If you aren't familiar with The Adventures of Huckleberry Finn, my allusion will mean nothing to you. Emmeline Grangerford is a character in the novel. Huck meets the feuding Grangerford family and becomes acquainted with the "tributes" Emmeline wrote about people who had passed.
I don't know how I got the job of writing "tributes" for so many people, but I have to sit still long enough tonight to write another one. My former boss, James Blue, left this life Wednesday morning at 10:40. He fought harder to stay alive than anyone I know, but cancer won the war.
The memories of Mr. Blue have been rushing through my mind for the past three days.
I first talked to him on the phone when Jason was a freshman. We had received a grade card or progress report that had Jason missing several classes. Of course, Jason told me it was a computer error, and I wanted to believe him, but I just had to make that call. Poor Mr. Blue. I was accustomed to a small school where I knew every teacher that my kids had and always knew exactly what days my kids were absent. He so tried to reassure me that Jason was indeed going to class. I remember my interview with him and Charlie Shields back in the summer of 1990. I wanted to get a job closer to home, but I'm wondering if he recommended me for the job so that he wouldn't have to endure any more calls from me. If I was in the building, I would know where Jason was and wouldn't expect him to keep me posted.
I'm just going to list some important facts about James Blue that made him special.
-He love to laugh (at himself). He and Roy Capps would head out to a football or basketball game and get lost. Now assuredly no one would have had to know, but they would tell it. I sponsored cheerleaders and would be at an away game, and here would saunter in Mr. Blue and Mr. Capps. They had been 30 miles out of the way and roaming around trying to find the field or the gym. They must have left home early I guess because they made it by gametime. They needed a Garmin.
-His door was always open. I used to go in early in the morning and visit with him sometimes. I think back to that now and think that he may have come in early to get work done, but there was a steady stream of teachers coming in to visit. Our visits were usually about our kids. He listened to me tell about Carson's games, and later I listened to him tell about his grandson's games.
-His teachers' meetings were hilarious. One of the things I used to like to do is watch the faces of new teachers at the first meeting of the year. We all loved the man, but he was no public speaker. He would ramble through the meeting and tell stories and try to tell jokes, and we would get so tickled. I so wish we had videotaped one; you just had to witness it to understand.
-He loved practical joke--as long as it didn't go too far. He participated in one we all tried to pull on Jennifer McKnight. The problem was it backfired and Jennifer Cox ended up leaving in tears. Let's just say we didn't do that again.
He wasn't very happy with us.
-He was a good sport. If you ever went to graduation at Tecumseh, you witnessed that. The custom has been for the graduates to hand Mr. Blue something as they shook hands with him. He would keep a box on the floor right by him to put the items in. My favorite years were the ones when they discreetly handed him something. Jason's class handed him Payday candy bars because they had seen him eat a Payday for lunch for four years. Carson's class handed him Walmart gift cards. All of them were empty except one. One had $50.00 on it. Someone told me that he gave that one as a door prize the next year when we went back to school. I didn't win, so I didn't remember. Even the years when the gift wasn't discreet, he was a good sport. One year the students put stickers all over his suit jacket; Allison's class gave him Mardi Gras beads, and he would just grin and take it. I know he hated it, but he just stood there.
-His expectations were high. To visit with him and hear his self-deprecating humor, you would never believe how particular he was. On the day before a North Central visit, our committee was sitting around a table in the conference room looking over the book that would be given to the visiting committee the next day. Gail Sams, the journalist, looked up and said, "How do you spell excellence?" We had put a footer on every page of the book that said "Excellence in Education." The only problem was that on about 15 pages, excellence was spelled excellance. We finally figured out that it was only on the pages that had color charts. When you looked at the page on the computer screen, the footer was so small that you couldn't read the error. Some people would have let it go, but not Mr. Blue. We stayed for several hours and disassembled and reassembled those books. Cindy Hale was on her way out for an anniversary dinner, and we called her to come and help us. Mr. Blue didn't ask us to stay, but we knew that if we didn't, he would have stayed by himself.
-His mind was incredible when it came to scheduling. It makes me think of the computer programmer who knows math so well that he can do in his head what he tells the computer to do. I guess he had built the master schedule on the big board so many times that he could see problems that the rest of us didn't see. He knew the ramifications of changing a planning period or scheduling an honors class a particular hour. He accomodated the kids not the teachers, which is the way it should be.
-He was respected-by teachers, by students, and by parents. You may not have liked his all of his decisions, but you knew he made them fairly and consistently. His leadership for 24 years put us in a position to continue and improve THS in his absence.
Tomorrow his funeral will be held at Raley Chapel at OBU. There is no more fitting place for this service. For almost twenty years, Mr. Blue stood on the stage and called out the names of graduates; he shook their hands and smiled at them as they crossed the stage. Their success was his success.
Friday, April 30, 2010
Sunday, April 25, 2010
Know Greater Love
I don't know why I felt led to share this today, but the idea won't leave me, so there must be someone out there in cyberspace who needs to read it. It is my testimony for a book that my church publishes every year or so with members' stories of redemption and healing.
When I was asked to write an entry for Know Greater Love, I knew I had a testimony, but I didn’t know how I could make it valuable for others. I have known many tragedies and maintained my faith, but I’m still in the grieving process. My oldest son Jason was killed in a tragic one-vehicle accident on Sept. 20, 2008. His death was the fifth death in my immediate family in thirteen years, so I know how to grieve; the question is do I know how to stop grieving?
I finally decided to make this a tribute to my mother, Mabel Rider, the person who died thirteen years before Jason’s death. I attribute my spiritual strength and survival directly to her example. Did I ever see my mother lose a child? No. I did see her lose a seven-year-old niece to leukemia and two sisters, and I witnessed her rejoicing that their troubles and illnesses were over and that they were in heaven. How did she equip me for my grief-filled life? She lived a Christ-centered life and displayed a faith that was inspirational to me. She set a standard of faith that has allowed me to experience the unthinkable and maintain a love for God. She accepted life’s challenges with grace and faith and made sure that I knew that this life is a dress rehearsal for eternity. This was her legacy to me.
Her compassion was an example to me and my family throughout her life. One memory that stands out vividly for me is from when my seventy-year-old mother and I went to the Free Will Baptist National Convention many years ago. The night of the missionary service, which is usually the largest of the convention’s services, the venue next to us was having a Guns and Roses concert. The variety of people walking to the convention was a sight to behold. There were men and women in suits and dresses walking along side young people in black with pierced faces, tattoos, etc. You get the picture. As we were driving to the parking garage, we saw a young woman who appeared intoxicated, wearing an outfit that was quite risqué. I was so proud that my ten-year-old daughter and her friends heard my mother say, “Bless her Heart” instead of “Well, I never.” She remains the voice in my head. As our sermon series on the family taught us, it is never too late to be an example to your children.
I was born the fourth child in my family; my siblings were twelve, ten, and eight years old, so you can imagine how rotten I was. If you had watched the dynamic in my family from a distance, you probably would not have liked me very much. I was spoiled and the center of attention. I didn’t have to cook because my older sisters could do that, so my job was to set the table and clear the table. During Saturday cleaning, my jobs were to dust the furniture and clean the mirrors. It was my sisters who cleaned the kitchen and bathrooms and who did the laundry. I even remember sitting in the kitchen talking to my sister Phyllis while she was cooking dinner, but I never offered to help. She admitted when we were adults that she couldn’t stand me until Jason was born. She loved him so much that she was willing to put up with me. She was my idol, but I was so self-centered that I couldn’t understand at all why she would get so angry and frustrated with me.
I went to church with my mother for as long as I can remember. My dad wasn’t a Christian, but he was a very good man. Honest and dependable, he was the kind of man who is most difficult to reach because he lived a decent life, much more decent than some of the men in our church. I rejoice in the fact that Daddy was saved and baptized (by Brother Delbert) at age seventy.
I was saved when I was eight and continued to attend church throughout my years living at home. I was a smart teenager because I knew that as long as I would go to church on Sunday morning, Sunday night, and Wednesday night, I was pretty much allowed all the freedom that was customary in the early seventies. I pushed the limits of that freedom during my teenage years, and as I had been warned many times, “I found myself in places I didn’t want to be, with people I didn’t want to be with, doing things I didn’t want to do.” My mother continued to pray for me and love me unconditionally even when I wasn’t very lovable.
It was during those years of rebellion that I made major decisions of my life. I married my husband Tony who had been my early high school sweetheart. We reconnected when I began college. After we married, he finished college while I worked, and then he supported me until I received my degree. Our oldest child Jason was born in 1975, and Allison was born in 1980.
I continued to go my own way until I was twenty-seven. At that time Tony and I had both taught for several years. He was not interested in attending church with us, but I knew in my heart that my children needed to be in church. I don’t think there was a single event that made me realize that the kids and I needed to be in church. I took them to VBS one summer and saw how much they both liked it. It brought to mind my childhood experiences of church camp, VBS, Sunday School, and the Holy Spirit reminded me of the responsibility I had to continue my mother’s legacy to them. Jason was already seven, and Allison was almost three, and the only time we went to church up to that point was when we were visiting my parents. Later we had another son, Carson, who attended church from the first week of his birth. I was involved in all church activities, sang in the choir, taught Sunday School, taught and directed VBS, went on church trips, camp, etc. I think watching my mother do all these things made me realize that it was ok for a woman who attended church without her husband to be involved. I always watched carefully for warning signs of resentment from Tony so that he wouldn’t be angry that we were so involved. I really think he liked that his children were involved in church; he knew from teaching school that church attendance made a difference in his students’ behavior. All three of our children were saved and baptized when they were young.
I’ve said all this to get to the point of my testimony. My mother died July 10, 1996. At that time both of my sisters were in very compromised health, and my brother lived hours away. Guess what? That spoiled little brat who never had to do the hard jobs suddenly became the caregiver for her father. I didn’t have time to grieve Mom’s death because Daddy had a stroke two weeks after she died, and he lost the use of his right hand. Fortunately, his overall health was good, but he needed daily help. For seven years I went to see Daddy every day all the while teaching full-time, and supporting Allison and Carson in their activities.
At the time of my mother’s death, my sister Phyllis had just been diagnosed with pulmonary fibrosis. Her health deteriorated over the next few years, and my grief at watching her suffer and die was the worst thing I had ever experienced. She had been exposed to a chemical in her job at Tinker Field that caused her illness. Even though the government paid worker’s compensation to her, no amount of money could give her the good health that had been taken away. After years of suffering, Phyllis died on Dec. 19, 2002 at age 55. I have never been so angry in my life. I was mad at God, the federal government, Phyllis’s ex-husband (for causing her to have to go to work in the shops at Tinker many years earlier) her doctors, the pharmaceutical industry, anyone who had a part in her illness and death. I think my anger distorted my grief during that time. I knew beyond a shadow of a doubt that my sister was in heaven, but I wanted her here with her family. She left her husband, children, very young grandchildren along with my dad who only lived ten months after her death. Daddy died after having a massive stroke on Sept. 30, 2003. Phyllis’s early death was too much for his eighty-three-year-old heart, and his grief at losing a child was just too much to bear. The one thing I could rejoice in was that Mom wasn’t here to suffer the loss of her child or husband.
My oldest sister Linda had been in poor health for many years. She was overweight, legally blind, and suffered from crippling arthritis. I really never expected her to reach old age. She died in August of 2005 after an extended illness. By this time Carson and I were attending Harrah Church.
The year after Carson graduated from high school, Jason returned to the nest for several months. He had gotten a divorce a few years earlier and had been drifting a little, so we were glad to have him home. He stayed from February through November of 2007, months that I consider to be the greatest gift God has ever given me. During those months Jason also attended Harrah Church with me. He loved the music, the preaching, and our small group, Total Body. Remember the Easter Sunday that Jimmy preached about baggage? I watched as my son wrote something down and took it to the front and placed it in the trunk that Jimmy burned that very day. Some kind of baggage that he had been carrying around was gone. During the months he lived with us, Jason and I spent time together, exercising, cooking, going to movies; he helped us with Relay for Life of Tecumseh. Tony, Jason, and I watched OSU basketball, and went out to dinner every Friday. We got to know Jason, the 32-year-old man. The last time he had spent any time at all at home was when he was 21, the summer between Connor’s and OSU.
Jason was a “sure nuff” cowboy. Tony’s dad was a professional cutting horse trainer and taught Jason as soon as he could sit a saddle. Jason spent his childhood competing in cutting horse competitions. During high school he was Oklahoma’s state champion cutter two years and competed in the National High School Finals Rodeo in Shawnee. Cutting is a cow-calf event. The horse and rider “cuts” a calf out of a herd and then the horse goes to work to keep the calf from returning to the herd. Jason was a natural at training because he respected the animals he worked with and had learned from his granddad how to train the horses. He worked and lived during college on a ranch near Stillwater where he continued to learn the craft. He spent most of his adult life training cutting horses. He completed his degree from OSU in Animal Science, but he was really only content when he was training horses. One of the things I learned after his death is that he had trained a American Quarter Horse Association World champion while he worked in Stillwater. A man who owned the horse wrote me a letter to describe his experience of competing on the horse that Jason trained as a two-year- old. I will always wonder why he didn’t share that with us.
A couple whom he attended college with were living on her father’s ranch in Nebraska. They had begged Jason to come up there and train for them. The ranch is a large cattle operation, but they had always dabbled in horses a little. They had an indoor heated practice arena and the means to buy good horses. He really didn’t want to go so far away from home, but it was an offer he couldn’t refuse. In November of 2007, he moved into the ranch house in Nebraska.
He lived and worked on the ranch until his death in Sept. of 2008. Up until that time, I had only thought I had experienced grief. When we received the “knock” at 3:00 in the morning on Sept. 21, and learned that Jason had not survived a roll-over accident, I hit the floor. My legs would not hold me up. At that very moment, my cousin Becky who lives in Tulsa, woke up feeling the need to pray. She didn’t know who for, but God did, so she prayed, and I stood up.
I’m still standing; over a year has gone by, and I miss him just as much today as I did during the first few weeks, but I am able to talk about him and remember the great kid he was and the great man he became. The out-pouring of love and support from the people of Harrah Church, Tecumseh, Stillwater, and Gordon, Nebraska spoke volumes to me. My son was dearly loved by many. After his funeral, Tony’s comment of “I am at peace” reflected the sentiments of us all. As a family we are determined to honor Jason’s life by remaining strong and united. My children miss their brother; Tony and I miss our son, but we will not let our loss define us. I feel a great responsibility to pass on the legacy that my mother began. The strength of enduring faith is all that has sustained me. My family is watching me, not just my husband and children, but my brother and all of my nieces and nephews. They must see Jesus in me. They must see me living a life that is confident that Jason will be a part of my eternity.
During this past year I have recalled multiple conversations I had with Mom in the last year of her life. She had to go to a doctor in OKC every Wednesday for the last months of her life, and I had the privilege of taking her. She shared her faith with me, and surprisingly, she also told me of her doubts. Her honesty was so refreshing to me because I have always been too logical for my own good. My logical nature sometimes caused me to doubt my religious teachings, but I never dreamed that my mother also had those doubts.
Because of the events of the past year, my doubts have lessened. I have witnessed God’s working in many ways to remind me that this life is temporary and that I will spend eternity with Mom, Dad, Phyllis, Linda, and Jason. We’re on a break right now, and while I’m down here with the struggles and joys of this life, they are in heaven with only joy.
What does my story teach the readers? My mother could not have guessed how much I would need to rely on God during my lifetime. The important thing is that she equipped me to survive whatever came my way by providing a spiritual legacy for me to draw from. None of us know what our children will face in their lifetimes. We all owe them a spiritual backbone so that they will stand throughout life’s hardships.
When I was asked to write an entry for Know Greater Love, I knew I had a testimony, but I didn’t know how I could make it valuable for others. I have known many tragedies and maintained my faith, but I’m still in the grieving process. My oldest son Jason was killed in a tragic one-vehicle accident on Sept. 20, 2008. His death was the fifth death in my immediate family in thirteen years, so I know how to grieve; the question is do I know how to stop grieving?
I finally decided to make this a tribute to my mother, Mabel Rider, the person who died thirteen years before Jason’s death. I attribute my spiritual strength and survival directly to her example. Did I ever see my mother lose a child? No. I did see her lose a seven-year-old niece to leukemia and two sisters, and I witnessed her rejoicing that their troubles and illnesses were over and that they were in heaven. How did she equip me for my grief-filled life? She lived a Christ-centered life and displayed a faith that was inspirational to me. She set a standard of faith that has allowed me to experience the unthinkable and maintain a love for God. She accepted life’s challenges with grace and faith and made sure that I knew that this life is a dress rehearsal for eternity. This was her legacy to me.
Her compassion was an example to me and my family throughout her life. One memory that stands out vividly for me is from when my seventy-year-old mother and I went to the Free Will Baptist National Convention many years ago. The night of the missionary service, which is usually the largest of the convention’s services, the venue next to us was having a Guns and Roses concert. The variety of people walking to the convention was a sight to behold. There were men and women in suits and dresses walking along side young people in black with pierced faces, tattoos, etc. You get the picture. As we were driving to the parking garage, we saw a young woman who appeared intoxicated, wearing an outfit that was quite risqué. I was so proud that my ten-year-old daughter and her friends heard my mother say, “Bless her Heart” instead of “Well, I never.” She remains the voice in my head. As our sermon series on the family taught us, it is never too late to be an example to your children.
I was born the fourth child in my family; my siblings were twelve, ten, and eight years old, so you can imagine how rotten I was. If you had watched the dynamic in my family from a distance, you probably would not have liked me very much. I was spoiled and the center of attention. I didn’t have to cook because my older sisters could do that, so my job was to set the table and clear the table. During Saturday cleaning, my jobs were to dust the furniture and clean the mirrors. It was my sisters who cleaned the kitchen and bathrooms and who did the laundry. I even remember sitting in the kitchen talking to my sister Phyllis while she was cooking dinner, but I never offered to help. She admitted when we were adults that she couldn’t stand me until Jason was born. She loved him so much that she was willing to put up with me. She was my idol, but I was so self-centered that I couldn’t understand at all why she would get so angry and frustrated with me.
I went to church with my mother for as long as I can remember. My dad wasn’t a Christian, but he was a very good man. Honest and dependable, he was the kind of man who is most difficult to reach because he lived a decent life, much more decent than some of the men in our church. I rejoice in the fact that Daddy was saved and baptized (by Brother Delbert) at age seventy.
I was saved when I was eight and continued to attend church throughout my years living at home. I was a smart teenager because I knew that as long as I would go to church on Sunday morning, Sunday night, and Wednesday night, I was pretty much allowed all the freedom that was customary in the early seventies. I pushed the limits of that freedom during my teenage years, and as I had been warned many times, “I found myself in places I didn’t want to be, with people I didn’t want to be with, doing things I didn’t want to do.” My mother continued to pray for me and love me unconditionally even when I wasn’t very lovable.
It was during those years of rebellion that I made major decisions of my life. I married my husband Tony who had been my early high school sweetheart. We reconnected when I began college. After we married, he finished college while I worked, and then he supported me until I received my degree. Our oldest child Jason was born in 1975, and Allison was born in 1980.
I continued to go my own way until I was twenty-seven. At that time Tony and I had both taught for several years. He was not interested in attending church with us, but I knew in my heart that my children needed to be in church. I don’t think there was a single event that made me realize that the kids and I needed to be in church. I took them to VBS one summer and saw how much they both liked it. It brought to mind my childhood experiences of church camp, VBS, Sunday School, and the Holy Spirit reminded me of the responsibility I had to continue my mother’s legacy to them. Jason was already seven, and Allison was almost three, and the only time we went to church up to that point was when we were visiting my parents. Later we had another son, Carson, who attended church from the first week of his birth. I was involved in all church activities, sang in the choir, taught Sunday School, taught and directed VBS, went on church trips, camp, etc. I think watching my mother do all these things made me realize that it was ok for a woman who attended church without her husband to be involved. I always watched carefully for warning signs of resentment from Tony so that he wouldn’t be angry that we were so involved. I really think he liked that his children were involved in church; he knew from teaching school that church attendance made a difference in his students’ behavior. All three of our children were saved and baptized when they were young.
I’ve said all this to get to the point of my testimony. My mother died July 10, 1996. At that time both of my sisters were in very compromised health, and my brother lived hours away. Guess what? That spoiled little brat who never had to do the hard jobs suddenly became the caregiver for her father. I didn’t have time to grieve Mom’s death because Daddy had a stroke two weeks after she died, and he lost the use of his right hand. Fortunately, his overall health was good, but he needed daily help. For seven years I went to see Daddy every day all the while teaching full-time, and supporting Allison and Carson in their activities.
At the time of my mother’s death, my sister Phyllis had just been diagnosed with pulmonary fibrosis. Her health deteriorated over the next few years, and my grief at watching her suffer and die was the worst thing I had ever experienced. She had been exposed to a chemical in her job at Tinker Field that caused her illness. Even though the government paid worker’s compensation to her, no amount of money could give her the good health that had been taken away. After years of suffering, Phyllis died on Dec. 19, 2002 at age 55. I have never been so angry in my life. I was mad at God, the federal government, Phyllis’s ex-husband (for causing her to have to go to work in the shops at Tinker many years earlier) her doctors, the pharmaceutical industry, anyone who had a part in her illness and death. I think my anger distorted my grief during that time. I knew beyond a shadow of a doubt that my sister was in heaven, but I wanted her here with her family. She left her husband, children, very young grandchildren along with my dad who only lived ten months after her death. Daddy died after having a massive stroke on Sept. 30, 2003. Phyllis’s early death was too much for his eighty-three-year-old heart, and his grief at losing a child was just too much to bear. The one thing I could rejoice in was that Mom wasn’t here to suffer the loss of her child or husband.
My oldest sister Linda had been in poor health for many years. She was overweight, legally blind, and suffered from crippling arthritis. I really never expected her to reach old age. She died in August of 2005 after an extended illness. By this time Carson and I were attending Harrah Church.
The year after Carson graduated from high school, Jason returned to the nest for several months. He had gotten a divorce a few years earlier and had been drifting a little, so we were glad to have him home. He stayed from February through November of 2007, months that I consider to be the greatest gift God has ever given me. During those months Jason also attended Harrah Church with me. He loved the music, the preaching, and our small group, Total Body. Remember the Easter Sunday that Jimmy preached about baggage? I watched as my son wrote something down and took it to the front and placed it in the trunk that Jimmy burned that very day. Some kind of baggage that he had been carrying around was gone. During the months he lived with us, Jason and I spent time together, exercising, cooking, going to movies; he helped us with Relay for Life of Tecumseh. Tony, Jason, and I watched OSU basketball, and went out to dinner every Friday. We got to know Jason, the 32-year-old man. The last time he had spent any time at all at home was when he was 21, the summer between Connor’s and OSU.
Jason was a “sure nuff” cowboy. Tony’s dad was a professional cutting horse trainer and taught Jason as soon as he could sit a saddle. Jason spent his childhood competing in cutting horse competitions. During high school he was Oklahoma’s state champion cutter two years and competed in the National High School Finals Rodeo in Shawnee. Cutting is a cow-calf event. The horse and rider “cuts” a calf out of a herd and then the horse goes to work to keep the calf from returning to the herd. Jason was a natural at training because he respected the animals he worked with and had learned from his granddad how to train the horses. He worked and lived during college on a ranch near Stillwater where he continued to learn the craft. He spent most of his adult life training cutting horses. He completed his degree from OSU in Animal Science, but he was really only content when he was training horses. One of the things I learned after his death is that he had trained a American Quarter Horse Association World champion while he worked in Stillwater. A man who owned the horse wrote me a letter to describe his experience of competing on the horse that Jason trained as a two-year- old. I will always wonder why he didn’t share that with us.
A couple whom he attended college with were living on her father’s ranch in Nebraska. They had begged Jason to come up there and train for them. The ranch is a large cattle operation, but they had always dabbled in horses a little. They had an indoor heated practice arena and the means to buy good horses. He really didn’t want to go so far away from home, but it was an offer he couldn’t refuse. In November of 2007, he moved into the ranch house in Nebraska.
He lived and worked on the ranch until his death in Sept. of 2008. Up until that time, I had only thought I had experienced grief. When we received the “knock” at 3:00 in the morning on Sept. 21, and learned that Jason had not survived a roll-over accident, I hit the floor. My legs would not hold me up. At that very moment, my cousin Becky who lives in Tulsa, woke up feeling the need to pray. She didn’t know who for, but God did, so she prayed, and I stood up.
I’m still standing; over a year has gone by, and I miss him just as much today as I did during the first few weeks, but I am able to talk about him and remember the great kid he was and the great man he became. The out-pouring of love and support from the people of Harrah Church, Tecumseh, Stillwater, and Gordon, Nebraska spoke volumes to me. My son was dearly loved by many. After his funeral, Tony’s comment of “I am at peace” reflected the sentiments of us all. As a family we are determined to honor Jason’s life by remaining strong and united. My children miss their brother; Tony and I miss our son, but we will not let our loss define us. I feel a great responsibility to pass on the legacy that my mother began. The strength of enduring faith is all that has sustained me. My family is watching me, not just my husband and children, but my brother and all of my nieces and nephews. They must see Jesus in me. They must see me living a life that is confident that Jason will be a part of my eternity.
During this past year I have recalled multiple conversations I had with Mom in the last year of her life. She had to go to a doctor in OKC every Wednesday for the last months of her life, and I had the privilege of taking her. She shared her faith with me, and surprisingly, she also told me of her doubts. Her honesty was so refreshing to me because I have always been too logical for my own good. My logical nature sometimes caused me to doubt my religious teachings, but I never dreamed that my mother also had those doubts.
Because of the events of the past year, my doubts have lessened. I have witnessed God’s working in many ways to remind me that this life is temporary and that I will spend eternity with Mom, Dad, Phyllis, Linda, and Jason. We’re on a break right now, and while I’m down here with the struggles and joys of this life, they are in heaven with only joy.
What does my story teach the readers? My mother could not have guessed how much I would need to rely on God during my lifetime. The important thing is that she equipped me to survive whatever came my way by providing a spiritual legacy for me to draw from. None of us know what our children will face in their lifetimes. We all owe them a spiritual backbone so that they will stand throughout life’s hardships.
Monday, April 19, 2010
April 19, 1995
Today is the 15th anniversary of the Oklahoma City Bombing. Just as with all other huge events that we all remember where we were, I was in school.
I was in 3rd grade when Kennedy was assassinated.
I was teaching when the Challenger blew up.
I was teaching when my friend Patty was killed in the Edmond Post Office massacre.
I was teaching when the Murrah Building was bombed.
I was teaching on 9/11.
I'm telling you there is no worse place to be when a tragedy happens. Teenagers are highly emotional or unemotional. Some are overly sensitive and take on the tragedy as though they were victims themselves, or they act like jerks because they don't know what to do with their emotions.
Teachers cry. We try not to; we try to keep it together, but we can't. Watching footage of a building that has been blown up and not knowing how something like this could happen in America brings tears that can't be held back.
I remember so well getting a call from Teresa who told me that Anna Marie's sister, Jamie, worked in the Federal Credit Union and had not been heard from. I had already thought of Jamie because I knew that she worked in a credit union, but I never dreamed she worked in that one. Her body was recovered 21 days later--an eternity to the family.
Today I thought of her kids. Kyle was an 8th grader; Krista, a fifth grader. They were robbed that day of a young beautiful mom who loved them to distraction.
I thought of Anna Marie. She has children that never got to meet Aunt Jamie, how sad. I thought of Jamie's parents and her other siblings. I know that pain. I can't really imagine that 15 years is going to change the grief much. I know the family has had good times since Jamie's death, but I also know that every big event has a pall over it. Proms, graduations, weddings, births, among others have all happened without her. Because Allison was the same age as Kyle, I always thought of him when we were having our milestone events.
I watched a news report tonight about Timothy McVeigh, the OKC bomber. He showed absolutely no remorse all the way to his death. From all accounts he was a fairly normal child, claimed he was bullied by jocks in high school, went to the military and became a monster.
I think it was Tom Brokaw that said of the bomber. The worst thing that could happen to him is to develop a conscience; I don't think it ever happened.
I was in 3rd grade when Kennedy was assassinated.
I was teaching when the Challenger blew up.
I was teaching when my friend Patty was killed in the Edmond Post Office massacre.
I was teaching when the Murrah Building was bombed.
I was teaching on 9/11.
I'm telling you there is no worse place to be when a tragedy happens. Teenagers are highly emotional or unemotional. Some are overly sensitive and take on the tragedy as though they were victims themselves, or they act like jerks because they don't know what to do with their emotions.
Teachers cry. We try not to; we try to keep it together, but we can't. Watching footage of a building that has been blown up and not knowing how something like this could happen in America brings tears that can't be held back.
I remember so well getting a call from Teresa who told me that Anna Marie's sister, Jamie, worked in the Federal Credit Union and had not been heard from. I had already thought of Jamie because I knew that she worked in a credit union, but I never dreamed she worked in that one. Her body was recovered 21 days later--an eternity to the family.
Today I thought of her kids. Kyle was an 8th grader; Krista, a fifth grader. They were robbed that day of a young beautiful mom who loved them to distraction.
I thought of Anna Marie. She has children that never got to meet Aunt Jamie, how sad. I thought of Jamie's parents and her other siblings. I know that pain. I can't really imagine that 15 years is going to change the grief much. I know the family has had good times since Jamie's death, but I also know that every big event has a pall over it. Proms, graduations, weddings, births, among others have all happened without her. Because Allison was the same age as Kyle, I always thought of him when we were having our milestone events.
I watched a news report tonight about Timothy McVeigh, the OKC bomber. He showed absolutely no remorse all the way to his death. From all accounts he was a fairly normal child, claimed he was bullied by jocks in high school, went to the military and became a monster.
I think it was Tom Brokaw that said of the bomber. The worst thing that could happen to him is to develop a conscience; I don't think it ever happened.
Sunday, April 4, 2010
Easter
Easter Sunday is special. It's not special because of eggs, bunnies, or chocolate; it's not special because of ham, potatoes, or deviled eggs. It's special because it commemorates the most important event in Christian history. Jesus is alive!!!
Without the resurrection, Jesus is just like the other prophets. Without the resurrection, we are all doomed.
Church was packed this morning, and all the elements of the service were excellent. The music was incredible, the baptism videos and baptisms were inspiring, and as always, Jimmy's sermon was just what a message from God should be. A new addition to the service was a video from a brave young lady who shared her testimony with the church. She exhibited such courage. Most of us are not brave enough to bare our souls on a video that will be played in front of two people much less 500 people, but this brave young lady exposed herself to the congregation with one thought in mind--maybe my story will help someone who has traveled a similar road. If you don't attend Harrah Church, you can watch the service and video on harrahchurch.com.
This afternoon Allison and Carson, Gigi and Aunt Polly came out for dinner, but Tony and I cooked the entire meal. It's sad when Aunt Polly can't contribute to the meal; she's just not up to it right now. I know the kids were disappointed that there were no dumplings or macaroni and cheese. When someone has a speciality, it just doesn't work for someone else to bring it. The ladies left very soon after the meal, Carson went fishing, and Tony, Allison and I napped on and off, and I read while Tony watched basketball, golf, horseracing. You know how you can hear what's on television while you are napping. I'm going to just say that golf is the only sport that allows a good nap. The announcers whisper and let you sleep. The call of the horse race is the most annoying. Any kind of ballgame is in between, so my nap was strange. I would sleep and dream for a few minutes and then wake up and read a chapter, and then fall back asleep. I'm not sure what this means for tonight, but I'll take a Tylenol PM just in case.
This is much different from the Easters from earlier years. No egg hunt, no frilly dresses, the Easter bunny bought Carson a tank of gas and gave Allison some t-shirts.
He still bought some candy and colored some eggs, more for me than for anyone else.
Janna called this afternoon and told me that she had her mom's videos put on DVD. The first one Fred tried to watch was of Easter at my mom and dad's when Evan and Carson were little. Phyllis was taping, Jason was hiding eggs, mom and dad were watching, and Carson and Evan were hunting eggs. Only Carson and Evan are still living. I doubt I'll ever be able to watch that tape; I may not be able to watch any of them. I have the memories vividly stored in my mind.
I have to return to the beginning of this post. Easter is special; without Easter morning--my sorrow would be overwhelming-hopeless, but with Easter morning, I can rest assured that this life is just a few years. I'll see them all again.
Without the resurrection, Jesus is just like the other prophets. Without the resurrection, we are all doomed.
Church was packed this morning, and all the elements of the service were excellent. The music was incredible, the baptism videos and baptisms were inspiring, and as always, Jimmy's sermon was just what a message from God should be. A new addition to the service was a video from a brave young lady who shared her testimony with the church. She exhibited such courage. Most of us are not brave enough to bare our souls on a video that will be played in front of two people much less 500 people, but this brave young lady exposed herself to the congregation with one thought in mind--maybe my story will help someone who has traveled a similar road. If you don't attend Harrah Church, you can watch the service and video on harrahchurch.com.
This afternoon Allison and Carson, Gigi and Aunt Polly came out for dinner, but Tony and I cooked the entire meal. It's sad when Aunt Polly can't contribute to the meal; she's just not up to it right now. I know the kids were disappointed that there were no dumplings or macaroni and cheese. When someone has a speciality, it just doesn't work for someone else to bring it. The ladies left very soon after the meal, Carson went fishing, and Tony, Allison and I napped on and off, and I read while Tony watched basketball, golf, horseracing. You know how you can hear what's on television while you are napping. I'm going to just say that golf is the only sport that allows a good nap. The announcers whisper and let you sleep. The call of the horse race is the most annoying. Any kind of ballgame is in between, so my nap was strange. I would sleep and dream for a few minutes and then wake up and read a chapter, and then fall back asleep. I'm not sure what this means for tonight, but I'll take a Tylenol PM just in case.
This is much different from the Easters from earlier years. No egg hunt, no frilly dresses, the Easter bunny bought Carson a tank of gas and gave Allison some t-shirts.
He still bought some candy and colored some eggs, more for me than for anyone else.
Janna called this afternoon and told me that she had her mom's videos put on DVD. The first one Fred tried to watch was of Easter at my mom and dad's when Evan and Carson were little. Phyllis was taping, Jason was hiding eggs, mom and dad were watching, and Carson and Evan were hunting eggs. Only Carson and Evan are still living. I doubt I'll ever be able to watch that tape; I may not be able to watch any of them. I have the memories vividly stored in my mind.
I have to return to the beginning of this post. Easter is special; without Easter morning--my sorrow would be overwhelming-hopeless, but with Easter morning, I can rest assured that this life is just a few years. I'll see them all again.
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