Robin Roberts is such a good news personality. She brings a lot of heart to whatever she reports. Last summer, she was diagnosed with cancer. She had to undergo chemotherapy which resulted in the typical chemo-related hair loss. Declaring that she didn’t want to make her illness a focus of the ABC’s Good Morning, America that she co-anchors, she started wearing a wig. Chemotherapy ended awhile back, and now that her hair has started growing out, she decided today to dump the wig and go au naturale.

I was watching Good Morning, America this morning and saw Robin Roberts. Apparently, not long after I left for work, she was talking to Diane Sawyer and declared that it was time to dump the wig. She swept the wig off her head and revealed her nearly bald head. You can watch the video here. Very touching and inspiring. She has a dignity and grace about her that makes her almost-bald head a beautiful thing.

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From the first time I read Man’s Search for Meaning by Viktor Frankl many years ago, it has been one of my favorite books.  Viktor Frankl spent three horrifying years at Auschwitz and other Nazi prisons during World War II.  When he gained his freedom, he learned that almost his entire family had been killed.  Man’s Search for Meaning is his description of his experiences and his beliefs about the higher meaning in life.  A really amazing book with so much to make you think.

There is so much basic human truth in it - in addition to being such an incredible story of survival and triumph over the worst that mankind can throw at a person.  Here’s a rather long quote, but one that I feel is important:

“The way in which a man accepts his fate and all the suffering it entails, the way in which he takes up his cross, gives him ample opportuntiy - even under the most difficult circumstances - to add a deeper meaning to his life.  It may remain brave, dignified and unselfish.  Or in the bitter fight for self-preservation he may forget his human dignity and become no more than an animal.  Here lies the chance for a man either to make use of or to forego the opportunities of attaining the moral values that a difficult situation may afford him.  And this decides whether he is worthy of his sufferings or not.”

That just reminds me of John McCain and how he handled being a POW during the Viet Nam war.

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This is one of RT’s favorite poems. He just asked me to look it up on the internet - within seconds I had it and read it aloud to him. I wanted to include it here, too.

The Bridge Builder

An old man, going a lone highway,
Came, at the evening, cold and gray,
To a chasm, vast, and deep, and wide,
Through which was flowing a sullen tide.

The old man crossed in the twilight dim;
The sullen stream had no fear for him;
But he turned, when safe on the other side,
And built a bridge to span the tide.

“Old man,” said a fellow pilgrim, near,
“You are wasting strength with building here;
Your journey will end with the ending day;
You never again will pass this way;
You’ve crossed the chasm, deep and wide-
Why build you this bridge at the evening tide?”

The builder lifted his old gray head:
“Good friend, in the path I have come,” he said,
“There followeth after me today,
A youth, whose feet must pass this way.

This chasm, that has been naught to me,
To that fair-haired youth may a pitfall be.
He, too, must cross in the twilight dim;
Good friend, I am building this bridge for him.”

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I was at the bookstore the other day looking for a couple books that I thought RT would like for Christmas. One of the books I selected was 90 Minutes in Heaven. Since RT was already reading another book, I started reading it Christmas evening, took it with me to Georgia yesterday - and finished it this morning. Fascinating book.

In the true story, the man, Don Piper, was involved in a horrific wreck - and was declared dead at the scene. He was checked immediately and declared dead - then checked again later - still dead.  So they covered him and his car (he was trapped inside and would require the jaws of life to be extracted) with a tarp and concentrated on the accident victims who were alive - along with getting the wreckage cleared away in order for traffic to resume.  They figured the dead man could wait awhile.   But then a minister happened upon the accident scene and felt compelled to pray for the man in the badly mangled car.  The medics and police told him repeatedly that the man was dead, but he still felt strongly that he was supposed to pray for the man.  He climbed into the car and prayed for Don - and eventually started singing a hymn to him - and suddenly the dead man, Don,  started singing along with him.  He was alive - after having been twice declared dead. 

In the first of the book, Don describes the ninety minutes he spent from when the accident happened and he was declared dead to when he suddenly became alive again and started singing with the minister.  His injuries were horrible and he should have died - and his subsequent recuperation was long and horrible - and he will never walk normally again - and many years later he still lives in constant pain from his injuries.  However, for those ninety minutes, he was in heaven, and he describes his experience in detail.  The thing that impressed me most was his description of the music in heaven - how beautiful it was - how it was many different songs that were distinct but also blended in together and was more magnificent that anything he had ever heard before or since.

It brought back memories of the story my  mother told me about when her father died.  My mother was just a young girl of nine years when her father died, and her mother was inconsolable at the loss of the man she adored.  She cried and was unable to sleep for days.  She told my mother that finally one night he appeared to her and told her that everything was going to be all right - that she needed to go to sleep and rest - and then he sang her a song - the most beautiful song she had ever heard.  And she was comforted and she fell asleep for the first time since his death.  When she woke up, although she was comforted, she couldn’t remember the song - only that it was the most indescribably beautiful song she had ever heard.Indescribably beautiful music.  Is that what fills heaven?  Fascinating line of thought…

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Many things I’m thankful for this week:
(1) Sunshine’s love of apples: “I LIKE sour apples” - a phrase we’ll be repeating for years to come. (You had to be there! )
(2) Sweet Stuff’s sweet nature - listening to her talk to her mommy (my little girl!) on the phone
(3) RT’s frequent affirmation of his love for me
(4) Our church and the friends we have there, and the beautiful music each week
(5) That RT and I got most of the blinds put up last night - and mostly that the blinds fit (yea! I measured well!)
(6) The entire Christmas season - there’s nothing about Christmas that doesn’t make me happy
(7) Our driveway - It sounds strange, but everytime I drive on our driveway, I think of how beautiful the scenery is

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A few months ago, I mentioned at church that I thought it would be nice if we sent some boxes of gifts for our soldiers serving in Iraq.  I was amazed at how excited and supportive everyone was.  I put a box for donations in the church, and it was filled the next week.  I packed up the first shipment by myself - 7 boxes!  However, it took me a long time to get all the donations organized on my dining room table.  I told RT that I was going to enlist some help the next time.

So in September we made our second shipment.  I announced in church that we’d meet in the fellowship hall one evening that week and that anyone who wanted to help was welcome to be there.  We had a good crowd and had the boxes packed, the packing slips and customs forms completed in about an hour.  That time there were 15 boxes full of stuff to ship.  We only had two names/addresses of soldiers, but both of those soldiers had agreed to distribute the boxes to individual soldiers in their units.

Last night was our third time to meet.  The response has been overwhelming.  We go to an extremely small Methodist church, but we had fifteen people meet to put the packages together.  Several parents brought their young children.  I was thrilled at how excited the children were to help pack boxes for our soldiers.  Even little 2-year old Meredith drew a picture to include in one of the boxes.  Eight-year old Leland wrote a note on a Christmas card that I wish I had copied.  It brought tears to my eyes to read the sentiments of a young child expressing love and appreciation for our soldiers.

We had pizza to eat as we worked, and we ended up with twenty-eight boxes to ship to Iraq today. 

Let me relate a conversation I had on my way to the church last night.  I stopped at Walgreen’s to pick up some Ziplock bags for the smaller items in the boxes.  I saw that they had some hand and feet warmers on sale - so I bought a lot of those, too.  I wanted to make sure we could put a handwarmer in each box.  The cashier looked at my purchases and said, “You must be going camping . . . right?”

“No,” I replied, “Our church is putting together boxes of gifts to send to our soldiers in Iraq tonight.  These are for them.”

Another customer who was in line behind me, asked, “Do you have someone over there?”

I answered, “My nephew is in Baghdad, but we got an email this morning that today is his last day.  He leaves for Germany tonight.”

“That’s wonderful.  My son-in-law is over there.  This is his fourth tour.  I keep telling him to quit, but he won’t do it.”

Another customer walked past us, then turned and, with tears in her eyes,  said, “God bless them both.”

Amen.

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RT and I were watching Larry King interview “Dog” the Bounty Hunter on TV last night, and Dog has his minister/spiritual advisor there with him.  At one point in the interview the minister said that it was all about “Making your tests into testimony and your messes into messages.”

Dog seemed sad.  His own son sold him out for ten thousand dollars.  Or was it fifteen thousand.  Either way, it was a lousy thing for his son to do.

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This song was sung at the funeral of our friend, Horace, this past Sunday.  I love this song - despite the fact that everytime I see anything about a “cocoon”  becoming a butterfly, I have to note that a cocoon becomes a moth - it’s a chrysalis that becomes a butterfly .  Just read the words - so packed with power and meaning:

Hymn of Promise

In the bulb there is a flower; in the seed, an apple tree
In cocoons, a hidden promise: butterflies will soon be free
In the cold and snow of winter there’s a spring that waits to be,
unrevealed until its season, something God alone can see.

There’s a song in every silence, seeking word and melody;
there’s a dawn in every darkness, bringing hope to you and me.
From the past will come the future; what it holds, a mystery,
unrevealed until its season, something God alone can see.

In our end is our beginning; in our time, infinity;
in our doubt there is believing; in our life, eternity.
In our death, a resurrection; at the last, a victory,
unrevealed until its season, something God alone can see.

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In Sunday School today, one of the class members talked about what his mother told him when he was growing up.  She always told him, ‘The sky is blue above everyone.”  The man grew up in Iran, as a Muslim.  As he was growing up he said that even though his mother was a “hardcore Muslim” she said it was up to him to choose his own religion.  Apparently he eventually chose Christianity.  He calls the USA his home now - he’s been here for over thirty years.  He talked of how the Iran shown on TV is not the same Iran that he still occasionally visits.  He talked of Muslim, Jews, and Christians living together in harmony.  In Iran?  Yes, he said, in Iran.

I don’t know about Iran and whether or not Christians, Jews and Muslims can live together peaceably there.  I DO know that the sky IS indeed blue for everyone the world over.

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Today I met my friend, Patti, for lunch at a Mexican restaurant.  Back in October of 2005, I wrote about Patti when her boyfriend, Roger, died unexpectedly.

At lunch awhile ago, Patti and I chatted about various things.  Then Patti told me about the last Valentine’s Day she’d had with Roger.  That would have been Valentine’s Day of 2005.  He had taken her to a florist shop where he let her select a flower bouquet.  He wanted her to have exactly the flowers she preferred.  She selected a dozen roses.  Later, he gave her a tender card and signed it, “Your Tiger.”  “Tiger” was Patti’s nickname for Roger.  He was a masculine man with a strong jaw.  As a matter of fact, he felt his jaw was so prominent that he wore a beard to soften the look. 

It has been a year and a half now since Roger died, and this past Valentine’s Day Patti was feeling quite down.  She couldn’t get thoughts of her last Valentine’s Day with Roger out of her mind.  She remembered the roses her “Tiger” had given her, and she kept looking at the card that was signed, “I love you.   Your Tiger.” 

She wondered if people who’ve died are still aware of what’s going on with the ones they left behind.  She wanted to know if Roger still thought of her like she still thought of him.  She prayed to God to give her a sign - and a very definite sign - something so obvious she couldn’t miss it or dismiss it as a coincidence.  Some sign - any sign - to let her know that Roger had not just stopped existing.

Of course she kept her prayer to herself.  It was a prayer she had prayed often since Roger’s death.  It is a very common prayer of people who are dealing with the death of a loved one.  Death is such a mystery.

Valentine’s Day 2007 came and Patti was feeling especially blue.  There would be no roses this year - and no tender card.  That evening she went to a dance with other singles.  She’s been a part of several dance groups for years.  It was something she and Roger did together when he was alive.  This particular dance group was new, though, and Patti was the new girl in the group.  There was a door prize to be given out, and Patti filled out a ticket at the door as usual and promptly forgot about it. 

The dance was mostly fun - a way to get out and be with other people.  It didn’t get rid of the loneliness, but it made it more bearable for awhile - especially since it was Valentine’s Day.

During a lull in the dance, the emcee announced that it was time to award the door prize.  When he drew the winning ticket from the bowl, Patti was surprised to hear her name called out.  She went up to claim the prize - having no idea what it was.

The prize was a dozen roses.   She had roses for Valentine’s Day after all.  But that wasn’t all.  There was more to the door prize.

There was also a stuffed tiger - not a sweet babyish looking tiger, but one dressed in a leather jacket - one with a strong jaw covered with fur.

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