At the Cross

We had communion in church this past Sunday. One of the songs had the powerful phrase "at the cross."

Where else is life distilled to its most basic form than there? At the cross only one thing matters--our response to Jesus' sacrifice.

When Dave and I were first married, we participated in an Easter pageant. He was a Roman soldier, I was one of the women following Jesus.

At the crucifixion scene we were all at the foot of the cross, weeping at the injustice.

And I realized a friendship I had at work was getting a little too important to me. My sin had put Jesus up on the cross. My tears of repentance were real.

In high school, I was a cast member in "Godspell." Midway through the second act Jesus said goodbye to each of his followers:  some with handshakes, many with hugs, all with a special gesture to signify each unique relationship. Just when we were starting to realize who our friend was and why he came, he was taken away.

In the play he was hung on a fence that stood in for a cross. Listening to him sing, "Oh God, I'm dying," while we were writhing at the base of the fence was a spiritual experience that gave me a glimpse of his sacrifice.

Our small school cast was a mix of kids, from different churches or no church background at all. Some athletes, some musical, some popular, some not. I determined that in my mind for the rest of my life they would be family. The ground was level at the foot of the cross.
 

Ode to Odie

Our family is in love with Odie.

We've had our Cavapoo for nearly a year, and he has a special bond with each of us.

He naps next to Dave's head while Dave is watching TV in the beanbag. Caleb plays with him by making quick movements and gets Odie running in circles. Harrison and Laurel give him a baths. Laurel is adept at putting on his harness and taking him for walks. I taught him to fetch my newspaper from the end of the driveway each morning.

The fact that we have a dog at all is amazing. A miracle, really. We were done with dogs. We'd had two puppies that we'd gotten from my parents, Abraham and Isaac. After about a year Abraham learned how to jump the fence, so he went back to the farm. Isaac stayed longer. He was an outside dog, but for some reason he was inside for a while one day and happened to pee on our bed. He was gone the next day. Dave gave him to a coworker.

Then a few years later we had Zoe, our big Great Pyrenees. She was the inspiration for our kindergartener to start his own business, "Caleb's Poop Scooping Service."

Caleb used his new tools at his Aunt Julie's and Aunt Jenny's back yards. However, after a few years the novelty of a dog and a business wore off. Both were neglected. When Great Pyrenees are neglected, they turn to barking. Incessantly. We got her a bark collar, which worked for a while, but then she developed a sore on her neck because we'd neglected to take off the collar. She's in a better place now. Dave placed an ad and we gave her to a family that had 40 acres.

And we swore that we wouldn't have any more dogs. And it was easy to keep our word, because we have a lawn service so we were reminded constantly of what dogs can do to a backyard when we mowed yards where people kept pets. And when we happened to step in a fresh pile and smelled it in the truck for the rest of the day, we would look at each other and say how thankful we were that we didn't have dogs.

A terminally ill customer of ours was having trouble caring for his dog Chloe, a Jack Russell terrier. He doted on Chloe, so we offered to give her occasional baths and take her on walks so he would be able to keep her as long as possible. I wondered if he had a plan for where Chloe would go when he would have to give her up. Chloe was 12 years old, so I knew the commitment would be short. Even though I grew up on a farm and firmly believed a dog's place was outside, I offered to take in his house dog. He told me that a neighbor had already spoken for Chloe, so I was off the hook. Our son Harrison, who was hoping for a dog, was crushed.

Then Dave went camping with our friends the Reeds, who brought along their adorable new Cavapoo puppy, Cora. Dave loved how Cora sat on her owner Danita's lap the entire weekend, and he was sold on their tales of how she was so smart they had trained her to ring a bell when she needed to go outside. Since she was half poodle, she didn't shed.

The Reeds told Dave they'd gotten Cora from a breeder in Missouri, so he started monitoring their website. When they discounted a 12-week old spotted puppy named Casey, Dave decided he was the one. He said we should take a road trip that Friday to pick him up. I had my doubts. Huge reservations, actually, in the form of 2,000 sq. ft. of new carpet that we'd just installed when we'd moved into our new house only a few months previously. New puppies and new carpet were not a good combination, in my opinion.

But the day before Dave wanted to go to Missouri, we got some news. It was one of those things that you hear about after the fact, so you can't really do anything but just feel sick. But I knew I would be thinking about it all day, and suddenly the thought of getting out of town with my hubby and processing it together on an all-day road trip was exactly what I wanted to do.

So we ended up in Carthage, Missouri, and brought home our little bargain puppy. I tried not to think about "Marley and Me," because their bargain puppy turned out to be much more than they bargained for. I held the scared little Casey in my arms the whole way home. The kids were truly surprised and happy to finally have a dog. We tried out several names. Nothing stuck until the puppy jumped and awkwardly fell flat on his face, so he became Odie just like Garfield's nemesis in the comics.

At Easter I asked my nephew Lincoln if he remembered our doggie's name. "Yes," he said. "Coyote."

On the way home from Missouri, the puppy had pooped and pottied when we stopped at a rest stop. "Maybe this will be easier than I thought," I said to Dave. Of course, those were famous last words. We have gone through all of the usual trials in trying to train a puppy. However, since our kids are teenagers, they actually can take care of him, and since they knew Mom was on the fence about the whole thing in the first place, when he would have accidents--and he did, including diarrhea until we got him used to his new puppy food--they would silently go for the spray bottle of carpet cleaner and a roll of paper towels.

We have adjusted and included Odie in our routines. Dave, Caleb and I love watching him race excitedly around us as we put up our equipment after returnlng from mowing all day. I catch the kids slipping him bits of food under the table, but I have been known to let him lick out my empty yogurt containers. Lately I've been taking him to the bank drive-thru when I make deposits, because they give out doggie treats. And that, my friends, is nothing short of a miracle.

Odie waiting patiently for his Milk-Bone to come at the bank drive-thru.

A Stitch in Time

My mom loves to sew. When she was in third grade, she begged her mom to teach her to use the sewing machine. She sewed all her clothes in high school. She even sewed her own wedding gown, as well as mine and my older sister’s. They were all gorgeous. 

A few years ago when my parents retired and moved from the farm to town, my mom’s favorite hobby became quilting with other women from church. Each year they would make a quilt to be sold at the Mennonite Central Committee’s annual relief sale. Each time they worked tirelessly to piece a beautiful quilt that would bring a lot of money for the charity.

This year my mom especially liked the fabric combinations that they chose for the project. The deep plums and sage greens were offset by natural tones and accented by a spicy salmon. The log cabin pattern was one of her favorites, and this one was called “spinning logs” because it had a twist:  each log cabin block was given a quarter turn, so the overall effect was a whorl, or pinwheel.

“I think it’s the prettiest quilt we’ve ever done,” my mom told me on numerous occasions. I wistfully wished I could buy it for her, but knew that it would be way out of my price range. All of the women from mom’s quilting group were excited to see how much their quilt would sell for.

On the day of the MCC sale, some quilts were bringing thousands of dollars, and one quilt even set an all-time record of $12,000. However, when the one my mom worked on was up for auction, no one bid. One of the women who had worked on the quilt put in a bid to get it started. She ended up with it for $500.

After returning home from the sale later that day, my dad fell and broke his hip. Thoughts of quilts were pushed far from our minds. Dad needed surgery, and spent several weeks recovering in the hospital, then rehab, then a skilled nursing facility. After being married 52 years, Mom and Dad both struggled sleeping apart from each other.

When things finally settled down with my dad and I learned who had bought the quilt at the MCC sale, my mental wheels started turning. Wouldn’t the quilt be comforting for my mom while she was alone at home?The price the quilt had sold for was more than I could afford, but maybe my siblings and I together could buy it from her and give it to Mom for Mother’s Day. I called them, and they agreed. My brother said he would get in touch with the lady who had bought the quilt.

I had a day of panic, thinking that she might have promised the quilt to one of her daughters. I encouraged my brother to call that night. He did, and the lady said she would be willing to sell the quilt to us.

Now I had to wait a month for Mother’s Day. But my sister, who lives in South Dakota, wouldn’t be able to come. So we decided we would wait yet another week, when she would be here for my oldest son’s high school graduation.

We knew Dad would want to included, so we planned to give it to mom at the nursing home where Dad was staying. However, my Dad was responding well to therapy and was released sooner than we expected. 

So when my sister came to Kansas we three siblings gathered at Mom and Dad’s house. We told them we were celebrating Dad’s first day back from the nursing home. Of course, we had something else up our sleeve. When we brought the quilt out and presented it to Mom, she stood speechless.

“Do you recognize that quilt?” my dad asked. 

“Of course, I thought it was the prettiest one we’ve ever made,” Mom said.

“We bought it for you,” I told her. 

“But someone else bought it,” Mom said, disbelieving.

“I know, we bought it from her,” I said. “Happy Mother’s Day!”

I couldn’t hold back the tears as I hugged her tightly. She couldn’t either.

                    

We took the quilt to their room. I was amazed at how the sage green walls of their bedroom matched perfectly with the sage pieces in the quilt.

“Mom, I think if we went to the paint store to pick out a color to coordinate with this quilt, this is the color we would choose,” I told her.

We fixed their bed and made it ready for them to sleep in that night. They would be able to enjoy it together on the first night of Dad’s homecoming.

Like it was meant to be.

Here's what I posted on facebook last week:

 

Caleb Franklin made his bed so nicely the other day that I bought a bag of Andes mints and put two on his pillow. The next day, he'd made it again, so I put two more mints out. Lo and behold, he made it again today! I think I'll pick up another bag of mints, I want to keep this going!

 

And (as Paul Harvey would say) here is the rest of the story:

 

Every morning when I was placing mints on Caleb's nicely made bed, I was also checking next door at Laurel's room to see if hers was made as well. She has a cute turquoise-and-brown comforter and an assortment of decorative pillows, and her bed looks really nice when she fixes it. But she hadn't. Not that day, or the next, or the next.

 

So there I was, mints in hand, wanting to get her in on the game, but I couldn't. I couldn't reward her for an act of obedience (fixing beds is a rule at our house) if she hadn't done it. Besides, if I tossed them on her unmade bed, she might not even find them and they'd get lost in the covers. I was having so much fun surprising Caleb, and I longed to give Laurel a sweet treat as well.

Which reminds me of a verse. "If you then, though you are evil, know how to give good gifts to your children, how much more will your Father in heaven give good gifts to them that ask Him! Matt 7:11.

So maybe each morning, God my heavenly father would love to leave a couple of mints on my pillow--a verse that assures me of His love, or a sweet thought that could give me perspective. However, if I haven't made my bed--if I haven't taken the time to sit down, open my Bible, and quiet my soul to listen--how can He do it?

Laurel saw my facebook post and then, sure enough, the next morning her bed was nicely fixed. I lovingly and gladly placed two mints on her pillow.

But how many mints did she miss? How many have I?

Thanks for the Memories

My mother-in-law owned Thanksgiving. Janet Franklin had it down. Somehow every year at 2 o'clock we would find ourselves sitting at her dining room table filled with bowls of food that were traditional, comfortable, delicious, and hot.

She lived about seven minutes away from us in Riverside. When I would come over on the Monday or Tuesday before Thanksgiving to help clean her house for the big day, she would already have sheet cake pans of cubed bread for dressing drying on her counters.

Invariably on her kitchen table would be a yellow legal pad containing the brains of her operation--daily tasks to complete on the days leading up to Thanksgiving, and then a detailed timeline of Thanksgiving day, indicating when the turkey and each dish needed to be placed in the oven, at what time and temperature. She took into account her oven space, and also her daughter Julie's, who lived on the same street one block down.

Janet didn't get stressed out about the food. She worked her plan, and graciously accepted the help we offered. She allowed time for smoke breaks. She welcomed stray relatives and others who didn't have a place to go. My parents came several times. Her place was open, and an extra card table could always be set up for the kids.

When the plastic indicator on the 24-pound turkey had popped, and the hot bird had been precariously transferred to a platter, she'd call either Dave (my husband) or his brother Eric to carve it. Then all the side dishes could go back into the oven for a final warming, while she made gravy in the roasting pan.

One year she'd watched some TV show that suggested placing three beans on each plate and having everyone say what they were thankful for. So we did that, and everyone said they were thankful for family.

After a prayer and the endless passing of dishes, we could finally get down to the business of eating. I think the highest compliment to Janet's cooking was the complete silence that always fell over the table as we dug in.


One year as I was shopping at Albertson's for whatever I was planning to bring (maybe it was the year I tried making the rolls) I spotted the perfect item to make her Thanksgiving: a one-pound butter sculpture of a roasted Thanksgiving turkey. I think it was a Land O' Lakes product--hadn't seen it before, and I've never seen them since. I knew Janet would LOVE it. A little butter sculpture that you could use! I couldn't wait for Thanksgiving to place it on her table and see her delight.

As I sat down with everyone at the table that year before the prayer, I remembered the sculpture, safe in my fridge AT HOME. I let out an audible "Oh no!" I explained my surprise for Janet that I'd forgotten, but it was too late to go home. Even though I could be home and back in ten minutes, everything was already hot and on the table. I could tell she was disappointed. That memory goes down as one of the Top 10 regrets in my life. Maybe even in the Top 5.

Because it would have been a wonderful way that I could have given back to Janet for her Thanksgiving feast. A gift to show her I was thankful.

We didn't get her feasts every year. For a while Dave's dad and step mom would come up from Arizona every other year, so we would have Thanksgiving at his grandma's, and she would usually be invited to Thanksgiving with one of her brothers. I don't remember her complaining, although I think she would have preferred to have us every year. I think the situation just made her extra thankful when it was her turn to have us.

Janet died in the summer of 2007, so this will be the 6th Thanksgiving without her. In the years since, we traveled to Tucson once for Thanksgiving with his dad (buffet at a hotel), twice to Sedalia for Thanksgiving with Auntie Nan (Janet's little sister who has mannerisms so like Janet it's uncanny), and two times that I don't remember but I could look up in my diary if I wasn't so lazy and wanted to get this posted. Whatever we did, I know it wasn't memorable like Janet's Thanksgivings. For those memories, I am thankful. 

Chili, Candy, and Cousins

When our kids were little, one of our favorite Halloween traditions was trick-or-treating in Riverside with their cousins.

Dave's mom always had her large iron soup pot full of chili. We'd join Dave's brother Eric and sisters there early for dinner, then get the kids into their costumes and hit the streets.

Since we were in the neighborhood where they grew up, Dave and Eric often stopped to chat with former neighbors and show off their kids. ("See Batman over there? He's mine, and the S.W.A.T. team guy, and the princess.")

During the early years, I wondered at the wisdom of choosing Riverside, since all of the bungalows have five or six steps up to the porch. My job was helping the littlest one keep up with the others. Often the big kids were racing to the next house by the time the toddler got to the steps.

We knew that the house two doors down from Aunt Julie would have the spooky display, and the bravest would reach into the coffin to get the candy (the mechanical rat that had a motion sensor nearly sent me over the edge). And there was the house further down on Coolidge that gave out hot dogs and cans of pop. We were always full from chili so we never had hot dogs, but sometimes a drink was nice.

2006 was Janet's last Halloween. Aunt Julie has assumed chili-making duties some of the years, as she will tonight. Our kids are too old to trick-or-treat, although they still will. Let the fun begin.

Halloween 2001- Cousin Betsy with cat ears, Laurel as a cow (her trick was to say "moo") Cousin Kelsey as Josie and the Pussycats, Caleb as a dinosaur (costume handmade by Aunt Julie for Nathan and passed down to us), and Harrison as a knight in shining armor.

Halloween 2003- Laurel is a princess, Harrison as Batman, Kelsey as the Scream character, Caleb as a S.W.A.T. team guy.

 

 

 

 

Halloween 2005- Laurel as a puppy, Cousin Betsy as a pincess, Caleb and Harrison as Freedom Fighters (uncle Kurt hooked them up with fatigues and ammo boxes) and Cousin Kelsey as a basketball player.

Halloween 2006- Our last Halloween with Grandmother (wish I would have a picture of her with the kids) Harrison as a girl (his football coaches loved this picture!) Laurel as the Lady of Shalott (easier to say than Guinevere), and Caleb as the FBI.

Kansas Cyclops

One of the most surprising comments at my 25th high school class reunion this summer came from someone who wasn't in our class. Debbie (Penner) Kroeker was in the class ahead of us but married Jeff Kroeker in our class. They are teaching and coaching in Douglass, and she told me she uses one of my stories as a writing example each year!

Back when I was at Hillsboro High, Debbie's mom, Carolyn Penner, was the freshman English teacher. Most everyone grumbled about the journals she made us write in throughout the year, but I, of course, loved it. For the mythology unit she had us write our own myths. I wrote a little story about Kansas cyclops. Now I remember Mrs. Penner asking me for a copy of it and a few other pieces I wrote. Apparently she included it in her unit materials and eventually passed them on to her daughter.

Debbie, who I believe teaches 5th grade, says she has to remind her students that the sample story was written by a high school student, so they aren't intimidated instead of inspired.
I knew I saved my freshman journal, and I've been curious to see exactly what it was I wrote. This week I dragged the file box out of the closet and found it. Here it is, typing verbatim:

Kansas Cyclops
By Karen Epp, age 15, freshman at Hillsboro High School

A very long time ago, when the world was brand new, little creatures called cyclops lived in Olympus. There were hundreds and thousands of them and they roamed about that gloriously bright place wherever the wished.

Now these cyclops weren't barbarous giants like the cyclops you may have read about in the Odyssey. However, they were mischievous. Their favorite pasttime was pulling pranks on the gods. These one-eyed creatures particularly loved shiny and bright things.

Now, the sun god's rays were the brightest things in all of Olympus, so the cyclops were always stealing them. The sun god grew very angry and planned to banish the bothersome creatures to earth. To make sure they never stole anything again, he decided he would turn them into plants.

However, the cyclops found out his plan. They knew they would not be able to go against the immortal sun god's will, but they couldn't bear the thought of going to the dark and dismal world without their bright rays, so they stole as many of the sun god's rays as possible and hid them in their mouths.

The sun god finally got permission from Zeus to banish them so he rounded all of them up and sent them down to earth. He hadn't realized, however, that they still possessed some of his sun beams.

On earth the cyclops did turn into plants as the god had planned. They were bare-looking weeds with huge rough leaves and one brown staring eye at the top of the stalk. The cyclops hated the cold earth and put their stolen rays around their eye to warm them.

Yet, they wanted to return to the heavens and still today you can see the plant-cyclops looking up to the sun god, always watching and following his path across the sky, imploring him to grant their return.

Of course, you may better know them as sunflowers.