Scenes from Graduation '09

Announcing the graduation of Kathleen Kristi Lynn Selden from South Christian High School, Grand Rapids, Michigan, on May 21, 2009. The graduate plans to attend Cornerstone University, Grand Rapids, in the fall, where she will major in humanities (where all the jobs are, of course!).





The four-year choir student joined her fellow graduating choir students in a lovely rendition of "The Lord Bless You and Keep You" during the graduation ceremony.





It was a lovely May evening, and after the ceremony the graduates celebrated outside with family and friends. Here, our favorite graduate receives the congratulations of her brother Jonathan. It was a wonderful, happy evening!

A Different Dream for My Child

This evening, I will witness my older child achieving what, for most parents, is an important but minimal dream: graduation from high school. While I'm proud of her and her accomplishments and I'm thankful that she has taken great advantage of her educational opportunities this far, graduating from high school has become a very achievable goal for most young people--more so than in the past, even in my grandparents' days--and you don't hear many parents saying, "I'll just be thrilled when he/she graduates from high school." Many parents are hoping for more than a high school diploma for their children, me among them.

What happens, though, when that common, ordinary dream is unachievable for some reason? Perhaps a child has a disability, a disease--or even a terminal illness? What, then, can a parent hope for?

I've become most aware through my friend Alicia, whose son was born with Down syndrome and other serious health problems, that for some parents, dreams have to be adjusted. Perhaps the dream becomes that a child will live long enough to graduate from high school; learn to sit up; go for more than six months without a hospitalization. The achievement of these dreams may result in just as much happiness for these parents as those of us with "normal" kids experience when we see them with that high school diploma.

This is the subject of a book that DHP is publishing, to be released sometime late summer or early fall. It's entitled A Different Dream for My Child: Meditations for Parents of Critically or Chronically Ill Children, and the author is Jolene Philo, whose son was born with esophageal defects that required several surgeries during his childhood and into his teens. He was airlifted to a hospital several hours away from home just a few hours after his birth, and Jolene writes from a heart of compassion molded by personal experience. I had the great opportunity of proofreading this title, and the following passage is one of my favorites. It's rare that the meditations are humorous as this one is, yet all offer hope and understanding. This will be one of those books you can give to someone going through a difficult time with a child when you're not sure what else to do. I'll try to remember to alert you when it's available. It's a great read even if you have healthy kids, and it will help you understand (a little) what life is like for those who live with this trial.

The Shirt off Her Back

Every desirable and beneficial gift comes out of heaven. The gifts are rivers of light cascading down from the Father of Light.

James 1:17


I was too shocked to thank the elderly woman who gave me an unforgettable gift during Allen’s first hospital stay. The woman and her middle-aged son lived near the hospital. In those pre-Ronald McDonald House days, they rented rooms to parents like us. She was short and slight, with thin, papery skin stretched over birdlike bones. Her son looked like Tim Conway, but lacked the comedian’s sense of humor.

Our landlady nodded when we left each morning and asked about our baby when we returned each evening. Her son, on the other hand, wasn’t a big conversationalist. On the morning Hiram told him we’d locked our keys in the car, the wordless gentleman grabbed a coat hanger and walked to the side of the street where we had parked. His mom tagged along.

Cars whizzed by as the pinch-faced landlord hunted for a place to slip the bent hanger through and pull up the lock button. But the large windows were shut tight. The fly window on the front passenger door was open a crack, but he couldn’t generate enough upward pull to lift the lock button.

Hiram pushed the small window open as far as possible, stuck his hand in, and strained toward the button. But his arm, too wide for the opening, wouldn’t quite reach. Our imitation Tim Conway, smaller than my husband, gave it a try. No go. Hiram turned to me. “Think you can reach it?” I tried, but even my arm was too wide. Right about then I succumbed to my inner panic, certain we would have to pay some locksmith to retrieve the keys, certain the breast milk I’d just pumped would go sour before it got to the hospital, certain I wouldn’t see my baby that day.

Then our elderly landlady elbowed past me. “My arms are skinny. Let me try.” She slid her arm through the window slot until her fingers were within millimeters of the lock button. Then she withdrew her wrinkled arm. “My shirt is in the way. I’ll just take it off.”

Before we could say a word, she whipped off her shirt, handed it to her son, and stuck a bare arm through the fly window. “But, Ma!” he protested. “Ma, put your shirt on. Ma!” He flapped his arms and turned in a circle.

His mother crammed her torso, clad only in a dingy brassier with elastic straps so old they fought a losing battle with gravity, against the car and reached for the button. Her fingertips brushed against it, but couldn’t close around it.

“Ma!” Her son continued to turn in circles. “Put your shirt on, Ma.”

“But I’ve almost got it.”

“No, please,” Hiram interrupted, his face flaming red. “Your son’s right. Put on your shirt.”

Finally she did put her shirt on, and her son took her by the arm. “One more try and I would have gotten it,” I heard her say as her son pushed her across the lawn.

I don’t remember how Hiram got the car unlocked. I was too shocked by the gift I received from an elderly mother who sensed my panic, my need to be with my son. In my shock, I forgot to tell her thank you. But I’m sure she knew I was grateful, because her son had been a baby once, too. That’s why she gave me the shirt off her back.

Somewhere in your lonely hospital world, someone who understands your hurt is willing to give you the shirt off her back. And when the offer comes, I hope you recognize the source of such a sacrificial gift. It comes from the Father of Lights. He also has a Son—a Son who was a baby once, too.




If you want to read more about Jolene, her life, and her books, visit her blog here.

The Merry, Merry Month of May

Lately, I feel like I'm trapped in one of those revolving doors, and there's no getting out of it--at least until after the first weekend of June, when we'll finally put Katie's high school career to rest with her graduation open house. And while I'd like to pause and have a good look at what's going on, it's all passing by like a blur. It's a combination of end-of-the-year school activities and just some miscellaneous May madness.

This is what last week looked like:

*Monday: We had a minister friend from California over for dinner--one of two dinners we had at home last week. He was here in Grand Rapids to take a seminary course, so it was a good opportunity to get together. It was a delightful evening and good start to the week.

*Tuesday: Tuesday was actually a free night, with no planned activities. Honestly, I can't remember what happened.

*Wednesday: We attended a convocation service where seniors who were good students received various awards for their high school activities. Katie was acknowledged for her participation in drama, for the dean's scholarship she is receiving from Cornerstone University, for her good grades, and I think there was something else, but that was almost a week ago, and I'm having difficulty remembering things that were more than five minutes ago right now.

*Thursday: We attended a dinner for Westminster Seminary (CA). It was a nice evening, and we were seated at a table with good company. Dr. Godfrey, the president, was the speaker, and he's always interesting to listen to.

Friday: We attended the Playbills at South Christian. At the end of the school year, after the musical, seniors who have been active in drama during their high school careers have an opportunity to direct their own plays. Katie and her friend Sarah directed The Adventures of Molly Malloy. This meant that they chose the play, cast it, ran rehearsals, pulled together all the costumes, designed the set--basically everything the teacher-directors normally do. Katie has acted in Playbills before, but this was her first opportunity to direct, and she and Sarah and their cast did an excellent job. It was a great learning experience, and it left her ending her high school career on a definite high note. The other two plays were good as well. In fact, these were the best Playbills I've seen since Katie has been a student at South.

Saturday: Henry and I tried hard to get Katie and one of her friends to use the tickets we reserved for the Master Arts Theater production of The Screwtape Letters. But they had other things to do, and even though we were exhausted, we went ahead. But we were so glad we did. As usual, the script, the acting, the set were all excellent, and since both Henry and I are C. S. Lewis fans, we marvelled again at the creativity and insight of this great Christian author. One bonus was arriving and finding out that one of my co-workers was playing the role of Satan, which actually creeped me out a little.

Sunday: Besides all the usual church-related activities, Sunday night was the spring choir concert. It was two hours long since it ended up being the only concert of the year. The choir director had surgery at Christmas time, when there usually is another concert. As I sat and listened, I felt a little sad realizing that there would be no more high school choir concerts. Afterwards, I saw one of Katie's senior friends crying, and I asked Katie, "Aren't you just a little bit sad? I'm a little bit sad." "Not at all," she said. And I'm pretty sure that she wasn't.

And so this whole uncreative posting is a result of the fact that I've been way too busy to think. In the past I've had whole years when I haven't seen this much activity. This week shouldn't be quite so chaotic, and I'm hoping that the revolving door will stop long enough for me to enjoy Katie's graduation on Thursday night, when I will probably be a little bit sad and Katie will not.

Potato Peel Book

Dear Miss Ashton,

My name is Dawsey Adams, and I live on my farm in St. Martin's Parish on Guernsey. I know of you because I have an old book that once belonged to you--the Selected Essays of Elia, by an author whose name in real life was Charles Lamb. Your name and address were written inside the front cover.

Dawsey Adams, Amelia, Kit, Juliet, Isola, Eben--all of these are the fascinating characters created by Mary Ann Shaffer, whose work was completed by co-author Annie Barrows, in The Guernsey Literary and Potato Peel Pie Society. I won't say much, because this is piece of fiction so worth reading, and I wouldn't want to spoil it for someone out there who plans to take it up.

Shaffer takes the reader back to a time before e-mails, Tweets, and blogs, when letter writing was really the most frequently used form of communication, which is a hard thing for us to imagine now. In fact, this is a whole novel composed of letters from different characters in the novel to each other.

It is 1946, and World War II has just ended. Juliet is a young writer living in London. She's trying to decide what to write next when she receives the above quoted letter from Dawsey Adams. In the rest of his letter, Dawsey asks Juliet if she could possibly find more books by Charles Lamb and send them to him.

And this is the beginning of the correspondence between Juliet and the members of the Guernsey Literary and Potato Peel Pie Society, because Dawsey is not the only resident who has developed a love for literature during the German occupation of his beloved home. The book club, formed as an alibi to protect its members during the German occupation, has become much more than an alibi, as the members discover the value of literature and its transforming effect during a very bleak time in their lives. And yes, there is an explanation for the name of the society, but you'll have to read the book to find out.

What an intriguing way to write a novel and to create characters, revealing their traits through their own accounts and also through the accounts of others. One exceptional moment occurs when a member of the society asks Juliet for character references. Juliet responds by sending a recommendation from a minister who is fond of her and from a person who dislikes her. Juliet explains, "Between the two of them, you may get a fair picture of my character." And we do.

Perhaps my only disappointment with this novel was the inclusion of a homosexual character, something that seems to be an unwritten rule these days. To be fair, the author treats the matter discreetly, as it would have been treated discreetly in 1946. And the character's sexual orientation does serve to explain an important relational issue between two of the characters that probably would have been difficult, although not impossible, to explain otherwise. But there are really no details about the character's homosexual lifestyle, and the inclusion of a gay character doesn't detract from the overall marvel that this book is.

So if you're looking for something charming, witty, intelligent, creative, and touching to read, pick this one up. You will not be disappointed.

Al McIntosh's War

World War II is a frequent topic in our house, especially with the two men in my life, both of whom are history buffs. I've been reading The Guernsey Literary and Potato Peel Pie Society and loving it, and I would definitely recommend it to fiction lovers. It's set in England just after World War II, and much of the story deals with the characters' recounting of their experiences living on Guernsey Island when it was occupied by the Germans during the war.

So it's not surprising that one morning this week while Henry was waiting for me to come downstairs for breakfast, he picked up one of Jonathan's favorite books, The War, by Geoffrey C. Ward and Ken Burns. He read this brief passage from the book and had to share it with me. And now I'm sharing it with you. This brief account comes from Al McIntosh, an editor of a small-town newspaper in Luverne, Minnesota, at the time of the war. On April 26, 1945, he wrote about an incident he observed while he was waiting for a train in Milwaukee.

He watched as an MP walked up to a soldier standing at a ticket window. He couldn't see well--a pillar was blocking his view--but he thought that the MP was frisking the soldier, for liquor perhaps. With a grim face, though, the MP then walked away from the soldier. McIntosh was puzzled about what was happening until the young soldier turned from the window and walked past him.

April 26, 1945. A lot of us are chronic complainers but I learned my lesson last week . . . [The soldier] was a kid about 22, chin up with a big smile on his face and his chest covered with sevice ribbons. And then I knew what the MP had been doing at the window. He had been putting the soldier's ticket and change in his blouse pocket. The boy had no hands, you see, just two steel hooks, instead. And I said to myself, then, "McIntosh, if you ever complain again about 'having your hands full' when that kid can grin without any hands, then you ought to be kicked."

from The War, p. 426

The greatest generation indeed . . .

Thinking Right Side Up

In recent years, I've noticed that I've started to think differently about many things. In my more pious moments, I chalk it up to the sanctifying work of the Holy Spirit. Sometimes I think it's my getting older, becoming more mature. I do hope, though, as I think differently about many things, that I'm coming closer to the goal of "taking every thought captive to make it obedient to Christ," as the apostle Paul tells us in 2 Corinthians 5. I fell in love with this verse and this concept when I was a college student; it gripped me back then, and it has never let go, even though I fail this lofty goal daily.

It strikes me how often the Bible surprises us as God's providential hand puts an unexpected twist on events. In the Old Testament, God wanted His people to trust Him. Most nations put their hope in chariots, but they were told to trust in the name of the Lord their God. In fact, they were often defeated when they turned to some other source for aid. So many times, the ending of the story was very different from what we would expect: Pharaoh and his mighty army with chariots and horses drowning in the Red Sea while the more humble Israel walked through on dry ground; the young boy David killing the giant warrior Goliath with a slingshot and a few stones; the angel of the Lord annihilating the mighty army of the Assyrian King Sennacherib as they threatened to destroy Jerusalem with its King Hezekiah. God delights in showing His strength in weakness, it seems.

And in the New Testament, again, we read the statements of Christ and the apostles that remind us, time and again, that things just aren't as we'd think. This past year the women's Bible study I attend studied the Beatitudes in Matthew 5, a whole list of things that will make us blessed, or happy, like being poor in spirit, mourning our sinfulness, being meek, being filled when we hunger and thirst after righteousness, being merciful and pure in heart, being peacemakers, suffering persecution. Not the things most people would name if you asked them what would make them happy.

Paul is great at throwing out these kinds of paradoxes: the message of the cross is foolish to those who are perishing, but the power of God for those who are being saved; dying is gain; that while he wants to do good, he keeps on doing evil; that it is the people who did not seek God (the Gentiles) who found Him because He revealed Himself to those who did not ask for Him.

Most of us who are Christians recognize that we are aliens and strangers in this world, peculiar people, as one older translation of the Bible puts it. We easily identify the obvious worldly patterns that eventually bring destruction to those who don't know God. We understand that material wealth and possessions won't ultimately fulfill; that faithfulness in marriage is not only our obligation but the true path to a peaceful and productive married life; that practices of the night like drunkenness and riotous living are not acceptable behaviors for children of the light.

As I was considering how very different my thought patterns as a Christian are from non-Christians, I realized that to think truly Christianly about our lives is to be the opposite of nearly everything the world advises us. In fact, I thought, we think upside down from conventional wisdom. And then I also realized that the One who created this world is the One who has told us how we ought to think, has provided the standard for truth. So when we take every thought captive to be obedient to Christ, in fact, we're thinking right side up, like the One who made us.

The challenge, though, is to continue to consider those places in our lives where we are still thinking upside down, those less obvious areas where our minds aren't quite captive yet. How is it that we countercultural Christians are supposed to look? How peculiar are we supposed to be? Look for future posts that consider these questions.

Song of a Longing Heart

This past week marked my fourth anniversary as an editor at Discovery House Publishers, and I must say that they are the happiest career-related years I have ever had. What a blessing God gave me when my friend and fellow blogger, Jewels, called me up one day to tell me about the editor position she had seen at RBC in the paper (we both thought it was at Reformed Bible College). In these troubled times when so many are losing their jobs, I am extra thankful not just to have a job, but to have a job I love, working with people I have come to love.

The first task I was given in those early days was to proofread a book that was just about ready to be published. It was a book by one of our excellent DHP authors, David Roper. What a writer! I couldn't believe I was actually being paid to work on stuff like his Song of a Longing Heart, a popular commentary on the Song of Solomon. I revisited it briefly this week and had a hard time narrowing an excerpt down to a few paragraphs because it is such a great book, as I've learned that all of Roper's books are. Anyway, here are a few paragraphs from the first proofreading assigment I had as an editor at DHP.

Here [Ephesians 5:31–32] Paul clearly links marital sexual intimacy with spiritual intimacy with God. One is a representation and reflection of the other. Thus, I say, sex is holy, an eloquent expression of our profound, inexpressible hunger for God, a passionate urge to merge with the object of our love and ultimately with the God who loves us as no human lover can.

That longing—to know God and experience His love—originates with God. It is His calling, His wooing that awakens us to desire. Indeed, we would not seek Him if He did not first seek us. Our longing for intimacy and union is the answering cry of our hearts to His call. ‘Even when men knock on the door of a brothel,’ said G. K. Chesterton, ‘they are looking for God.’ That hunger may be masked and distorted and misunderstood, but it is undeniably there.

Thus marital love and sex is good, but not as good as it gets, which is why God has placed limits on the depth of all human relationships. Our need for intimacy always outstrips the capacity of another human being to satisfy it. We will always betray another’s love in one way or another. This is what Original Sin means: no one is completely trustworthy; no one will always ‘keep covenant.’ We will always let one another down . . .

That hunger—for something beyond human love—is the way God leads us to His love. In each of us there is a deep and holy place reserved for Him alone, a place that no one else, not even the greatest human lover, can ever fill. We draw near to God to find final affection.

David Roper, Song of a Longing Heart: Fresh Insights on Song of Solomon