AND THE LOST FIND EACH OTHER

FINALLY! When Mark died a year ago, it catapulted us into a rush of plans, mistakes (I didn't have Mark's birthday correct in the Keith Co News obituary!), and trying to contact everyone. I had to leave some names off the quickly published obituary in Ogallala because I couldn't get information needed before it went to print.

We did all the planning and all arrangements with out the help of a mortuary. They assisted us in caring for Mark but we picked him up from the home and the rest was on us. I learned from this experience that the help of a trusted mortuary can lighten the grieving load tremendously!!! It is now my prayer to get my preparations completed soon, so my loved ones never go through the stress we experienced in losing Mark before we were ready. I will stop using the excuse...is anyone ever ready!

ANYWAY....losing Mark was hard enough, and added to our grief was the inability to connect and locate all of his children. So, finally, Tonya found Momma Sue on MySpace this week and yesterday, she and I had our first phone call in more than 7 years. It was very emotional for this Aunt Sandy, and I agree with Momma Sue's posting on Facebook, "Thank You, Lord!"

MARK YOU CAME FULL CIRCLE FROM THE SOUTH

A fence line blocks the free roam, we youths of yesteryears had of the sandhills of Nebraska. So it was, that day in April of 2008, when we watched you, Mark, taken away on the wind of an impending spring storm, intermingled with rose petals all swirling together...up, up,.......WHOSH! Aside, from the strong wind, it was, for me, a most awesome experience. Aside, from the sadness of heart, it was a powerful closing on a life full of turbulance and extremes....a life that touched many!

There, looking South, the fence, the post....there's Sue's rose, dried to the most deep red. It would eventually succomb to the elements, like the wind...or maybe you, Mark?

One can catch glimpses of the small town of Paxton and looking off in the farthest Southernly direction, one would find Imperial, though too far to see. Paxton was our 1st true hometown in Nebraska, wasn't it Mark? And where we laid claim to the sandhills and Platte Rivers as a temporary playground. So, what drew you to Imperial?

Only you and Sue know the stories of Imperial and those special memories are, now, only for her telling. How we came to gather in Imperial to remember you, is a fascinating adventure in itself...but not one for the telling today. No, the main reason we were in Imperial was because Mom was in the nursing home there. It wasn't until family was gathering that I learned that your romance with Sue included Imperial.

In fact, before the Celebration (since you requested no funeral), Sue took you, wrapped like the gift you were in red wrap with Nebraska Football stickers, for one last journey around the old haunts, belonging to the two of you. Funny too, cuz if it had been a funeral...you'd of fulfilled any confrontation of being late to your own funeral! When you hadn't arrived after most had gathered, I had to call your wife and ask when you'd finally be arriving. A cause for a smile now since I wasn't smiling then. God works in mysterious ways! The circle was complete.

Look to the South, Mark...to Imperial where the Church of Christ opened thier doors and hearts for us to gather and celebrate your life! Look to the South, Mark...to Paxton, where we met in the home of Aunt Grace and Uncle Al! You would have been so moved by thier hospitality, feeding the troops and giving of themselves in such a loving way and on a moments notice! Oh, and Mark, they even climbed Windy Gap with about fifty of us and shared an experience that moved nearly all of us to tears!

Look, in all the directions from this chosen vantage point, Mark. See the memories in every vista and listen for our love and forgiveness on the wind.

MARK, LOOK EAST AND KNOW HOME

From each vantage point of Windy Gap, you can see what became. A boy of eight, trekked all over these sandhills, playing games and looking out at such awesome vistas. Here to the East, a boy of eight would not have seen the Gerald Gentleman Plant off in the distance, or ever dreamed of working there. It hadn't been built yet. He would have stood here and thought he could see to the end of the earth! Still, when this eight year old became a young man in his late 20's, he worked during GGS shutdowns. Didn't stay to be hired as a regular as this wasn't his destiny. No, his destiny was further East.

Further East,
but not easily seen,
paths to the lives of many.
East became home.
Others have the stories,
only they can tell.
Stories of Mark,
both dark and light.
Every path encounters shadows,
all must learn to pass,
and chose those paths,
of fewer shadows,
and more awesome vistas.

TO THE NORTH WAS YOUR PLAYGROUND, MARK

The sandhills, North of Paxton, served as our playground for several years. Those years, in some ways, were our healing years. Mom had whisked us out of Colorado and away from that seven year nightmare and we could breathe and our fears began to subside. We bunked for a short time with Mom's folks and then moved next door to a wee little home. Our three room house was small, cramped and we had some rip, roaring fights but oh, what fun! Poor, no T.V., not much for possessions but we had each other. And we had the sandhills!

We only had to go two blocks to the North...just past the Ronje's house, up into the hills we'd hike. Mark and Carl often hiked all over Windy Gap, further into the sandhills than most cared to go, or would just follow the canal for miles. They would often disappear when it was chore time or when they were in some kind of trouble. That's just what those sandhills were for! A haven for most of the town kids, who would scramble all over those hills, dodging rattlers and playing like we were wild horses or wild Indians or war...since the Vietnam war was on everyone's mind back then and President Kennedy had been assassinated not long after moving to Paxton.

We moved from that three roomed house (kitchen, bath, and big room we used for living room and bedroom) and lived for a few months across the street from the Luthern Church and only 1 block from the sandhills! With our first dog, Flip, and a few new Paxton friends, a trek up North was a weekly, sometimes, daily event. Those were some of our best times as kids...and so it makes sense that this is where Mark came to rest.

MARK LOOK WEST AND OVER THE HILL

West and over the hill, you can almost see where Grandpa & Grandma lived, and next to them, the little three room house that began our permanent stay in Nebraska. Temporary home to a newly single mother of four, three boys and a girl.

If you look further West, ya just might see our 1st home in Ogallala. Wow, that Mom of ours! Raising four kids and buying a home. It was a tough life though. We had our first permanent home but where Carl had the toughest breaks when we lived further West, in Colorado, you suffered some of your worst breaks in your life in Nebraska...starting, just West, over the hill.

Do you have the answers now, Mark, to all your whys? Why, you came West that weekend in April of 2008, was the only why, we all knew. A Funeral for our younger cousin, Cindy. Loosing her impacted so many and since you had missed some major funerals already, from illness, coming West was a mission. A mission with many layers to unfold. Layers that the rest of us are still unfolding. So, now, has it all been unfolded for you, Mark?

Ok, if you look even further West, you may see Ron's home. It was a real joy to my heart to have you and brother Carl in our home that weekend. In reflection, it was a very deep time for us to talk about mistakes we both made, regrets and amends. Isn't that how the death of a loved one makes us talk of things we fear we may never say before our own death wisks us away, as it had Cindy? How could we know it would be our last talk and so deep was what the time required.

Your health had become your biggest enemy, huh, Bro? And living on borrowed time was becoming visibly more difficult. Funny though, I can still hear your laughter and jokes amid the grunts of pain and complaints of that crappy tasting _ _ _ _ that was required to take a _ _ _ _ . I wish I had your gift to laugh in adversity as much as you did....as much as you tried. I'm a whiner,...a real whimp compared to what you had to endure for so many years. Do you hurt anymore, Mark? That was what you told me you prayed for most....I should be grateful that your prayer was answered. I just wish you didn't have to go little brother!

West, is to some Native American cultures, the direction for death. Interesting that your last trip was West. You were home...yet, not home any more. Things had changed, people have changed and a funeral for Cindy was both a time to say good-bye to her and pay our respect to her sisters and all who loved her....it also became a venue from which all who loved, you, Mark, were, not knowingly, seeing and touching you...hearing you laugh that incredible laugh... for the last time....and, not knowingly, saying 'good-bye'.

Timber!

No one was around when this tree surrendered and became broken. One only has to look and stand among the broken patterns of limbs, sticks and decay, to imagine what it may have sounded like.

How many more battles between wind and dead wood and decay will occur? Hopefully the house or cars won't fall victum?

Wind and Tree Rot Don't Bond Well

Windy day that Tax Day! As the country blew in a slew of 'tea party' protests, the Plains were battered and pressed with strong winds that made driving, or work out in the open, a nightmare. It was no surprise that the rotting trees on Shel's front lawn would surrender thier stoic death, by collapsing with a crack, like lightning, and a smashing thud and shower of popping sticks.

Whew! The rages of the wind tore half the tree down opposite of where the kids had parked thier cars. Now there are only 5 more stoic deaths to worry about.

Tax Day

This day use to panic me. More often than not I have been able to eek out a return rather than pay in, so why panic? My Mom was audited once and what a mess she was. I don't think she was my only influence though. In school, I learned we came to this country to flee outrageous taxation and pursue religious freedom (among other persuits) only to become slaves to taxation and persecuted for our religious freedom!

Today there were 'tea parties' to protest our rising tax burden. I fear panic will soon be likened more as a calm word and national terror will be the nearer replacement. I fear even more though, the confusion of the masses, as we turn to devour even the innocent, in trying to find someone to stone for the guilt of this tax mess settling around our children and grandchildren.

Whose fault is it? Who cares!! Why is that so important, other than not following them into further demise....but since WHO is up for debate and has everyone's focus then time will be wasted...just as it was when a blind eye was turned to the gross greed that tumbled the housing market, the banks, the stock market, and more. Do these 'tea parties' know what the solotion is? Do they know why they doth protest?

Wow, nearly every community held some sort of 'tea party' protest. Took me back to my hippie years. Those were years just shy of the late 60 early 70's riots,then the assassinations of Senator Kennedy and Martin Luther King. It was too much!! No more!! Every one had a say, nearly everyone took to the streets...except us folks in the sandhills. If ya wanted to march in a protest you were going to have to get to a hub city where protests grew to thousands...all with one voice.

Yes, very impressive, for today's 'tea party' protests touched even the smaller communities in these here sandhills of Nebraska. People united in a single voice that cries out about the tax burden coming, far worse than any burden experienced thus far and is more than we can handle. Why? Because we are being asked to sacrafice our children.....and our grandchildren.

I'm excited for change. If it is change for the better. Hard change...even adversity is bearable if the end result is for the good of all. I'm willing to make sacrafices so my children and grandchildren can benefit from my mistakes. Benefit...not suffer!

The Third Day

Easter, according to Webster, is an annual Christian festival in the spring celebrating the resurrection of Jesus. Today celebrates, that the tomb they laid Jesus in, was found empty the morning they arrived, near dawn, to properly prepare the body for burial.

I don't pretend to understand this. I am in awe of this possibility and have many years of questions and doubts, yet, I do believe. I believe in what I don't understand because I fear God more than any god I've been introduced to. I believe in what seems preposterous, foolish, even crazy to many, so as not to be sorry when I die and find out it was true. Should it not be true, what have I lost? Life in this world has been hell already and my scars are deep...but I fear a hell worse than what I've already experienced or witnessed by not believing in the resurrected Christ!

With both, Dad and Mark's death I experienced such a tear in my heart. I was holding Dad when he died and I arrived at the hospital within an hour after brother Mark died. I was insane with sobs and grief after the loss of both. And with both, a sort of numbness settled around me and I stumbled for days...in a fog. Now if either of them had disappeared and then appeared later......how could my heart not burst from the sheer volume of emotion this experience would produce.....but no... this was not to be for them. So what was it like like for those whom witnessed the death and tombing of Christ, only to see him on the third day? The day he promised he would be raised, the third day after he was destroyed.

The resurrection of Jesus impacted his followers so much that they were transformed and risked thier lives to tell everyone of this experience. Faith in the resurrection of Jesus has transformed folks I knew were lost, into someone I hardly recognize. My Mom was one of those folks. Can such faith be ever found in me? Sometimes I'm over-whelmed with faith and filled with such peace and love. More often I'm stuck in a rut, buried under a mountain or screaming in a row boat on an ocean of stormy waves, no oars and taking on water fast!

Every time I've heard the story of the death and resurrection of Jesus, or read it in the Holy Scriptures, I'm captivated. I can picture the confusion, the deep sorrow, then the absolute, awe inspiring wash of emotion to behold one who was dead but now risen. I feel thier feelings, I think, when I witness similar near death recoveries of family and friends who walked a path of self destruction, a type of walking dead and when they find God, a Higher Power, Jesus the Christ.....they rise from what they once were to absolutely, awe inspiring folks! These special experiences give me hope. Hope that I, too, can be transformed and that when no longer in the flesh here, that I leave a legacy of love...not hurt, not pain, not death!

DESTROY THIS TEMPLE AND I WILL RAISE IT IN 3 DAYS!

Saturday. Good Friday was to remember Jesus died. He spent Saturday in the tomb, basically buried. Saturday was thier Sabbath so what ever they needed to do to 'prepare' His body after death, was post poned until Sunday morning....except that he may have been cleaned up some and wrapped and placed in a tomb belonging to someone else who hadn't died yet. (Which was Ok cuz He wasn't going to be there long and the fella could have had his own tomb back.)

What was that day like? What was it like in a cave tomb, dark, silent, cold? What was going through everyones mind that had been touched by Jesus and did not expect him to die!? What was the air like? Did the sun shine or did it stay cloudy, and dark all day? A forced day of no work, complete rest for some and a day without for the poor. What did everyone do, or say, or did they all stay quiet.? Numb?

I don't know what Jesus experienced that day in that tomb. I sometimes compare His tomb to the 'tombs' I have experience as a victum and some I turned myself in....literally inward, a prison and tomb of sorts, that I often created all by myself. Some very dark and 'grave' moments that kept me buried longer than 1 day. Weeks, even years!

My plea to God is that I never experience those darkened tombs for more than a day anymore. More often I ask why have to experience them at all? No answer yet to that question! Instead, He often teaches me that some plants grow more awesome than before after time in a cool, dark place. Also that Spring always follows the dead of Winter. So one full day in the tomb. One full day to feel down and depressed....then get up, out and move. Believe again. Hope and Love again.

Hm...what was that time in the tomb like. That day the Son of God was not found walking His familiar paths. What was that day like? The shock of such a day I often liken to our September 11, 2001 or even back further when John F. Kennedy was killed....of course there are other events that bring home the 'shock' of the day after Jesus was crucified but soon the dawn of a new day would bring on an experience that is beyond comprehension.

Tomorrow will be the third day.

Good Friday?

A PICTURE CAPTURES MEMORIES OF THAT TIME

This is not a picture of Mom's Sunday chicken dinner but
that's the kitchen she cooked it in and that's the table
and Don, then clockwise: Mark, Carl, myself and Donny,
peeking up at the camera.....and Mom taking the shot. Hm...
this could have been taken on a Friday. But by 1963, there
were not many good days...let alone, a Good Friday!


MEMORIES COME FORWARD WHEN BECKONED.......OR NOT....

So, Good Friday. What does this mean? I was taught that this day is to remember a day when Jesus was crucified. Apparently the good part is, He died with purpose? A sacrifice. A final sacrifice that was to atone for sin. (Good thing too, as there aren't enough animals and birds to sacrifice in present day, for sin, as was required in the Ancient Biblical Times! Or do they still do this in Israel?)God gave his only Son, an Innocent, Pure, put to death for the guilty. A wash. Jesus died for things he didn't do. The Perfect Lamb. And this day is set aside to remember that Sacrifice, the day, Jesus the Christ died.

Good Friday Remembrance was given in an Easter sermon that I actually paid attention to, in my late 20's and had become a regular at the Berean Fundamental Church in Lincoln, NE. I don't remember the sermon, the lesson taught even. I only remember the picture the sermon brought to mind.


*********************
It was a Sunday chicken dinner that Mom had prepared for all of us. My favorite memories are of Mom and her cooking. It wasn't because she was a good cook but more because she was an animated cook. She would dance or sing or goof off and her goofiness was catching.

In this memory, it was a chicken dinner and boy did she make the best fried chicken! She'd get out her favorite frying pan, turn on the radio to Sunday polka music and grab one of us kids to dance polka with, in between turning the chicken. Those were the good ole days, when Mom still laughed and seemed happy. But things would change...or this memory wouldn't have come up during an Easter Sunday sermon.

On this particular Sunday, our step-dad, Don, was home from trucking and was sober. That meant a good day and so my guard was down. I don't remember when or how it came about but I had snitched a big bite off a juicy chicken breast to claim my territory. I put it back on the platter thinking no one would want that juicy tidbit with it's big chunk missing. Well, before we even got to sit down to eat, Don noticed the damage. He claimed personal offense that someone had taken a chunk out of his special piece of chicken! He then demanded from myself and two of my brothers that the guilty party confess.

I didn't know it was his chicken, for if I had, I never would have touched it! Now I was in for it and oh how I didn't want to have to go downstairs! I nearly peed my pants I was so scared and so I blurted out that my brother did it! Yes, that's right, Carl ate that piece of chicken and as I said it, I could see him cringe and try to disappear as he whimpered back that he did not eat ANY chicken. I remember that look of surprise and deep pain in his eyes and that stabbed me deeper than my fear of Don's beating. Why Don beat Carl more often that Mark and I, is still a mystery. And even though I was a mite myself, I knew that Carl wasn't holding up well and....well, knowing he was going to suffer another of Don's beatings made me regret my lie.

I have often, in the years since, wondered if Don had witnessed my act when he instructed me to turn to my little brother and beat him for eating his special piece of chicken. Oh, no...me?!!! I begged not to and even volunteered to go downstairs, but to no avail. As I beat on my brother, innocent of the very act I commited, I sobbed as hard as he was sobbing. But I never confessed....until years later...and.. now.
********************


A few years back, I sat in a garage in Utica, NE with those two brothers and confessed much that had darkened my heart during those early years. I remember Carl telling me as I revealed it was me who ate that piece of chicken, that he had no recollection of that particular memory. He did not remember...but then, he didn't need to, he was innocent.

I was rebaptized in that Berean Church, just after my daughter was born, and walked a stronger Christian walk then I had after baptism at 13. Sermon and memory combinations were very pivital to my understanding of God. They still are. Though now I read the Bible more than I hear a sermon. Unless one wants to count the daily life sermons that, if I'm paying attention, spark a memory and then link a picture and lesson learned..or needing to learn!

So today I will remember. I will remember that Jesus took on all that I've done, do and will do. He also took on what Don had done, is doing and will do. Jesus suffered a beating from the guilty and He asked that I/we be forgiven for doing what He had not done. And then He remembers it no more...like Carl who, to me, seems to have forgiven me by not remembering.

I was haunted by much that Don did to myself and my brothers, especially Carl...but that's a story for another day. Now-a-days, there are moments when I digress into a black hole of whys, or like this, identifying the meaning of Good Friday with that Sunday Fried Chicken memory....and, yet, over the years I've discovered a patient God, Whom has blessed me with tools to transform myself, one day at a time. This God also taught me memories can heal and teach and not be so full of shadows. Today I will try to put to death the shadows and look forward to a rising hope that all will be forgiven, to a time of new beginnings.

TODAY I'LL TAKE A PICTURE THAT CAPTURES THE MEMORY THERE IN AND FREEZES TIME.

Time Out

Need to take a time out and learn some things. I'll be back!!!

Depression

What is depression?
Webster has several definitions but only two fit: sadness and gloom, a period of decline in business activity and employment.
I've known the sadness and gloom for most of my life but didn't understand it to be depression until I was in my mid twenties and even now in my mid fifties I still don't understand it's hold on me. Over the years I've learned some ways to lesson the impact of depression in my life but would welcome a miracle...since this seems to be one of our family quirks and a consequence of sorts. Yes, certain anti-depressants have helped but side effects are worse. Exercise is the best anti-depressant but the required discipline is lost in depressive episodes. I wish to improve my control on depression. I wish to be a miracle.
Sad though, we are now in a period of decline in business activity and employment and that has an added impact on the sadness and gloom known as depression. The battle is on. The attacks are coming from all sides. To survive, here too, one must believe in miracles.
What is a miracle?
Webster defines such as a supernatural act or effect.
Now does one wait for such an act or effect or are there steps to render depression of soul and life less destructive until a miracle is served?