The Photographer

My brother has always done photography as a hobby. Ever since I can remember he has been shooting pictures of people, animals, and his favorite--flowers.

Here are some pictures of him getting the best angle for his photos.

My brother owns a 20-acre piece of property in Tennessee where he's built his own beautiful home. He has been feeding "his" raccoons now for 10 years or more. It all started with Sally, an injured female raccoon that he fed on his porch until she was well. Then winter came and she wasn't seen. He thought something had happened to her. But in the spring, here came Sally up onto the porch with several little babies, all eager to see what this human would give them. He gave them sunflower seeds and kitchen scraps then, and for the next several years. Their great-grandraccoons are now benefitting from this ongoing relationship. Brother has gotten lots of wonderful photos of these little creatures peering into his livingroom windows, trying to let him know that they want to be fed.

Incidentally, the way they say hello is to wag their head back and forth. So this is what they do when they peer in the window. Brother wags his head back and forth just like they do and everyone is happy.

Brother loves the water and wildlife that frequent the river.

Here he is getting set up.

And here is a sample of his work.

This is his little grand-neice at her swimming competition.

I love this picture. It is worth all the positioning, tripod, and angles.

He loves what he does.

I'm proud of him.

Whose loss?

I ran into the market on Thursday between appointments. My hair appointment was due in 10 minutes and it seemed a good idea to pick up a sandwich, since I hadn't eaten for 8 hours. As I scurried down the first aisle, Irma came meandering toward me. I had not had contact with her for about a year, since I sent her a condolence card on the death of her husband. She is in her 70s and works in the campus building next to my office.
"Oh Barbara, I must tell you how hard it is to be without my husband." She is Eastern European and has a very direct way of opening conversations.
"No one understands how hard it is." She continued without waiting for my response. "After 45 years together, he is gone and I can hardly believe it! I talk to him all the time in my house but he is not there and I realize it and I'm shocked all over again."
I nodded.
"Now, I'm alone all the time. And I'm so lonely."
That sounded familiar.
"You have no idea what it is to be alone for my holidays, going to church alone, and making all the big decisions alone, too." Her eyes searched my face.

Indeed, I do know what that experience is like, with the exception of missing someone who was there. I, and a number of single friends, have lived this for years--more than most widows will ever be called upon to endure.

"I have sons, but no daughter to talk to about this. My son is a good boy and he tries to understand but he doesn't."
I reached for her and hugged her to me. "You can talk to me, then!"
She smiled blankly and kept on. "Do you know what it is to feel stigmatized--a "widow?" An awful name and I don't like the word. I would have come to hear you speak at the Widow's Luncheon last year but I didn't want to be labeled a widow."

I had spoken to about 60 women in our church last year, all who had lost their husbands. One man from Romania showed up because didn't know that he was a widower, not a widow.
"You know," she continued, moving close enough to my face so I could smell her denture adhesive, "I feel sick if someone tells me that I am young enough to find someone else. When you lose someone you love, you don't want to try again. I had a gift from God for 45 years and no one can compare."

My heart felt as though it was sinking into my boots.

Irma went on and on--for 15 minutes. I indulged her because I like her, but I didn't get a sandwich and I was late for my haircut. I also marveled that while I was single for so many years there seemed to be very little concern for the fact that my holidays were often spent alone, or that I had to be proactive in order to avoid being alone for church, leisure activities, meals, Friday nights, ad infinitum. In fact, I was the butt of numerous jokes in private and public because I was single. People placed bets on whether or not I'd ever marry and when I did send out announcements, two people thought it was an April Fool's joke. My own father told my mother that he had given up on me "ever attracting a man." That stung because in my father's mind and in his generation, a woman who isn't married is truly less desirable. It just isn't good.

Walking around like a sad sack while I was single was something that I tried not to do. I wasn't sad all the time, nor was being single such a horrible thing. But there were aspects to it that were extremely painful, one being the aloneness issue. Not necessarily lonely, but I did get sick of being alone. I talked about it from time to time with people who would listen or who inquired, but what can you say after years of saying the same thing and having the same experience? So I tried to keep quiet about any issues I had about being single--at least, with some people who didn't want to hear about it.

Irma's words irked and surprised me in a way. Actually, in the same way my mother's words in recent years have annoyed me. Now that they are widows, they want and expect condolences and support--a level of understanding and empathy that they did not have toward me as a single woman for years and years. Part of me wants to shout, "See! How do you like it now?!" And yet their loss is a more keen, acute loss than anything I've experienced. But my losses were different in quality and chronicity than anything they have. Both are extremely trying, perhaps for different reasons. It would be nice if both kinds of losses received the warm, attentive, caring responses that are needed.

There is a hidden loss and grief that lifelong single people have. They may be happy and fulfilled people with good jobs, a strong sense of purpose in life, and satisfying social networks. They may have come to terms with being single, not having children, being sometimes quite marginalized. But if you dig deep enough, there is a kernal of pain that is not recognized by society. It is about a global sense of rejection and undesirability, loss about childbearing, and an attempt to avoid asking that awful question, "What's a nice person like me doing single?" It is about all the hopes that have been dashed, all the ups and downs as we waited to see what relationship might develop with this or that one. It's being accused of being "too picky" but when we try to stay open-minded and give a chance to certain men because something may be workable, we are teased for "scraping the bottom of the barrel." It's being treated badly by socially awkward men who are looking for someone to take care of them; it's being chased by desirable married men and having to muster the gumption to rebuff them, even though they seem to be able to see and appreciate the qualities that available single men completely miss. It's questioning whether we did too much, too little, something dorky that turned him off from us, whether we were too set in our ways, spoke too freely about ourselves and our ideas, are too educated and thus intimidating, and the continual knowledge that some people had written us off as unmarriageable. It's about loving the fact that as a single person you can lie in bed until 4:00 in the afternoon if you feel like it, but that even this freedom can be described as "self-centered" and "irresponsible" because you don't have husband or children to put first. It's about hearing prayers in church for the children, parents, and elderly--and waiting to hear how the prayer can be applicable to me.

I saw that and heard this hidden sadness in a workshop I gave at a national single's conference yesterday. It was mostly women listening to me, ranging in age from about 30 - 70. The tears and comments that came from well established professional women about how they sometimes feel left out, invisible, undesirable, misunderstood--this was heartwrenching. It just struck too close to home, and I remembered so much, so many instances...

About a year ago, our pastor gave a wonderful sermon on the values and gifts that single people give a congregation. I had been bracing myself for a pulpit tirade such as the (horrendous) one I heard in the Midwest, charging single women with "not needing a man" because of militant feminist ideas that were "against nature and against God," and citing that misunderstood and misquoted statistic that a woman over 40 years of age has a greater change of being hijacked by terrorists than getting married. I remember sitting in that congregation with two other single women, all of us with eyes widened by shock as the pastor maligned and impugned our lives, our motivation, and then parrodied us. I did not believe that I had done anything "wrong" that had caused me to be single, and none of his descriptions of single women fit me. Or any of the others, for that matter. In fact, my life was the happiest it had ever been and I really had enjoyed being part of the church and community there--good friends, great academic experience, some good social outlets, etc. Apparently, we three single women were a burr under the pastor's saddle for some reason. Many in the congregation were mortified by his remarks.

So I was unsure what my pastor would come up with. Simply put, his sermon was incredibly healing. It affirmed my value as a single woman all those years. He clearly stated that we serve the church in such creative and useful ways, due to having a greater liberty than some of our married friends. And he pointed out that Jesus was single, and that we have an obligation to include single people in the life of the church in much more intentional ways. I heaved a sigh of relief and thanks to God as he offered the final congregational blessing. I had hoped to hear a sermon like this for 25 years and was thrilled to finally hear something useful, accurate, theologically supported, and helpful.

During the postlude I hopped up from my seat and started over to thank the pastor for his sermon. As I stood up, without warning tears began rolling down my cheeks and I got a huge lump in my throat. I doubt I could have even spoken. So I sat back down and had a good cry, right there in the pew. It was shocking to me that even being happily married and content with my life, that such pain and loss still remained inside of me about some difficult life circumstances, losses, and challenging years.

That same discomfort tapped me on the shoulder yesterday once again as I looked into faces of capable, bright people, some who looked lost, confused, and others who looked pained at times.
It wasn't always easy to be single.

So as I looked into Irma's face, I wondered if she would even get it if she could be told about the numerous experiences that I and my friends went through for over 20 years as single adults. She is still grieving the loss of a dear, sweet husband, so this is not the time to even try to move in that direction of conversation. I understand that losing a loved one is painful--wordlessly awful, beyond comprehension.
But so is the loss of dreams, hope, and social status.

Single people do not want to be pitied.
Just understood and supported.

Concert photos

Here are some photos from the concert that Angie and I gave last weekend. You can see that we are holding forth in a duet from the Verdi Requiem. It is very Italian, very full of emotion, and quite loud (we loved singing it!)

Here is Angie, who looks like a little angel when she sings. Her name is after all, Angelina--little Angel! She is singing, "His Eye is on the Sparrow."

This is my dear friend, Shelly, whom I've known for 30 years now, and who is a wonderful organist and an even better pal.

Another shot of Angie.

This is Kaiden, Angie's son. He will turn 2 years this month. He sat and listened intently through the whole concert. He was all eyes and ears--remarkable! The only time he made any sound was when we walked off the stage for the intermission and he said, "Mommy?"

An here I'm trying to get my mouth around some difficult French words.

One day I'll need to learn how to pronounce that miserable language properly!

And at the end it was wonderful to greet people who had not heard me sing in over 20 years, and those who have loved me through lots of vocal ups and downs.

Overall, it was a wonderful time.

Wonderful Video

Take a look at this: http://www.flixxy.com/bear-animal-nature-film.htm
I don't know if it is the function of trick photography or something else, but I was very moved by this video. Let me know what you think.

Three Generations

Three generations of us got together this last weekend. Angie and I gave a concert, and Mother was delighted to hear accolades about her daughter and granddaughter. Here we are, quite pleased to be together.

We were not used to having a little toddler-boy in the house. Even as child-proof as we thought it was, we kept having to put things up so they couldn't be thrown, put in a little mouth, or dropped. Those little hands lost the keys of our accompanist in an enormous church. We couldn't leave until we combed the pews and vestry looking for them. He was just as innocent and cute as anyone could have been.

Kaiden had a number of interesting talks with Sam. Here they are talking about the Dow Jones industrial averages. He had a real fascination for Sam and became quite adept at blowing kisses at him. Really darling.

Here, our little guy is putting rice everywhere. If you blow up the picture, you can see where all of the rice is going. He didn't mind, even though Sam was appalled with the rice everywhere.

So here's the little guy and his happy mom. We had such a wonderful time.

Heaven

This is one of my favorite mental pictures. It is written by Ellen White, a woman whose dreams and visions appear to be inspired by God. This particular quotation is a description of a dream of being in heaven. If only more of us lived like we believed this, we would be much less put out with the circumstances of our lives:

We tried to call up our greatest trials,

but they looked so small compared

with the far more exceeding and

eternal weight of glory that surrounded us,

that we could not speak them out,

and we all cried out, "Alleluia!

heaven is cheap enough,"

and we touched our golden harps

and made heaven's arches ring

My life for a song

My neice, Angie, is flying in tomorrow. She graciously agreed to do a vespers program with me and sing for church this weekend. I am thrilled. She is a busy voice teacher and opera singer. I'm amazed that she would want to sing with me, but she is very excited to sing together. I'm so grateful!

It has been many, many long years from when I used to hold her on my lap and play the piano for her. Angie was the daughter that I never had. I took her to concerts and sang with her for years. When I was in my 20s, I gave a local concert and asked her if she wanted to sing a solo as part of the program. She was very excited to get dressed up and sing at my concert. At the right time I announced her and she stepped up to the microphone and sang,

Don't let your heart be hardened - don't let your love grow cold

May it always stay so childlike - may it never grow too old

Don't let your heart be hardened - may you always know the cure

Keep it broken before Jesus; keep it thankful, meek, and pure.

May it always feel compassion - may it beat as one with God's

May it never be contrary - may it never be at odds

May it always be forgiving - may it never know conceit

May it always be encouraged - may it never know defeat

May your heart be always open - never satisfied with right

May your filled with courage and be strengthened with all might

Let His love rain down upon youBreaking up your fallow ground

Let it loosen all the bindingTill only tenderness is found

(Petra, 1987).

Angie wasn't nervous or shy. She just stood up at the mic and sang her little six-year-old heart out. In doing so, she blessed many hearts and also brought down the house.

Now Angie is a mother and has a very gifted little guy--Kaiden--who is almost 2 years old. He can sing on pitch and is fascinated with everything musical. We will be enjoying his company this weekend, too.


Linny, my nephew, is also intent on raising a child to be musical. You can see Bee (Beatrice) here, holding forth at the piano. Neither my sister nor her husband spent much time singing or playing the piano with the kids. But I sure did. I'd like to think that maybe this is why keeping music in the family is a pattern for my neice and nephew.

For the last several years I have struggled with my voice. Now that I have conquered the emotional web that prevented me from singing with real freedom most of my life, my vocal cords gave out. For a long time, I had reflux that excoriated my cords. Then I ended up with ruptured blood vessel on my left cord. So after years of praying that God would just take this unwanted, intrusive voice from me, now I want it more than almost anything else in life. It has been a slow journey back but from time to time there are glimmers of hope that one day I will be able to sing well again. I am more grateful than I can say, because there is no love in my life, nor has there ever been, that has equalled my love of singing.
Our concert is at 5:00 this Saturday. You can share this pleasure with us if you'd like, by tuning in to Loma Linda Broadcasting at http://www.llbn.tv/English_TV.html or Loma Linda University Church at http://www.lluc.org/

And so the legacy goes on.

Another graduation

Stepdaughter #3 graduated on Sunday. It was a great day and we are all very tired from the entertaining and rushing around that took place over the weekend. But it is done and we are happy. Stepdaughter now holds a bachelor's degree in nursing and is working in pediatrics. From all reports, she is doing very well at her new job.
We are proud.

All Hands on Deck

I have been taking pictures of hands lately. We have a huge empty wall in our livingroom that needs some kind of decoration. Originally, I thought a king-sized quilt would make a good wall hanging. But I don't have time (or interest) in making a quilt. It's doubtful that I can do much of that this summer, at least. So I decided to photograph the hands of people who are near and dear to me and create a grouping of photographs on the wall. These are uncropped, unretouched photos, but you may enjoy seeing the variety of hands in my life.

These are the hands of my dear friend, Betty.
She is 86 years old on the outside and 18 on the inside.

These hands belong to one of my students from Africa.

She is a rising star in our field.

I can't wait to see where her future will take her.

These are the hands of the woman whose healthy meal

encouraged Sam and me

to change our dietary habits and eat better.

These are my Sam's hands.



These are the hands that raised four children,
kept a huge vegetable garden, sewed all their clothes,
and kept a clean home.
These are my mother's soon-to-be 80 year-old hands.

You may find it interesting to start taking notice of the hands of people around you. Hands say a lot about who, and what a person is.

Focal Point

Focal Point found here

I just got back from a long walk across the neighborhood. It seemed the thing to do, after I was terribly offended by behavior that I do not deserve. The acts committed may have been offered unwittingly by underdeveloped individuals who are not known for their insight. All of these things can be said for the offenders. Maybe they didn't mean it--but the turn of the lip, the disdainful glance--these things tell me there has been intention behind the offenses. Nothing felt good about it whatever. Because I had nothing to say about it (nor was I given the opportunity to respond), the best choice was to clear my head with a long walk.

God got an earful.

"After all I've done for them, they go and do this. And they really need what I provide for them, too. Don't they have any idea? How can they be so ungrateful?"

"Lord, am I just to take it?" Would Christ have just taken it?

Most likely. After making a point during a teachable moment.

"But Lord, there was no teachable moment. The offense is one in a series of bad behaviors that have been supported by others who should set a better example, but seem to be oblivious of my feelings and needs." In fact, those who should be responsible seem to enjoy seeing me squirm and faced with difficulties. Even though I have done nothing to hurt them and have only ever been positive, helpful, and respectful in their presence. This, I know better than I know anything else.

The sky was silent as I walked down the street under swooshing trees. The wind has been gusting and it looked dark and ominous over the mountains.

"Lord, do I try to address this, or let it go?" These are people who have not been given very good education in the manners department. They are rude, inconsiderate, self-centered, and passive aggressive. I know this, too, from years of informed observation.

"Do I smile and pretend that I'm not affected by this? Will they one day look back and realize what their behavior has done? Would that even be helpful to them?"

"Should I just go my own way and ignore them and their self-centered, irresponsible behavior?"

My guts churned and I slowed down my walk so I could take more time outside. "Help me, Lord." I was so full of resentment and hurt. In my heart of hearts, I would be glad never to see any of these people again.

The thought suddenly occurred to me that this is really an issue of focus. If I arrange my behavior, mood, and response around the inappropriate acts of other people, then I will be saturated with their negativity and "badness." They will loom large on the horizon of my soul as I am consumed with the overt bad behavior and inuendo that constantly vies for my attention. But as a Christian, my focus should be on Christ and the life that I hope to live forever with Him. What happens here on earth is really not worth diverting my attention from the end goal. Other people's bad behavior is not my reference point, even though it is vexing and hurtful.

Very, very hurtful.

"Is this how the apostles and martyrs did it, Lord? Not that I'm a martyr (but I feel like one today). Was Stephen so focused on the Blessed Hope that even though he was killed, his focus remained on You instead of those who stoned him? Did Paul and Barnabas maintain their focus on you, even though they were beaten and put in stocks? I'm sure they were abused and verbally disparaged. But there they were, singing in prison, thinking only of You. Because in the long run, a few snarls, being hit with clubs, having bruises and even losing one's mortal life here, is really a drop in the bucket compared to the ocean of possibility and power that there is in the life in which God is an active participant.

This makes sense to me.

When I lived in St. Paul, I had the fortune of renting an apartment adjacent to the largest preserved Victorian neighborhood in the country. The homes were gorgeous and immense. I used to walk down the street, gazing up at them, admiring the lines of the architecture and landscaping, and dreaming of what I'd do with the house if it were mine. My little apartment was a hovel compared to what I was able to look at down the street. More than once, I tripped over the sidewalk or walked into bushes because I was looking up. I didn't mind these little glitches in my walk--they were almost humorous unless I fell (which I did when it was icy outside). But I always went back home with visions of another time, and dreams in my head of what it must be to have mansions with gables, dumbwaiters, and ballrooms inside.

Perhaps this is somewhat similar to how a changed focal point will help me in the present situation. The bad behavior will be dealt with by God because I am not in a position to do it. I will watch for teachable moments, but ultimately, these folks must answer to God for what they are doing. In the meantime, I want to keep looking up--not in an avoidant way, as one would who simply refuses to deal with present issues--but as one whose eyes and energy are drawn elsewhere, and whose path and purpose cannot be thwarted by whatever the world serves up.

For I reckon that the sufferings of this present time

are not worthy to be compared with the glory

which shall be revealed in us.

Romans 8:18