After viewing so many images of the fire at the Old Market area of Omaha, NE., a memory from my past has been on my mind. Another time in life when a few minutes could have made a major impact on the future of the Harris family.

New Year’s Eve day, 1967, began for our family around 5am. My younger brother Phil had gotten up to get a drink of water because his throat was so dry. With his Boy Scout flashlight shining the way to the kitchen, he noticed it was “foggy” in the house and should probably tell my parents.

He went in their room, and I think his presence woke my father. The house was filled with thick smoke. My mother ran up to the second floor to wake my sister and I. Upstairs the smoke was so thick, I could only see the figure of someone as my mother woke me. I had turned my face into my pillow, no doubt to breathe better, but the shock of the situation made us all dash for the stairway.

The front door was at the bottom of the stairway, and that is the exit we should have used. However, we were going to go to the Peterson house across the street from our back door, so we all headed through the house to the back door. I remember thinking “What a mess this is going to be to clean up!” There was yellowish green smoke curling from below the fireplace hearth in the living room. My dad had tried to call the fire department, but the phone did not work. Within minutes, in our pajamas, we all stepped into whatever boots were by the door, winter coats and headed across the street. It was -17 degrees that morning, and the frigid air stung our faces.

At the Peterson home, my dad called the Holdrege Volunteer Fire Department, and we were amazed how quickly they arrived. Within 10 minutes trucks began arriving, and we were also now seeing flames through the windows of our home. The main floor had already collapsed. Minutes before we were all making our way to the back door across that floor. Little did we know of the inferno below us in the basement.

It is hard to describe the next few hours. We were all perched at various windows in the Peterson home, and little by little our house began falling in as flames s devoured it. It was a spectacular sight, as the overspray water from the fireman hoses froze on the trees in our yard, making it like a crystal forest. The fireman would have to take turns holding the hoses as their arms would freeze in the position of holding the hose as the overspray also covered them. I remember seeing one of them put his arm around my dad and say, “I’m sorry Russ. We are going to have to just let her go.”

All day it burned, and several days later little hot spots would start up again with flames. It looked like the house had been bombed. Strangely, losing everything but our pajamas seemed insignificant as we were all alive and together. Immediately the community began to offer help. It was a Sunday, but the local drug store opened up for us to come down and get tooth brushes, deoderant, other toiletries etc. When we approached the cash register, the owner shook his head, and then shook my dads hand. The owner of the JC Penney store had us come down and we each purchased 2 outfits and some underwear. Many people brought clothing and other things to help out the first few days.

My parents rebuilt on the same corner. A brick ranch style home on a street with many stately looking older two story homes, but that corner was home for many years. I have thought many times how things could have turned out so differently. The picture of our entire family, minus my mother and father, at my father’s memorial service would be non existent if we had perished that day.

One thing we were saddened about was losing all of the pictures of us when we were babies and in our younger years. But another bright spot was that the filing cabinent in the basement which held most of the pictures had tipped over in the 4 feet of water accumulated in the basement from the water. The water froze quickly, freezing most of the pictures that had dumped out of the drawers. A friend who was a local photographer helped to restore many of these pictures.

As a closing thought, make sure your family has a plan for escape should a fire ever happen in your home. Now with the smoke alarms, there is likely better opportunity to know something is happening than in 1967.

Source: Let Your Light Shine

The Race of Life.

Have you ever been in a race? Many friends and relatives prepare daily for half marathons, or a bicycle race through the mountains. The only race I remember being in was just a physical education requirement for 6th grade. I don’t know what the actual yardage was, but I remember when I finally came into the classroom, Spelling had already started. My nickname in elementary school was Turtle. I was usually the last one to be chosen for any team sport in school, and would become very studious about whatever was on the ground around me as I waited for the team captain that ended up with me to finally say “Harris”, with a sigh that a child gives when they are told they have to eat a plate of turnips. Not good memories. But as life happens, and we age, we become much more aware of a race that really defines who we are.
It is the race of life. There is no competition with anyone else, but we do have a companion running this race with us. He is always there, even though sometimes we don’t pay attention to His guidance. Part of our race may take us through unavoidable storms, and some of it may be full of thorns due to our bad judgement. And we grow weary during the race, and that is what I want to dwell on for a few minutes. Since the beginning of mankind, the cycle of life has run like the perfect clock. Parents have children, children grow up, parents age, the children become the parents, and the parents pass away with the next generation taking the baton for their leg of the journey. Unfortunately, this cycle may be interrupted with the untimely death of a child or a parent, and this is an unavoidable storm to journey through. Nine years ago, an unexpected storm set me on a race through curves, hills, valleys and peaks I almost could not climb. In 2006, the sudden passing of my mother shook my world. I had always assumed my father would pass away first, and then I would have several years to enjoy mom and daughter experiences. I loved my dad, but had a closer bond of love with my mom. Almost immediately, it became apparent that my dad needed me to assist him with the rest of his journey. He moved into our home, and for seven years our relationship evolved into the child becoming the parent. Then following a major shift in my race involving a car accident, the name of Turtle became my physical reality and I could no longer give my father the care he required. His physical needs and dementia were increasing and I was unable to keep him here with us. The difficult decision was made to move him into a care facility. Two more years passed, and on August 6th, 2015 at 9:30 pm my father kissed this world goodbye.

For three days before his passing, I sat at his bedside, holding his hand, stroking his head, singing hymns he liked, telling him memories of things we did, and dripping tears of love on him. His eyes were shut almost the whole time, but sometimes he would rustle around a bit and I knew he could hear me. I had gone home Thursday evening to rest and take a bath when my daughter Vera called me. “Grandpa just passed away” she tearfully told me. I dressed and my husband and I hurried to the nursing home, about ten minutes away. Even though I had known for months my dad’s journey was close to the end, I sobbed as I held his arms and hands, feeling the warmth gradually fading away. His 93 year old journey in this world had ended, but how I hated to let go of him. As the days have passed, my race has seemed to move out of darkness into the light of a day at dawn. The whispers of my race companion have been heard, and I have a new understanding and peace in the sovereignty of God. Nine years ago with the shock of my mother passing, my thoughts of having wanted more time with her were my own. I did not need more time to love my mom. But these extra years of time with my dad developed a compassion, mercy , grace and unconditional love for my dad that I would not have had before.

I am the crybaby of the family, but it seems to be during these times I hear the whispers. With tears welling in my eyes as I looked at the still body of my dad, I could feel my heartbeat, and realized that the well of tears in my eyes was slightly bouncing with each of my heartbeats. The hearts of my father and mother still are beating in me, and I feel their strength and encouragement to finish my race well.

I love you Dad! See you later!

Coincidence? I think not…...

With today being the 9th anniversary of my mother’s graduation to heaven, I have been reminiscing much about her. Many a morning started off with “This is the day the Lord has made; Let us rejoice and be glad in it!” As a child facing a school day in the middle of January in Nebraska , I admit I didn’t always feel like rejoicing. But as one matures the understanding of Bible verses becomes meaningful as the fabric of our lives is woven with many personal experiences. Another verse she often told me was “Trust in the Lord with all your heart, lean not on your own understanding. In all your ways, acknowledge Him, and He will direct your path.” Maybe this is why I am always drawn to images of paths. A curve or hill often keeps us from seeing the destination, but I know what my understanding of this verse means to me. There have been many times in my life where something has happened that many would say was “coincidence”. But I know deep in my heart that there was a divine direction happening in spite of my decisions.  There are numerous times I could tell about, but I want to tell you about three events. Many years ago I was experiencing numerous unrelated health issues, and years went by with no diagnosis, yet something was wrong.  I had the appearance of someone on a heavy dose of prednisone. My hair thinned, my skin was thin and bruised easily, and my foot broke just walking in the grocery store. After several years, I was convinced I must be going crazy if doctors were finding nothing wrong yet I looked and felt horrible! Then one Sunday in church, my husband and I were singing a duet for special music. That particular Sunday, a young man who was the age of my younger brother and was in medical school was attending the service. Having not seen me for many years, he recognized the classic symptoms of Cushing Disease. I had an adrenal gland tumor that was spewing excess cortisol into my systems, weakening every cell. He was working with my doctor at the time, and I had an appointment the next day for back pain. He came into the exam room first, and very kindly pointed out all the changes in my appearance, and suggested a blood test to see what my cortisol level was. That one test was the answer to years of health issues. I went to Mayo Clinic where I had surgical removal of the tumorous gland, and after 18 months returned to better health when my atrophied remaining gland started to work again. The tumor was large enough that it could have been malignant, but the timing of the diagnosis had been soon enough. I know it was not coincidence that this young man was in church that day.

A second example is in the adoption of our daughter Vera from Russia. A couple of years earlier, a Russian woman had been given permission from the orphanage director to come into the orphanage weekly and teach Sunday School lessons. Our little Vera listened intently, and one day when prayer was the subject, asked if she could pray for a family. At this time, 1989-1990 there were no international adoptions with Russia. The Russian woman said of course, God hears all our prayers. So the prayers of a little Russian orphan were heard.  Eventually, as things began to open up with US and Russian relations, Holt International Adoption Agency became involved, and Vera was one of the first 3 to be adopted through an agency. In November of 1991 at the age of 11 Vera became a Sullivan. Not a coincidence that the prayers of a little girl was the beginning of a path laid before her for a family and to touch the lives of so many in her occupation as a CNA.

Finally, I would not be alive to be writing this had I not left my cell phone in the bathroom on December 9th, 2013. Coincidence?  I think not.  As I went to another room to get the phone book, I knew I was dying as I broke out in a cold sweat and could not breathe. My vision tunneled as I somehow made it in to the bathroom, threw myself onto the toilet and lay against the wall panting. My cell phone rang, within easy reach. It was my husband, calling to see if I had made a doctor appointment yet. Hearing I was in distress, an ambulance was called and eventually I was diagnosed with double pulmonary embolisms.  My earthly path was not to end that day, and provision was made for that. But I have trust in the Lord that when my last breath is taken, it will be as it is supposed to be.

A beautiful snowy day in the Rocky Mountains. A fire crackling and a warm, fluffy dog cuddled alongside me. I love these kind of days to reflect on life, read a good book, or just be still and listen to the silence. It is usually in times like this when the whispers from God are more easily heard. Today is one of those days.

I hold on to things. I save cards given to me, children’s drawings, items that belonged to my mother and before that her mother. In the matter of being nostalgic, I feel that is how my heart perceives and enjoys life. But in the matter of people I love, it can be a burden to bear. Specifically now I am referring to my father. He is in the last few pages of his final chapter of life. I have found myself holding on to hope he may get better, holding on to the guilt that he ever had to go to the nursing home in the first place. I had wanted to care for him in my home, but after my car accident and health issues, I couldn’t anymore. I would sit holding his hand, tears dripping, remembering his phone calls to come get him and bring him home. There were times he was so confused and scared. Holding on to all these type of things only weighed on my heart and emotions. If I really believe what I say I do, God has this whole thing in His hands. Nothing can change the past. We are in this moment, and I will be stronger if I just let go and let God. My visits to my dad the past few days have been easier. Even if he sleeps the whole time, I hold his hand and talk or sing. His dementia is severe enough that he does not remember the 7 years he lived with me, or somedays even who I am. There is a new strength that comes from letting go of it all, enjoying the moments we have now, and unloading the burden for God to take care of him. Actually, God has been in control all along, even before I realized the unhealthy holding on.

We all are on a path through life, and I am learning there is strength now in letting go of my “imaginary holding on” to those I love. God has them all on their path. My children and grandchildren will hear their calling, and if I “let go and let God” I will be much stronger to be free from unnecessary worry. With that also comes a joy of seeing what God has for them in their story. And again the reminder that this world is not our home. We are all just traveling through. Life is like a mountain railroad, filled with curves and tunnels and one day we will all be home at that heavenly depot.

The Years Tell Us Much…..

If you are like me, the holiday season offers moments of reflection into the Christmas seasons of the past. Many years ago, when our children consisted of our three boys, I watched from the kitchen as they assembled our Christmas tree and I thought to myself, “That tree looks so much smaller; I wonder if it is all there.” Then I realized the tree was the same, but it was the boys who were taller and now able to reach the top without a chair. As our three beautiful girls entered our lives, Christmas memories included dolls, red velour dresses and the twinkle of Christmas lights sparkling in beautiful, almond shaped brown eyes. As children grew and there were many legs under the Christmas dinner table, the years went by and soon there was an empty chair or two as beloved grandparents had departed into eternity. Now the toddlers and little ones around the table are my own grandchildren, with the oldest home for college Christmas break. At times it is a stunning revelation that life has accelerated at this speed. We had an evening of such a revelation shortly before one of my daughters left for a new chapter of her life. Fortunately, there is still a VCR in the house and we watched videos of some of our visits to see family in Colorado when we still lived in Nebraska. Michelle was about 2 in one of them, and her brothers were around 7,10 and 12. I am so thankful for the technology to actually see again into that moment of time. Another video had Ashley added, learning to crawl, walk around furniture and going after one of her brothers to bite them as they teased and played. Vera had not joined our family yet during this time . Scott’s parents were in both of these films, Lowell and Irma Sullivan. As I laughed and cried watching the past, I realized that at the time these were filmed, Scott’s father was the age that Scott is now. I am only 2 years behind. Everyday since that revelation, I have reflected on how quickly our life with our children passes by, and how I wish I had soaked in more of the joy of the moments then. It seemed like there was always something pressing to be done, so hurry up here to dash somewhere else. But no. Nothing is more important than the relationship moment you are in now, whether a parent, a grandparent, a friend, a child. I learned that the hard way in December of 2013 when one day the chances were slim I would survive pulmonary embolisms. Nothing was on my mind that day but my family. Did they know how much I loved them? God,please give me more time! Graciously, I have been given 13 more months and hopefully more. A Ralph Waldo Emerson quote hangs above my piano. “The years tell us much that the days never knew.” Wherever you are in life right now, embrace this truth. It is something you will never regret.