Monday, June 5, 2023

God Shots from Heidi

 I'm currently listening my way through the Bible with Tara Leigh Cobble, who is the host of the daily podcast, "The Bible Recap." Each day she encourages us to find our "God shot," where we saw God show up in our daily reading, so I am used to looking for evidence of God's activity in the Bible, but the other day I found it in Heidi.

I love the story Heidi; it was my favorite in our Little Golden Book record collection and I listened to it many times (I can still recite bits and pieces). I know I read a longer version of the story for older children in later years, but I suspect that one too was abridged.

So I was happy to download a free unabridged audiobook from my Audible account, and not the least daunted by the 7hr and 20 min. listening time, since I listen through my headset while working on the lawns.

Much of the story was familiar. I remembered Heidi loved growing up on the mountain with her grandfather and the goats and Peter the goatherd, but then was sent to Frankfurt to be a playmate and companion to Clara, who was an invalid. 

I remember that Heidi became desperately homesick for her beloved Swiss Alps, but I didn't remember Clara's grandmother trying to comfort Heidi. When Heidi wouldn't tell the grandmother what was troubling her (Heidi didn't want to appear ungrateful to Clara's family), Clara's grandmother encouraged her to pray to God and pour out her troubles to him. 

Heidi took Clara's grandmother's advice and prayed to God that somehow she would be able to return to her grandfather and the Alps. In the meantime, she and Clara became good friends, and Heidi learned to read.

When Heidi eventually grows so ill that the family is forced to send her home, Heidi is thankful for the answered prayer, but she also grows to realize the delay was also God's timing. She now is able to read hymns to Peter's blind grandmother who lives on their mountain and be an even greater blessing to the old woman. Because of the two girls' friendship, at great cost Clara the invalid is allowed to visit Heidi in the Alps where she eventually finds healing and learns to walk.

Heidi gives God the credit for her friend's miraculous healing, and she tells Clara how what she had thought was unanswered prayer was God working out things for the best. Looking back over the events of her life, Heidi has her "God Shot" and her young faith is strengthened.

Heidi was written in 1880 and 1881. According to Wikipedia, it is one of the best-selling books ever written, and is among the best-known works of Swiss literature.

What amazed me was the natural portrayal of Clara's grandmother's faith, and the caring way she shared it with Heidi, who adopted it as her own and used it to bless everyone in her life.

I hadn't been expecting a God Shot while listening to a children's classic, so it was nice surprise. These are the kinds of stories I love--love to hear, love to tell, and love to write. I plan to be doing more of it.



Wednesday, September 15, 2021

News to Me



Karen Epp, 6th grade, Mrs. Friesen's class in Hillsboro Middle School

I became aware of current events in 6th grade. Mrs. Friesen would spend a good portion of every morning listening to our class report and discuss the news of the day. We could share something we heard on the radio for three points, or clip a newspaper article to bring in for five points. Since my family didn't subscribe to a daily newspaper, I would listen closely to Paul Harvey's newscast on the radio as we were quickly eating breakfast before rushing out the door to meet the bus. I would usually come away with a headline and a few supporting facts that I could contribute.

I have a feeling I'm not the only one in my class who remembers the events of 1980-81 more clearly than any other year. We followed the Iran Hostage Crisis daily, and were ecstatic when the 52 hostages were finally freed after 444 days in captivity. I remember the morning we talked about John Lennon being shot. I also remember other students telling me and a friend about the assassination attempt on  President Reagan when we came back into the classroom.

I don't know how many students had access to daily newspapers, but I remember feeling like I was in the minority. I suppose some might have brought articles from news magazines, or took notes during "World News Tonight," but it seemed like lots of people in lil' ol' Hillsboro received The Wichita Eagle.

Since I liked writing, I planned on being on the newspaper staff in high school, and was disappointed when Hillsboro High School cancelled The Oracle right before my freshman year. I wrote a lot of copy for the yearbook instead. 

Bob Woelk interviewed me for an article in the Hillsboro Star-Journal when I was named valedictorian of the class of 1987, so that gave me an early perspective of my name being in the article and not at the top in the byline. Getting to know Bob at that time and talking about my plans to attend Tabor also gave me a jump start on being on the staff of The Tabor College View, of which he was the sponsor. 

In the news- Being interviewed for the Hillsboro Star-Journal in 1987 confirmed to me that I wanted to pursue journalism

I traveled to Eastern Europe with the Tabor College Choir in January 1989. One of my strongest memories, which I wrote about later in journalism class (taught by Bob Woelk), was a Polish girl about my age telling me, "My country is a prison!" She explained how she and her friends wanted desparately to travel but weren't allowed to leave.

I remember Clarence Hiebert, a Tabor professor who was a guide on our trip, explaining that the Polish government (or one of the Eastern European countries we visited, I am not sure) printed newspapers that were filled with propaganda. Lies. I remember thinking, "Why would they bother printing things that aren't true?" and "Why would people even read those newspapers?" Maybe if the government said something, you would automatically believe the opposite. Innocently, I believed it would be fairly simple to figure out the truth.

Towards the end of my college career, I remember another journalism professor, Kent Gaston, saying that even though as journalists we were supposed to present all sides and not include our opinion in any story, in general, mainstream newspapers were slanted toward the left, or liberal, viewpoints. I honestly think this was the first time I had ever heard that, and at the time I wasn't even sure I believed it.

I know when I interviewed for an internship at The Wichita Eagle, the thought that they might be less than impressed with my brand-new undergraduate English degree from a small conservative Christian liberal arts college never occurred to me. 

I think it was during that internship interview (which I didn't get), that Fran Kentling from the Eagle suggested I take classes from Les Anderson, a well-respected journalism instructor at WSU and editor of the Ark Valley News. 

I landed in Les' journalism class in the fall of 1991, on the heels of the Summer of Mercy when Operation Rescue put abortion protests and Wichita, Kansas in the national spotlight. So Les had a great assignment for the class:  cover the protests over the coming weekend, and whatever position you personally take--whether pro-choice or pro-life--report the opposite.

I went to the Planned Parenthood headquarters on Central and interviewed a student outside holding a pro-choice sign and dutifully asked her a few questions and recorded her responses. I think there was a Catholic student in our class who also turned in a pro-choice article, but the remaining dozen or so journalism students had been "forced" to write from the pro-life perspective.

Les Anderson died in 2011 at the age of 62. I wonder if current journalism teachers are as careful to teach their students to leave personal bias out of their reporting.

In another class with Les (I think I took two) there was a pretty girl who always came to class with perfect makeup, styled hair, and business attire. She was interested in broadcast media. I remember Les having to give her separate instructions, because she would need to take a cameraman (or camera person) with her on location to film her final. 

We all knew (because it probably had been explained to us) that television and broadcast media were limited, and best for quick highlights. To really get in-depth stories that explored all angles, you needed print. And opinion was ONLY for page 2.

I was working a day job, but still tried to get my foot in the door at the Eagle. I free-lanced a few pieces for an advertising section that they published. A reporting position opened up, so I expressed interest. I remember the Eagle calling me back and me having to take the call in the warehouse where I was working. I mentioned to the woman that I had done several articles for the Eagle's advertising section. That gave her pause. She said she was concerned that readers would be used to seeing my name in the advertising section, where truth is sometimes sacrificed for marketing purposes. News reporters were held to higher standards, so I would need to choose which area I wanted to work in. I never wrote for the advertising section again. But I didn't write for the newspaper either. I don't remember what happened on that one. I had a hard time hearing her in the noisy warehouse.

Eventually Dave and I started our family so I quit my job. Over the next few years I submitted a few human interest pieces, and was happy that they chose to place one in the Thanksgiving issue.

Thanksgiving 1996- Published!
 I was thrilled to have a piece I'd written about memories of my Grandma Epp baking bread published in the Wichita Eagle's Thanksgiving edition. I was less thrilled that they said they couldn't pay anything (not an account for it, or something like that). I titled it "The bread of life," but they needed a longer title so they added "A thread to the bread of life." THREAD? That made me think of my grandma telling me to wear a ponytail so my long hair wouldn't get in the dough and wrap around Grandpa's tongue. Why in the world didn't "A SLICE of the bread of life" occur to them? Oh well.

 Even though money was tight, we always subscribed to the newspaper. I loved reading it in the mornings with my coffee, and I kept up with local issues, feeling it was my civic duty to at least glance at what the city council was up to. I loved the "Wichitalk" special section, and even got to be on the cover once. 

Wichitalk- The special magazine section in the newspaper that I had volunteered to model for. They called me one day, I had an hour to get to the Panera by Wesley Medical Center for a section they said was to be about healthy restaurant eating. I cringed when the issue showed up on my doorstep with my face next to "Dining out on a diet." Oh well. I got to take home the Panera soup and salad used for the photo shoot. It was delicious.

But newspapers across the country were in hard times. Budgets shrank, reporters were fired, and the Eagle became an eaglet. We kept subscribing, mainly because I'd taught our dog, Odie, to fetch the newspaper, and he looked forward to this ritual (and getting a treat). Except for Sunday. The Sunday edition with its extra advertising was still large enough that Odie would take one look at it, decide it was above his pay grade, and walk off.

Odie bringing me the newspaper, a chore he enjoyed as long as it wasn't the big Sunday edition.

But newspaper delivery kept getting worse and worse, and once Dave and I both had smart phones, we considered stopping service. When Dave was in surgery early one morning in December 2015, I settled in to my seat in the waiting room and opened the newspaper I'd grabbed as I ran out the door, then looked around the room. Every single person was on their phones. I posted a comment on Facebook about feeling retro. Soon after that, I cancelled service.

I've tried to get into the habit of reading the newspaper digitally, but haven't been successful.

So I have relied more on radio and television news. While working on our lawn business, I'll sometimes have my headset on National Public Radio to catch up on current events. Then when we are finished with the lawn and I get in the truck (where my husband, Dave, controls the dial) KNSS will say something completely different. "They can't BOTH be right!" I would think, and this would bother me quite a bit. Then, I realized, that although they couldn't both be right, they could very easily both be WRONG. This actually bothers me even more, but I feel less compulsion to listen to either.

As all Americans know, the election of 2020 caused the two sides to diverge even farther. I remember talking to my friend (who also dabbled in journalism and worked for the Wichita Eagle advertising section around the time that I did) about how we honestly had no clue what was truth. 

After January 6, I talked to a friend who had been in the crowd listening to President Trump in Washington D.C. that day, and she said what actually happened wasn't reported correctly by any news source. What's more, some things were reported hours before they occurred. I believe her, and it scares me.

The information about Covid-19 and the vaccines have varied widely, and opinion is rarely left out. A "rogue" scientist in a video sent to me explained how big pharmaceutical companies control which research projects are funded, so independent scientists and researchers are at a huge disadvantage. Ones who disagree with the "mainstream" line of thinking are afraid to speak up, for fear of losing funding.

Last year NPR did a whole segment on the difference between "misinformation" and "disinformation" that left me more confused than ever. 

The whole Afghanistan debacle is exposing lies of the current administration. "No we haven't hear of anyone having trouble getting to the airport," he said, as both right and left-leaning medias showed hours of footage to the contrary.

Having a free press is important to our democratic republic. With media conglomerates owned by only a few super-wealthy, influential individuals, "truth" seems to become what they say it is.

Then Jesus said to those Jews who believed Him, “If you abide in My word, you are My disciples indeed. And you shall know the truth, and the truth shall make you free.” John 18:31-32.


Monday, August 24, 2020

Danger is my middle name

 I promised you all that I would blog about what I really think of my new grandson Wesley's middle name, "Danger." Well, here it is!


For starters, I bought this onesie for little Wesley Danger and put it on him right before his parents picked him up to surprise them. I think the whole thing is pretty funny. (I also now know you can find just about anything on Amazon!)

Now don't get me wrong. I think "Daniel" would have been an awesome middle name, after the brave Old Testament prophet (remember him in the lions' den?). "Mark" would have been a great middle name too, after his dad, Caleb Mark, and Grandpa, David Mark. Mark is also my favorite gospel, because it is action-packed. "Wesley Dean" would have sounded cool, almost as cool as James Dean.

"Danger is my middle name" became a pop culture phrase after the 1997 hilarious movie "Austin Powers: International Man of Mystery." That movie was one of Aunt Jenny Doty's favorites, and my kids remember watching it when they had sleepovers at her house. So maybe it was that, or something else, that gave Caleb the idea to give his son the middle name "Danger." 

Unlike Blake Shelton, who sings "You name the babies, I name the dogs," Caleb and June had a different arrangement. June named their first child, a girl, Rose Elizabeth, after her favorite saint and her own middle name. (Caleb completely agreed, because serendipitiously Great-grandma Epp is also Rose, and my middle name is also Elizabeth). But June had named her dog, Lily, before she ever met Caleb. So Caleb was given the lead on the task of naming the coming man child. And he thought actually giving his kid the middle name "Danger" would be fun. 

June, as you might imagine, was a little reluctant. However, she did something that I think was quite prescient. She told me she thought about when Wesley was older, maybe six or so. Maybe he and his daddy would go fishing, or something. And at some point, the conversation would inevitably happen. "You know, son, I wanted 'Danger' to be your middle name. But your Mama said 'NO'." And little Wesley would go running to his mama and demand why she refused the coolest middle name EVER. So she let Caleb have his way. 

My husband, who we call "Silly Grandpa," is pretty sure Wesley will become a wrestler like his Daddy and go by the name Danger Franklin. And that may be true, because he already calls him Danger more than Wesley. 

Caleb said he just wanted to have a little fun with his son's name. I am glad he and June are making decisions together, and I imagine Wesley Danger will have something to talk about for the rest of his life!
















Monday, August 10, 2020

Wesley, as you wish

Our sweet grandson, Wesley, is nearly two months old. He was born on Father's Day, June 21, 2020. 


Our son, Caleb, chose the name partly after his first boss, Wes Stein. 

Well, Dave was actually Caleb's first boss, because our kids worked for Franklin Lawn Service from early on, sometimes because Dave wanted me to help and they were too young to be home alone. 

Wes was a new customer of ours, but we had known him for years, since Dave's grandma Lena Franklin had worked for Wes for over 30 years at his grocery store, Farmer's Market on North Broadway. Wes lived near us in Benjamin Hills on a large lot that backed up to the river. One day he mentioned that he would like extra help with landscaping and other odd jobs. We said our son Caleb could help him. We assured Wes that although he was only in middle school, Caleb had muscles and could probably do whatever Wes needed to have done.

And that started a part-time job that lasted until Caleb graduated from high school. 

Caleb says Wes was patient when he explained what he wanted done, and as the years went by the job got easier because Caleb remembered how Wes liked his vinca trimmed in spring, or where in the shed he stored a particular tool. 

While they worked together, Wes would tell Caleb stories about back when he was a boy, or about the places they traveled when Wes' wife, Mary, had her travel agency.

One year before Memorial Day (Caleb was already in high school by then), Wes had a special request:  Could Caleb accompany him on a day trip to decorate his family's graves?  And could he bring a Weed Eater? The country cemetery would be choked with weeds, and Wes, who was probably 90 years old by then, no longer felt up to the task of clearing away the debris. 

So Caleb went with him to run the string trimmer and help with setting out the flowers on the graves. 

I remember Caleb felt privileged to be included on that excursion, and I think he and Wes both had a good time. I think both hoped it would become a yearly tradition, but by the next year I don't think Wes felt up to making the trip, even with Caleb's help.

Dave's grandma and Wes remained good friends, calling each other faithfully on their respective birthdays. Caleb arranged for Wes (who was using a walker by then) to visit her in the nursing home. He picked Wes up and helped him navigate the facility. Both Lena and Wes thoroughly enjoyed the visit. That was the last time they saw each other.

Wes Stein visits Lena Franklin

It makes me happy that Caleb chose to name his son after a boss who patiently explained procedures. A successful businessman who enjoyed working outdoors taking care of his property. A storyteller who became a respected mentor and friend. And someone to whom Caleb was able to give back as well.

Wes passed away on April 19, just a little over two months before Wesley Danger Franklin was born, so he didn't know about the tribute, but we told his daughter and let her know we will be remembering Wes through our new grandson.

I think the handsome hero Westley from the iconic 1987 movie "The Princess Bride" also played a part in the name choice. Nothing wrong with that, either. I love that movie! Westley was a simple farm boy who always told the beautiful Buttercup, "As you wish." Through courageously protecting Buttercup from R.O.U.S. (Rodents of Unusual Size) and other hazards, he proves his true love for her. 

A hard worker or a dashing hero? Either would be fine. Maybe Wesley will be both.

If you kept reading until here to see what I really think of Wesley's middle name, Danger, you might be disappointed. I will tackle that topic on my next blog post!


Sunday, June 7, 2020

Peace that surpasses understanding

It was over a month ago, on a Thursday. We'd worked a long day already and it was unseasonably warm for April. Unused to heat and the physical exertion required to mow, trim, and edge all of the lawns on our schedule--and probably dehydrated--I had developed a migraine headache. 


I'd felt the first twinge of awareness that not all was right with my brain a few yards back. After I finished blowing the clippings at customer's house and hung the backpack blower on the wall of our enclosed lawn trailer, I went to the cab of the work truck and checked the console. Darn it. I must have used my last pill last fall and forgot to restock my emergency stash.


With migraine headaches, time is crucial. The sooner you can get the medication into your system, the better the chances that it will work quickly and effectively. The longer you delay, the greater the chances that the headache will develop into a multiple-day ordeal requiring several doses.


We were working in our neighborhood, and to get to the final three customers on our route we would pass within a block of our house. I told my boss husband I needed to stop at our house and take my medication first.


What he said surprised me.


"Karen, why don't you just be done for the day. Don and I will finish it."


Relief flooded me. A cold front had whooshed in minutes ago, dropping the temperature nearly 30 degrees, and leaving me shivering in my tank top and shorts. The storm in the forecast couldn't be far behind, but suddenly I had a reprieve.


Once inside my house I quickly found my headache pills, took one with a big glass of water, and headed to our hot tub. I eased my body into the blissfully warm water and watched the blossoming trees swaying in the wind. The rain came, making a musical drumming on the cabana roof.


And in that moment, I had a peace that surpasses understanding.


Yes, I know what you're thinking. The good feeling may have had a little to do with the prescription drug I just took. But every thought I had was fueled with an intense rush of gratitude.


I still had a headache, but I was so grateful that I had a prescription that I knew would take care of it soon. I was grateful that I had health insurance to help pay for it. I was grateful that I still had plenty and wouldn't need to reorder during the coronavirus shutdown.


Working our lawn service business can be incredibly hard some days, but I was so grateful that Kansas had deemed it essential and we could continue without a hiccup. I was grateful that we only lost a couple of customers and had gained half a dozen.


I was grateful we had a hot tub, and grateful for the cabana roof to listen to the rain. I was also grateful for the rain, because it meant that we might have a day off tomorrow, or at least a later start and could plan on sleeping in.


Since our business in Kansas is seasonal, we have money coming in during the summer and use it up during the winter. If we didn't save enough, we might have to put stuff on our credit card before we can start earning again in spring. We were at the end of a full April, and I was so grateful that I could begin invoicing our customers and getting money to start balancing our accounts. I was grateful that we have been able to support our family with our business since 2003. 


Working with my husband as my boss is often challenging, but when he unexpectedly let me off for the rest of the day, he fostered a lot of goodwill in my heart. I was so grateful. I was also grateful for our faithful friend Don who runs the weed eater on Thursdays when we do our biggest residential lawns, letting me mow with one of our riding mowers and saving some steps. I was also grateful that our daughter Laurel had helped us during her spring break from Emporia State University, and continued working with us when her spring break was extended due to the virus, and that she had promised to work with us again for the summer when she finished all of her classes.


As I continued to look over our tree-filled back yard, I was overwhelmed with gratitude for God's faithfulness and blessings, even though I felt we were on the precipice of COVID-19. In the weeks since, I have often gone back to that moment when I so clearly felt that peace that surpasses all understanding. 


Philippians 4:6-7 has long been my go-to verse, and it is even more pertinent now.

"Do not be anxious about anything, but in everything, by prayer and petition with thanksgiving let you requests be made known to God. And the peace of God, which surpasses all understanding, will guard your hearts and your mind in Christ Jesus."


My green gables- Our hot tub at the back of our house is normally a peaceful place, but this time I experienced a peace that even surpasses understanding.















Monday, May 11, 2020

606

I woke up at 6:06 a.m. For ones growing up in the Mennonite tradition, 606 is the number in the hymn book of the "new" version of "Praise God from Whom All Blessings Flow." I think extra sheets were physically taped into the current hymnbooks after the last song, 605. I can't be sure, because this was from the General Conference, and I grew up in the Mennonite Brethern, so we had different hymnbooks. But I digress. . .
So when I woke up at 6:06 a.m., I immediately thought, "Praise God, from whom all Blessings flow."
So I am praising God for my home that Dave and I returned to after 26 days away.
I am praising God for David Franklin, my husband, my travel planner, driver, and companion.
I am praising God for his amazing might in creating the mountains, gargantuan boulders, endless ocean waters, impossibly tall redwoods, and sandy beaches.
I am praising God that I live in a country where we can so easily drive to see these amazing places, and drive through these amazing places. (Some of the roads along the coast were crazy, but they all were in pretty good shape, and the mudslide damage from two years ago is repaired).
I am praising God that we were able to see dear family members that we hadn't seen for far too long.
And I am praising God that I get to spend the day with my granddaughter Rose today, I have missed her sweet face.


An Easter like no other


12 days until an Easter like no other.
I saw on Monday that my mom, Rosella Epp, has a cross right by her door. Jesus's sacrifice for our sins and then his rising from the grave is the reason we always have Easter.
This year will not be an Easter for getting new shoes and dress clothes for the family. This year we will not have huge Easter egg hunts and Easter SunRuns.
This is an Easter for listening.
"Call to Me and I will answer you, and show you great and mighty things, which you do not know." Jeremiah 33:3

Followers

About Me

My photo
I am a freelance writer. I also work full time with our business, Franklin Lawn Service. My husband, David, and I met as students at Tabor College and we have been married for almost 20 years. We have three great kids, Caleb, Harrison, and Laurel.