Sunday, July 8, 2012
Starting Over: Deborah Jean's Pilgrimage
In her book ALL THE WAY TO HEAVEN, Elizabeth Sherrill looks at life as a pilgrimage. Before reading that book, I'd thought of it more as a picture to be painted over the years. I think this is a valid analogy, too; but found that the pilgrimage idea appealed to me more. When I began to think of writing a blog, I saw it as being about my journey--its valleys, rivers and mountains; its straight and crooked roads; its sunny, dark and rainy days; the people I travel with. Most of all, it would be about following our Guide. In the words of a very old song, "...the path of that lone Galilean with joy I will follow today; and the toils of the road will seem nothing, when I get to the end of the way." Not that I've been hankering to get to the end of the way any time soon; my journey thus far (83 years) has had its sorrows and losses, but these have been far outweighed by the blessing--and, yes, just plain fun--of walking with the Lord and with the fantastic crew of fellow-travelers He's given me in the way of family and friends!
I've titled this present blog chapter "Starting Over: Deborah Jean's Pilgrimage" because in resuming this writing after a hiatus of some months, I managed to lose my original introductory piece somewhere in the mysterious realm of cyberspace. (I presume things like this are to be expected when one who has spent her life as a mechanical moron tries to get technological in advanced old age!) I've learned in the process of "Googling around" in pursuit of myself (so to speak) that there is another Deborah Lapp (my pen name), and she seems to be on a pilgrimage as well--surprising since I didn't think this combination would be that usual! And so I've given Deborah Lapp a middle name. As I explained previously (in the lost piece), a workshop I took as a freelance writer included choosing a pen name. Mine is taken from Deborah the judge in Israel, whom I admire, and her husband Lapidoth, who I believe did some kind of work in the temple. Actually, this may all be somewhat unnecessary, since all the folks I know of who read my blog (not many, to be sure) know who I am, anyway. But it seems most bloggers do use pseudonyms...enough of that for now.
When I determined to go back to blogging, I had a particular subject I wanted to mull around in my mind, but it will have to wait till tomorrow or the next day now, for I want to pursue this topic of following that Man of Galilee. I had a conversation with my youngest granddaughter this afternoon in which we discussed an important decision she will have to make soon involving her senior college year, her finances, and her future marriage plans with her "intended," who was here during the last of our discussion. This is a totally great young Christian couple, beautifully supportive of each other and united in their very firm faith. But when I questioned her as to whether she'd asked God to show her what He would have her do about this one decision, she said an honest "No," as if she hadn't thought of that. When she asks Him, it will be clear, I'm very sure. Sometimes we forget just to come right out and ask Him and expect an answer. This pilgrimage is a walk of faith, and He promised that His Spirit would guide us into "ALL TRUTH. "My mom used to quote a poem about following on when we can't see ahead. I can't remember it all, but it ends, "So on I go, not knowing; I would not, if I might; I'd rather walk with Him in the dark than go alone by sight." Yes, He'll show the little girl what to do.
I've titled this present blog chapter "Starting Over: Deborah Jean's Pilgrimage" because in resuming this writing after a hiatus of some months, I managed to lose my original introductory piece somewhere in the mysterious realm of cyberspace. (I presume things like this are to be expected when one who has spent her life as a mechanical moron tries to get technological in advanced old age!) I've learned in the process of "Googling around" in pursuit of myself (so to speak) that there is another Deborah Lapp (my pen name), and she seems to be on a pilgrimage as well--surprising since I didn't think this combination would be that usual! And so I've given Deborah Lapp a middle name. As I explained previously (in the lost piece), a workshop I took as a freelance writer included choosing a pen name. Mine is taken from Deborah the judge in Israel, whom I admire, and her husband Lapidoth, who I believe did some kind of work in the temple. Actually, this may all be somewhat unnecessary, since all the folks I know of who read my blog (not many, to be sure) know who I am, anyway. But it seems most bloggers do use pseudonyms...enough of that for now.
When I determined to go back to blogging, I had a particular subject I wanted to mull around in my mind, but it will have to wait till tomorrow or the next day now, for I want to pursue this topic of following that Man of Galilee. I had a conversation with my youngest granddaughter this afternoon in which we discussed an important decision she will have to make soon involving her senior college year, her finances, and her future marriage plans with her "intended," who was here during the last of our discussion. This is a totally great young Christian couple, beautifully supportive of each other and united in their very firm faith. But when I questioned her as to whether she'd asked God to show her what He would have her do about this one decision, she said an honest "No," as if she hadn't thought of that. When she asks Him, it will be clear, I'm very sure. Sometimes we forget just to come right out and ask Him and expect an answer. This pilgrimage is a walk of faith, and He promised that His Spirit would guide us into "ALL TRUTH. "My mom used to quote a poem about following on when we can't see ahead. I can't remember it all, but it ends, "So on I go, not knowing; I would not, if I might; I'd rather walk with Him in the dark than go alone by sight." Yes, He'll show the little girl what to do.
Saturday, October 15, 2011
"WHEN DO I DIE?"
Several years ago, I heard a minister give an illustration that I have never forgotten. Here is the story as I
remember it:
A little boy is told that his big sister desperately needs a blood transfusion. Their blood type is the same, and the little fellow is asked if he will give his sister some of his blood to save her life. He looks a bit scared, is silent for a moment, then says yes to the request. The procedure is soon over, and of course the child is in no pain. But he's awfully quiet. At last he ventures to ask, in a small voice, "When do I die?"
The boy thought he was being asked to give his life to save his sister! And after only a few moments' consideration, he decided to do so. Reminds you of Abraham and Isaac, and of God sending His Son to die for us, of Christian martyrs "who loved not their own lives" but were willing to die for Him who had given His life for them. Jesus told His followers, "He that would come after me must deny himself, take up his cross, and follow me."
That is not a verse for us to quote glibly. Songs like "Take up your cross and follow Me" are not to be sung for the pretty harmony and forgotten as we leave the church and go about our business Most of us who've worked in Sunday School, church and/or Bible clubs have used the "sinner's prayer" to lead someone in praying to receive Jesus for the first time. A version of this prayer that I especially like ends with the words, "...take me as I am, and make me what I ought to be. HELP ME TO DO RIGHT, NO MATTER WHAT IT COSTS."
I once knew a young woman from a Muslim country, who was here in the U.S. for Bible college.
I asked her if Christians in her country faced persecution. "No," she said, "Not those of us who have been raised in Christian households and are already part of the Christian community; but Muslims who convert are
definitely persecuted." She went on to say that she herself had friends who had converted to Christ but still went to services at the mosques. "They say that when they pretend to bow down to Allah they are really bowing down to Jesus. I can't judge them, because the consequences of admitting to being Christians are so drastic!"
My immediate reaction was to think that this really wasn't right, and was not what the early saints did. When the choice was presented, did they "pretend"? But then immediately I knew that we people here in the good old U.S.of A.--well, many of us, maybe most, would be poor candidates for risking actual persecution, let alone martyrdom! Sometimes we can't even face the hard decisions life hands us just from day to day! I was going to introduce some generic examples of this, but maybe you and I both know what our "waterloos" are and have been. It won't do any good to conjure up mental pictures of heroism in the face of death and wonder if we could "come through"! But it might truly be life-changing if our next small choice, and the nexr and the next, were made after praying, "HELP ME TO DO RIGHT, NO MATTER WHAT IT COSTS."
remember it:
A little boy is told that his big sister desperately needs a blood transfusion. Their blood type is the same, and the little fellow is asked if he will give his sister some of his blood to save her life. He looks a bit scared, is silent for a moment, then says yes to the request. The procedure is soon over, and of course the child is in no pain. But he's awfully quiet. At last he ventures to ask, in a small voice, "When do I die?"
The boy thought he was being asked to give his life to save his sister! And after only a few moments' consideration, he decided to do so. Reminds you of Abraham and Isaac, and of God sending His Son to die for us, of Christian martyrs "who loved not their own lives" but were willing to die for Him who had given His life for them. Jesus told His followers, "He that would come after me must deny himself, take up his cross, and follow me."
That is not a verse for us to quote glibly. Songs like "Take up your cross and follow Me" are not to be sung for the pretty harmony and forgotten as we leave the church and go about our business Most of us who've worked in Sunday School, church and/or Bible clubs have used the "sinner's prayer" to lead someone in praying to receive Jesus for the first time. A version of this prayer that I especially like ends with the words, "...take me as I am, and make me what I ought to be. HELP ME TO DO RIGHT, NO MATTER WHAT IT COSTS."
I once knew a young woman from a Muslim country, who was here in the U.S. for Bible college.
I asked her if Christians in her country faced persecution. "No," she said, "Not those of us who have been raised in Christian households and are already part of the Christian community; but Muslims who convert are
definitely persecuted." She went on to say that she herself had friends who had converted to Christ but still went to services at the mosques. "They say that when they pretend to bow down to Allah they are really bowing down to Jesus. I can't judge them, because the consequences of admitting to being Christians are so drastic!"
My immediate reaction was to think that this really wasn't right, and was not what the early saints did. When the choice was presented, did they "pretend"? But then immediately I knew that we people here in the good old U.S.of A.--well, many of us, maybe most, would be poor candidates for risking actual persecution, let alone martyrdom! Sometimes we can't even face the hard decisions life hands us just from day to day! I was going to introduce some generic examples of this, but maybe you and I both know what our "waterloos" are and have been. It won't do any good to conjure up mental pictures of heroism in the face of death and wonder if we could "come through"! But it might truly be life-changing if our next small choice, and the nexr and the next, were made after praying, "HELP ME TO DO RIGHT, NO MATTER WHAT IT COSTS."
Wednesday, September 21, 2011
"PRAISE THE LORD FOR MY LITTLE BROTHER, GEORGE EDWARD!"
I was four and a half years old when (I'm told), I made the above proclamation to our entire family, standing upon a strange piece of furniture that we called "The Big Box"! It was, I believe, originally a wooden box that had held a coffin for shipping--whose? I wouldn't know; we used it as a gigantic storage container for all manner of things. At that moment it served as my "soapbox" for announcing to the world that I was no longer disappointed not to have a baby sister!
The day's excitement had started that morning when Grandma and I were alone in the big old farmhouse. Dad and Mom had gone to furnish music for a church service which Grandpa (a retired pastor) had been asked to conduct in a small church somewhere in the area. It didn't occur to me to wonder why we didn't ALL go. What I didn't know was that my grandmother was staying home to listen for a very special phone call that might come--that DID come, it turned out.
The big old wall phone rang our ring. Grandma answered, talked briefly to someone, and hung up.
"Who was that?" I queried eagerly.
"That was the hospital up in Salem," Grandma explained. "They say they have a little baby brother for you!"
That afternoon, I rode with Mom and Dad from Corvallis to Salem to bring home this baby boy who would be adopted into our family. A clothes-basket had been carefully lined with soft blankets; on them lay a long-legged, bright pink baby! It was in the days before seat-belts; I rode in the front seat on my knees the whole journey home, gazing in fascination at this little speck of humanity who would become my six-feet-four bachelor brother and the best Uncle George our three children could ever have had to take them on fishing trips, carnival rides and you-name-it!
George is gone now. If anyone ever walked on "into the Light," he did, when God called him home. He wasn't just adopted into OUR family; he had that "spirit of adoption" the Bible talks about, whereby we become children of the Kingdom through Christ our Lord. So it isn't goodbye, George, it never was; it's so-long, "till we meet at Jesus' feet"!
The day's excitement had started that morning when Grandma and I were alone in the big old farmhouse. Dad and Mom had gone to furnish music for a church service which Grandpa (a retired pastor) had been asked to conduct in a small church somewhere in the area. It didn't occur to me to wonder why we didn't ALL go. What I didn't know was that my grandmother was staying home to listen for a very special phone call that might come--that DID come, it turned out.
The big old wall phone rang our ring. Grandma answered, talked briefly to someone, and hung up.
"Who was that?" I queried eagerly.
"That was the hospital up in Salem," Grandma explained. "They say they have a little baby brother for you!"
That afternoon, I rode with Mom and Dad from Corvallis to Salem to bring home this baby boy who would be adopted into our family. A clothes-basket had been carefully lined with soft blankets; on them lay a long-legged, bright pink baby! It was in the days before seat-belts; I rode in the front seat on my knees the whole journey home, gazing in fascination at this little speck of humanity who would become my six-feet-four bachelor brother and the best Uncle George our three children could ever have had to take them on fishing trips, carnival rides and you-name-it!
George is gone now. If anyone ever walked on "into the Light," he did, when God called him home. He wasn't just adopted into OUR family; he had that "spirit of adoption" the Bible talks about, whereby we become children of the Kingdom through Christ our Lord. So it isn't goodbye, George, it never was; it's so-long, "till we meet at Jesus' feet"!
Thursday, September 8, 2011
"They Grow up too Soon!"
Since I've been communicating with many wonderful friends on Facebook, reading people's comments about the seasons of their lives, I've been mulling around in my mind (especially now as school starts) the reactions of mothers/grandmothers to kids' GROWING UP.
One time when our Max,Jr. was in Mexico still with the Mission, I had the neatest dream about him--or rather, about the baby boy he'd BEEN. There he was, sitting up against a pillow on the bed, smiling delightedly at me! He was 6 or 7 months old, and wearing his little white terrycloth pj suit. I was so glad to see him! I looked into his twinkling blue eyes and exclaimed, "MAXIE! I haven't seen you in such a long time!" That was the whole dream.
I told him about it later. Somehow, I said, it had seemed I was communicating with him on a level of his consciousness where that little boy still lived. I sensed a spiritual connection, as though this child were included in my prayers for my grown-up missionary son. That's too deep to go much farther into, isn't it? But there was truth there, and it was beautiful. When we were all praying up here for the young orphanage director with a burst appendix, we were praying also for little Maxie-boy! Psychologists talk about the "inner child" in each person; it's there, a part of us. In a way, we are all we've ever been. And if that "all" is redeemed, God can use every bit of it for His glory!
But I have something of a problem with saying, as our "young sprouts" shoot up, "They're growing too fast"! No, they are growing according to God's perfect timetable. We need to affirm that, and them. We need to enjoy who they are at every turn of the road, not wish they were babes playing at our feet again. For if indeed they were, even at age fifteen or twenty, our sorrow would know no bounds! That person's development would be warped and stunted, and we'd always wonder what he/she might have become if
things had progressed normally. So when we see them at one more milepost, let's cheer them on, as I saw one mother recently do, with "Congratulations! I'm so proud of you!"
One time my little mom was asked, "When was the happiest time of your life?" And she answered, "I think it was when I had my two children small at home." I remember being a little disappointed to hear that response. It sounded as if she hadn't wanted us to grow up and live our own lives. But later on she wrote a poem that corrects my one-time misapprehension. I can't quote it all, but the last quatrain goes like this:
The loving father slipped away;
The mother is old and bent and gray.
She draws from her children strength and joy--
Her wonderful, grown-up girl and boy!
Well, thanks up there, Mom! George and I were truly blest kids!
One time when our Max,Jr. was in Mexico still with the Mission, I had the neatest dream about him--or rather, about the baby boy he'd BEEN. There he was, sitting up against a pillow on the bed, smiling delightedly at me! He was 6 or 7 months old, and wearing his little white terrycloth pj suit. I was so glad to see him! I looked into his twinkling blue eyes and exclaimed, "MAXIE! I haven't seen you in such a long time!" That was the whole dream.
I told him about it later. Somehow, I said, it had seemed I was communicating with him on a level of his consciousness where that little boy still lived. I sensed a spiritual connection, as though this child were included in my prayers for my grown-up missionary son. That's too deep to go much farther into, isn't it? But there was truth there, and it was beautiful. When we were all praying up here for the young orphanage director with a burst appendix, we were praying also for little Maxie-boy! Psychologists talk about the "inner child" in each person; it's there, a part of us. In a way, we are all we've ever been. And if that "all" is redeemed, God can use every bit of it for His glory!
But I have something of a problem with saying, as our "young sprouts" shoot up, "They're growing too fast"! No, they are growing according to God's perfect timetable. We need to affirm that, and them. We need to enjoy who they are at every turn of the road, not wish they were babes playing at our feet again. For if indeed they were, even at age fifteen or twenty, our sorrow would know no bounds! That person's development would be warped and stunted, and we'd always wonder what he/she might have become if
things had progressed normally. So when we see them at one more milepost, let's cheer them on, as I saw one mother recently do, with "Congratulations! I'm so proud of you!"
One time my little mom was asked, "When was the happiest time of your life?" And she answered, "I think it was when I had my two children small at home." I remember being a little disappointed to hear that response. It sounded as if she hadn't wanted us to grow up and live our own lives. But later on she wrote a poem that corrects my one-time misapprehension. I can't quote it all, but the last quatrain goes like this:
The loving father slipped away;
The mother is old and bent and gray.
She draws from her children strength and joy--
Her wonderful, grown-up girl and boy!
Well, thanks up there, Mom! George and I were truly blest kids!
Monday, August 15, 2011
WHY?...or "The Problem of Evil"
I was probably about six and a half years old when I heard a couple of neighbor men talking. One asked "Where are you going?" and the other answered, "Down to the devil--wanna go along?"
I went home and asked, "What is the devil?" Sounded like some kind of a place, or thing. I don't remember the answer; I'm sure that at the time it didn't scare me much. Mother would have tried not to do that. There was a story in the family that as a child she'd been heard talking to herself and saying, "Get thee behind me, Satan, but don't push me over!" Whether she'd heard her minister-father preach on temptation, I don't know. But teaching children about what Evil is and why people lie and cheat and do bad things may rank right up there with telling them about the birds and the bees (an area where the old "problem of Evil" surely does rear its head, too.)
Many people might say, "Oh, that's old-fashioned, like believing in spooks! There's no personal devil!" But usually you'd more often than not find the same person who says Satan doesn't exist would say that GOD DOES. Does that not leave one with no leg AT ALL to stand on in explaining evil? Of course, some people simply dismiss all belief in the supernatural except some vague concept of universal energy in a cold, impersonal cosmos that doesn't care about us little ants down here who crawl about and live our short little lives. In that case, everyone can simply carve out for himself the life he wants, and not consider anyone else
(shudder).
I for one will take my stand with C.S. Lewis in THE SCREWTAPE LETTERS. That book should be required reading for all young people growing up! This Oxford professor has written a classic allegory in which Satan assigns his minions to tempt humans and lure them to their own destruction! With brilliant humor and insight, he shows how the enemy of our souls sews discord in our relationships in society and in homes (i.e., "I simply ask her what time dinner will be, and she flies into a temper!") Lewis, a towering intellectual, isn't ashamed to take the Bible literally. We shouldn't be, either. Why all the cruelty, greed, lust and deception? Why all the divorces? Well, there's this fallen angel whose name used to be Lucifer...
One little girl was heard to pray, "Jesus, Satan is knocking again. Will you please go to the door?" YES!
I went home and asked, "What is the devil?" Sounded like some kind of a place, or thing. I don't remember the answer; I'm sure that at the time it didn't scare me much. Mother would have tried not to do that. There was a story in the family that as a child she'd been heard talking to herself and saying, "Get thee behind me, Satan, but don't push me over!" Whether she'd heard her minister-father preach on temptation, I don't know. But teaching children about what Evil is and why people lie and cheat and do bad things may rank right up there with telling them about the birds and the bees (an area where the old "problem of Evil" surely does rear its head, too.)
Many people might say, "Oh, that's old-fashioned, like believing in spooks! There's no personal devil!" But usually you'd more often than not find the same person who says Satan doesn't exist would say that GOD DOES. Does that not leave one with no leg AT ALL to stand on in explaining evil? Of course, some people simply dismiss all belief in the supernatural except some vague concept of universal energy in a cold, impersonal cosmos that doesn't care about us little ants down here who crawl about and live our short little lives. In that case, everyone can simply carve out for himself the life he wants, and not consider anyone else
(shudder).
I for one will take my stand with C.S. Lewis in THE SCREWTAPE LETTERS. That book should be required reading for all young people growing up! This Oxford professor has written a classic allegory in which Satan assigns his minions to tempt humans and lure them to their own destruction! With brilliant humor and insight, he shows how the enemy of our souls sews discord in our relationships in society and in homes (i.e., "I simply ask her what time dinner will be, and she flies into a temper!") Lewis, a towering intellectual, isn't ashamed to take the Bible literally. We shouldn't be, either. Why all the cruelty, greed, lust and deception? Why all the divorces? Well, there's this fallen angel whose name used to be Lucifer...
One little girl was heard to pray, "Jesus, Satan is knocking again. Will you please go to the door?" YES!
Sunday, August 7, 2011
MORE BLESSINGS!
Yes, Granny went to the little girl's wedding! It was at a place in the Baja Peninsula called the Old Mill (Molino Viejo). The wedding itself was on a very large deck that faces right onto the San Quintin Bay; then the reception/dinner was in a huge dining room adjacent. A cousin of Alicia's on her dad's side performed the ceremony; he did a fine job. Our son Max interpreted his Spanish into earphones for several of us, including the groom's mother, sister and brother-in-law; and yours truly who, though able to speak & understand some Spanish, has slow old ears that quickly fall behind in the normal flow of speech.
An interesting tradition in a Mexican wedding is the LASSOO! That's right--while sitting together in two chairs, the young couple is lassooed together with a very pretty double lassoo made by someone, in this case the bride's sister-in- law Destinee, David's wife. (Our son Max was similarly lassoed to his bride in their very festive wedding in the mission church there thirty years ago. We couldn't have picked a better girl for him to be literally joined together with than Alicia, our Mexicali Rose!)
As to the "wedding supper," well--that's where my story becomes a "tale of woe"! While everyone else exclaimed over the main dish, I was very kindly and thoughtfully served by Eli, the wedding coordinator, with a very good baked potato and some white rice. Why?--because by that time I was in the throes of MONTEZUMA'S REVENGE! (If you don't know what that is, go ask someone.) Max had faithfully "doctored" me 'til I was okay for the moment, but didn't DARE eat regular food, especiially Mexican!
But it was a wonderful occasion, one we'll ALWAYS remember. And the trip down was great, too. Max and Alicia had BOTH their rather ancient, mobility-challenged moms along; and they took such capable, cheerful and energetic care of us! Restaurants and motels were carefully chosen, and they took their time
so as not to tire us out. Juanita, my sweet little counterpart, was so compassionte after I got sick, even getting out of her bed & trying to cover me up on my return from one of many trips to the bathroom!
When we finally headed home, she wasn't with us, having gone to visit another daughter in Tecate. My "miseries" had returned, along with a deep-cough chest cold! When we finally left Alicia's sister's home in Mission Viejo, we just wanted to get home--Max & Alicia took turns & drove straight through! I was so GLAD to get here! Papa & Ed were so glad to see me back safe! My daughter and her family were eager to hear about it...
Know what I was left with?--an overwhelming sense of gratitude for THE PEOPLE IN MY LIFE! God has given me the most amazing and loving group of people to travel this journey of life with! Kids, grand-kids, great-grands...yes, and in-laws, too--that great clan, descended from Ruben & Juanita Vasquez in Mexico, have enriched our lives beyond description!
THANK YOU, LORD, FOR MY FAMILY!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
An interesting tradition in a Mexican wedding is the LASSOO! That's right--while sitting together in two chairs, the young couple is lassooed together with a very pretty double lassoo made by someone, in this case the bride's sister-in- law Destinee, David's wife. (Our son Max was similarly lassoed to his bride in their very festive wedding in the mission church there thirty years ago. We couldn't have picked a better girl for him to be literally joined together with than Alicia, our Mexicali Rose!)
As to the "wedding supper," well--that's where my story becomes a "tale of woe"! While everyone else exclaimed over the main dish, I was very kindly and thoughtfully served by Eli, the wedding coordinator, with a very good baked potato and some white rice. Why?--because by that time I was in the throes of MONTEZUMA'S REVENGE! (If you don't know what that is, go ask someone.) Max had faithfully "doctored" me 'til I was okay for the moment, but didn't DARE eat regular food, especiially Mexican!
But it was a wonderful occasion, one we'll ALWAYS remember. And the trip down was great, too. Max and Alicia had BOTH their rather ancient, mobility-challenged moms along; and they took such capable, cheerful and energetic care of us! Restaurants and motels were carefully chosen, and they took their time
so as not to tire us out. Juanita, my sweet little counterpart, was so compassionte after I got sick, even getting out of her bed & trying to cover me up on my return from one of many trips to the bathroom!
When we finally headed home, she wasn't with us, having gone to visit another daughter in Tecate. My "miseries" had returned, along with a deep-cough chest cold! When we finally left Alicia's sister's home in Mission Viejo, we just wanted to get home--Max & Alicia took turns & drove straight through! I was so GLAD to get here! Papa & Ed were so glad to see me back safe! My daughter and her family were eager to hear about it...
Know what I was left with?--an overwhelming sense of gratitude for THE PEOPLE IN MY LIFE! God has given me the most amazing and loving group of people to travel this journey of life with! Kids, grand-kids, great-grands...yes, and in-laws, too--that great clan, descended from Ruben & Juanita Vasquez in Mexico, have enriched our lives beyond description!
THANK YOU, LORD, FOR MY FAMILY!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
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