Lost in New York

I file behind my small group, trying to fit into the subway. It's March. I'm in New York. It's freezing.

I can't believe I got to go. It was a trip that came almost out of nowhere. I was preparing to go home for Spring Break and was approached about an opportunity to attend a conference- in New York! A city I'd always heard about, seen on the news and in movies- that's where all the superheros live, you know. And there are taxis! I mean, I've seen a few taxis in my lifetime, but not as many or as yellow as they are in New York.

The conference was fun. We sat and listened to people pray and sing and preach and teach. We were given a few hours to tour the city and my mentor, Sonia, and her husband were our tour guides. About a dozen of us filed out of the Soul Saving Station in Harlem, NY and headed for the subway. We passed the Apollo Theater on the way. I had no idea where we were, exactly, but I didn't worry about it since I was with a group. I should have. I'm always careful now.

The day was a blur- we didn't have time to do everything so we pretty much looked as we walked, rarely stopping. I saw the Statue of Liberty, the Bull from Wall Street (I think it's been sold and moved since then), Ground Zero, the Rockerfeller Center, Times Square, went inside the Trump building and the Apple Store, walked through a corner of Central Park while eating a hotdog, passed a couple of beautiful churches, and several other famous places that I would have to google the names of because I am no New York expert. It was while we were walking past Tiffany's that we heard the CRASH. We stopped on the sidewalk and stared at the intersection. A taxi cab had just slammed into the back of a VERY nice car. Car doors were thrown open, a couple of policemen came running and it was very loud. The New York accent is pretty strong when they're upset. One of the last places we browsed through was Chinatown- where I was forced to buy a purse.*

Finally, we were all exhausted from walking all afternoon and on a schedule to get back for the next session. However, we caught rush hour traffic. I had put my purse into my friend Serge's backpack since I was wearing my Mom's snow jacket. It's hard to carry a purse when you have a few extra inches (a foot!) of padding where your arm used to be... So there I was, waiting to get in when suddenly I knew- there was NO more room on the subway and all of my group was on board. Glancing down to my left I saw Serge and a few more from our group just stepping into the next car. Suddenly I had the speed and agility of Spiderman himself as I raced down to the next car. I could see there was going to be no room for me. The subway was about to leave and Serge was just putting his first leg into the car when I grabbed the handle of his backpack in terror.


***************

We interrupt this moment to point out a few things you may not have noticed

a) I don't know where I am or where I'm going

b) My money and phone are in Serge's backpack

c) I have a very big fear of crowds and New York has LOTS of people

d) I am panicking

Ok, now that you have the facts, let's continue.

****************


With my newfound strength I hauled Serge backwards off that subway. Thankfully, Serge is goodnatured. I didn't knock him down so he was fine, just a little disoriented. He too now realized that we were both not going to fit on the subway and then the doors closed. We waved at the friends in that car and then at the friends in the next car as they sped past us saying something and making motions I couldn't hear or understand. Serge had the good sense to remember where we came from and also had a map so he knew which subway we needed to catch. We took the very next one. It was almost empty. We both sat down and stared at the subway tiles flashing by and the occasional OLD wooden walls...I can definitely understand why so many people use New York as a setting for their books and movies...the subway felt like a roller coaster without the giant hills or loops.

Unfortunately, we were taking forever to get back and our subway kept stopping at EVERY station. See, we had not fit on the Express for a reason...everyone who's anyone knows that that is the one you want if you're going all the way across the city, which we were. A sketchy looking man was sitting across from us and watching us. I stared at my gloves, the floor, out the window...he was pretty intent. Then at the next stop, he moved over and sat next to me. I swallowed my panic and peeked at him. The man smiled a grin with a couple teeth missing and some gold ones flashing. Serge was busy looking at the map.

"Where are you going?" the man addressed us both. Serge told him and the man told us all about how we needed to catch the Express and there was another one that would be behind our subway. We just needed to get off at the next stop and wait a few minutes. So we did. We thanked the man with the interesting smile and caught the next Express.

As I sat indian-style on the hotel bed that night eating Chinese takeout with several of the girls I sincerely thanked God for His faithfulness and protection. It would have been very bad if I had not caught Serge, because I would have had no phone, no money, and no idea where my friends were going. Also, I enjoyed the adventure afterwards. :) My advice if you visit New York? Take the free map from the hotel.


*I still didn't have a souvenior and was considering one of the purses. I checked the price tag and decided that I really didn't want it. I walked out of the store only to hear someone behind me say: "You buy! For you ten dolla! Good deal!" There behind me was the lady from that store with the purse I had just looked at. "Oh, no thank you." I said with a smile assuming we were done. Half a block later she was still following me and trying to haggle the price. Mortified and not really good at confrontation, I gave in and bought the stupid purse. I never used the purse. My sisters didn't want the purse. It went to Goodwill. Moral of the story: avoid Chinatown unless you have a will of IRON.

This Little Light of Mine

I am so excited about sharing the beginning of my testimony today that I don't know how to actually begin! To be honest, I've started typing this at least a dozen times in the last month or so.

To understand my testimony you need to know about my experiences with one of my favorite things on earth: the ocean (example of my love for the ocean :)). I could listen to, smell, look at, and swim in the ocean all day. Of course, I'm a little spoiled- I prefer the clear waters of the Pacific or the gulf around Florida where I can see what's around me. Swimming in the muddy brown water of Galveston these past 10 years has been a poor substitute.

On the day my parents brought me home from the hospital as a little baby girl, they made a detour. (My Dad wanted to show me off to his coworkers...:) So the first place I ever went in my life was on board a ship. Of course I don't remember it, but I like to think that that is one of the many reasons I LOVE the ocean. My Dad was in the Navy, so I've always lived within an hour of the beach (minus 3 years in Nebraska). I have probably spent a year of my life swimming, snorkeling, building sand castles, chasing crabs, catching fish, and hunting for sea shells.

When I was about 4, my grandparents were visiting us while we lived in Monterey, CA. We took them to the beach. :) I remember the brown sand and remember wading out to my waist. On my way back to the beach, I somehow tripped in the water. I could swim, so this wasn't a problem. However there was a brutal undertow. I was close enough to the shore and the water was shallow enough that I could dig my fingers into the sand and hold my head above water. Usually the undertow would stop after a few seconds and I knew I'd be able to stand up and go about my business. This time it wasn't letting up. When the sand started to get pulled away from my hands I knew something was wrong. But I didn't cry out for help- it all happened so fast. I still remember the feel of the sand disappearing from my hands and the pull of the ocean. My Grandad happened to be close and he leaned down and grabbed me moments before I was drawn out to sea. He saved my life.

After such a traumatic moment you'd think I'd be scarred for life and refuse to touch the ocean without some form of therapy, but no. I loved the ocean too much! I was right back in it that same day. This is how God opened the door of my heart and one of the main things He used to draw me to Him.

We moved to Guam a year after my near-drowning experience- a tiny bean-shaped island near Japan. The waters and coral reefs around Guam are gorgeous! I still remember the vibrant colors. (It's also a honeymoon spot for many Asians...I remember my sisters' and my blond hair getting a lot of attention and we were in a LOT of pictures with strangers. :) Our church in Guam was on a cliff overlooking the sea. I remember climbing the porch poles for a better view and humidity so thick you felt like you were wading through it. (Trust me, Houston is NOT as bad.) One day, a little girl about my age got baptized. The church tromped down to the ocean to celebrate her baptism, but we stayed in our church clothes. Being on the beach my natural instinct was to run to the water, but my parents stopped me. "But she's swimming!" I said, completely confused. My parents had to explain this to me. We went home and I had questions. What was 'baptism'? I'd heard of Jesus, I knew about His stories, I'd listened to my parents pray- we always prayed before every meal and before going to bed.

My parents explained that baptism was a symbol. It was that little girl's way of publicly showing that she had asked Jesus to save her from her sins and that she was a Christian. There was further discussion- I don't remember much of it, only that it happened. I decided then and there that I didn't want to go to Hell. I knew that I was 'cause I'd definitely sinned- Mom didn't know about my pet baby gecko in the empty peanut butter jar that I was keeping under the living room chair...(the things you could hide when chairs and couches had cloth flaps or fringe that went down to the floor)...

I don't know if it was that same day or week, but I DO know that seeing a girl in the ocean was what God used to trigger my conversations with my parents that eventually led to me praying one night with them and asking God to forgive me of my sins (playing with fire, hiding creatures in the house, being selfish with my toys, hiding food in my napkin so I wouldn't have to eat it, etc.) and come into my life. I asked Him to take charge and make me the little girl that He wanted me to be. And I told Him that I knew because of Jesus' sacrifice on the cross that I could be saved and live in Heaven someday.

I wasn't baptized in Guam. I don't know why. I would wait two years before being baptized at a small church in California.

And THAT is the beginning of my testimony. :)

Hunama Bay

Looking up at the steep edges of the island surrounding the bay I sighed in contentment. This was my fortress. My safe place. Nevermind the other 50 or so people on the beach. I grabbed my snorkel and goggles and headed towards the waves. I didn't really love my flippers- I preferred to swim barefoot, but I knew that without them the coral could cut my feet. Still, I left them by the towel this time. The morning sun combined with the scent of sunscreen and the gentle pounding of the waves was a melody I knew well.*

 

The water was cool and clear and I dug my toes in the sand to hide them from the hungry and curious fish swarming my legs. These gentle giants (they were about a foot in length) were the first to greet me. I searched the bay looking for the least populated spot. I began wading and shivered as the cool water closed over my shoulders. Dunking myself, I then fixed my goggles and snorkel and began my exploration. Fish of different colors and sizes, crabs, urchins...these were my treasures- this was my idea of a perfect day. I listened to the scraping of a parrot fish's beak against the coral as it searched for food- it's body bigger than mine. I startled myself when I rounded a wall of coral and came nose-to-nose with a bright yellow trumpet fish. He was about 5 feet long and he waited for me to move away before making a dash for another hiding spot from all the tourists. I followed schools of tangs and watched the sand gobys build their little homes on the bottom of the sea. I swam under coral arches and looked for seashells, often diving deeper to see what I could see. I hummed in my mind as I explored- never lonely. Occasionally I would have to surface and see if I was too far out- I didn't want to get too close to the walls of the bay because the tide and current made it dangerous. I also, while I didn't mind being alone, didn't want to be too far out- I had a healthy respectful fear of sharks and knew there were white-tips beyond the bay. (Not that they would probably have hurt me, still, I didn't want to find out!)

 

I did swim to the drop off- if you have ever watched Nemo you should know that drop offs exist and that is were some of the most beautiful corals are! I peered over the edge and could see the sand 40-50 feet below me. The coral was a gorgeous mix of reds, oranges, yellows and purples. I also saw a shark down there lazily swimming along the wall and decided that I'd seen plenty.

 

Once, while snorkeling with my Dad, we found a sea turtle! We had such fun swimming by her and around her- we didn't dare touch her, that's against the law. Another time, a family came to visit ours while we were living in Hawaii and we took them to our bay- I had to 'baby-sit' the older of the boys (he was about my age). I had moved about 10 feet away and noticed the some of the coral looked different. I sat there lazily floating face down, breathing through my snorkel and studying it when I realized that I could see two eyes...and a fin...and the line of the mouth...and...! It was a poisonous Devilfish. He had picked the perfect spot to catch prey and I was not about to get in his way. I backpaddled so fast until I was far enough away to wheel around and grabbing the arm of the boy, I swam as fast as a cartoon character until we reached the beach. He was a bit confused about this odd behavior until I managed, between gasps, to explain what I'd seen.

 

I dream about that bay. The many afternoons I spent there. The steep zig-zag road we had to climb up to get to our cars after all day in the sun and water. The beautiful crystal blues of the ocean. The mongoose and birds we'd see. Those were lovely, lazy, beach days. I miss the sea, so much. Especially the beautiful South Pacific.

 

If you ever visit Oahu, take some time and go snorkel at Hunama- most of the corals are brown because people used to walk on them, but there is still plenty of sea life and the edge of the bay is gorgeous.

*Fun fact: when I was born, on the way home from the hospital, my Dad left my Mom in the car and took me on board his air craft carrier to show me off. :)

Remembrances & A Poem

Today is the one-year anniversary of my Grandad's suicide. It's a hard day for my family- especially for my Dad. The loss of a parent is something I do NOT look forward to experiencing.

November. My family does our level best to always make it to the farm in Heber Springs, Arkansas for Thanksgiving. In previous years, we would stay with my Dad's parents. We'd sleep in and watch some of the Macy's Day Parade before driving 10 minutes out to the farm for the annual family reunion with my Mom's side of the family. This year was different. My Dad's parents were gone. And while we had resigned ourselves, in recent years, to staying in a hotel- we had still always stopped by their house for a hug in the morning and knew we'd be coming back when darkness and the cold chased us from the farm. It was a terrible prospect to have no Grandparents left in that tiny little house.

The drive from our house to Heber was a long one. I was packed into the backseat next to the baby of the family. She had dozed off and I had lost myself in a book. Suddenly, she jerked awake. "You ok?" I asked. Sleepily she pushed her hair out of her face and blinked a few times. "Yeah" she answered. And then, "What day is it?" she asked me. "What do you mean?" "I mean, what day of the month is it?" she said. "Um," I thought for a minute, and then answered. "Oh" she sighed. "Bad dream?" I asked.

"Yes. I always have it about this time of the month." (within a week of the time Grandad had shot himself) She went on, "I'm running and I see Grandad and I'm trying to get to him and stop him, but I never make it!" She was on the verge of tears and my own eyes filled as I grabbed her hand and squeezed it. "It's ok." I said. And she leaned her head on my shoulder and I rested mine on top of hers and we rode in silence for a while. I remembered scenes a few months earlier from the funeral- staying with people from my Grandparents' church that I barely knew, all the pity and embarrassment in peoples' faces because this funeral was a suicide- so different from dying of 'natural causes' or an 'accident'.

My baby sister's dreams and her precious memories of our beloved Grandad, cut me deeply. It hurt to know that she was still hurting- but I knew how she felt. We all were having "what if's" and "why didn't I just's" floating through our minds.

I wanted to share a poem that my sister wrote that was published recently in her college magazine (of which she is an editor). I am so proud of her!

Tale Spinner
by Sally Beard

Tissue box parade
Dead flowers, some for me
Some for the grave.
Chairs that have rocked their last
Endless visitors, empty glasses
The funeral is done
But the march goes on.
Even without you
The procession never stops.
People I've never met walk past me
Some stop and shake my hand,
Say "He was full of life"
But most won't even look me in the eye.
Are they embarrassed for me?
I don't bite.
Or maybe they're afraid of catching germs
From the tear-stained tissue I so desperately clutch.
I miss you so much.

In the cemetery, I wait
Until the last visitor has left
Then I pause beside the grave
In which lies
One who would have acknowledged my presence.
Why do funerals often turn out this way?
And now that prying eyes have gone
The tears come.
A letter. A tarp. A gun.
A hospital too, but by then
You were gone.
Four days later, here I am
Standing over you, instead of beside you.
You always told me, "Don't you change,"
But this place has changed for me.
I remember how I'd climb your knee
And you would begin to weave stories.
Some were funny, and tickled
Like a fuzzy blanket.
Some were thoughtful and comforting
Like an afghan.
Some were stories
Hard to understand
And the thread of my concentration would snap.
After all, I was only a kid.
But the best were your hugs,
Far better than a blanket
Were the arms that wrapped around me
And the husky voice that said "I love you."

You were fraying long before I noticed
And took up a rifle.
Shot a hole in the tapestry
That you spent your whole life weaving.
Tattered blankets, shattered hearts,
My world is spinning, ripping apart.
This is one story that I hate to tell,
I wish it wasn't true.
Though I continue your pattern
I'll never be as talented as you.
The blanket now has a knot
That I cannot undo;
Your death is a mystery, a mistake
That I cannot unravel.
Yes, this place- for me- has changed a lot
But the thread runs true;
You're never fully dead
Until you're forgot,
And I'll always remember you.

The Babies and the Gun

I have found myself talking about guns this year. Especially in the last two weeks.

In fact, there is a recording on our lovely ladies event video from today* of my voice in the background commenting about guns. We were discussing shooting at a bee hive in a coworkers yard and I claimed it was a silly thing to do..."You should shoot at criminal's knee caps instead." Of course, my coworkers laughed loudly and I'm soft-spoken so hopefully you can't REALLY hear the comment...and normally they put video clips like that to music so I'm desperately hoping it won't be heard! Of course, I just told y'all about it...but so few people read this I think my reputation is safe...

Clarification: I do not own a gun...but I might get one someday. I would do my best NEVER to shoot at a person, but if you break into my house and I have someone to protect (i.e. a kid) plan on surgery for bullet removal in the near future. I'm all for people being allowed to own guns and carry them (after going through proper classes on handling, cleaning, etc.) Guns aren't the problem- it's the people who make the bad decisions. There- disagree me if you wish, but please don't flood this post with comments about how horrible you think I am for this belief.

I've had 3 experiences with guns. Two of them were spent skeet shooting, but this is a story about the only time I've come in close contact with a handgun. (Meaning- I almost used it.)

Once upon a time, my family moved to Texas. I was pleased to get an all-day baby-sitting job for two little 18-month-old girls. Let me describe this for you: giant Texas mansion with two sets of stairs to two separate parts of the house. The babies slept upstairs...one up either set of stairs. One was the granddaughter and the other was a friend's child. They obviously weren't thinking when they left a 16-yr-old in that kind of situation. A couple of my sisters were allowed to come and help out during the day (so they'd get some of the cash) and I was grateful...18-month-olds that can walk are quite a handful...

"Now, if anything happens," the man told me as they were leaving that morning, "my handgun's in the drawer by the bed." -He said this as if I would know what to do with it...and so seriously that I suddenly wondered if I needed to worry. Was there something they weren't telling me??

Well, night was falling. I created a pin out of furniture for baby number one and took the granddaughter up to her crib first. Settling her in (quickly...can't leave unsupervised babies...) I hurried back down the stairs, past the bedroom with the gun, past the front door, through the first living room, into the second living room where I had left baby number two. She was a bit distraught and I had to comfort her as I carried her up the second set of stairs to her crib. When she finally settled down I had to go back down the stairs, through the two living rooms, past the front door, past the room with the gun, and up the original set of stairs to check on baby number one- the granddaughter. She had settled down and content, I made my way past the room with the gun to living room number one where I settled into a huge sofa with a book.

The room had floor to ceiling windows that were about 20 feet tall (it was the reason the whole upstairs had to be split into two) and these windows did NOT have curtains. I was deep into my book when I suddenly heard a loud noise- as if someone had thrown a pebble at the glass window. It being perfectly dark outside, I couldn't see a thing. I froze and tried to act normal as I pretended to keep reading. The noise happened again- twice this time.

Ok. It was time to start thinking about my options.

A) No cell phone- would have to get to the kitchen for the home phone...where'd they put that paper with their number? Did one of the babies eat it??
B) I don't remember the new home phone so I can't call Dad.
C) Ok...which baby would I save first? The granddaughter, I guess. Plus she's closer to the room with the gun.
D) The gun! It can't be that hard to use a gun, right? Just point and shoot. But I don't want to shoot anybody!!
E) Was this why he sounded so serious...they left me to deal with the problem??**

(And here I was interrupted by more of the clanking noise against the window.)

Ok it was time for action. I acted as casual as a frightened teen can and slipped out of the living room to the front door (out of sight of the window). Peering through the peephole I saw nothing and no one. Creeping into the room with the gun I opened the drawer and looked at it. Praying I decided against the gun and shut the drawer again- physically shaking at this point. I couldn't find the phone.

And here I did something stupid. I opened the front door and stuck my head outside and found myself confronting a pair of yellow eyes.

The creature switched it's tail at me before pushing past me into the house. I felt my heart re-start and actually found myself grateful for the cat's company. Somehow it had gotten shut outside during the day. But it wasn't the cause of the noise against the window. Looking again I spotted the culprit. A large grasshopper, hypnotized by the landscaping light on the window was jumping into the glass window...over and over again.

So happy I could have cried, I laughed and shut and bolted the door turning to look at the cat. It's purr was the most welcome sound on earth.

I am not afraid of guns now, but I used to be. It was a shock to be told I had access to a gun and to use it if necessary. I've never come across that type of situation again. Anyone else have a similar experience?


*I had no idea my coworker was taking a video- we thought he was just taking pictures! I've been teasingly warned that it might make the next video for the seminary...I really hope not.

**Hey...sometimes my imagination can get carried away, ok?? This is why I DON'T watch scary movies...