Category: Memories

A Memorable 4th

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Beginning of the year 1976, there was a build-up to a celebration of the 4th of July. It was the bicentennial of our nation. I was so excited for this celebration and imagined where we would spend the day, knowing that the fireworks would be special and the day would be incredible.

Also, at the beginning of the year of 1976, we knew we were due for orders. This would involve a move, most likely overseas. I hoped that we would somehow still be in the states for the fourth. As the time drew nearer for orders, places like Rota, Spain; Cuba; Scotland; Iceland; were all mentioned. Some of the places I could readily picture myself, others I couldn’t. Our orders came in and they were for Yokosuka, Japan. I never ever thought of going to Japan. I showed Dale my support, but inside I was questioning such a move. My thoughts of celebrating the bi-centennial in the states were dashed.

We arrived in Japan in early June. We were settled in our little Japanese apartment by the first of July. We experienced our first typhoon July 2nd through the 6th. A typhoon was lingering off the coast of Japan, dumping rain, wind and lots of water on Yokosuka and the immediate area.

On the fourth, we headed onto the base. We waded through ankle deep water to get to our car, and then we half floated/half drove to the base where there was going to be a parade.

That soggy fourth of July will always live in my memories as one of the very best celebrations I have experienced. Passing through the main gate of the base, we were home on the 4th of July. America was present on foreign soil. The spirit of our country paraded itself with the sailors and marines stationed on the base. The host country graciously honored this celebration. I stood in deep water that fourth of July, 1976, with a winter coat on while a parade passed in front of us. The base was alive with the indomitable spirit of America.

Through the rain the 6th Fleet Navy band led the parade carrying our flag, the host country flag and the military flags.

Although the rain and time has produced fuzzy photos, the memories are crisp in my mind. I stood in a country, once at war with my homeland, and together we celebrated the bi-centennial. The celebration I had envisioned at the beginning of the year was far different than the incredible time I had that day while standing in water and straining to remain upright in the heavy wind.

We once were told that our love for America would grow living overseas.  I did not think that possible, but it was.  The pride and honor I felt that day in 1976 has only grown for this country that has been my homeland.  My heart beats red, white and blue.  I am a patriot.  I stand with tears in my eyes for our flag. 

As much as I love this country, my heart yearns for more.  Hebrews 11:16 says, “But now they desire a better, that is, a heavenly country. Therefore God is not ashamed to be called their God, for He has prepared a city for them.” (NKJV)   I cannot wait to be in my forever home, standing with my Creator.

Our First Home in Japan

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“Then you will walk safely in your way, And your foot will not stumble.
 When you lie down, you will not be afraid; Yes, you will lie down and your sleep will be sweet.” Proverbs 3:23-24 (NKJV)

I like to refer to our time in Japan as our ‘college’ years. Years where we discovered who we were and what we wanted. Dale and I were just 21 when we went to Japan. Neither of us went to college, so when we moved overseas, it was our time of self-discovery that many have in their college years.

We spent the first two weeks of our tour there in the Navy Lodge. Today it would not rate even one star, but, that’s another story. When we arrived there was an agent from the housing office that took you to three places that would rent to American servicemen. The first house we walked in and Dale slammed his head on the doorway. I laughed, the agent laughed and the agent reminded us to duck when walking through the door. The second place Dale ducked, I smacked my head, Dale laughed, the agent laughed. I believe the third place is what we rented. It was close to the base and it felt like home, all three rooms of it. The kitchen had parquet flooring and the other rooms were tatami. The larger room was six tatami (meaning six tatami mats would fit in the floor) and the other room was four tatami. It was small and cozy. We had a toilet room and a room with a traditional Japanese bath. Just enough for the two of us.

We lived in the upstairs apartment. The home held four apartments. The steps were like a fire escape, steel and steep. An open sewage ditch surrounded the block, so when the wind was just right we made certain the windows were closed.

Next to the building was a playground.

I loved watching the kids play with their parents and with each other. Trucks would drive up daily blaring announcements of the wares they were selling. They would pull into the area beside our home and park while women would go to the truck to buy their wares for the day. I would go when the fruit and vegetable truck would come, I was not confident enough to get meat or other things from the trucks.

Down the block there was a person who would play a Japanese zither each night. The beautifully haunting music still echoes in my mind.

Our first home was a peaceful place. It was a place of safety and security. We felt at home there, even in a foreign place. It was the true beginning of our journey together. We would bump our heads often and freeze in the morning before starting our space heaters (there was no heat in the building), but it was our home. We had rice paper doors within the apartment and the tatami mats were comfortable to sleep on with our futon. It was there that our love of Japan blossomed, the food, the people, the beauty of the country.

Our Lord has made a beautiful world for us. I am so grateful I was able to be a part of Japan for that time.

What difference is 40 years?

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“Gray hair is a crown of glory;” Proverbs 16:31a (NLT)

In the spring of 1982, Dale took our oldest daughter fishing for the first time. We were all pretty excited about this trip. We woke up early, I got food together for them and off they went on their adventure.

Since I knew I had at least two hours to myself, I put on my ragged bell bottoms I wore for cleaning. I cleaned what needed to be done, and sat down at the kitchen table. Looking outside I remembered our neighbor (now our youngest daughter’s in-laws) were having a yard sale. I decided to visit with them and see how they were doing.

Leaving the house with my ragged jeans and bare feet, I started across the road. As I got to the edge of my yard, my big toe caught on a hole in the hem of my jeans and down I went, arms extended. I quickly looked around, hoping no on saw me. The neighbor’s son (now my son-in-law) came racing up the street on his purple bike with the banana seat and raised handlebars. He squealed to a stop beside me, “Geez, Cath, that looked like it hurt, are you okay?” So much for no one noticing.

The end result was my left elbow was broken. The eventual running commentary was that I could not walk and chew gum at the same time.

This event came up recently when I was bemoaning my current state. Forty years can erase a lot. I couldn’t remember the pain or discomfort, I only remembered healing quickly.

As I have mentioned before, Dale has reminded me of my age lately. I still feel like I am only in my early thirties. But, when he made me aware of forty years passing, the truth hit home. Bodies heal quicker at age 27 than they do at 67.

Age has always just been a number for me. I expect an occasional sore muscle or stiff finger. This, however, has been an outright smack to my senses. Since February of this year I have mentioned to several people that I am on the downhill side to 70, just thinking of numbers. In reality, my body with most of the original parts, is almost 70.

I do not feel old which is a good thing, I think. I wake each morning excited for a new day. I know the bulk of my life is behind me and honestly, I look forward to eternity with our Lord. What could be better?

Grey hair, which I have plenty of, is a crown of glory. Psalm 147:3 says, “He heals the brokenhearted and bandages their wounds.” (NLT)

This time is proving to be a time of many reminders and lessons to me. Each and every time I have been injured, ill or depressed, my God had been and continues to be beside me. He is my healer, my encourager, the lifter of my head(and sometimes my body), He is right there, always ministering. I give Him the praise and glory due Him.

The difference in 40 years? Besides the aging bit, in the past forty years I have seen my family grow. I have seen my daughters become wives and mothers. I have had the blessing of having sons added to our lives. God has taught me, led me and given me the greatest blessings.

Father’s Day part 1

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A father is always making his baby into a little woman. And when she is a woman he turns her back again. ~Enid Bagnold, 1969

It occurred to me today that Fatherhood is a complicated position. Growing up, I went from adoration of my Dad, to respect, to questioning him, to dismay and back to respect and most of all love. Dads are perplexing creatures.

When I think of my Dad now, the view of have of him is totally different than what it used to be. As a child I remember walks with my Dad, going to the hardware store with him, working on projects with him in the scary part of our cellar. As an engaged young woman, I would spend most Friday nights with him listening to music and talking about many topics. I remember him patting my hand in the back of the church looking at me and asking if I was ready. His reassuring arm holding on to me before giving me away to a sailor who would take me around the world.

When I brought our oldest daughter home from Japan, he checked her three month old bottom carefully. When I asked what he was doing, he smiled and said, “Just looking for the made in Japan mark.” He was both funny and frustrating. At times our phone conversations would be long and at other times he would call, not talk much and hang up, leaving me wondering why. (Now I understand the need to just hear a child’s voice).

He raised three girls on his own and my sisters and I know we did a lot of raising of ourselves also. But, now, my sisters and I agree that he did the best he could under the circumstances. He provided a roof over our heads, food for the table, clothes and things we could enjoy, 45’s, albums, books, games.

As a child, you look at the man who is your father. You remember all the times you had with him. The times he agreed with you and made you smile, as well as the times he gave you a definite no and you yelled or sulked.

I do this with my heavenly Father also. When I have asked for things which I think are important and I get the definite no back. I yell and I sulk. Fathers make decisions that are not always pleasant. They are given a wisdom, though that goes beyond a mother’s wisdom. Fathers look at the whole picture, examine the pros and cons, and then give answers. Like our heavenly Father those answers can be yes, no, or wait.

Just as a father has compassion on his children, So the Lord has compassion on those who fear Him. Psalm 103:13 (NASB)

A good father is committed to his family. They stay in the hard times. They do not shirk their duty. They weather the difficulties and uncomfortable times. When a man accepts this challenge and sees it through, his children are blessed. They can lift up their eyes regardless how they are currently feeling and be grateful to have them as a father.

Summer Storms

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This afternoon around three, the sky started to darken and the wind picked up. I was looking out of the window at the time, watching the leaves turn up and the tree branches doing a dance through the sky.

The past couple of days the sky has threatened rain, but it has remained hot and humid and not a drop of rain anywhere. I expected the same today. The wind blew for several minutes and then, the sound of the wind changed and you could hear the rain approaching. It is still storming outside, thunder echoing and the occasional lightening flashing.

I went out and sat on our porch for a bit as the temperature had dropped with the arrival of the rain. Sitting on a chair I looked out on our yard. The leaves were glistening with rain on them. The trees gently rustled with the wind. The smell of the air filled with the scent of the rain.

All of a sudden I was transported back in time with a random memory, something I hadn’t thought of in forever. When I was a child, my father’s brother (who lived in another city) would come into town with his family for a vacation. He would rent a cottage on the river. My sisters and I would visit for a day or two, enjoying the time spent with cousins we didn’t normally see. The screen porch I was sitting in mentally changed. I was at once sitting at the cottage, on the screened-in porch playing a game on a rainy afternoon. The game was Go To The Head of the Class, and my sisters and cousins were crowded around arguing and figuring the game out. I hadn’t thought of the game nor that time together in several decades.

I came into the house and talked with Dale about the memory and ideas floating around about a possible post. I wasn’t certain about any of it, really.

As I have started to write, I have realized something. Memories are tied to many things. Sometimes a song will have you reliving a date, an event, a ride in a car on a summer day, walking to school with your sisters. Other times you walk into a kitchen and the smells take you to a time past and make you homesick for whoever was in the kitchen you remembered.

Today, the wind, the gentle rain, the smell of the wet ground and trees all provided a memory for me. The memory was a sweet one. I can remember my older sister knowing answers and giving them quickly. I remember being so proud that I had a smart older sister. The memory was comfort and a bit bittersweet knowing some of those family members are no longer with us.

Hebrews 13:8, “ Jesus Christ is the same yesterday, today, and forever.”(NLT) The One who gives us memories to cherish today is the same One who gave us memories yesterday. I once learned that memories are like a scrapbook. You can open that scrapbook as often as you want. You can look and reminiscence, returning to scents, and people and places. But, memories are for us to remember the past, not to dwell there or live there. Memories are a gentle kiss and brush along your cheek to treasure where you have been. Then, you close the book until you add more to the scrapbook in your mind.

Fumble Fingers

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“For You formed my inward parts; You covered me in my mother’s womb.
 I will praise You, for I am fearfully and wonderfully made; Marvelous are Your works, And that my soul knows very well.” Psalm 139:13-14 (NKJV)

This is just one of my favorite verses. I try to remind myself of this verse daily. I have a hopeless case of comparison-itis. Yes, I just made up that word.

I read works from others, and some I personally know and I sit in awe of the way they express themselves. If I allow myself, I can become discouraged. I question if I am truly hearing from the Lord to write or if I am just doing an exercise for myself. (Just being truthful here, not needing encouragement)

Each morning I read a devotion from Max Lucado. He has such a wonderful way of expressing himself and drawing me into the Lord for the day. I am thankful for this little book of his.

As I read this morning the above thoughts came to mind. I wondered like I mentioned above if there was anyone I had touched like Mr. Lucado touches me with his words. (Again, just being truthful here.)

I know the Lord has called me to do what I am doing. I am excited to see how He is prospering my attempt to share good things about Him. It has been fun for me. I began to talk myself out of the comparison-itis and was feeling very positive, almost like I was confident in MY ability.

I messaged a friend today and I inadvertently hit several keys without realizing it and the message was a mess. The recipient will most likely look at it and wonder if I had been drinking this morning or maybe I am not mentally intact.

In this day when we text and get ‘fat fingers’ we understand goofs in messages and texts. My friends are well aware of my problem with fat fingers. But, although I am fearfully and wonderfully made, my problem isn’t just fat fingers. I had a memory come to me of why I think I am fumbled fingered. Years ago I applied for a job while stationed in Japan. It was for the headquarters of the command as a typist for their legal department. I went in, interviewed, and started the typing test. I sat, corrected my posture, placed my fingers on the keys and typed what was before me. I had great time. I ripped the paper out of the typewriter (which by the way is a great feeling) and turned it in. I was thanked for the interview and was told that I would hear in a few days.

The position was for a GS-9, a government position. My GS rating had expired while overseas. Dale later talked with the man who interviewed me. The man relayed that a current rating applied after I had and since their rating was active, they were hired. At the end of the conversation the man told Dale that my typing test was all wrong. I had placed my fingers on the wrong keys to start the test and my score was negative 180 words. I have always had fat fingers. They were actually going to hire me except for the person with the current rating.

Comparison-itis can be fatal. Fortunately, that one test stands out to me often. I failed miserably, yet, they were going to hire me. Comparing ourselves to others is like questioning if the Lord actually did create each of us in a wonderful and fearful manner. We are looking at the giftings and abilities of others and wonder why we can’t be like them. We will never be like ‘them’, simply because we are NOT them.

Yes, I may make typing errors often. My sentence structure may be off. I may not be as deep spiritually as I would like. I know, though, that God uses us when we are willing to be used. He uses broken vessels and those of us with fumbled fingers.

Gratitude

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A long marriage develops over time. In our case, we basically grew into adults together. Dale was barely out of his teens and I celebrated my 20th birthday two weeks into our marriage.

Through the years we have endured much. We have equally loved one another and disliked each other many times. We are still a work in progress 47 and a half years later.

Yesterday we went to see Top Gun, Maverick. We haven’t been to many movies since the lockdown. In fact this was our third movie on the big screen since that time.

When the movie started and familiar music played, I smiled. Memories of the first Top Gun rushed forward in my mind. All through 1985 our paper carried stories of behind the scene exploits. San Diego was the focus in the original. Dale was stationed on the base where it was filmed. I was an ombudsman there and helped to start the Family Service center on that base. There is one scene in the original where Maverick drives his bike the wrong way up the street. Little details that made the movie for us. Plus, being in a Navy town the excitement was high with cheers throughout the show.

Yes, it all came flooding back to me. This time, we strained to see what was just out of the view of the film , hoping to catch more of our old hometown. We knew exactly where many of the scenes took place. We would say where things were in almost every scene. We walked out of the theater smiling and discussing the film. The only thing missing for us was not being in a Navy town. The undercurrent of excitement was not there.

As I sat in the theater, watching and remembering, I looked over at Dale. Gratitude filled me. Because of him, my life has been a full one. I have seen and experienced so much. I am a small town girl. I married a small town boy. Together we grew up into this couple who has witnessed much together.

We can’t take full credit though. The Lord is the One who has gifted us. He knit us together when we were unraveling. He strengthened us when we were weak and faltering. He gave us orders to places we didn’t think we’d like, but He knew exactly what we needed. Yes, gratitude fills my heart.

“Oh give thanks to the Lord for He is good! For His mercies endure forever. ” Psalm 107:1 (NKJV)

Memorial Day

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Memorial Day is not the first day of summer. It is not a day to mark the beginning of summer activities. It is not a day to celebrate with friends and family in a big bar-b-Que although we all do that. Stores have memorial day sales. Grocery stores run specials on things for a cook out.

When I was a little girl, my Dad would walk us to a local cemetery. There was an area for funerals or for memorials. On Memorial Day a small military unit stood at attention. Old men would stand up and speak. Everyone looked ancient to me. Taps was played. It wasn’t something that I looked forward to, as we had to be still and quiet. We sat on a tombstone to see the activities. My Dad would be one of them to stand at attention beside us in the grass. He looked somber. It would last less than an hour and then we would walk home, looking forward to grilled hotdogs and beans.

As I have grown older and after having been a navy wife for almost 21 years, I have realized why we have Memorial Day. It is not for veterans. It is not for those who are serving. This day is for those who died while in uniform. Lives cut short, many in foreign countries and in their early 20’s. Those boys who had the courage and determination to defend our country. They not only put their lives on the lines, they gave their lives. They never returned home. Their rooms were never occupied again, they never hugged their family again. They gave. They deserve to be remembered. They deserve honor.

Yes, we will most likely have a picnic type lunch. We will look forward to summer. We will have a day to enjoy one another. My bunting is up to show my love for our country. Red, white and blue are evident on our outside, and inside. I am unashamedly patriotic.

But today, let us remember the men and women who have given all. In the Old Testament we read many times of memorials being built to remember events. One example is from Joshua 4:4-7,”So Joshua called together the twelve men he had chosen—one from each of the tribes of Israel. 5 He told them, “Go into the middle of the Jordan, in front of the Ark of the Lord your God. Each of you must pick up one stone and carry it out on your shoulder—twelve stones in all, one for each of the twelve tribes of Israel. 6 We will use these stones to build a memorial. In the future your children will ask you, ‘What do these stones mean?’ 7 Then you can tell them, ‘They remind us that the Jordan River stopped flowing when the Ark of the Lord’s Covenant went across.’ These stones will stand as a memorial among the people of Israel forever.” (NLT)

In the New Testament memorials continued, “And He took bread, gave thanks and broke it, and gave it to them, saying, “This is My body which is given for you; do this in remembrance of Me.” Luke 22:19 (NKJV)

We do things daily as remembrances, at church we do the same. Today, let us remember those who gave for you. Let us honor those who gave their lives for you.

Blossoming into Me

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Introvert: in·​tro·​vert | \ ˈin-trə-ˌvərt a person whose personality is characterized by introversion : a typically reserved or quiet person who tends to be introspective and enjoys spending time alone Merriam-Webster Dictionary

I am an introvert. People who know me tend to disagree, but I am. People can cause me exhaustion, except if I am teaching or sharing of the Lord’s goodness. I have to be comfortable with people before I can relax enough to be me. This has taken years to be able to do this.

For the greater part of my life, I felt invisible. I don’t say this for sympathy, or encouragement, it is a statement. I have two beautiful sisters, I am in the middle. Middle children tend to be a bit weird anyhow. I can say that as I am one.

We got a Christmas card from an uncle shortly after my Mom passed, the note inside addressed my Dad, my older sister, my younger sister and then it read, I forget the other one’s name. I now laugh at it, as I am horrible remembering names, but at the time it felt like a stomach punch. How could an uncle not remember my name? I guess I should be relieved that he knew I was in the family. Later on in high school my younger sister had a date with someone in my class. He knocked on the door, I answered, he introduced himself and asked if I was her younger sister. I smiled and said, no, older sister, and I have a class with you, you sit two seats away from me. He looked stunned and I laughed like only invisible people can.

Once we were married, we would go to work functions and if Dale wasn’t right beside me, people who I had met would come up and introduce themselves to me. When I reminded them who I was, they apologized and quickly exited. I told Dale that I should just put “Dale’s wife” on name tags since no one remembered me.

I say this in jest, but it caused me pain for many years. I thought that if I was invisible to people, how could I be remembered. We all hope that we leave a legacy of some sort. I knew my sisters, family and friends would remember me, but I have always had a longing to leave a mark in this world.

Because of this feeling of invisibility, I found I sought out people who were wall flowers like me. The people who stood outside circles while others were laughing and talking. I met many great friends this way. People who I could open up to and they could to me.

Now being on the downhill side to another decade, I am comfortable in my skin. It’s taken a while, I confess, but I truly feel I am blossoming into me through God’s grace and mercy.

Psalm 34:15 says, “The eyes of the Lord are on the righteous, And His ears are open to their cry.” (NKJV) True, there have been many nights of crying out to the Lord to be all I can in Him. I have asked to be the me He created me to be. I have finally gotten out of His way for the most part. I still rebel if I have to walk into a strange group or situation. I still panic having guests into our home. I don’t think that will ever change and honestly, I hope it doesn’t as then I know that the Lord is the One who has gotten the glory in my shortcomings.

We are not invisible to our Lord, Isaiah 49:15-16, “Can a mother forget the infant at her breast,  walk away from the baby she bore? But even if mothers forget,  I’d never forget you—never. Look, I’ve written your names on the backs of my hands. The walls you’re rebuilding are never out of my sight.” (MSG) I often remind myself that He knows me. He knows me better than anyone else. He knows the number of hairs on my head, as He does yours. Even those hairs in your hairbrush. He knows what is deep in my heart and mind. He sees us with His eyes. He is with us in the dark and quiet corners that we can retreat to if we are having a hard time. As an introvert I love this about our God. I can blossom into me knowing He is right there with me.

Remembering

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This morning as I sat listening to my favorite channel on Pandora, I was taken back to my living room in Nagai. It was a small room, but cozy. Our living room was painted like every living room in the housing area. No color, just a bland form of white-gray or gray-white. Hard to tell, really. I had two large windows in the room and a small window that held the air conditioner which only blew the cold air to the opposite wall where there was a built in bookcase. The back window looked out to our back yard and the dog house . Beyond the yard were rice paddies and fields of crops. The front window was my view of Mt. Fuji.

My schedule while living in Nagai was busy. I worked for the Army Veterinarian (part of the Calvary) on Monday-Wednesday and Friday. In the evenings on Wednesday I taught my private student English and then afterwards would go to the school where I taught two classes, Thursday evening I taught three classes, and Friday was again two. Once a month on Saturday I traveled to another school where I taught three classes English. I was always on the move with trains, buses and on foot. I loved it.

Thursday during the day was for me. I would catch up on laundry and cleaning and then I would sit in my living room. Our furniture at the time was borrowed from the Navy, except our stereo stand and the stereo. On Thursday I would sit in the chair, Bible in hand and that was my time to be with the Lord. I would read, pray and listen to music. I paid attention to the words. I allowed them to go deep in me. I was learning to worship my God.

At the time songs were scripture put to words. The words took root in my heart, planted by the artists performing the music and watered by the Lord listening to my prayers.

They were sweet times for me. I love having alone time. Time where I can be quiet and devote my full attention to God. At that time we had no children so alone time was truly alone. As the years went on alone time was next to impossible. Motherhood filled my mind with activities and chores and demands that took most of the stamina I had. Alone time had to be scheduled in and sometimes took a back seat.

Now, I find in retirement that I still have to purpose in my heart to have some alone time. Dale and I have worked to get to this point in life. After adjustment we have grown into a rhythm of being together. We enjoy our time now. When one of us have time away we miss one another.

So today, as he is gone from the house I returned to a day like my Thursdays in Nagai. I read my Bible, I have had a prayer time and in the background is music that I listened to so many years ago. What prompted me in these thoughts was hearing the song from Psalm 5. Like all music can take you to places and smells and memories, I was transported to my living room in 1978.

“Give ear to my words, O Lord, Consider my meditation.  Give heed to the voice of my cry, My King and my God, For to You I will pray.  My voice You shall hear in the morning, O Lord; In the morning I will direct it to You,
And I will look up.” Psalm 5:1-3 (NKJV)