MY BROTHER-IN-LAW, FRED

 On July 28, 2010, while in Tacoma for my mother's 90th birthday, I saw  my sister, Kristan, from Fairbanks, AK, for the first time in 10 years.  We had a nice walk for about 1/2 hour.  Kristan had returned to the Lord several years earlier and I hadn't seen her since then.  It was a real blessing to be together.

As soon as we returned to the house where mom's party was taking place, Kristan received a call from one of her sons saying that her husband, Fred, had been in an accident and someone had been killed.

What finally came out a while later is that he was not paying enough attention, partly because he was so used to the highway,  he hit a cross-walk where a light had just changed to red, and he struck a 14-year-old girl, Kirsten, who was killed instantly.  [And for my sister/his wife, to be Kristan, and the young girl killed was Kirsten ... that has flooded many of our hearts.]

After a struggle re: lawyers, courts, judges, and on and on, he finally was sent to prison.  He entered in September, 2011, and will be released in early May, '13.

Fred had been a less-than-nice guy much of his life and was heavily involved in alcoholism and other addictions.  Back in early 1991, Fred and the family were vising out here.  And, NO, we weren't sorry that he left!  And we haven't seen him since then, and didn't miss him for several years.  We do now.

Fred came to the Lord about 12 years ago.  It was through his brother drawing him to the Lord and Fred seeking forgiveness from my sister, that she returned to the Lord, too.  WOW! We're so looking forward to seeing them.  The four of us together can rejoice, believe me.

NOW... while in prison, Fred has led men to the Lord, has helped them grow, already has some plans for ministering with youth at his church and others when he is released. He has dealt with some personal issues that he, while behind bars, couldn't run away from or hide from, so his emotions have healed more. He also went in with a high amount of extra weight ... and has been exercising and has lost piles and piles of it. Physically, he is feeling better.  Emotionally, being healed.  Spiritually, he is growing.  Good things.

Well, this is the group letter I received from him today... and it made me rejoice.  I usually don't share these, but I felt it was the right thing to do this time.  [I also didn't change anything ...  spelling, grammar, etc. ... just typed it same as he did.]

-- Oh, and the prison is about an 8-hour drive on curvy roads across mountains, etc., for Kristan to get there.  As a full-time worker in North Pole, it's a real challenge for her to be able to see him in a reasonable schedule.  Not similar to a pop-down from Omaha-to-Lincoln situation we would have here.--

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Holy smoke! 71 days left of my incarceration.  And I'm in a daze!  I can't think straight, or hold a thought to completion.  I am getting very emotional; anything happy or sad, I see or hear gets the water works going.  (I wonder what my cell mates think of this nut job.)  But God is so Great.  His hand was there to, protected and comforted me, give an opportunity to grow in Him.  To trust and obey as the Holy Spirit guided and taught me.  I'm shaking as I write this letter as if I drank 3 shots of espresso, because of my excitement in the fact that I will be able to hold, hug, and kiss those I love without being threatened with going to the Hole or losing my visitation privileges.  I dream now about getting into a car and going somewhere, anywhere!  To go to church, share a cup of weak coffee, be greeted with an "I'm so glad to see you smile, and warm hands shake!"  Even though you may have never met before.  The joyful and angelic faces playing and sing praises to our Lord, the special smile at the pulpit, the kind that lets you know he has something wonderful to share, and all you have to do is listen and watch.  It's exciting and wonderful to share this time together in Christ.  The demonstration of love to each other without a word, love that over flows to everyone around.  I pray that I am able to personally spend time with everyone who has carried me through this season of fear, torment, anxiety, shame, and surrender through prayers and visits, plus all the letters I have received in this soon to be 608 days of incarceration.  I know men who have not received 1 letter, card, or visit, period.  And I have had close to 50, or more visits, plus I believe more than 700 letters.  I know, even today I still average more than 1 a day.  In a way, I really don't know what it's like to be a prisoner, because so few prisoners have a family who cares as much as you do.

Love Fred.

.... Kristan said you fell down.  Me too!  And we got up. Ya!  Keep up the good fight Sis.

MIRACLE, DONCHA THINK?

When I had just turned 6 years old, the summer of 1951, still living in the “Birdhouse”, outside Klickitat, WA, a rather unusual event occurred.  I don’t think I knew anything about angels, except when I saw something about Christmas and the angels singing to the shepherds.  That would have been “it”.  However, I happen to believe they were very busy taking care of me.

My Dad was headed out for milk and, instead of heading to Klickitat, he went the other direction to a farm about a mile up the road.  He took me with him.  He was driving an old-style station wagon.

In that area, the Birdhouse, the other houses, the pastures, fields and farms were on one side of the road.  The Klickitat River was on the other, with just a few feet between it and the road, with only a grassy ditch and a few boulders before the rushing water.

Since we were driving north, that meant he would be turning left onto the farm.

Before we reached it, when I could see the farmhouse in the distance, I was thinking, “I don’t want to be left in the car.  I want to get out.”  To be ready, I held onto the door handle very firmly.

Well, Dad slowed down to turn left, the door handle went down, and I swung out of the car, grasping the handle.  The door opened wide.  I was scared, of course, but also thinking, “If I let go, I can land in the ditch and it could have snakes!”  So, I held onto the handle.  The door swung back towards the car, and I was forced to let go, and tossed under the car.  The car was moving slowly, since Dad was preparing to turn, but not stopped.  As a result, the rear tires ran over my legs, angling from the top of one leg to the calf of another.

My Dad hit the brakes, of course, jumped out of the car and over the hood to find me.  Before he reached me, behind the car, I had already rolled over to my stomach and was banging my head on the soft tar road and saying to myself, “Stupid.  Stupid.  Stupid.”

There was a car behind us and it stopped immediately.  The driver was a teenaged boy that we knew.  “Bob”, 16, had been in Klickitat at the Swimming Hole, and was wearing only swim trunks, because he was heading home. 

He was embarrassed to be in this situation, with nothing else to wear, but he held me in the car while Dad drove [raced!] to the nearest town with doctors and a hospital.  Goldendale and Klickitat are about 20 miles apart, which wouldn’t seem like such a big deal in our present way of thinking, except, in this case, Klickitat was in the valley by the river and Goldendale was up on the high plains.  

This road then [and now] would have a section that was hairpin curving up the grade, a rock cliff on one side, a drop to the river.. sometimes hundreds of feet... on the other and no guard rails.  I expect Dad drove dangerously, to say the least.

When we reached Goldendale, Dad went to a Doctor first.  All I remember is laying on the table and having my jeans cut off.  You see, if nothing else, the fact that it was July, HOT, and the road covered with tar, my jeans were black from that soft road topping, and stuck to me.  The tire pattern was very clearly seen.
After the jeans were off, which I was angry about, because I liked them, Dad took me to the hospital. Next medical event was an X-ray. 

 Miracle?  My legs were not broken.  I had very few bruises or scrapes.  Dad was told that the reason my legs weren’t broken was because the angle was the only one that would have prevented that from happening.  The worst bruise?  My forehead where I had been hammering on the ground, angry at myself, because I was “stupid”.

I was in the hospital for 3 days.  They didn’t think I would be, or should be, walking and putting pressure on my legs.  Now, remember, in those days, especially a small hospital, when there was space in a room, under fairly normal circumstances, you would simply be in a room with whoever was there.  The room they put me in had an “older” lady and she was in some sort of recovery, but needed rest.  I anticipate that I drove her crazy.  I was supposed to stay in bed, but didn’t.  I climbed in and out, and, sometimes, jumped up and down from the bed.  Mom and Dad could come in the evening for a short visit, but I vaguely recall that they were told that I wasn’t doing what I was supposed to.  Since I didn’t seem to need more recovery, they sent me home.  I don’t think I was ever back for a checkup.

Now, when I reached home, I think I actually settled down and rested more for a short stretch.

I have never had future leg issues.  My muscles and joints are usually painless, even 60 years later.  Compared to many of my family and friends in my general age range, that is pretty amazing.

When I think of the times that God protected me, knew me so long before I knew Him — DUH!!! — and had assigned angels to me, I expect this was one of the top ones; definitely not the first one, knowing my childhood seriosity history, but rather important, doncha think?
And, remember that time, recalling those amazing details, I always smile.  Big Time.