When I Wake Up Singing

Just the other night, I woke up…several times…for no apparent reason.  Well, not really.  It wasn’t the first time this had happened, and I surely hope it won’t be the last time.  I wasn’t continuing a dream into wakefulness.  There was no story that had come before what woke me.  I simply heard and sang “I’ve just seen Jesus, I tell you He’s alive, I’ve just seen Jesus, my precious Lord alive.”  It made me unbelievably happy.  Then I would drift back to sleep, only to awaken again a short while later hearing and singing “I’ve just seen Jesus…”  God prepares us in His own ways.  These events don’t happen by accident.  They make me long for that heavenly homecoming whenever the time is right.  They fill me with excitement and peace all at the same time.

Another song that has awakened me on many occasions is “To God be the Glory.”  I didn’t even realize I knew the words, but I have often awoken singing “Praise the Lord, praise the Lord, let the earth hear his voice…”  I could wake up singing pop songs, or show tunes, or TV jingles, but I don’t.  I wake up singing praises to God, not every night, but when He wills it.  I feel more loved in those moments than I can adequately explain. 

I can only hope that others recognize the realness of God through the songs He places in their hearts.  It’s a wondrous experience.

“Don’t ya know that I sing because I’m happy?  I sing because I’m free.  His eye is on the sparrow, and I know He watches me.”  This is a tune that comes to me when I’m walking my dog, or sitting quietly in my living room in the evening, or when I’m driving along an interstate.  It makes me happy just to realize that if my God looks out for tiny birds, He also watches out for me.  Just think…there are close to 7 billion other people on the planet, not to mention everything else in all of creation.  He knows each hair on my head.  He knit me in my mother’s womb.  It’s hard to even grasp the greatness of our God, but this song helps me do that, and it makes me happy.

Happy Birthday Never Sounded So Good

That's me...on my July 22nd birthday way back in 1959.  Fortunately, I can tell you that there was, indeed, a body attached to that little head.  I came along about a month ahead of schedule and with great drama attached to my birth, but that's a story for another time.  Today's story is all about the family birthdays my mother is still helping us celebrate this summer.  That's her, below, holding me on Easter Sunday in 1960.  My sisters and brother shared in the photographic moment.

Following multiple strokes over the past 20 years, each one of which caused increasing physical incapacity, my mother reached a point this past May where she lost the ability to speak.  Her mouth had become paralyzed and her tongue thickened.  Due to severe arthritis, she is no longer able to write or type, so her communication ability had become extremely restricted.

Late in June of this year, my sister and I traveled from our homes in another state to visit with my mother on her birthday.  As we prepared to sing that old familiar childhood tune, my sister informed our mother that she had to sing along with us.  To our surprise and amazement, she sang "Happy birthday to me..."  Each word was understandable and her voice brought joy to our ears and mist to our eyes.  Still, she could not verbalize even single syllable words with any clarity.

The next day, we sang "Jesus Loves Me" and "You Are My Sunshine" with her.  Her voice rang out with clarity on each one.  Two weeks later, she sang "Happy Birthday" to her brother over the cell phone that had been dialed for her.  All this time, she remains mostly unable to speak.

My birthday is tomorrow, and I will be traveling again to visit with my mother.  I look forward to enjoying the sweet sound of a woman in her waning years finding her voice even when no one, including her, knew it was possible.  Our bodies and minds are mysterious and wonderful things.

Happy birthday never sounded so good, thanks to this blessing bestowed upon my mom.  It brought encouragement to me, and to her.  Scientists may try to figure it all out, you know, how our brains really work.  In the end, however, there is nothing left to do but praise God for all of nature's variety and grandeur, for He alone knows the beginning and the end in all things.

In college

Now

Some of the Best Gifts

Did you ever think about the great gifts you've received in your life?  I know, I know.  It's better to give than to receive.  But, it's also a good and wonderful thing to accept gifts graciously, and sometimes with much excitement.  Such was the case nearly 48 years ago when my Uncle Art gave me the greatest thing a child could receive on her 4th birthday -- a shiny, new, red bicycle.  Within days, those training wheels came off and I was speeding along the neighborhood streets with the big kids.  I was gaining a degree of independence and growing up.  I was a happy gift recipient, and my uncle was pleased at my reaction to the gift he'd given me simply because he loved me.



Note the very satisfied smile.  Uncle Art, the gift giver, sits in the background with my childhood playmate, Debbie, who had just attended my mid-summer birthday party.



Fast forward to the new millenium, about 40 years later, and much the same story unrolled in a far-off land south of the equator and thousands of miles from here.  By this time, I had a beautiful little Colombian girl named Monica in my Compassion family and, on the occasion of her 10th Christmas, I bought her a terrific, new bike.  Until that point, we exchanged fond words through our letters, but after that point, I received more expressions of love than I think I'd ever heard in my entire life up until then.  She wasn't just enamored by the thing she'd received, though that was plenty good.  She understood, even at that young age, that God blessed her by bringing someone into her life from a very distant place who simply loved her, even though we'd never met in person.  Her bike wasn't just a bike...it was love itself. She felt it and she knew it.



Enoche and his father on the day we met in person.



Monica also had an international little brother through my Compassion family.  He lives in Haiti and, like her, was being raised in a family with love but little else.  Usually, he would receive an animal to raise with Christmas gifts I sent him.  One year it would be a goat, another a donkey, and still another it might be chickens.  I met Enoche and his father when he was just nine years old, and learned more about their country, living conditions there, and a degree of poverty most of us don't fully comprehend in America.  So, when he was reaching his early teens, I was heartened to see an expression of love from a father to his son that amazes me even to this day.  When he received the money I'd sent for Christmas gifts for him and his family, instead of purchasing livestock, clothing or other supplies that were surely much needed, Enoche's father opened a bank account in his name and deposited the money for him.  Like our father in heaven, he loved his son so much that he put aside his own needs to provide for his son's future in this selfless way.

Gifts given out of love are something to cherish.  Gifts received in this same spirit teach us about ourselves, our relationships, our world and, indeed, the giver of all good things in life.  Thanks be to God.

Aspen...On Eagle's Wings

Some dogs are the greatest companions in the world.  There’s an old cliché that says, “If you want a friend, get a dog.”  Though I think there are plenty of people who make great friends, my dog Aspen, without even trying, was simply the best friend imaginable.  Visit  “A Good Friday to Remember” for the story of how our relationship began.

We became such a team that most people didn’t know my name was Karen…they thought it was KarenandAspen.  We were inseparable.  Aspen was beautiful, well-behaved and loving, the epitome of what you hear about Golden Retrievers.  She even developed a game called “Woof!”  It began with a little rumble in her throat that I would mimic back at her.  Then, it would grow into a soft growl.  Again, I would mimic the sound.  Next would be a tiny bark.  Yes, I would quietly bark back at her.  Then a medium bark, until finally we’d worked up to a great big woof.  When I mimicked the final woof, the game was over.  It was great fun, and we only played it when she would initiate it.  It was her game, after all.

Aspen was, true to her breed, a water dog and a bird dog.  She was trained for neither, but showed the instincts born within her.  I always joked that if she sniffed out a tablespoon of spilled water on the floor, she’d go and sit in it.  That was a tiny exaggeration, but not much of one.  She was quite the swimmer and couldn't resist the allure of pools or streams unless she was restrained in some way.  On the bird front, she was never trained as a hunting companion, but she did on occasion find baby birds that had fallen from their nests.  She would gently gather them into her “mush” mouth, not making a mark on them, and proudly bring them to me.  Even though the little birds were dead, I could only praise my girl for showing the ability God designed into her.

Late in her life, after she passed her 14^th birthday, Aspen began walking with a severe limp.  Her veterinarian prescribed various medications which helped for a time, but whenever we began to back off the dosage, the lameness returned in full force and even became worse.  This was the beginning of the end for “my girl.”

On June 15, 1998 early in the morning, Aspen and I said goodbye for a final time.  It was a very sad day, and due to my serious heartache, I took the day off from work.  I found myself perusing recordings in a local music store that afternoon and purchased a Michael Crawford CD of inspirational melodies.  When I came home and popped it into my stereo, I heard him sing, “And he will raise you up on eagle’s wings, bear you on the breath of dawn, make you to shine like the sun, and hold you in the palm of his hand.”  I knew this song and the Bible verses that inspired it from Psalm 91 and Isaiah 40:31, but never expected to encounter what happened next.  I had a vision.  It was not a daydream, or a night dream.  It was not wishful thinking.  It was a vision.

I saw very clearly my girl, Aspen, flying across a blue sky on the back of an eagle, her red fur glistening in the sunlight.  She looked into the breeze as they flew toward a certain destination.  The image was vivid, and I saw it several times over the days following her death.  Eventually, I saw it no more, but maintain the memory it evoked.  I truly believe God heals our heartaches in ways that He knows will comfort us.  Indeed in ways we might never expect or have encountered before or since.

This happened to me, and it brought me peace.  It filled me with a sense of awe.  God is good…very good!

101 Years Celebrating the Dads Among Us

Traditions are great.  We all know that every June we set aside the 3rd Sunday to call our dads and say "Happy Father's Day!"  We may join them for a barbecue in the back yard, or a day out at the ballpark.  But did you know that this has been going on for a full 101 years?  It was begun by Sonora Dodd in Spokane, Washington.  She sat listening to a Mother's Day sermon in 1909 and wondered why we had a day to honor our mothers, but nothing similar for our fathers.  Her father, William Smart, was a Civil War veteran, and she wanted to honor him publicly, so she sought civic action on the matter.  The following year, Spokane's mayor proclaimed June 19 Father's Day because it was the month of William Smart's birth.

In 1966, President Lyndon Johnson designated the 3rd Sunday in June as the official day on which Father's Day would be celebrated each year, and in 1972, President Richard Nixon signed a public law making this day of recognition permanent.

Today, the most recent U.S. census estimates that there are approximately 70.1 million fathers across the United States.  That's a lot of barbecue to be made and ballgames to be watched...although some fathers, like my own, might have celebrated the day in other ways.



 So, I'm going to reminisce about my own dad and some of the things that forged our relationship through the years.  The first photo I've seen of him and me together is on Easter Sunday when I was just about 8 months old.  I was a tiny baby and all decked out in a frilly white Easter dress.  He was holding me up so I could stand for the picture with my older siblings.  It was a proud moment, to be sure.  Stoicism was fashionable then.

Then, there were those Saturday mornings when he could sleep in on occasion and I would join him on the bed to play a game of cat and dog.  Even at that young age, barely out of toddlerdom, I was interested in the world of domestic pets.  He remembers that I was always the cat, but my recollection is 180 degrees opposite of this.  One of us has failing memory!

There were many, many days when I would climb onto his lap as he read poems and stories to me from a literary anthology.  And when I was quite young, I learned that I brightened his days simply by running across the lawn to greet him as he returned home from work in the afternoons.

As life has moved on, we have shared interests in reading and writing, politics and sports.  We share a genetic stamp on our physiology that I'm just going to call the "look young" gene.  It has held us both in good stead for quite a few decades.  Finally, and most importantly, my father cared for me enough to introduce me to the Lord and Savior of my life, Jesus Christ.  This eternal hope and faith is another thing that connects us.

I'm sure you, too, have many memories of things you have shared with your fathers.  Even if you're not in America celebrating Father's Day, take time to remember the good things your father has done for you and tell him about it.  It'll make him happy.

Happy Father's Day, Dad!

How I Spent My Memorial Day Weekend

These are some of the sights I took in on Saturday morning as I guided a tour through Arlington Cemetery and then walked to the Marine Corps Memorial before heading home.  All of the graves in the cemetery were adorned with American flags for the Memorial Day remembrance.  These are placed there by the Army 3rd Infantry, which is housed at Ft. Myer, directly adjacent to the cemetery.  To the right, you are looking through some of the headstones of well over 300,000 men and women buried here up at Arlington House, the home of George Washington Park Custis, and later Robert E. Lee, who had married his daughter Mary.  Custis was President Washington's step-grandson.



 

To the left, you see a well known picture of the U.S. Marine Corps Memorial, frequently referred to as the Iwo Jima Memorial.  Dedicated in 1954 by President Dwight Eisenhower, this statue depicts Joe Rosenthal's Pulitzer prize winning photograph of the raising of the flag at the beginning of the battle for Iwo Jima Island during World War II.  This deadly battle against the Japanese would rage on for 30 days following the flag raising. Inside the circle on its base is a quote from Pacific Fleet Admiral Chester Nimitz, "Uncommon valor was a common virtue."  The 100-ton statue and Nimitz' quote sum up the U.S. Marine Corps very well.

On Sunday evening, I gathered up some friends and we headed off to Wolf Trap Farm Park for the Performing Arts in Vienna, Virginia for a picnic and then a concert by the President's Own U.S. Marine Band.  Afterward, we were treated to a great fireworks display.



This is the Filene Center beginning to fill in for the night's show at Wolf Trap.  It is an open-air venue with both lawn seating and pavilion seating.  Well known musical groups, singers and musical theater productions perform there from May through September each year.  Colder months offerings at Wolf Trap move into "The Barns," a more intimate concert hall setting.



At 8 p.m., the Marine Band got underway with their concert of mostly patriotic tunes including Tchaikovsky's 1812 Overture, Souza's Stars and Stripes Forever and, of course, an armed forces medley.  We learned that the band's most famous conductor, John Philip Souza himself, re-enlisted in the Naval Reserves during WWI at the age of 62.  Wow, that's a man who was dedicated to the service of his country.



The evening would not have been complete without the fireworks display in the meadow a short walk's distance from the Filene Center.  Having never successfully photographed fireworks before, I decided to have a go at it.  I hope you enjoy the results.  This was a display unlike any I've seen before.  We were so close that it seemed the bombs were bursting almost directly overhead.  Ft. McHenry anyone?  At times, the entire sky was lit with gold sparkles.  It truly was a sight to see.







Memorial Day began just three years after the American Civil War concluded, in 1868.  Today, we honor those individuals who gave the ultimate sacrifice in all wars and all types of service to our nation so that we might live in freedom.  This is a day of remembrance and a day to show utmost respect and thanksgiving for these brave men and women.

My Hang Gliding Odyssey - A Photo Essay

My 10th grade English teacher allowed us to select research paper topics to work on and I chose a "then" new air sport called hang gliding.  Here, purchased with my own money at age 16 in 1976, is a very early hang glider that was supposed to have a 4:1 glide ratio.  In reality, it was probably more like 3:1 at best.  It could charitably have been called a rock.  Still, it gave me my start in a great sport that was about 98% comprised of men.  I held my own with them throughout my flying years.

 

This was one of the early training hills some of my flying pals and I used.  We called the little club we formed the Susquehanna Sky Surfers.  At the time, this location was called Skimont.  It was a small ski resort not far from Penn State University.  It allowed us to progress up the hill little by little, adjusting to our increasing skill as we went.

This is a foot launch shot at another training hill, about 350 feet high, that was on a sheep farm.  Note that I'm using a new, much higher quality glider.  This one was called a Cirrus V and was rated at about an 8:1 glide ratio.  I designed the color pattern myself and had many great flights with it over about 3 years.

This was the closest mountain launch to my home.  We had a ramp launch on the "front side" and a hill launch on the "back side" of what we called Trout Run, which was actually the name of the small town at the base of the mountain.  We cut a slot out of the forest for this front side launch and flew over the valley below.  If we were very lucky, we could soar for a bit in the ridge lift, but most flights were simple glides to the ground about 850 feet below.  We would do figure eights, 180s and 360s before eventually setting up for landing.  Then, we would come in and flare to land on a very small grassy area beside a trailer park at the end of a corn field.  This site taught me to make tight landings.  I flew there often.

 

Here, I had just foot launched on the back side of Trout Run.  It was only about 50-75 yards behind the front side, but significantly lower...perhaps 600-650 feet above the valley below.   In hang gliding, like any flying really, wind direction made the difference on where we could fly at any given time, which is what made Trout Run a particularly nice site.  If one side was unflyable on a particular afternoon, the other side might work out just fine.



This shot was taken shortly after takeoff on the back side of Trout Run.  You can see by my body and its position on the control bar that I'm in the process of starting a right-hand turn.  We had to do this at this particular site shortly after takeoff in order to follow the best path to our eventual landing area.



This is a nice shot of me flying out over the valley on the back side at Trout Run in the fall.  I spent about 4 years flying kites, well, being taken aloft by my kites, sometimes for mere moments, but one time for about an hour and a half.  These are great memories.  When I subsequently sold my Cirrus V, a one-time national champion hang glider pilot informed the purchaser that I was the finest female pilot in Pennsylvania.  That was a wonderful compliment that I obviously treasure to this day.