apprehension – will she actually stay in her seat if I leave the room? Is she going to come running out of the room, crying after me, begging me to stay? And grief as our hearts are broken, knowing that time has passed, the toddler days are over and life will never be the same.

And so, with our stomach churning, tears brimming our eyes, and a lump in our throat, we send our sweet little children off into the world. Our emotions come because we know what waits for them. We know the teacher won’t be as attentive as we are to the runny nose, and we know that no one will be as loving and kind as we are, and we know there will be bullies on the playground, and we know that our baby is growing up and no longer needs us like he once did. 

For many of us, sending our child to kindergarten is the first time we grieve for our children, but it certainly is not the last. We grieve when they graduate elementary school and head into the awkward stage of junior high. We grieve when they move the tassel from one side to the other on Graduation Day. We grieve as we drive away from their dorm, leaving our baby behind for the world to have its way with her. We grieve as we watch our children walk down the aisle, ready to begin their new married life.

We grieve because we lose something at each rite of passage that our children experience. We lose their dependence on us as they gain their independence. We lose their presence in our home as they gain a new life with a home of their own. We grieve for innocence lost. We grieve because change comes. We want them to stay little, cuddle them in our laps, and rock them to sleep each night.

Think about all of those emotions for a second. Think of how your heart aches, literally, as you release your children to the world. Think about how fresh the wound is at each stage of letting go.

Now imagine the grief that heaven might have known when the Father released Jesus to the earth. The saints and angels had enjoyed the company of Jesus. They knew what it was to be in His glorious presence. And worst of all, heaven knew what it was that Jesus was being released to.

Heaven knew that Jesus was coming here for one sole purpose. He left the beautiful sites of heaven just to die the ugliest death.  He didn’t come here for an education, or a good job, or a social life, or to get married and have a family. He came here to die.

Heaven must have grieved painfully on that night that Jesus entered this world in a humble animal trough. He left heaven as royalty and arrived on earth in near poverty. The Father’s heart must surely have been breaking.

But despite the pain that it caused the Father, He still sent Jesus to us. He released his only child to us, to this earth. And the reason why is quite simple. He loves us. He loves me. He loves you. God loves us so deeply, with such intensity, that He sent His only son here to die so each one of us could one day enjoy the beauty of heaven for all eternity. The pain that God felt as a Father releasing Jesus to the world was immeasurably magnified compared to what we feel as we release our own children to the very same world.

As you enjoy the sights, sounds and tastes of Christmas over the next 24 hours, please remember that the night Jesus was born wasn’t exactly joyous for everyone. Heaven likely grieved its loss as the earth received its Savior. We have cause to celebrate, but our celebration comes at a great price. Take time to thank your heavenly Father for releasing Jesus to the world as the most precious gift we will ever know.

Cracked Windshield

I have a crack in my windshield. It started as a small chip sometime in late July 2012. Since that time, it has gradually spread out like a spider web in every direction until I can no longer see clearly at all.

The 'chip' was caused by my first trip to Guatemala. Upon my return my vision has grown more and more blurry. I no longer see life as I once did. And the weirdest part is that even though my windshield is cracked and my vision is blurred, I seem to be able to see more clearly than I have in all of my near-50 years!

I see now that all of this time I have been working to achieve the Great American Dream. My husband and I have worked hard to acquire a nicer house with a nicer yard in a nicer neighborhood with nicer furniture and nicer clothes and a nicer car to drive. And with every upgrade we have made in our lives I now see that we've just adjusted the handcuffs to be a little bit tighter. Every time we acquire more stuff, our burden pulls us down a little bit more.

I am becoming painfully aware of the amount of time it takes to maintain our glorious stuff. Time invested to take care of the yard so that it looks as nice as all of our neighbors.Time spent on washing the car, oil changes, maintenance, etc. Time for cleaning the house and doing laundry. Time that we spend watching a favorite show on our big screen TV or watching our most recent BluRay purchase. Countless hours spent shopping to get more stuff that we don't really need.

The Great American Dream makes me want to puke.

When my last breath is taken, not one single thing I've mentioned here is going to matter. It won't matter how nice or how big our house was. It won't matter if our lawn was the greenest and best manicured in the neighborhood. It won't matter if I wore new clothes. No one will remember if I drove a nice car and kept it clean. I won't be remembered for how many vacations I could afford. Not one person will care if my house was clean or if my furniture was modern. The amount of BluRays I own will not be listed in my obituary. I'm pretty sure my hairstyle or makeup or manicure will not matter once I'm gone.

So if none of those things matter, why do I spend so much time, effort and money on them? Why have I allowed the world to tell me what is important.

My heart is now speaking very loudly and telling me what is important. Life. My life. Other people's lives. Relationships. Ministry. Spending every allowable minute pouring into someone else's life. Making a difference for Jesus. Loving someone who feels unlovable. Teaching a skill that hasn't previously been available because of economic status.

I need a simpler life. I'm not foolish and I know it won't happen overnight. But I have a goal now. When I take my last breath, I hope to have almost zero worldly possessions. I can't take them where I'm headed anyway. I hope to have emptied myself of every ounce of love I have to give. I hope to have no balance in the checkbook and no existence of a savings account. I hope to have shared every bit of knowledge that I've been granted.  I hope that my name will long be forgotten as Jesus' name is remembered along the paths I have traveled. And as I hear myself draw in that last breath, I hope that the next thing I hear is, "Well done, good and faithful servant."

I am grateful for this cracked windshield. It has given me the clearest view I could ever hope for.

There's Something I Need You To Know

I'm not sure if this is a midlife crisis. I'm not sure if it is caused by my recent trip to Guatemala, along with another trip I'm making there in 3 weeks. I'm not sure if it is just wisdom that comes with closing in on 50 years of life. But I am gaining this deep sense that my life on this earth is truly just a wisp of air, and that my time here will be done soon, and that my life does not really matter.

I don't mean for that to sound morbid or for me to come out like a martyr. There is nothing sad about it at all. I think it is more a call for me to make every day count. It is an honest realization that I was not destined for this earth, I do not belong to this earth, and I will someday leave this earth behind. And when the day comes for me to leave, what difference will my presence have made?

You see, I am gaining a new sense of what this world is about. It is just a precursor for what lies beyond. Nothing here matters unless it is carried to the next life. My house, my car, my job, vacations, stuff, stuff and more stuff. It is all poo.

I want to live life selflessly. I want to be willing to take risks, knowing completely that I could lose everything. But also knowing that any stuff I lose is just poo anyway. The only thing that matters is did I make an impact on anyone at all? Did I point anyone at all to Jesus? Did I surrender all that I have? As in, all of it.

I want to surrender my comforts. I want to give up my cushy life, with my clean and comfortable car, and my well-paying job. I want to give up a nice house with nice furniture and nice air conditioning. I want to sacrifice a life filled with conveniences.

I want to live a life that points others to Jesus. I want to pour myself out completely so that others are drawn to Him. I want to become invisible so that He can be clearly seen.

I want all of those things to be true.

Yet, there is a war that wages inside. I want to be all of those things and do all of those things, but I can't. Because I find that I love my house and my car and my vacations and my well-paying job. I know that I love my conveniences and I love being near family and I love my comforts.  And I find that I hate that I love them so much. Because as long as I love those things so much, it just means I don't love Jesus completely.

Jesus doesn't ask us to give everything up. He only asks that we don't love anything more than Him. I'm working on that. I am working on loving Him only. It is a rugged path that I'm daring to travel.

My life here doesn't matter unless I make an impact on someone else's life for eternity. As long as I stay in this love affair with my stuff, I fear I am really only making an impact on my own life.

I think I need to break up. Dear John...

Last Sunday evening, the members of our Guatemala Mission Trip spent the evening sharing stories and pictures with our church family. The leader of our trip had asked us ahead of time to ponder a couple of questions and come ready to share what we had experienced. I wrote my thoughts out so that I wouldn't wander too far off the trail. After reading it on Sunday night, my husband told me that I should keep what I had written. I don't know a better way to make something permanent than to stick it on the internet. So here are my thoughts as I had them written:

To share one thing with you - on the 4th day at the work site I noticed a rusted sheet of galvanized steel (roofing) on the ground with tortillas spread out all over it. I also noticed about 150 flies all over the tortillas. That is when it struck me that at home I go nuts over one fly in my house. My family can attest to this - - I go berserk until the fly is dead! But I had lived for 4 days in a place covered in flies and had not been bothered at all. That is SO not me!! In thinking about why I wasn't bothered, I discovered that it was because my focus was where it should be. I was focused on my Jesus and doing His work. Nothing else mattered. For this one week I was unplugged from my world and plugged into God's world. I was separated from the TV, my phone and the computer. The noise of the world was shut out and I was able to tune into God's voice so very clearly. It was a week of being God-centered and for me, it was bliss. When I'm at home I am almost always plugged into this world. My phone is never far away, my iPod keeps me plugged into Facebook when I'm not near a computer, and our TV offers an endless source of noise that we call entertainment.

At home, I am so focused on the luxuries and comforts that I have surrounded myself with that even one fly can make me crazy.

As we started thinking about returning home from Guatemala, I began doing a mental inventory of what I missed at home. TV? No. Phone? No. Computer? No. My house? No. My job? My car? Anything at all? Nope. I finally came to the only thing on my list that I had longed for during that week - worship music. We had heard some hip-hop American tunes on the bus ride and in a restaurant, but there was no constant diet of Christian music.

So what did I learn on this trip? I learned to despise all my stuff. I have spent the last week going through my house and doing inventory. In my head I am constantly saying, "Nope, I don't need that. I don't need that either." My house and my life are filled with things that I don't really need. I plan to make some changes. Some changes have been immediate - -  I have not turned the TV on since we returned. It hasn't been this determined voice in me that refuses to be immersed back into the world, but instead it is just a peaceful desire to not have the noise in my life. Other changes will probably take years before they are complete. I am still sorting many things out in my head.

I also learned that I hate my life that I have allowed to become filled with "stuff." And I learned that I love and adore and am passionate about a life filled with Jesus. My goal is to FILL my life with Jesus.

While we were in Guatemala, a random and odd thought popped into my head. It went something like this, "When I die, I don't want anyone to remember me for loving this world and the things in it. I don't want them to remember me for knowing all the funny lines in a favorite movie, or for having the latest techno toy, or for my nice house or nice car. I want to be remembered as that girl who was radical in her passion to love and serve Jesus."

This morning in church we sang, "When I Survey The Wondrous Cross." The chorus hit me hard -

Love so amazing, so divine

Demands my soul, my life, my all.

He deserves nothing less than that - my life, my soul, my all.

Empty Days and Full Days

I went to visit my Mom in the nursing home last weekend. On the long drive over I thought about how empty her days had become in the last several years. She has only been in nursing home since January 2nd, but for many years before that her life had become very sad and mundane.

Empty days. Sitting in a room with only a bed, a chair, and a dresser. Waiting for someone to come and tell you that it's time to eat the next meal. Listening to people moan or yell down the hall. Having strange people just walk into your room at any given moment. Going to sleep with a roommate whose name you can't remember. Days that have no purpose. None at all.

I know none of us has a choice in the matter. Our days have been numbered by our loving Creator. So even though I don't get to choose how many days I get, I have put in my request for Full Days. I don't want empty days. I don't want to get to the end of my life and sit in a room staring at four walls. I don't want to wake up not knowing where I am or who is sleeping in the bed next to me. I don't want my memories to become so faded that they aren't even real (my Mom has memories of things that never even happened).

Full days. Susan lived full days. She crammed more things in a day than I stretch out into a week. Makes me a bit ashamed. She poured her life into other people consistently. Her days were full, even her very last day was filled with adventure, memories, joy and love.

Two lives that are so extremely different. And when we are the ones getting left behind, we wish for others to have many, many days on this earth --- even if they turn into empty days. But if we are the ones leaving, we want to die while the days are still full. Full of life. Full of activity, people, events, memories, love.

Empty Days. Full Days. The reality is that we do have a choice of sorts. We can become self-absorbed and give up when life gets a little harder. Or we can live a life of giving, a life of reaching out. We can do our best to make sure each day we are granted is a full day. What are you doing to make this day a full one?

Erasing The Days

For years I have kept a dry erase calendar on the fridge. It helps my family remember where they have to be on any given day. When the days would run out at the end of the calendar, I would erase the whole thing and fill it out for the next 5 weeks.

Last fall, I found myself unconsciously beginning a new habit. As I got ready to head to bed each night, I took my finger and wiped that day off the calendar. Another day done. I quickly realized what I was doing and what was driving me to this odd behavior. Each day that I could erase brought me one day closer to the next time I would see Logan. We had left him at college in August and  I missed him terribly. Everyday that went by just brought me one day closer to the time that I would get to see him again. It was a game of sorts, one that made the loneliness a little more bearable.

This January I found myself wiping those days away with a totally different motive. And I don't always wait until bed time to erase the day, sometimes I do it as soon as I think it's "legal." For now, each day that I make disappear takes me another day away from Susan's death. It is another day that our family has made it through grief. It is another day that we are closer to healing.

I have been through grief before, unfortunately. And my experience tells me that the more time that passes, the better life gets. We will one day have some semblance of normal again. We will one day answer the phone without fear of what news it brings. We will one day fully enjoy a good laugh without feeling guilty. We will one day look forward to holidays with anticipation, not dread. And at the end of this day, I will be one day closer to that day.

Perfect

It is beautiful outside today. The sky is the bluest blue, the sun is shining high. The birds are singing their songs of springtime. This afternoon we are attending a wedding of two beautiful people who have honored God in their relationship. They will stand before Him pure today, pledging their love to one another. My thoughts this morning were directed toward what a perfect day today will be for them.

But I was quickly reminded that today isn’t really perfect. The bride’s sister committed suicide a couple years ago and her absence will be felt today. In the midst of so much joy, a twinge of pain will linger.

Today is also the anniversary of my father’s death, 29 years ago. My wedding was not perfect either because he was not the one to walk me down the aisle or to dance with me at the reception. In fact, none of the days since then has been perfect. There have been many days filled with exploding joy, but none have been perfect. Because no matter how joyous the occasion might be, the twinge of pain forever lingers.

And naturally, my thoughts turn to my 3 nieces whose Mother died on New Year’s Day. They will never know another perfect day. Graduations will come soon, weddings will one day arrive, and births are inevitable. And I know those days will hold exploding joy, but they will never be perfect.

Perfect is when everyone is together. Every single person. And that will never happen again.
 
Actually, it will happen. Because we are all believers, the day will come when we are reunited at the throne of Jesus. There is nothing more perfect than that!

Walking Through

"Though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death, I will fear no evil."

That is probably one of the best known Bible verses, right after John 3:16.When you read it what do you focus on?
No need to fear even when days are dark?
There is a valley of death somewhere?
God will get us through even the worst of times?

Recently I read the verse in a whole new light. My focus word is 'through.'

Our family is going through very dark days with the death of my sister-in-law, Susan. She was only 46 and died in a tragic accident while on vacation with her family in Hawaii.

We are going through that valley of the shadow of death. But I choose to focus on the fact that we are, indeed, going through it! We will not park and live there forever. We will push forward every day. And even when the day is so dark that we can't seem to see what lies ahead, we will push anyway.

We are forever changed, but we are not ruined. We are not dead. We are not incapacitated. We are grieving, it is hard, but as we push through this grief we will find ourselves arriving at the other side and knowing joy again.

Oh, Good! You're Home!!

Recently my son, Logan, was asked to help out a friend by driving him to his grandparent's house which is over 2 hours from here and in another state. I wasn't so nervous about it except that Logan couldn't leave town until he got off of work that evening. This meant he would be returning home alone in the very late hours of the night/early hours of the morning. I tried not to be worried and asked him to come in and let me know when he got home.

Late that night I was awakened by a tapping on my shoulder as Logan stood next to my bed. I was very much asleep, but even in my groggy state of mind I felt joy that he had made it home safely. In a rather chipper voice I said, "Oh good! You're home!!" In my mind, I thanked God for getting him home safely and quickly drifted back off to sleep.

As I thought about those 4 little words the next morning, I found it sort of funny that even though I was so tired, those words came out with joy. "Oh good! You're home!!" I thought about the comfort and peace I felt knowing that he was back in our home.


And then I imagined God saying that as I enter heaven. "Oh good, Dianna! You're home!!"


I honestly LOVE life here on this earth, but my heart longs for home. It longs to be held by the Father. It longs for the peace of knowing I am finally home.

The Empty Chair

One of the most important things for me is when my little family of 4 sits down to have supper together. We accomplish this feat about 4-5 times a week. I love when the 4 of us are sitting around the table. We almost never have one of those "TV moments" where we share our hearts or solve our problems; you know what I'm talking about. Think Ward and June Cleaver. But it does make this Momma Hen happy to have all the chicks in the nest at the same time.

Recently as I glanced around our table it hit me that very soon we will have an empty chair. Logan will go off to SIU-Carbondale in August. And there will be an empty spot every night at our table. And even though he hates it when I do things like this, I told him exactly how I felt about that:

"Logan, when you go to college in August, there will only be 3 of us at this table. One of our seats will always be empty and that is going to break my heart."

She Believes In Me

Disclaimer: This post is in no way meant to be a pity party nor an endorsement for Kenny Rogers.

Almost 7 weeks ago my friend Gloria died suddenly while on vacation in Colorado. She was one of those people who was special to nearly every person who knew her. And when Gloria died, many of us groped for words to describe what it was that made her so dear.

A couple weeks after Gloria died I was going about my morning routine which includes listening to our local radio station to catch up on the small-town news. The news was over and the first song came on before I could get the radio turned off (it's a country station and we don't stomach that very well in our house). Kenny Rogers' voice blared out the words "And she believes in me, I'll never know just what she sees in me." And it hit me. Gloria believed in me. No matter what I did or attempted to do, she was one of my biggest cheerleaders. And our relationship was like that from the get-go.

We moved to Harrisonville, MO in August 1998. My husband was hired as the youth pastor at the church where Gloria's husband was the pastor. In September, I was asked to be a small group leader for a community Bible study held at our church called Hearts at Home. Gloria was in my group. At first I was a little intimidated because I hadn't grown to know her yet. But after a few short weeks Gloria shared with me how much she liked our little group and that I was the best small group leader she had ever had. She talked about things such as my ability to keep the group moving when needed, or to allow silence when needed. She puffed me up.

That was the beginning of her cheerleading me for the next 12 years. She cheered me on when I taught on occasion at Hearts at Home. She cheered me on as I raised my children. She cheered me on when I opened my business. She cheered me on as we led together on our church's women's ministry team. She cheered and she cheered and she cheered. Even when I shared a recent story with her about how I opened my mouth when I shouldn't have, although what I said needed to be said --- she cheered me on. I can still hear her say with great enthusiasm, "Good for you!"

And for some of you a cheerleader may not be a big deal. For some of you there has always been a lady in your life to cheer you on through the adventures and trials. But I didn't grow up that way. My mother was never my cheerleader. She was never an encourager or a nurturer. That is not a pity statement and it is not an exaggeration. It just is what it is.

Waking Up From The Dream

A few nights ago I had a dream about a lady coming to my house for me to do her hair. She showed up here with a large bottle of hair dye. She was kind of an icky lady but not to the extreme. She was pushing hard for me to find time to do her hair. I was trying to be polite, and was trying to find a way to explain that I only cut hair for people that I knew. And no matter how nice I tried to be, she continued to be persistent and her ickyness grew with her persistence.
And that is the point that I made my decision. I didn't like this icky, pushy lady; so I woke myself up from the dream.
There. I fixed that problem. Hmpfh!
And then as I lay there thinking about the fact that I could just end a bad dream by making myself wake up, I found myself wishing we could do that in life.
Wouldn't it be nice if we could just wake up from the bad situation we are in? Wake up - - no more grief. Wake up - - no more financial problems. Wake up - - your children have a problem-free life. Wake up - - and everything is better.

Guess what? We all get one ultimate Wake Up. When we go to sleep here and wake up there, with Him, all of our problems will be gone. No icky lady. No grief. No money issues. No health issues. Nothing but love and a life with our Jesus.

Clapping my hands for happiness.

Tags

I have decided it would be a grand idea if God could tag people for us.

Maybe a light that shines behind their head; or a big X on their hand; or a red sticker on their forehead.

The tag would be God's way of telling us to pay special attention to these people. We could make sure every hug was meaningful. Every word was captured in our memories. Every moment was cherished.

I know I am no different than you. We all have people in our lives who, once they are gone, we realize how significant they were to us. I just wish God could give us a little heads up.