Tale of Two Sisters

“Always encourage and help one another." ~ 1 Thessalonians 5:11

Ninety-two degrees with oppressive humidity; not what you’d call optimal conditions for the Olympic-distance NYC Triathlon.  Rebecca was one of a select few vying for spots on the U.S. Olympic team.  

She’d already finished a 1.5K swim, bicycled 40 kilometers and was nearing the end of a 10K run through Central Park.  It was only a matter of time before she’d start bawling.  Her sentiments were of another competitor - her twin sister Laurel.

One morning while enjoying a summer weekend with friends on the Jersey Shore, Laurel woke up with a sore neck.  She thought it was just the kind of stiffness one would expect from sleeping on the floor, or at least lingering stiffness from running, swimming and training so much.  Extensive tests confirmed a heartbreaking diagnosis: Hodgkin’s lymphoma.

Rebeccah, knowing her sister would have a rough time, moved from Washington, D.C. to Laurel’s New York apartment to cheer her sister through six months of chemotherapy.  Before then, they’d been together their entire lives - in the womb, as toddlers, on numerous youth softball and basketball teams, as swim and cross-country teammates, and virtually every single day through their high school graduations.  So on days when Laurel underwent chemo, Rebeccah worked out until she was utterly exhausted.  It was her way of sharing Laurel’s pain.

As Rebeccah was doing hard interval workouts and tempo runs in Central Park, Laurel was getting crushed by heavy doses of powerful chemicals.  As Rebeccah was increasing her long runs, Laurel’s hair was falling out in clumps.  As Rebeccah was hanging out with other healthy young people who were energized about life and their upcoming races, Laurel was getting treatments at the Cancer Center with patients much older than her.  And as Rebeccah was starting to get super-fit and discovering her hidden endurance abilities, the sickly, energy-starved Laurel was suffering the debilitating effects of noxious chemicals assaulting her body.

After two hours of swimming, biking and running, Rebeccah Wassner, accountant and successful triathlete crossed the finish line, the first woman to do so.  Nothing unusual there – she was the defending champion after all.

But it was the runner-up, with a time of 2:02:16, however, that caused  Rebeccah’s pulse to quicken and tears to flow uncontrollably.  Laurel Wassner, Rebeccah’s twin sister - younger by five minutes, crossed the finish line in second place, becoming the first professional triathlete to overcome cancer.

Though they’d only been separated by a little over two hours, theirs was a soulful reunion.  For it was Rebeccah who’d been the motivating catalyst behind her twin sister’s racing career.  And it was Laurel who taught her older sister that the only way to experience life is by looking forward.

God give me faith in myself.    Not only on the days when I am going great and winning and nothing seems impossible, but on days when I wonder if I am brave enough, smart enough, strong enough.  Don't let me quit, not ever.  Amen

Lest They Be Forgotten

“Your silent tents of green, we deck with fragrant flowers.  Yours has been the suffering, the memory shall be ours." ~ Longfellow

Twas a pleasant Sunday afternoon in the fall of 1864.  Nestled within the Allegany’s scenic foothills lay a quaint colonial village known for contributing the highest number of volunteers per capita to the Union army.

A pretty teenage girl named Emma Hunter and her friend Sophie Keller gathered some flowers to place on the grave of Emma’s father.  Dr. Reuben Hunter, whose body was buried in the Boalsburg cemetery, had died of yellow fever while treating wounded soldiers only a few weeks before.

Along the way the girls met Mrs. Elizabeth Myers.  Her young son, Amos, had been killed during the Battle of Gettysburg and was buried in the same graveyard.  Learning where the girls were heading, Mrs. Myers asked to join them. 

The young girls and their new friend knelt at both graves: a tearful girl honoring her officer father, a mother paying respects to her enlisted-man son, each with a basket of flowers which she had picked so carefully and lovingly. 

Mrs. Myers spoke proudly about what a fine young man her son had been; how he’d left the family farm when the War broke out and fought bravely for the Union Army.

The daughter respectfully placed a few of her flowers on the son’s grave.  His mother in turn laid some of her freshly cut posies on the father’s grave.  Weeping in that burial ground where Mount Nittany guards those fallen heroes, mutual sorrow sealed their friendship.

They agreed to meet again the following year, not only to honor their own two loved ones, but others who might have no one left to pray at their lonely graves.  During the months that followed, they discussed their idea with friends and villagers.

The following year, what had been planned as a little informal meeting of two women turned into a community service.  All Boalsburg was gathered there, a clergyman preached a sermon, and every grave in the little cemetery was decorated with flowers and flags; not a single one was neglected.

It seemed such a fitting way of remembering those who had died that it became an annual event in Boalsburg.  Soon neighboring communities adopted a similar plan of observing “Decoration Day” each spring.

It’s first ‘official’ recognition came on May 30, 1868, when Gen. John Logan, National Commander of the Army of the Republic, proclaimed it as a day to decorate the graves of Civil War soldiers at Arlington National Cemetery. 

By 1890 it was recognized by all the northern states.  The South honored their dead on separate days until after World War I, when the holiday changed to honor any American soldier who had died in defense of this country.  Memorial Day had been celebrated in every state on the last Monday in May since 1971.

Teach us, Lord, the best way to pay an unpayable debt is to show with our lives that we didn’t forget.  Amen

Puddles in the Rain

“He’s as gentle and fruitful as springtime rains that cleanse the earth.” ~ Psalm 72:6

Oliver was tired of making cookies; he’d made them every day.  After nearly a week of cold rain, he was ready for some snow.  At least you could go sledding, or make snow angels, or just feel snowflakes melt on your nose.  “Mom,” he whined, “Why can’t we go outside?”

Interesting question, she thought.  Oliver had always been so inquisitive for his age.  She often took him outside only in good weather, forgetting that 4-year olds are waterproof.  Clothes and shoes and kids dry out eventually.

“Great idea!” Mom replied.  “Go upstairs and put your boots and raincoat on.  There’s no good reason why we can’t go to the park and play in the rain.”

Oliver sprinted for his closet.  He especially loved putting on his boots “by himself.”

They drove to the park.  It wasn’t a heavy rain; just enough so that Mom took the extra precautions necessary when roads are slick and wet.

Upon arrival, Oliver waited impatiently as Mom undid his car seat belt.  He dashed for a mud puddle with the zeal of a prospector discovering fresh gold.  He splashed and giggled      . . . and giggled and splashed some more.  There’s something about a hole filled with muddy water that screams “I’m fun!  Jump in me!” to little ones.

“Mom,” Oliver shouted.  “It’s different here in the rain.  I think rain looks like tears from the cloud’s eyes.  It’s cool on my face, too."

“You’re right Oliver,” Mom said.  “Rainfall brings new life and reminds us that God cares for us by cleaning the earth.”

Mom gave Oliver plenty of time to explore on his own.  To keep their rain adventure fun, she suggested that they head home after about 30 minutes before her boy got cold and soaked.

Heading home, the rain fell harder, blurring the windshield despite the frantic slashing of the wiper blades.

Silence was broken by a tiny voice from the backseat.  "Mom, I'm thinking of something!"

That declaration usually meant he’d been pondering some fact for a while, and was now ready to share all that his youthful mind had discovered.   “What are you thinking?" she asked eagerly.

"The rain," he began, "is like sin.  And the windshield wipers are like God wiping our sins away."

Chills raced up her arms like an electric current.  "That's really smart, Oliver."

Curiosity flared.  How far would this little boy take his discovery?  So she asked . . . "Do you notice how the rain keeps on coming?  What does that tell you?"

Oliver didn't hesitate one nanosecond before responding: "We keep sinning, and God just keeps on forgiving us."  Out of the mouth of babes!

“God made the seas, and God made the bees.  He made the sun all big and bright, and twinkly stars to shine at night.  Little one, oh yes it’s true.  God made them all and God made you.”  (“God Makes Everything” by Sandra McCracken)

That Voice

"Come now and let’s reason together, says the Lord." ~ Isiah 1:18

Its sign was bright and inviting, unlike the junk on display.  Everything was sprawled across the front yard; it looked like someone had tried to create some semblance of order, then gave up.  After finding a place to park, Laura pulled in and moseyed back towards the sale.

Bonnie, the old woman running the sale sat in a deck chair, holding a small blanket to her face; as if she weren’t sure she should put the price tag on it.

Laura found it perversely exciting; rummaging through intimate memories which defined childhoods, marriages, and vocations.  All bearing themselves for the world to paw through.

She went to ‘work’ sifting through boxes of slightly stained baby clothes, rusted tools and ancient hardbacks, seeing nothing of value.  Just before calling it quits, she spied a collection of old LP’s (translation for teens: LP’s or Vinyls predated MP3’s, CD’s, Cassettes and 8 Tracks). 

The sales tag read $10.

This collection seemed like a really good deal since most of LPs were more than a half-century old.  There could be a small fortune lurking among those dusty old recordings.

Laura handed Bonnie a crisp $10 bill, rejecting the temptation to offer something less. 

This seemingly innocent purchase turned into a gold mine.  Careful research and targeted marketing netted Laura more than $1,800 in profits.

Then that little voice in her head started talking.  You know the one – that annoying Voice that we trust in uncertain times like a Guardian Angel. 

She ignored it. 

Accurate pricing is not my responsibility, she reasoned.  When the Seller places something on a table at a yard sale with a sticker on it that means they agree to sell it for that price.  If the Buyer thinks that’s a good deal – and in this case, Laura certainly did – then the buyer has every right to pay that price and attempt to earn a profit on it.

But the Voice wouldn’t be still.  It’d become a constant companion now.  

Janice touched her face, it felt moist.  “Leave me alone!” she yelled.  “It’s my choice!”

Weeks later, Bonnie received an envelope in the mail stuffed with $900 in cash and a note that said, “A few weeks back I bought a box of old LPs at your garage sale for $10.  I sold those records on eBay for $1,800 and I figured you deserved half.”

As Christians, we created that Voice and gave it great authority and power over our choices and trust it to be right.  We don’t live without a model or in isolation.  When we commit ourselves to Christ, He graciously implanted a powerful ally in the battle against sin; a gift that brings both joy and freedom.

God of conscience and God of courage, steer us through this maze of spiritual confusion and public uncertainty. Lead us beyond ourselves to care and protect, to nourish and shape, to challenge and energize both the life and the world You gave us.  Amen

Against All Odds

“God gave each of you a gift.  Use them well." ~ 1 Peter 4:10

Gatorade quenched her thirst, but didn’t cool her focus.  Competition at today’s state high school track meet was hotter than the outside temperature.  Now at 8 feet, the crossbar was set three inches higher than Aria’s personal best.

Completing her stretching exercises, she rolled over and did a few push-ups for good luck.  She found her pole, stood and stepped onto the runway.  A trickle of cold sweat ran down her back.  

Arai banished the tension from her body.  She was in her ‘zone’ now.  Only the sweet sound of robins chirping in the distance broke the silence.  It was her time to ‘fly.’

She took a deep breath and began sprinting down the runway.  It felt wonderfully familiar - like the aromatic pines that lined the country road near her home. 

Planting the pole in the ‘box seamlessly, she started her ascent. Her take-off was effortless.  Everything seemed to be moving in slow motion.  Aria was soaring with the splendor of an eagle.

Over the crossbar, she pushed away her pole.  But her elbow caught the crossbar knocking it off the standard.  Her first attempt at 9 feet failed. 

But Aria knew SHE was not a failure.

She’d only been vaulting for about 6 weeks.  Even more impressive however, was the fact that Aria Ottmueller, a 17-year-old Valley Christian High School junior was legally blind.

On overcast days, Ottmueller couldn’t see anything.  Having no peripheral vision or depth perception, she relied on basic shapes and other senses.  None of that stopped her from pursuing her athletic ambitions – gymnastics, cheerleading, horse jumping, and now pole vaulting.

So how does a person with so little sight learn a skill most regular folks lack the coordination to?  Memory and meticulous repetition.

Ottmueller can’t see much of anything when she's pole vaulting.  Not her approach, not the bar she's trying to clear or the mattress she'll land on - nada.   Instead, she counts the steps on her approach to a jump, and from that knows when to plant the pole.

When questioned, Aria insists that it was just the next thing she wanted to try, the next thing her blindness wouldn't keep her from at least attempting.  That's all she hopes others take from her story.  "Before you say you can't do it, at least try it!  Then figure out another way around an obstacle in order to achieve your goal."

God gave each of us unique abilities, talents, and gifts.  Whether you’re a musician or an engineer; an athlete or a cook, God gave you those abilities to inspire others.   He’s testing you to see how you’re going to use the talents He gave you.  Use the well.

Lord, You gave each of us the ability to do certain things well.  Help us to remember that these gifts we have received are not ours alone.  You gave them to us for the purpose of serving You and serving other people.  Amen

Deserves the Best

“A happy heart makes the face cheerful." ~ Proverbs 15:13

It had been a magical wedding – eloquent, yet simple and inexpensive.  But then again, they were an enchanting couple – confident; both unpretentious and oh so humble.

Marc and Daryl tied the knot in her parent’s backyard near NY’s Finger Lakes region.  Everything was modest, but gorgeous and filled with meaning.  Family and friends were mostly from the NYC area, so getting out "into the country" was a treat in itself.

The ceremony took place on the back porch of an old farm house turned B&B.  A local bluegrass band played up-tempo love songs in three-part harmony.  Friends lent antique china sets, so that every place setting was unique.  Wildflowers filled simple mason jars as centerpieces.

It was everything a wedding should be - a celebration of love and family.  Not a display of how much money you have and were willing to spend, and how popular you are with a huge guest list. It was absolutely perfect.

After the reception, Daryl waved to the crowd of well-wishers as she strolled through the garden to the horse-drawn buggy that would take them to a place where privacy and romance would define their new life together.  As Marc helped his new bride into the carriage, a little boy approached him.  His pace was deliberate; his smile endearing.

"Sir, what are you going to do with your flower?"  At first Marc didn’t know what the lad was talking about, but then he understood.   "Do you mean this?" pointing to the coral rose pinned to the lapel of his coat.

"Yes sir,” he said.  “If you’re just going to throw it away, I’d like to give it to my granny.  I’ve been living with her since my parents got divorced a few years ago.  She’s been so good to me that I wanna give her that pretty flower for loving me."

When the boy finished, Marc could hardly speak.  His eyes filled with tears shed from the depths of his soul.  As he reached to unpin his boutonniere, Daryl looked at the boy and said, "Son, that’s the nicest thing I’ve ever heard.  But you can't have his flower - it's not enough.”

Looking down at her bridal bouquet of stunning wildflowers, she extended them toward the adorable child.  She said with all the love that she felt on this, her special day: “Please take these flowers to your granny instead, because she deserves the very best!"

After thanking them both, the boy curtsied before running off with his cherished gift.  He was blessed by their kindness, and soon his granny would be too.

A freshly picked flower represents fleeting beauty and life, and reminds us to live every moment before it’s gone.  You can’t buy happiness . . . but you can create it.

Lord Jesus, help me to be cheerful when things go wrong; persevering when things are difficult; serene when things are irritating; kind to those in difficulties; and sympathetic to those whose hearts are sad.  Amen

Found But Not Lost

“When I’m afraid, I put my trust in you Lord." ~ Psalm 56:3

Today was not her day!   Mae had lost her wallet.  “No worries, it’s around the house somewhere” she said to herself.

With that, Mae went to all the typical wallet “hiding” spots - her jacket, office, dirty laundry and even the kid’s toy box.  Still nowhere to be found.  As she remembered using it the night before, there weren’t many options for where it could be.

Usually Mae was a positive person, but a feeling of terror started to well up in the pit of her stomach.   Like most people, she carried her life in her wallet: family photos, ID cards, Driver’s License, pre-paid gift cards, credit and debit cards and of course cash - over $300.

Assuming the worse, beads of sweat formed on Mae’s forehead.   Her mind raced.  She ransacked the house, both cars, and scowered the yard - twice.  Nothing!    

She even searched less probable locations: places where her wallet probably shouldn’t be, but could be.  Maybe she’d been interrupted and left it near a door, in the kitchen, or in the bathroom.  No luck.  Nada!

The longer her wallet remained missing, panic tightened its paralyzing grip.  Covered in sweat, on the verge of hyperventilation, Mae shook with anxiety.  What now?!? 

She picked up a rosary and touched the crucifix.  To her, the 1,200 year-old ritual was a form of both prayer and meditation – just what she needed to calm her emotions.  She managed several slow, deep breaths.   “Hail Mary,” she began, knowing firsthand the power of the prayers said upon these simple beads.   She ended with the customary “Hail Holy Queen.”

Just before picking up the phone to cancel her bank and credit cards, the doorbell rang.  It was the homeless guy who hung out down the block.  Sun-weathered cheeks spilled into a distinct beard: straw-like, unkempt and spittle flecked.  He smiled through yellow teeth.

Gnarled fingers held up Mae’s driver’s license.  “I recognized your picture,” he said.  You’re one of the few people who’s given me loose change and leftovers.  This was my opportunity to return the favor.”  He handed her the wallet with everything intact, including $322 in cash. 

The relief was so great Mae went weak at the knees, not knowing whether to laugh or cry.  Of course he got a nice tip.

I’m not saying that God deliberately caused Mae to lose her wallet but I’m quite sure that He uses predicaments like this to teach us valuable lessons.  We’ve all had plenty of experiences like this over the years, but few have learned to live at peace when they happen.  Joy can rule in our hearts in every situation when our confidence is in the Lord and not in our possessions!

“Hail Mary, full of grace, the Lord is with thee: blessed art thou among women, and blessed is the fruit of thy womb, Jesus. Holy Mary, Mother of God, pray for us sinners, now and at the hour of our death.”  Amen