MEMORIAL DAY MEMORIES

I don't have many memories of my childhood, good or bad. Except for Memorial Day, which my family always spent in Macksville, Kansas (population 310. It increased by 7 when our dusty station wagon drove into town).
The trip from Topeka to Macksville was usually a sweaty seven hour drive through the Kansas heartland. This was in the days before video games, Ipods, VCRs, even tape decks, so my siblings and I had to be especially creative in finding ways to entertain ourselves. I was fond of making dolls out of empty pop bottles and kleenexes. My brothers would oblige me for a while before resorting to amusing themselves with vulgar bodily noises. When we got really bored, we would count (and try to identify) the dead animals along the side of the road.
When we finally cruised past the Macksville city limits sign, I always half-expected to see banners unfurled on Main Street, announcing our arrival.
"The Hurleys are here!" they should have proudly proclaimed, because with the arrival of our family, it surely seemed that summer had begun.
We'd pull up to my great-grandma's house and swarm into her tiny kitchen. Grandma Thurow was a short, bosomy woman of Bohemian descent. She had a birthmark on her forehead--her "strawberry," she called it--and I thought she was the most beautiful and kind grandma in the world.
She had a special drawer in her kitchen that was always filled with goodies for the grandkids. Fresh baked ginger cookies, candies and treats of all kinds were there for the taking. There were no rules about eating at grandma's house.
More often than not, we would burst in and interrupt her in the process of making homemade egg noodles (for chicken soup), or gritsiverst (a delicious kind of German scrapple).
Pies for the big gathering on Monday sat cooling on the windowsill.
On Memorial Day, we'd pile into the our car and head for the cemetary, just south of town. The adults would visit as they arranged flowers on relative's graves and we kids would play hide and seek among the taller tombstones. Ben, the elderly disabled veteran, would shuffle about selling red paper poppies to the townsfolk as we waited for the marching band to arrive, which was always ended by a real, live 21 gun salute.
My mom especially loved going back to Macksville for Memorial Day. She grew up on a farm outside of town and it was her chance to catch up with her childhood friends and family. Every year, I'd be pinched and patted and told I was the spitting image of my mother. And I didn't mind. In fact, I loved the connection with the past and with family--it was like an anchor that steadied my young soul through many future storms.

Born for Battle

That was the theme of the Campus Crusade retreat we attended in Idaho last week. It was definitely a guy-thing, but it was quite an education for me! There was way too much to distill into this blog, but I'll try to relay a few highlights:
1) There's a difference between being transparent and being authentic. Transparent people are open about their weaknesses (like Bill Clinton), authentic people admit their struggles--and then ask for help.
2)That it's easier for me to be authentic with people I don't go to church with . . .
3)That pornography actually causes a chemical re-wiring of the brain. And that God can heal the damage done. Check out www.purewarrior.org.
4)If we aren't loved by God in solitude, we are on the prowl for ways to get others to meet our needs. "LET HIM WHO CANNOT BE ALONE BEWARE OF COMMUNITY." Bonhoeffer
5)That I LOVE working with (and learning from) college students!!!!!
6)That ministry can quickly become a mistress and that we need to fight for our marriages.
7)That Greg and I need friends. The blessing of community became abundantly clear to us this week.
8)And finally--Baptism rocks! Well, I already knew that, but the retreat ended with 3 guys getting baptized in Payette Lake and I couldn't stop weeping. As the last young man came up from the icy water, someone shouted "Born for Battle!" and all the guys joined in, hugging and crying together for all the world to see.
The Kingdom of darkness took a hit that day, for sure!

Images of Idaho

The Secret of my Fishing Success

It is no secret that I enjoy fishing. . . and that I catch really big fish. But I DO have a secret fishing tip, which shall be revealed in this blog.
In 1990, the first summer we lived in Alaska, some friends took us fishing. It was nearing the end of June and the kings were running. (There are five different kinds of salmon you can catch up there: kings, reds, silvers, pinks and chum salmon; the biggest being kings). We'd loaded our gear into our friend's rust-bucket of a suburban and drove a good three hours to their "secret" fishing hole: Sunshine Creek.
In Alaska, there are stringent regulations about what, where and when you can fish. Fishing for kings in this particular area was only permitted from midnight Friday to midnight Monday. We pulled into a very crowded parking lot about 11:00 Friday night. Evidently, the secret had gotten out.
We grabbed our rods, bait, and mosquito repellent and headed for the nearest bare spot on the bank (which wasn't easy due to the combat fishing conditions that night). People were lined up practically shoulder to shoulder, with just enough room to cast without hooking your neighbor. Our friend, a professional fishing guide, showed us how to tie on our hooks, make egg loops to hold the roe (cured fish eggs), and then he demonstrated how to sharpen our hooks.
"Always sharpen your hooks and keep your rod tip up, and you'll do fine," he advised us as we hunkered down in our spots.
At the stroke of midnight, someone hollered "Fish ON!" and the insanity started. Intimidated by the aggresive fisher-folk on either side of me, I just stood and watched, hoping to pick up some helpful fishing etiquette. It was amazing to watch dozens of people cast their lines with a syncronized rhythm--Like some weird sort of fishing ballet. Not 30 seconds after the first cast hit the water, someone yelled "Fish On!" again, and this time everyone started reeling in their lines as he fought his king to shore.
After I saw the size of his fish--a good forty pounder--I decided to make my move. My first cast got caught in the brush behind me. The second ended up making a terrible bird's nest of my line. Of course, with monster fish being reeled in right and left, no one wanted to stop and help me so I muddled along the best I could. I was getting more mosquito bites than strikes.
After two hours of watching everyone on the planet but me catch fish, I was tired and fussy. It had started to rain, which REALLY brings out the mosquitoes, and all I wanted to do was just go home and go to bed. My fishing-guide friend, however, convinced me to give it one more try. He re-sharpened my hook and I took a deep breath and made my final cast.
"Lord, I'd really like to catch a fish tonight," I whined, swatting at the mosquitoes dive-bombing my face.
"Just one little fish, please?"
Before I'd said "Amen", there was a slight tap on my line and I saw my rod tip bend.
"I think you've got one," yelled my friend. "Set the hook!"
Obediently, I jerked my rod back with all my might. And then the fish jerked back!
I felt like I had Leviathan on the end of my line! The fish took off upstream and I just held on for dear life. A group of guys gathered around me and started shouting helpful advice, but no one offered to give me a hand even though I was sure my arms were being pulled from their sockets.
"You can do it!" my husband coached.
"Keep your rod tip up," nagged my friend.
I couldn't imagine how I was going to land this piece of aquatic real estate without breaking the line, so I prayed again:
"OK Lord, I hooked it. Now You've got to help me bring it in!"
And He did . . .
When people hear that I landed a 65-pound king salmon with an ultra light rod with 20 lb. test-line, they always want to know how I did it. That's akin to a miracle in fishing circles and they are plain curious about my techniques.
"Um, I prayed and the fish just swam up on shore and beached itself," I humbly reply.
And that's exactly what happened. After a spectacular 20 minute fight, that fish just plopped itself on the bank just a few yards upstream from me.
Realizing I'd landed a trophy fish, my husband decided we should have "Sam" mounted. He hangs proudly above our fireplace, but now I wish we'd kept the tangle of lures and lines that were wrapped around him as a reminder that it wasn't anything I did that landed that whale of a fish. He could have broken my line with the flip of a fin. And if truth be told (and I'm telling the truth even if this is a fish tale), "Sam" had somehow shaken free of my lure by the time we netted him!
So now you know--the secret's out. And in case you are thinking my catch was only beginner's luck, I can show you pictures of the 300 lb. sturgeon, or the 175 lb. halibut I caught.
Different fish, but the same secret technique:
Prayer.

Wildflowers

Danielle reminded me of how she used to pick me bouquets of wildflowers on our annual Mother's Day hike. She was the only daughter in town this year and we had a lovely (although somewhat strenous) climb up to Wahkeena Falls. And the hike was sandwiched between two blessed phone calls--the first from Candyce in Tblisi, Georgia and the second from Lindsay in LA.
Candyce only had five minutes to talk, but it was so good to hear her voice. The minutes seemed more like nano-seconds as she tried to describe for me their work with Tblisi orphans over the past few weeks.
"You need to adopt some of these kids, Mom. You can't begin to imagine what their lives are like here . . ."
Those were the last words I heard before the line went dead.
(I actually went online to see how one would go about adopting Tbilisi orphans, but Georgia no longers permits foreign adoptions. I felt so sad for those motherless children and asked the Lord to send others to Tblisi to love them).
Lindsay not only called to say Happy Mums Day, she also sent me a text message. It read:
"Do you remember that 5 Iron Frenzy song 'Dandelions'? I've been singing it all day and thinking of you: 'You see flowers in these weeds . ..' Love you Mom!"
Like that didn't make me cry. (I almost made me forget the fact that she'd forgotten to put my Mother's Day gift in the mail.) Weeds, indeed!
My daughters are most definitely wildflowers . . . beautiful and hearty, flourishing in difficult conditions far from cultured gardens or the beaten path. They are each unique and amazing, spreading the fragrance of Christ wherever they are. The three of them make a bouquet as delightful as the handfuls of flowers they brought me not so many years ago.
I have to admit it's hard to see them grow up and go their separate ways. But it's time for me to gather my little wildflowers and hand them back to God, grateful for the privilege I've had to help shape their young lives.
And there is so much to look forward to . . . like getting my first bouquet of wildflowers from my little grandbaby's hand!

My husband is NOT Tim Robbins

Greg or Tim?
Who is this man?

Several times each week, my husband gets asked the question: "Has anybody ever told you that you look like Tim Robbins?"
I didn't even know who Tim Robbins was when the comparison was first made, but after Shawshank Redemption and Arlington Road I could recognize his face. I personally think Greg is much more handsome than Mr. Robbins, but he gets a kick out of being compared to him all the same. It is his claim to fame.
Not long ago, we visited my daughter's Starbucks and ordered a latte. While Danielle made our drink, she introduced us to Amber, a new employee who was working the till. Instead of making the usual pleasant conversation with us, she just stared rudely at Greg, grabbed his money and silently handed him back his change. We thought that maybe she was just having a rough first day on the job, but we heard the real scoop from Danielle later. As soon as we left the store, a wide-eyed Amber rushed over to Danielle and asked, "Is your Dad Tim Robbins?"
While he doesn't care for most of Tim's movies and soundly rejects his politics, I think Greg secretly likes being compared to a celebrity. It's always a great conversation starter and adds a little lustre to the daily grind of life.
In my opinion, however, not only is my husband hotter than Tim Robbins, his gentleness and integrity reflect the qualities of greatness far more brilliantly than any Hollywood star could muster.
Philippians 3:15,16 describes people who shine like stars in the universe, holding onto the Word of Life.
That's my husband. At first glance, Greg might resemble a movie star. But if you look closer, you'll see he's reflecting the glory of God.

Road Trip '06

The Little Red Car's Big Adventure

Every spring, I make a pilgrimage to Central Oregon. This weekend, I buzzed over Santiam Pass to Sisters in my little red Miata. If you've never driven Santiam in a convertible, let me assure you it is a foretaste of Heaven. Picture this: The sun has coaxed the temperature to a blissful 75 degrees, the sky is a brilliant blue. I'm cruising down Hwy. 22, hair blowing in the wind, listening to "How Great is Our God" by Chris Tomlin. I'm thinking that it just doesn't get any better than this when I round the corner and Mt. Jefferson's snow-capped peak bursts into view. A semi could have squashed me flat and I would have just come to singing praise songs in Heaven!
Some highlights of my three day trip:
**eating homemade mac and cheese with my best friend Kathryn
**getting puppy kisses from Max (Logan & Alyssa's new baby)
**being able to fit the cool antique bench in the back of the Miata (and even get the top up over it!)
**hiking up Pilot Butte on a perfect day
**Loving on dear friends at the hospital
**having a slumber party with my other best friend Deb
**Taking a picture of Jordan being grumpy at me
**hiking Smith Rock without encountering rattle snakes
**Uninterrupted hours of prayer and worship
And last but not least--making it home in one piece!

Curse of the Yukon

A month from now, I will be packing my bags for a 3-week adventure in Alaska. It begins in Kodiak with my Native friend, Lydia, who is going to take me mountain climbing. She conquered her fears at age 50 by scaling the heights of Mount Barometer and she wants to share that experience with me (I turn 50 on June 18th this year).
After Kodiak, Greg and I will meet up with a group from our church in Fairbanks. 8 of us (Greg and I included) will take a puddle-jumper to the village of N. 14 others will take planes and boats to reach Kokrine Hills Bible camp, where they will build cabins and clear brush for a week. We will meet up at the camp six days later.
I want to tell you a bit about N. Roughly translated (in Athapaskan), the name means "good salmon fishing." And it should be, as it sprawls along the banks of the mighty Yukon River. The population is about 350, mostly Athapaskan indians, Native peoples of Alaska.
Even though there has been a Catholic influence in the village for decades and evangelical missionaries there for the past 15 years, N. is a spiritually dark place. I read an article this week that gave N. the dubious distinction of having the highest suicide rate of all the villages in Alaska. (The suicide rate for the Koyukon-Yukon area of Alaska is five times that of the state average and ten times the national). Alcohol-related deaths (mostly drownings) claim the lives of young adults (mostly males) every year. Sexual and substance abuse have replaced the amazing aspects of their culture. The language is largely forgotten and even once-essential life skills--such as hunting and trapping--are not being passed to the younger generation. Shame and hopelessness cover this village like a burial shroud.
The Yukon is cursed, indeed.
But Jesus came to set the captives free, and that is why our rag-tag team is heading to N. this summer. We want to be Jesus with skin on (even if our skin is white), we want to bring the light of Christ to a culture that the Enemy has tried to snuff out with his dark ways.
We want to speak words of life and blessing, peace and purpose to these precious sons and daughters of God.
Our fervent prayer and desire is to see the Athapaskan people fulfill their destinies in Christ.
Please pray for us and the village of Nulato. Our outreach is June 10th-16th.
I'll keep you posted--consider going with us next year!