How Does Your Garden Grow?

 For church this month, Pastor Dave Mitchell preached a series asking, "How Does Your Garden Grow?" looking at how we are cultivating our gardens in attempt to produce spiritual fruit in all areas of our lives. For these messages Dave didn't preach a traditional sermon. Instead, he assembled several panels of West Ridge members and interviewed them onstage. 

For the first he had a panel of five regular attenders (three women, two men) tell how they are living out kingdom values in their workplaces. 

One man, an electrician, is employing and mentoring several young men who have grown up attending West Ridge. Another woman started a business helping adult children find living arrangements for aging parents with a decidedly Christian-themed website and mission. A physician's assistant talked about showing Jesus' love as she cares for people on their worst days. 

I thought about our business, Franklin Lawn Service, and how my husband, David, and I have been using it to cultivate our corner of the garden.  When we started in 2003 Dave had already been mowing the lawns of several elderly neighbors for years. As we advertised in neighborhood newsletters, the new customers we gained were often elderly, and many were widows. 

Franklin Lawn Service- In 2003, Dave started with a push mower and his first ZTR (zero turn radius) mower.

The Bible has at least twenty passages instructing believers to care for widows, so from the beginning, we have made a point to serve widows well. We quoted them a fair price for our service and didn't raise it for years. We spent a little extra time in chit chat. Dave would do little odd jobs that they couldn't, like unscrewing a hose from a faucet, programming their sprinkler system, or moving something heavy. We got phone numbers to communicate with their adult children, we reported when things were amiss. We kept mowing periodically until the house was sold. We attended their funerals. 

As we cared for our customers, God continued to provide for us. I was a stay-at-home mom, so we were depending on this business alone to support our family, and He was faithful. In summers, our kids had built-in summer jobs working in our business. We paid them generously, and they had money to buy (mostly) what they wanted. They learned to work hard, and they also learned what they needed to do to advance their own careers so they would no longer have to work for their parents. 

While the parents are away- Harrison, 14, and Caleb, 16, run the business for a few days in August of 2012 while we leave for a vacation.

Once people know we have a lawn service, the next question is always, "What do you do in winter? Do you do snow removal?" Our answer is, "We used to." When our kids were still home, if a snow was heavy enough to cancel school, we would work all day clearing the driveways of our customers who'd requested it. We often made enough to cover our mortgage and give the kids money too. However, some years in Wichita we don't see much snow. Also, since our summers were busy with mowing, we increasingly looked on winter as our vacation time.

In 2018 when Harrison was stationed in Oregon with the Coast Guard, we took 23 days to drive up the Pacific Coast Highway and help him move in. In 2020 we spent 27 days driving down the coast and stopping for a visit with him and his wife, Olivia. An RV purchase led us to check out Florida for 42 days in 2022 and 49 in 2023. 

Our freedom to travel has been unexpected bonus, one that we are loathe to relinquish as we sometimes contemplate other vocations. We are grateful for God's provision for our family.

Lawn mower maintenance- Dave gets his mowers ready for the 2021 season.

Remembering Share Prayer and Dare

Sunday was a blast from the past. Pastor Dave Mitchell's sermon series, "How Does Your Garden Grow?" has really brought to light many inspiring stories from the people of Westridge as we attempt to cultivate the corners of the garden where God has placed us. 

Last week I started a blog about the five-person panel Dave assembled to bring a "sermon" about how they are bringing Christ into their diverse workplaces. I didn't get very far on my blog last Sunday night, but I still plan to share those thoughts as well.

However, I want to talk about yesterday. The panel was made of four Westridge members who are in different stages of preparing for full-time ministry, one already has her degree, others just beginning.

The one at the first end of the panel was Brady Long, who is a sophomore at Tabor College. He has recently decided to pursue youth ministry. Onstage, Brady said he was forgoing his earlier notes to talk about a campus ministry he was involved with at Tabor. 

Brady grew up at Westridge (I remember teaching him in 1st grade Sunday School) and he attended youth group, but he said the ministry that brought him closest to God was Share Prayer and Dare at Tabor. Brady said the usual format was someone would share their testimony or a hard time that God had brought them through. Often the talks were deeply vulnerable and personal. After the sharing, the large group would break into smaller groups where they would discuss what they felt God wanted to teach them through the sharing that night, and what they would take away from the presentation. 

Brady said those nights were so powerful and life-changing that he wants to become a leader who will continue to create that experience for others. 

And around that point in the program, maybe because my husband, Dave, and I were sitting close to the front and nudging each other, Pastor Dave Mitchell pointed out that David Franklin had started that ministry years ago.

"Contributed to it," my husband clarified. "In the late '80s."

Which was news to Brady, so we gave him a brief history of the start of Share, Prayer, and Dare afterwards when we went to congratulate him and thank him for sharing during the service.

David Franklin and Brady Long

Last night, I did a deep dive into my chronological stack of The Tabor College View student newspapers (of course I saved them. I was a reporter and then editor for all of my time at Tabor).

According to the View, the group Share, Prayer, and Dare started at the beginning of the 1988-89 school year. It was a ministry of the Campus Ministries Council and run completely by a committee of students. It replaced Tabor Fellowship, a group that had been meeting in the Schlicting Center, an intimate venue that easily held the handful of students who regularly attended. 

Share, Prayer, and Dare started in the Schlicting Center as well, but soon outgrew the small space and was moved to the cafeteria.

What changed? The View articles don't give the back story, but I remember. We have to go back to 1983.

My husband, David Franklin, and some of his friends became Christians while attending Fellowship of Christian Athletes. As sophomores at Wichita North High, they were excited about their new faith, and they set out to invite others. They held weekly Bible studies crammed in one friend's basement. When they outgrew that, it became his parents' front lawn. When that was no longer feasible, the high school students rented an elementary school gym for the evening. They passed a Kentucky Fried Chicken bucket for contributions to pay the $50 rent for the gym. 

Eventually, the group found a home for their city-wide non-denominational Thursday night Bible study downtown in an old coffee bar called The Dandelion. Several adult mentors (in their twenties and thirties) came alongside, like Earnest Alexander, Terry Williams, and Robert Lang. By that time, the Bible studies were regularly attracting 100 to 200 kids. Friends were telling friends. High schoolers were preaching. Everyone was praying. Kids were getting saved.  

David Franklin, who by this time had graduated from high school, left this environment to go play football at Tabor College. He chose Tabor because on his campus visit people seemed to genuinely want to follow Christ. But he found the Tabor Fellowship group to be lacking. 

So, he started inviting Campus Ministry Council leaders and others to attend the Thursday Night Bible Study in Wichita. Carloads would leave campus and make the hour-long drive to the Dandelion where they would see students worshipping, praying, sharing, and learning to live out their faith.

As a freshman, I started attending. I loved the excitement, the energy, the openness, the love, and the unity. As the semester wore on, some became too busy to continue attending, but I managed to find time on Thursday nights to catch a ride to the Bible study. A few times it was just David Franklin and me in his Subaru hatchback. We talked a lot on that hour drive there and back. But that's another story.

The Tabor students who had attended the Thursday Night Bible Study had caught a vision. That spring, they re-imagined what Tabor Fellowship could be, and they started with a new name that would describe what they would do:  share their struggles, pray for each other, and dare each other to live it out.

Dave Barton, a football player who David Franklin had invited to the Thursday Night Bible Study, became the chairperson. Another on the committee was Brenda Wichert, who wrote in the yearbook that the move to meet in the cafeteria ushered in a new tradition they called the "Table Game," where first arrivers would grab a partner and move the tables out of the way so the group could sit in a circle. Brenda reported that the 10-20 students in the group grew to 100 as the year progressed (a fourth of Tabor's student population at the time). "Many students gave their testimonies and shared with the group the changes they were making in their lives and how they were growing," Brenda said.

So it was good to hear from Brady that lives are still being changed through Share, Prayer, and Dare. The group now meets in the historic Mennonite Brethren church, which was moved to Tabor's campus in 1989.

And the Thursday Night Bible Study? Terry Williams, one of the "older" leaders who got involved went to seminary, came back and started River Community Church in Wichita. One of the other Bible study leaders was Dave Mitchell, who served as an associate pastor at River until starting Westridge in 2012.

Hebrews 10:24-25 "And let us consider how we may spur one another on toward love and good deeds, not giving up meeting together, as some are in the habit of doing, but encouraging one another--and all the more as you see the Day approaching."

God gave me you

"I would have been happy with a regular girl, but God gave me you!" I often told my daughter, Laurel, through the years as she would wow me with a skillful painting, a beautiful ceramic piece, a funny comment, or any number of amazing things. Her many artistic talents were a bonus, an extra that I loved and enjoyed. I often thought she was above and beyond the answer to my prayers.

Those prayers had come with increasing urgency as the year 1999 progressed. I certainly hoped we would have a third child and prayed it would be a girl. I was happy with our two boys, Caleb and Harrison, and I loved being a mom of boys, but I wanted a girl as well.

However, the calendar pages kept turning and I still wasn't pregnant. I counted ahead nine months to a possible birthdate, and my "deadline" was only a month away. I wanted to have our third child two years behind Harrison in school, so we had been trying for eight months already. Now, if it didn't happen this cycle the baby would most likely be three years behind him in school. 

Worse yet, my hoped-for daughter would a be a September or Fall baby like me. I had developed super early and always disliked being the biggest and tallest in the class. Being one of the oldest only made my early maturing more pronounced. 

My boys were at the top (or off of) the growth charts in both height and weight. Baby and kids' clothes sizes never matched their ages. At two years, they were already in 4T, and at four years size 6X was fitting pretty well. My husband, Dave, had been big too, and his mom loved to relay that "little David's" pediatrician had declared he was a "Green Bay Packer in diapers." So, any baby we produced seemed destined to be big.

That Thanksgiving, I was thrilled and thankful when I realized a cozy fireplace evening had resulted in pregnancy and the baby would be due in August, right before the September 1st school cutoff. This kid would be one of the youngest in the class, and I sincerely hoped it would be a girl.  

My pregnancy was healthy and uneventful, so my general practice doctor saw no reason to order a sonogram. This was the one pregnancy when I really did want to know the sex of our baby ahead of time, but it looked like that wouldn't be the case.

Then my church women's small group did a service project at the Pregnancy Crisis Center. We sorted and folded baby clothes and toured the center. The gal from our group who had organized the event had just started working there as a nurse who would be performing sonograms. As luck would have it, she needed experience on their equipment. Why not practice on my baby bump? I was all in!

My baby wasn't super cooperative that night. I was already far enough along that positioning became difficult, so my friend wasn't ready to give me a definitive answer, but as far as she could tell, I was carrying a girl. I was thrilled!

Because my family practice doctor who had delivered Caleb and Harrison no longer delivered babies, I would need to switch to another doctor in the group when I reached seven months pregnant. When I met the new doctor who would deliver my baby he went over my charts to get up-to-speed on my pregnancy.

"Do you know if you're having a boy or a girl?" he asked me.

"I had a sonogram at the Pregnancy Crisis Center, and she thought it was a girl." I told him.

He looked confusedly back at the chart and was silent for a long while. Finally, he tentatively asked, "Was there some reason you weren't excited about this pregnancy?"

Now it was my turn to be confused. This visit had taken a weird turn. I replayed "Pregnancy CRISIS Center" in my brain and suddenly understood. Whoops! I quickly explained I hadn't been a client seeking counseling or financial help at the center, but a volunteer of sorts. The sonogram had just been for practice. And I assured him that I certainly was excited about this pregnancy!

My girl Laurel came into this world sans drugs in two pushes at straight up 3:00 p.m. on August 17 as the doctor was walking into the room (he was delayed by a train). She weighed 8.9 lbs., just like her brothers. 

To leave the hospital, I put her in a little cotton print dress with matching bloomers that my mom had sewed for her. I had received cute outfits for my boys, but dressing my little baby doll girl was another level entirely. This was fun! I was smitten.

Laurel in the little cotton dress that she wore to leave the hospital. My mom made it for her.

My parents took the boys to the farm for the weekend, so Dave and I were at home with just our little baby girl. All I had to do was breastfeed Laurel (she hadn't been latching on correctly at first, but a lactation consultant at the hospital got us going great before we left) and then answer the door periodically as my women's small group delivered meals to us and peeked at our new pink bundle. I remember lounging on our mauve carpet, leaning against the flowered couch thinking, "Wow, this is so easy!"

I felt profoundly loved. God had honored my "deadline" and sent me a girl. He certainly didn't have to. But He had. I knew there were couples who agonized over infertility. Women who desperately wanted to be mothers. I had no answers for them. Deep in my heart I knew--this was personal. This was how God had showed his love to me. And I was grateful. 

Grandmother (Dave's mom) loved tea sets and tea parties, so this photo op was perfect. The doll's name is Janet (Grandmother's name). Grandmother gave the doll to Laurel, but it always stayed at Grandmother's for Laurel to play with there. Laurel has the doll at her house now.
Trey Allen (the photographer) used this photo in his sample album. I was not surprised.

When Laurel was a baby, her brothers didn't pay her a lot of attention, but by the time she turned one, she started to become more interesting to them. She liked to make them laugh and giggle at her antics. At Christmas, I told her we were going to see Dr. Hett and she touched her head (sounds similar). That became a game for weeks. Harrison would ask her, "Hey Laurel, do you want to see Dr. Hett?" When she would touch her head he'd laugh.

Laurel turned two years old on a camping vacation in Colorado. At the time, she could say a few words. Around November, she really started talking, and she could say almost anything she wanted. She talked a lot about Colorado, mountains, and sleeping in a tent. Dave said she was finally able to express all of the stuff she had stored up!

Laurel, age 2, hugs her dolly. We were camping at O'Haver Lake in Colorado.

When Laurel was three, I noted she was imaginative and social. She assigned roles in play and put herself in books. "I'm the little bear and you are the mommy. . ." She had an imaginary friend she named Jaya Bayma (I was never sure of the spelling or how she came up with that name!) Laurel liked playing with the little girls at Harrison's t-ball games that summer, and she was interested when Caleb started city league football practice because she thought there might be some girls she could play with. Sure enough, there were, and she did!

Also when she was three years old, Daddy brought home a Barbie bike with training wheels from a garage sale. She was excited to ride it and could pedal it right away and even rode it three miles on a ride in Sedgwick County Park. That fall the boys took her training wheels off her bike and put them on the top shelf in the garage, where Laurel couldn't get them. They did this possibly because I'd told them they'd learned to ride when they were four, and they wanted her to ride faster.

I was annoyed, though. Laurel had just turned four. I wasn't sure she was ready to learn, but I was pretty sure the nuts and bolts to put the training wheels back on were nowhere to be found. When the boys were at football practice Laurel got on the bike and I ran behind her as she got the hang of pedaling the bike without the training wheels. Before long she pedaled the few blocks to Columbine Park and showed Daddy and her brothers that she could ride. 

A year later, while in Bicycle Exchange to get a brake part for Caleb's bike, we saw the perfect bike for Laurel. It was a purple TREK and had a basket (which she had said she wanted), and tassels on the handlebars.  Dave told the sales guy, "If you saw how cute this little girl is you'd want to buy it for her too." I thought that was a sweet thing for a Daddy to say about his daughter.

Laurel was always good when I took her places. At PTA meetings she would sit in a corner and play with something I'd brought for her or look at books stored in the room. The three PTA moms I was closest to all had two sons each who were friends of Caleb and/or Harrison. One mom confessed to me later that one time when I wasn't around they'd had a lengthy discussion about how they all "wished they'd had a Laurel." She said she had told the others that even if she'd had a daughter, she was pretty sure she wouldn't have been a Laurel.

Since Laurel was so familiar with her brothers' school, her first day of kindergarten went great. When she came home, I heard more about what went on that day than I'd heard from the boys in an entire nine weeks!

Laurel, age 5, with her brand-new TREK bike.

We ignored their elementary school's guidelines on students being in 3rd grade before riding bicycle to school and let her ride to school with her brothers (Caleb was in 4th, Harrison in 2nd). One day she had trouble locking her bike with a new bike chain. She went inside and calmly told her teacher Mrs. Kennedy that she needed help. Mrs. Kennedy, who also taught both boys, said Caleb probably would have been worried and anxious, and Harrison might have been in tears, but Laurel was calm and self-assured.

Laurel always enjoyed going to Super Church and Vacation Bible School and listening to Bible stories at bedtime. When she had just turned 3 years old, she received a little pink Bible for reciting all of the 66 books of the Bible. The morning after March 9, 2005 (she was four years old) Laurel told me she had asked Jesus into her heart, except she said, "I didn't do the dead thing."

I didn't say too much, because I wasn't sure if she really knew the plan of salvation. I wondered if she thought accepting Jesus made you die immediately and go to heaven, something she wasn't quite ready to sign up for!

Later that day I heard her in an argument with her brothers. They said she wasn't a Christian and I heard her emphatically declare, "I am too a Christian, I asked Jesus into my heart!" You go, girl.

Laurel used her faith to help her be a good friend. When she was in 4th grade she told me about an incident at lunchtime. Her friend didn't feel well and was going to stay in the classroom and skip lunch. She could choose one classmate to bring a hot lunch from the gym back to the classroom to stay with her, and she chose Laurel. In the meantime at lunch in the gym, some boys made a mean comment to another friend of Laurel's. She was so upset she wanted to leave, but she didn't want to tell the teacher, Mr. Dexter, what they'd said. He asked her if she would tell Laurel, who he knew was back in the classroom. She said she would. At the classroom Laurel listened to her friend and hugged her. She felt the whole situation had been orchestrated so she could comfort her friends.

Laurel's compassion and creativity have led her to become an outstanding art teacher. She is also a fabulous Auntie, a caring girlfriend, a responsible homeowner, and a wonderful daughter. I am grateful.

Formal dining- Laurel inherited Grandmother's dining table and China cabinet after Aunt Julie decided she was finished with them. To celebrate the beloved table in its new home, Laurel prepared a steak dinner for family. I know Grandmother, who served so many excellent meals on that table, would be pleased and proud of her.

Laurel with her boyfriend, Kobe, who is also a teacher.

My Proof God is There

When I was eight years old I started a diary. Actually, I started a book titled "My Proof God is There," but like a lot of things, I second-guessed myself and erased my original title and replaced it with the bland "My Diary." The eraser marks are still there.

The inciting incident was a skirmish on the school bus, which I rode for nearly two hours every day as it went through the route picking up farm kids from our area north of Hillsboro, Kansas. I have re-typed it for ease of reading, but left most of my spelling errors. I was only in second grade, after all. 

Still, my second-grade faith challenges me. I got in the middle of a brother-sister feud and unintentionally broke his ceramic project. I felt terrible, but I couldn't fix the situation. All I could do was wait for God to work in the lives of my friends. I still remember my relief when I knew he had forgiven me. And I wrote this down so I would have proof that God was there.

My Proof God is There

My Diary

Dear Diary            May 15, 1977

I have been haveing trouble with Kristi. She told me to get Steven's bag because he had her blue pencil. So I got it. Steven was about to get it so I quick threw it to Kristi. Then I did not know what happened next but Steven started crying.I had no idea what happened. I tried to ask him but he just cried then when we were about to Sherry's house Steven gave me and ouffer (awful) smirk. I ask Kristy what I did to make him do that and she said I told you to GIVE me the bag not throw it. You broke one of his pottery peises. 

Now mommy asked me what my bible verse was and I said the Lord is my helper I will not fear what my friends do to me. She pointed right at me and said that verse is just what you need. It was!

May 16

Dear Diary,

Nothing today because Kris and Steven did not ride in the afternoon but I think Steven gave me a smirk at school otherwise so far so good.

May 17

My luck! Tomoro is fun day and I can't have to cans of pop because they will not give water or anything. And I can't have anything for refreshment. Worse yet on feild day!

May18

Steven has forgiven me! Oh thank you God. I geuss it was rather funny how he did it he said Karen I'll sit with you so you can break something but I could not have found a better way.

May 23, 1977

Dear Diary

I am sorry I have not wittern sooner first of all I went to the cud scout carvenl and I think Kris has forgiven me

A good and perfect gift

My previous blog post was about my firstborn son, Caleb. When I linked it to Facebook I'd thought the "teaser" photo would be the first one I'd put in, of Caleb a few days old. However, it ended up being the second one, of Caleb and my second born son, Harrison. I'd said that Caleb was a child of promise from the beginning, but didn't mention Harrison. Well, here's the rest of the story. . .

I had a miscarriage when Caleb was about 10 months old. Shortly after, I got pregnant again. We were excited, but nervous. In May, at eight weeks pregnant I lost some amniotic fluid. The doctor said, "take it easy" and "no lifting." Still, it was a 50-50 chance that the baby would survive.

Right after this diagnosis we went to Arizona on vacation as planned, and Dave lifted our suitcases and carried Caleb the entire time. And I had no more trouble during the pregnancy. On Dec. 6 we attended Winterfest downtown and saw the fireworks. After, we camped out in the Seneca St. McDonald's play place so Caleb could run off steam and we could count my contractions.

We dropped Caleb off at Grandmother's then headed to the hospital. During the night I narrowly missed having a C-section, but Harrison was born naturally on Sunday morning, 7:44 a.m. on December 7, 1997. 

When the doctors had left and the and nurses had finished cleaning him up, I was alone in the hospital room with my baby. (Was Dave off getting breakfast somewhere? I don't remember). I could see him sleeping so peacefully under the heat lamp. I wanted a photo of this moment. 

 

A good and perfect gift- Harrison, hours old in the hospital

So, I got out of my hospital bed, grabbed my camera, and took it. James 1:17 filled my mind, "Every good and perfect gift is from above, coming down from the Father of the heavenly lights, who does not change like shifting shadows."

He was perfect. Despite the pregnancy scare early on, despite them not finding his heartbeat while I was in labor during the night (I'm pretty sure it was an equipment malfunction and nothing to do with him), he was healthy. My gift from God.

Harrison was a good baby, and grew into a happy, thoughtful boy. When I had to tell him "no," he stopped what he was doing. I wasn't used to that!

From the beginning, Harrison liked to cuddle. Soon, I realized Harrison was a good hugger. He would hug with just the right amount of pressure, for just the right amount of time. Later, he would even offer hugs at just the right times.

One winter evening Harrison asked me how he could know he would go to Heaven. I told him he could ask Jesus into his heart right then. He wanted to, and we prayed together. Then we told Caleb that Harrison was a Christian now. Caleb wanted to become one too! Caleb made a sign to commemorate the occasion, I snapped some photos, and then we went to Braum's for ice cream.

Caleb Harrison CHRISTIANS January 22, 2002

Harrison liked playing with Rescue Heroes, and his favorite Halloween costume was Batman, and he loved his Superman summer jammies that we couldn't resist buying for him when we went to buy Caleb some new pajamas to wear to McLean's end-of-year pajama party.

Superhero- Harrison's favorite Superman pajamas

Harrison also liked animals. He would try to catch the barn cats when we visited the farm. He liked the succession of kittens we attempted raise and was the one to name them:  Rosie, Raja, and Princess. Unfortunately, each met an early demise.

Caleb and Harrison with Grandpa and Grandma Epp's farm dog, Ebony.

Harrison loved his stuffed animals and gave them all really good names. One white, fluffy dog was Happy. A teddy bear was Growl. 

On visits to Osco (where my Aldi is now) we would make sure to go down the aisle with the stuffed animals. His favorite was a large German shepherd that he would hug and pet. I would always pet a little black-and-white tuxedo kitty because it reminded me of my favorite childhood cat, Oscar. Since the German shepherd was a more expensive item and his birthday and Christmas were a long way off, he would put it back and say "goodbye" until next time.

Then Harrison came into some cash. (Birthday money? I don't remember). He decided he wanted to buy the German shepherd, so we went to Osco. Excitedly, he pulled the stuffed dog out of the cubby and gave it a hug. (What was his name?) Then he also picked up the tuxedo kitty and asked if he had enough money to buy it for me. He did.

With tears in my eyes, I nearly told Harrison he didn't need to buy me the kitty. But I sensed that this was something important he wanted to do, and I let him. And I thanked him. And I have kept Oscar in a little basket on my dresser ever since, and I think about Harrison's sacrificial love, and his sweet, giving spirit.

Oscar, the stuffed kitty that reminded me of my favorite cat growing up, Oscar Meyer Weiner Schnitzel.

At the beginning of his sophomore year in high school, Harrison suffered a severe concussion at football practice which ended his football and wrestling careers. He didn't seem to mind the loss, but I wondered what he would end up doing with his life.

Harrison Franklin as a high school senior

His compassion for others and desire to help led him to become a real, live Rescue Hero and join the Coast Guard. He was sad when his ultimate goal to be a rescue diver wasn't to be (turns out he's colorblind. We never knew!). I, however, was grateful I didn't have to wonder if he was jumping into stormy seas at any given moment to assist shipwreck victims.  

Cape May, NJ- Harrison at his Coast Guard graduation.

Still, he was on a ship, the "Sherman," and contact with him was limited. I had to trust that he was in God's hands. One day I was shopping at Kirkland's and God gave me a little reminder of his gift to me.

I saw this when I was shopping in December of 2016. Harrison was stationed in Hawaii and on a ship somewhere on the Pacific Coast. He went as far south as Panama and as far north as Alaska.

When Harrison received his assignment to go Astoria, Oregon, he married Olivia Thomas, whom he'd met in Wichita two months before shipping out with the Coast Guard. With his sensitive and compassionate nature, I'd always thought Harrison would make someone an excellent husband. With her creativity and sense of adventure, Olivia has been good wife for him.

Engaged- Olivia and Harrison, December 2017

Harrison and Olivia loved living in Oregon and took advantage of the many hiking opportunities. I was thankful that when they couldn't come back to Kansas, they often spent holidays with Dave's brother Eric in Washington, about three hours from their place. It helped to know they were with family.

When Harrison finished his Coast Guard assignment, they moved back to Wichita. Since he'd had considerable fire training, he pursued a career with the Wichita Fire Department and was hired in September of 2022. I'd always thought Harrison's compassionate nature would make him a good person to comfort someone in distress. I also know he has the guts to do daring things. Now he's putting that to use in crisis, sharing his gift with people in need.

 

Down at the station- Kathy and Eric Franklin joined Dave and me on a firehouse visit last year. Harrison showed us around until he had to leave on a call. The place was vacated within a minute!

Promises Kept

 The Children of Israel would always point to the parting of the Red Sea as the unmistakable display of God's power and protection. I have a time in my life that I point to as God speaking directly to me.

It occurred when Dave and I had been married for over four years and were wanting to start a family. We'd been trying for a few months with no luck, and the difficulties my mom had getting pregnant made me concerned I might have trouble as well.

Dave and I had been mentoring a boy through Youth Horizons, and he was in the process of getting out of foster care and becoming available for adoption. Was it God's plan for us to adopt him?

I had started reading through the Bible that year and came to Abraham's story in Genesis. Childless, he was asking God if his servant Eliezer would be the one to inherit his estate. God's answer to him came straight to me:
"This man will not be your heir, but a son coming from your own body will be your heir." Gen. 15:4.
I copied the verse on the dated page in my planner.

The boy was adopted by another family.

A couple of months later I'd worked my way to the book of Numbers. Moses sent 12 spies to check out Canaan, the promised land. When they returned, only two, Joshua and Caleb, expressed confidence that God would fight for them and give them the land. The Lord's anger burned against the 10 spies who were afraid, and He declared that none of them would ever see the promised land. 

Numbers 14:24 leaped out at me. "But because my servant Caleb has a different spirit and follows me wholeheartedly, I will bring him into the land he went to, and his descendants will inherit it."

When I went to Colombia in 1988, one of the missionary couples had a cute little baby named Caleb. I'd liked the name ever since. "Wouldn't it be wonderful to have a boy named Caleb who follows God wholeheartedly?" I thought with longing.

A few weeks later I learned I was pregnant, and already had been when I'd read the verse. We named him Caleb. My prayer has always been that he would follow God wholeheartedly. 

And I also prayed to be the kind of mom who had the wisdom, patience, and love to direct a child on that journey. And I prayed that I could follow wholeheartedly as well. 

Caleb, four days old

I used my PageMaker computer program to print out Numbers 14:24 and framed it for his room.

As a six-year-old Caleb made a decision to ask Jesus into his heart the same night his four-year-old brother Harrison did. 

It's a sign- Caleb Harrison CHRISTIANS January 22, 2002

But as the years went by it seemed Caleb was making more and more choices on his own, and I began to despair that he would ever follow God wholeheartedly. With 20/20 hindsight, I saw mistakes I'd made as a mom. I even began to wonder if I'd heard correctly all those years ago. 

On December 7, 2017 (when Caleb was 21) I was reading the beautiful Christmas story of Mary and Elizabeth meeting while both were pregnant and Luke 1:45 jumped out at me. Elizabeth says of Mary's faith, "Blessed is she who has believed that what the Lord has said to her will be accomplished."  

I remembered the promise I'd felt God made to me while I was pregnant with my firstborn son. I wrote in my prayer journal, "I am believing that the rest will be accomplished. Help my unbelief."

A few months later Caleb and his new girlfriend, June, stopped by after they'd eaten at Carriage Crossing by Yoder. In the little gift shop, he'd bought a sign that somehow had made him think of me. "God Keeps His Promises." 

Caleb Franklin and June Baldessari after hunting Easter eggs and saying "goodbye" to Grandpa Epp for the last time. 2018. 

I looked at Caleb and the sign, wondering exactly what it meant to him. The cynical side of me thought that maybe Caleb could help God out a little bit by making better choices. The spiritual side of me sensed that whether Caleb was conscious of it or not, he was hand-delivering to me confirmation from God that He indeed would keep His promise.

Caleb and June got married and had Rose (not in that order). Little brother Wesley soon followed. I've seen Caleb choose his wife and family over himself. I've seen him working hard to support his family. I've seen him making increasingly good choices. 

Caleb and Rose on her first day of kindergarten

But serving God wholeheartedly? Not yet. 

To be fair, I don't serve God wholeheartedly either. I want to. That is the desire of my heart, most days. That is the direction I would love for my life to point.

Last year, I was reading through the Old Testament again and thinking about how the Children of Israel had to wait 40 years to enter the Promised Land. At 4:30 a.m. on May 2, 2023, I felt like God said 40 years for Caleb. I almost didn't want to commit that to the paper in my prayer journal. "I want it now," I thought. "He's only 27. I don't want to wait 13 more years!"

A dozen years doesn't seem as long as it used to though. Even when I hear the stories of waiting 40 years, it doesn't have the interminable quality that it had when I was in Sunday School. I am reminded of one of my favorite songs that our friend Earnest Alexander sings, "You Can't Hurry God."

The chorus says:

"You can't hurry my God, no, no, no, you just have to wait. You gotta trust the Lord and give Him time, No matter how long it may take. He's a God you can't hurry, He'll be there, you don't have to worry. Oh He may not come when you want Him, But He's right on time." 

So, I am trusting in God's promises and praying that I can serve Him wholeheartedly as I wait.

From Farm to Town

One of the biggest ways I saw God work in my parents' lives was in 2004 when they moved into town. I think I'd always thought it would take an act of God to get my dad off the farm. For four dizzying months we saw Him do just that.

"I think you guys should check out the house that's for sale on the south end of Floral Street," my brother, David, told my parents.

I remember that moment clearly. It was Thanksgiving weekend, 2003. My family (the Epps) had all gathered in Omaha where my sister Lois and her husband, Craig, were living at the time. After a Saturday morning of shopping and letting the little cousins loose in a fun play area in the mall, we'd ended up at a big Godfather's Pizza for lunch and were sitting in its second-story dining area amid pizza crusts and empty pizza pans.

I was interested in the house my brother was talking about, and I am sure my mom and Lois were too. And once David continued, my dad was hooked. Because David at that moment said these magic words:  "It has a Morton building."

A house with a Morton building, inside Hillsboro's city limits! With a steel shed like that, Dad would be able to store his roofing truck, scaffolding, saws and tools and continue his roofing business. Suddenly, we were gripped with visions of possibilities.

But would Dad ever leave the farm without a descendant to carry on the family tradition? How could they sell it? Who would buy it? And even if it sold, how in the world could they ever pack up and clear out all of the stuff accumulated by generations of Friesens and Epps in the numerous barns and outbuildings over the past 100 years?

Riding ATVs on the farm in July, 2002- L to R:  Grandma and Grandpa Epp, Caleb (reclining on the Honda 3-wheeler), Harrison, Dave and Laurel Franklin on the 4-wheeler. The next year, when Caleb learned that not only would Grandpa and Grandma move off the farm, but Great-grandma Franklin was moving off her five acres near Andover into a duplex he sorrowfully exclaimed, "We're losing all of our country!" He now lives on five acres of his own.

My dad had grown up on this farm eight miles northwest of Hillsboro. Although he'd wanted to attend Bethel College in Newton about half an hour away, he'd attended Tabor College in Hillsboro, because it was closer, and he'd be living and working on the farm while attending. The good thing for my dad is he became friends with Walter Ediger, a Nebraska farm boy who invited Norman to his home area for Tabor Workdays. There Norman met Walt's shy younger sister Rosella. The next year she graduated high school and came to Tabor, and Norman asked her out. They both were studying to be teachers, and for the first dozen years of their marriage, that's what my dad did. Mom taught and subbed, then stayed home with Lois and then me. We were living in Wichita (and spending most Saturdays on the farm so my dad could help Grandpa) when Grandpa decided he and Grandma were ready to move into town. 

So, my dad resigned as a Junior High History teacher, and we moved to the family farm. I was in first grade and Lois was in fourth. Because it was a small farm, my dad (being an optimist) got a loan for 80 more acres to increase his acreage and profits. This was in 1975, which we now know was the beginning of the farm crisis. In hindsight, this was probably the worst time to be buying high-priced farmland. He had to work full-time at a construction job to make the land payments. 

Our three-bedroom house in Wichita had been about ten years old when my parents bought it. Now my mom found herself in a drafty 100-year-old farmhouse that had been added on to numerous times due to necessity. We had no extra money to fix it up. It was hard to heat in winter and had a single window AC unit that we used only on the hottest nights of summer.

There were some good things about going to Hillsboro schools and living in the Hillsboro community, and we were all thrilled a few years later (in 1977) when David was born. Still, life on the farm was hard and the three miles of rock road that had to be traveled on each trip to and from town were either dusty or muddy, but always wearying. 

Fast forward a decade: Lois went to college (Tabor, of course). I soon followed and never lived on the farm again. Then David left for Tabor as well. I felt sorry for my mom, who was stuck living in the old farmhouse and constantly having to traverse the rough roads to get to her job at the Tabor Library.

So, when David broached the subject of mom and dad moving to town, we hardly dared to hope. We didn't know if our dad would ever consider selling the family farm, his small herd of cattle (many had names), and his tractors (all named Allis-Chalmers). But three years earlier, in 2001, Dad had undergone colon surgery and had completed six months of chemotherapy for colon cancer. He had made a complete recovery, but the whole ordeal might have got him thinking.

Dad and Mom contacted a friend and local realtor, Marlene Fast. They looked at the house on Floral, which was just two blocks down from David's house. They liked it. In fact, Mom realized it was the very house she had noticed was for sale three years earlier and thought, "That's the kind of house I would like to get if we could ever move to town. But when we are ready to move it won't be for sale again, and anyway, we probably couldn't afford it."

They decided the Morton building would work nicely for Dad's business, and even have room for a shop area. They looked at a few other houses that were for sale in Hillsboro, but none that Mom liked as well, and none had extra buildings or sheds. They put a contract down.

To sell the farm, Marlene made the inspired suggestion to sell the house and farmland separately. And the land sold. And then a month or two later, the farmhouse!

My folks scheduled a farm sale for April 3, and almost every Saturday leading to it Dave and I drove with our kids to help sort, haul off, and otherwise dispose of relics collected by my dad, my grandpa, and his parents. Neighbors and relatives helped too. Dad invited his siblings to come back to the homeplace one last time to reminisce, say goodbye, and pre-shop the farm sale. 

Epp Siblings- l to r, youngest to oldest: Alvin Epp, Rosalie Mays, Evelyn Peterson, LaVerna Quiring, and Norman Epp in front of the old farmhouse in 2004.

The weather on April 3 was beautiful. Lots of folks showed up for the farm sale. Stuff sold (although there was always more to be had).

The highlight of the farm sale was selling the Allis-Chalmers tractors. 

Mom's brothers Jake and Bob Ediger, along with their wives Esther and Evelyn, came from Topeka for the farm sale.

 In the evening we moved the rest of Mom and Dad's stuff into the house in Hillsboro. What a day! What a crazy four months! 

After years of living under a cloud of debt, they were able to buy their new place--with the Morton building--free and clear. After years of living in a 100-year-old farmhouse, Mom and Dad could now enjoy a modern house with central heating and AC. After years of driving into town on rock roads in various unfavorable conditions, Mom could now drive only a few paved blocks to her work, or even walk in nice weather. After years of juggling farm work with construction work, Dad could now concentrate on one job. After years of being tied to the daily farm chores of feeding livestock, my parents were now free to travel, and they took a handful of bus trips and crossed Alaska and Yellowstone off their bucket lists.

House in town- Mom and Dad the first evening in their new home.

Our heads were spinning when we thought of David's first suggestion that they look at the house, and how everything had fallen into place perfectly. Almost like God had orchestrated the whole thing.