Giving our grandchildren back to God

 Saturday morning we got an alarming message from our grandson Aren. “A large earthquake has just struck. I’m out in the streets with crowds of people. I’m OK.” Aren lives in Marrakech, Morocco.

This earthquake has been in the headlines the last three days, with news of the devastation. The 6.8 quake struck without warning late Friday, the epi-center being south of Marrakech. While the city was minimally affected, many small villages to the south in the Atlas Mountains have been decimated. The 2700 people reported dead (and the number is climbing) are mostly in these villages.

We proudly watched Aren graduate in 2019 From George Fox University with a degree in engineering. He soon found a job with a large business in the greater Portland area, but his heart has always been in overseas service. He spent several years searching for the right organization and situation to go out with in some kind of short-term service, thinking that two years might be enough to get direction for the rest of his life. He wanted to be involved in helping people start small businesses in poverty-stricken areas. 

We always knew that someday he would leave family and be off somewhere on the other side of the world. We knew this would probably be a good thing. And we knew that we'd miss him.

A few years ago he discovered an opportunity with an NGO in Morocco. They were working in setting up a unique business in the city of Marrakech—a climbing gym. Aren is athletic and loves climbing walls and cliffs. It seemed a good fit (and has proved to be so), and so a year of applications, interviews, a visit to the field, and raising support followed.

Finally, in November of 2022, less than a year ago, Aren boarded the plane in Portland for his big adventure. Although we had walked with him through the difficulties and triumphs of the process, praying often and participating in the excitement, it was hard for his family and friends to see him leave.

It’s been a good experience so far and Aren has been faithful in communicating. (Thank God for modern technology that allows for actual conversations and instant messages.) He has focused on language and culture learning, forming relationships and, of course, learning the business. Although missing home at times and experiencing the natural ups-and-downs of this kind of cross-cultural experience, he seems to be thriving.

Friday night, Aren was sitting in his living room with a Moroccan friend when the floor started dancing. They ran out into the streets where people were in panic, the pavement still bouncing around. Buildings in his immediate neighborhood were still standing, although everything seemed precarious. Aren told us that his ADHD helped him and he immediately assessed the situation and began thinking through possible actions. After the ground stopped moving, he and his friend headed on foot for the home of a team member where he was able to borrow a four-wheel-drive vehicle. Aren and a few of his friends loaded the car with as much water as they could buy. They drove through the city, seeing it was only minimally damaged, and headed out to a village where one of his friends lived.

Half the buildings in the village had been destroyed and many people killed. Survivors were dazed, walking around, grieving. The guys spent the rest of the night there, searching for survivors, digging through rubble, comforting people as best they could. By morning they saw trucks of Moroccans entering the village with enough supplies and workers to begin meeting the need. They went home to sleep for a few hours before heading out to another village the next day.

He called us this morning (his Monday evening) and we mainly listened. He says he is not yet ready to emotionally process what is happening to the country and to him personally. There is still too much to be done. He’s especially concerned for the many remote villages without easy access. He wants to take his motorcycle up into the hills to discover communities that need help.

That sounds really dangerous. But we held back on counseling him not to do it. It would be our fear speaking, not whatever wisdom we might have. We have to leave him to his own discernment of what God is asking of him.

But I do fear, even as I am proud of him. Hal and I both have the sense that God placed him in this situation “for such a time as this.”

I’m remembering this morning the message from Kahlil Gibran about children (and grandchildren). I read it and marked it up years ago, before I was even married or had children of my own. It touches me today.

Your children are not your children.

They are the sons and daughters of Life’s longing for itself.

They come through you but not from you.

And though they are with you, yet they belong not to you….

You are the bows from which your children as living arrows are sent forth.

The archer sees the mark upon the path of the infinite, and He bends you with His might that His arrows may go swift and far.

Let your bending in the archer’s hand be for gladness;

For even as he loves the arrow that flies, so He loves also the bow that is stable.

Not Burdensome

I’m going through a period of grief that is common to many. Two of my grandchildren are leaving home on long term missions across the sea. They go into precarious situations which, while it makes us nervous, only makes them excited. We’ve been warned against mentioning over the Internet their names or the countries they’re going to. One will be gone three years, the other two.

We’ve enjoyed having them close during their university years, sharing meals and conversations, doing art projects together, and then seeing them graduate. We’ve watched them turn into young adults, responsible people, ready to follow their dreams. But why do they have to follow them so far away?

This is a common grief. Children grow up and leave home. Parents, at least some of them, grieve as they let them go. We did this to our parents. But being common doesn’t make the sadness any less real.

As I’ve been writing poetry through the Bible, I thought about my grandkids this week. I was working my way through 1^st, 2^nd, and 3^rd John and I came across this passage: “This is love for God: to keep his commands. And his commands are not burdensome” (1 John 5:3). Here’s the poem:

 

Not Burdensome

Weightless, in fact.
Under the yoke of God,
there by our choice,
we float on his will
toward a destination
of his choosing.

-Give away all you own. Feed the poor.
   Ok.
-Leave your father and mother and come.
Follow me to the ends of the earth.
   I’m on the way.
-Set your grandchildren free to grab hold
of the dreams I put in their hearts. Let go.
   Yes, Lord.
-Give up your life for mine.
   Here. Take it.

Not burdensome.
Not burdensome at all.

Choosing life: celebrating the milestones

Life’s great moments don’t stop for a pandemic. St. John reminds us that the darkness has never overcome the light.

Family milestones are a light, commemorating past achievements and illuminating the path ahead. Or at least the beginning of the path.

Our family is celebrating three graduations this spring. Three of our grandchildren have reached an important milestone, and while their official ceremonies have been cancelled (along with the parties and other adventures), we still celebrate.

On May 2, our oldest grandchild, Breanna Joy (daughter of David and Debby), became Dr. Breanna Becker. Bree completed her graduate program in physical therapy at George Fox University. We’ve already benefited from her skills (free to grandparents!), applied to Hal’s back and my dizziness. We’re happy that she loves her new profession and has a sense of call to this service.

Our two high school graduates are Alandra Uwizera Thomas (youngest daughter of David and Debby) and Thomas Reilly Gault (oldest child of Jon and Kristin). Alandra and Reilly not only will miss their ceremonies, they both missed their senior proms. About missing the prom, Reilly felt great relief. But Alandra was disappointed. So David and Debby put on their own prom. The family, including sister Gwen, cleaned the house, dressed up in formal attire, had a special gourmet dinner, and then danced in the field next door, to the cheers of their neighbors. Alandra’s smiles tells it all.

Bree looks forward to getting a real job in a clinic. Alandra is going to major in engineering at George Fox University, while Reilly is enrolled in the University of Oregon’s School of Music, specializing in percussion and jazz.

This coming Saturday evening, the extended family will celebrate together via Zoom. From five different households, we will meet over five different dinner tables to eat and talk. Each of our graduates will share their hopes and dreams. Maybe we can persuade Reilly to give his valedictorian speech. (Kristin says he had been preparing it before the pandemic struck.)

We will bless each one in prayer.

And we will celebrate these three marvelous young people.

The light is shining.

                  Our apartment door at Friendsview 

Learning from Peter

When my youngest grandson, Peter, was two-months-old, his mother called one night in a panic. It seems he had stopped responding both to loud noises and bright lights. He had gone passive. It frightened Hal and me, too, and we went into a week’s period of intense prayer and fasting, not knowing what else to do. Within a week, young Peter began responding again as a normal infant to outside stimuli, especially sounds.

But our daughter, Kristin, while relieved, knew something was still not right. Then at four-months-old, we received the diagnosis. Peter was blind. We all accepted this news with sorrow and began learning braille.

Again, Peter surprised us as the months passed, reaching up to the bright mobile in his crib, and turning toward lights. As he learned to crawl, he managed to navigate around furniture without crashing into it. The first sentence he said to me, as I turned on the light in the bedroom, was “Light on.” Obviously, he could see something.  (We were later to learn that, while visually impaired, the sight he did have would allow him to live almost as well as a sighted person. That’s another story.)

But Peter continued to puzzle his parents. When he was two, Kristin followed her instincts and had him tested for autism. He tested positive. Again, we all struggled with this diagnosis and began our different ways of coping. Meanwhile, Peter kept developing and growing.

His speech was delayed, and we wondered if non-communication might be one of his autistic traits. Actually, on the inside he was absorbing language at an astonishing rate, and it began coming out in complete sentences during his second year.

I remember well the first “grown-up” sentence he said to me. I had just put him down for his afternoon nap, and as I closed the door, I said, “Night, night, Peter.” He raised his head, looked directly at me, and said, “See ya later, Honey.” (He must have heard Hal say that to me.)

Peter turned out to be a very communicative person. As corresponds with his autism, his communication style is frequent, sometimes loud, repetitive, and quirky. It requires great patience from the rest of the family.

One of the more interesting quirks is his inability to process metaphor. He takes things literally, which can have some funny results. One morning we were playing together on the living room floor. I got up, telling him I needed to go fix the lunch. “Grandma!” he protested. “You can’t fix the lunch. It’s not broken!”

As a member of the young-tykes T-Ball team, he loved batting since the ball was mounted close enough for him to see. But playing in the field was a problem, so the coach decided he could play third base. He could see the base and would be able to spot an approaching runner. The coach instructed him, “Peter, all you need to do is cover third base. Don’t bother about what’s going on around you. Just cover third base.”

And he did. As the first runner approached, with the crowd yelling, Peter energetically threw himself on top of third base, not letting the runner touch it. He effectively covered third base.

When Kristin accompanied him to the first day of first-grade, his kindergarten teacher from the previous year came up and exclaimed, “Peter, I can’t believe it! You grew another foot over the summer!”

Shock and anger combined in Peter’s face. He quickly looked down, pointed, and responded, “No, I didn’t! Look! There’s still just two!”

My collection of Peter-sayings is large, but these examples illustrate the challenge. He has since learned about metaphor, can recognize figures of speech, and has developed strategies of responding that make him seem normal. He knows people don’t always mean what they say. Peter is bright.

But Peter does more than make us laugh at his misinterpretations. We’re learning to listen for his unique perspectives. His brain obviously functions differently and his creative mind often comes up with insights that seem beyond his years.

I had the most interesting conversation with him when he was ten-years-old. He was staying with us for a week in our Friendsview apartment. One morning he began asking a series of questions on death and the nature of existence. The questions amazed us, and we quickly realized he was not expecting us to answer. He was expressing wonderment. So we just listened, encouraging him to continue. I took notes, which didn’t seem to bother him. I couldn’t catch it all, but here’s part of that series of questions and observations, quoted verbatim:

“What would you feel like if you were dead? Would you still feel like you were there? But how could you feel if you did not exist? It’s hard to explain….

“If you and Grandpa had not married, would I have been born to strangers? Or would I have been born at all? Would I exist?...

“If you’re dead, you’re gone. What would you feel if you were gone? Would you think or have feelings? It’s so hard to explain. I don’t think you understand what I’m trying to say, Grandma….

“If there was nothing when God didn’t yet create the world, how would you be there? If you weren’t born yet, how would you be there? Imagine not being there and not being able to think….

“I started to think about this since kindergarten. When I think really really big, my brain starts to hurt….

“I’ve got a huge suggestion for the Bible: they should make it easier to understand….

“The smallest word with the most complex meaning is God.”

Peter is now 12-years-old, learning to negotiate the world of middle school. His favorite classes are band (he plays the drums and loves repetitive rhythms) and computers, at which he is a whiz. He says he wants to write and illustrate books when he grows up. He already has a small stack of his creations. I hope he continues.

Among other things, Peter is teaching me to value the perspectives of people who are in some way different, strange, marginal, other. We have much to learn from them.

Bolivian Friends--100 Years!

I’m just back from our family trip to Bolivia to celebrate the 100^th anniversary of the Bolivian Friends Church (INELA). And celebrate we did—both on the macro level of the whole denomination and the more micro level of our family. Although I’m still physically recovering from the trip (only one more round of antibiotics!), this is a good time for reflections and memories.

Celebrate is something the INELA knows how to do. They had rented the government sports coliseum on the upper city. After a two-hour, two-mile long parade of some of the church’s 200 congregations, around 7000 Andean Quakers filled the building for the Easter Sunday celebration. (Some leaders were actually disappointed that the anticipated 11,000 didn’t show. It seemed like a great crowd to me!)

The four-hour celebration filled the building with music, speeches, prayers, pronouncements, and lots of smiles and hugs at the end.

 With Hilarion and Agustina

Mario Surco, now an old man, was the first INELA national missionary in the 1960s.

Girl friends, Teodora and Solome

Hal with another dear old friend, Francisco Tintaya, twice INELA president in the 1970s and 80s.

Jim LeShana, NWYM superintendent, and Hector Castro, INELA president

Kristin sitting with her friends

For our family—David, Kristin, Hal and me—the whole two weeks was a time for memories and renewal of old friendships. Hal and I, with one-year-old David, arrived in La Paz in January 1972. Kristin joined our family in 1973. We all feel like Bolivia was the place of our growing-up years. When we left in 1989, David was 19 and Kristin 16-years-old. This place is still home to them. And this was the first time in the last 30 years we were together in La Paz.

View from our Airbnb in downtown La Paz, a perfect central place to receive guests and from which to launch out on our excursions

Behind us, the city at night

 Visit with Juana Ott de Mamani

In the New Jerusalem Friends Church with Jesus and Paulina Torrez

Kristin's friends had great fun dressing her up as a cholita.

Dinner with the extended Gutierrez family

With my old prayer partners, Susan Espejo and Ruth Galeb.

David was invited to give a major presentation. What a joy to support him.

What a joy to share this experience as a family.

Thanks be to God!

Floating over the fields

We celebrated our 50^th anniversary with a hot air balloon ride, something we’ve always wanted to do. We were not disappointed.

I remember another 50^th celebration—my birthday some years ago. I wanted it to be memorable, so Hal and I took time off from work, went to Magic Mountain, and spent the day riding roller-coasters. A beast appropriately named “The Viper” made an especially thrilling impression.

Two very different rides. Our anniversary beast was named “Ridge Runner,” and he gave us a more gently thrilling ride. We floated rather than raced. But what a visual feast!

A typical cloudy Oregon day, we couldn’t see the far peaks—Hood, Saint Helens, or Rainier—but the Chelalem range circled the Willamette Valley farmland, with narrow forrest groves snaking across the planted fields. I thought of lines from Gerard Manley Hopkins’ “Pied Beauty”: “Glory be to God for dappled things…. landscapes plotted and pieced—fold, fallow and plow….”

Because of a lack of winds, we drifted very slowly, with a lot of up-and-down trips, almost touching the fields at times, up above the forested hills at other times. The Willamette River meandered in the distance.

Part of the grace of this ride was that it was a gift from our kids. David met us at the air field before the flight so he could see us off, take photos, and meet us again wherever we landed. Along with all of us, he helped the crew in getting the balloon ready for flight.

And then, when we passengers were in the basket, ready for take-off, the assistant said to David, “Hop in.”

“Oh, no,” David replied. “I’m not a passenger. I’m here to see my parents off.”

The assistant merely repeated his command, “Hop in.
" We all looked at each other, grinned, and David hopped in.

       Grace upon grace.

                                             Ready to go!

Happy Anniversary!

Bolivar's Horse

I thought of you two today,

about when you were kids

and we lived on Juan de Vargas Street

in Miraflores. Surrounded by buildings,

we used to cross two busy streets

to get to the Plaza Triangular

where you would run around

or ride your tricycles on the uneven pavement.

A huge statue dominated the plaza,

some Bolivian military hero

--Bolivar perhaps, yes, certainly

it was Bolivar—mounted on an antsy

but stationary stallion. The horse had one hoof

raised, head lifted back, while his master

held the reigns tight, not quite ready

to plunge into battle. The tail was tense,

high in the air. We dared ourselves

to sit on the base of the statue, just under that tail.

We held our breath and waited to see

if any cement turds would fall on our heads.

They never did.

But they could have. They most certainly

could have.

Peter explains Minecraft

Here’s a pit of witches, Grandma.

I give them levitation. They float up.

When it wears off they crash down

and die. Dead witches look like squiggles.

When horses levitate and then fall down,

they die. They take full fall damage.

The red flash lets you know.

But when cats levitate and it wears off,

they don’t die. They fall down

but they bounce back.

Cats don’t take fall damage.

Watch me make a pit of cats.

They try to get out. See them yowl and fight.

I’ll take one out, put it on a leash and give

it levitation. It’s a cat balloon!

Now about worlds,

you get to a different world through a portal.

There’s the home world

and then there’s the netherworld.

The netherworld is full of darkness and fire. Scary.

The End is under the netherworld.

It’s floating green islands in the black sky

with dragons.

Isn’t it good, Grandma,

that kittens don’t get hurt.

(From notes on a conversation with Peter, nine-years old)

Still good at 50 years

Hal and I celebrate our 50^th anniversary this year. I never really thought I’d be old enough for this event, but here we are. We’ve decided to celebrate all year long, especially on the 23^rd of each month. The real date is August 23.

When we became engaged we decided that we’d celebrate each anniversary with a poem. I’d write one for him and he’d write one for me. I still think that’s a wonderful idea. Very romantic. But real life is not always romantic, and if you want to know the truth, Hal owes me 49 poems.

Here’s one I wrote for him, years ago.

EVERLASTING

Long a connoisseur of the commonplace,

I flick cathedrals like lint from my sleeve.

Scholarly tomes slip-slide through the cracks

in my mind, leaving no trace.

Monuments (cheap, plentiful, easy to construct)

I erase from memory without compunction.

But the way you look at me

burrows deep, sequoia thick.

Your slightest touch leaves an indelible mark.

The lights in your voice are forever.

He can see!

Yesterday afternoon Reilly got his trial eSight glasses and tried them on. It was set up for him to first try them at school, in the band room (his favorite classroom!). But rather than describe it secondhand, I will copy the email we got just from Kristin (our daughter, Reilly’s mom).

“Hey Dad and Mom,

“We did it!!!  Reilly tried the eSight glasses, and couldn't stop smiling!  Check out facebook as I posted a lot of pictures.  He was on the news again, and will be again later tonight and tomorrow morning.  It was pretty exciting!  We were in the band room with all his friends, Dave and Pat, youth pastor and his wife (who also took photos as she is the photographer who took our pictures earlier), his band director, and the news.  You could tell when he started to see because he just got this huge smile on his face.  He was kinda quiet just looking all around the band room.  It was pretty emotional.  He started walking around and read some sheet music, looked at posters across the room, zoomed in and read things we couldn't see, etc...  Then we went outside to the courtyard and he stared at the sky and the sunset.  Pretty cool!

“Tomorrow is the Springfield parade and Reilly is to wear his glasses.  I will be following him as he really shouldn't be wearing them for more than an hour at a time as he gets used to them.  It is also supposed to be raining, so he may not be able to wear them very much.

“Will keep you in the loop and wish you were here, but know you will be experiencing his sight soon enough when you come!

“Love, Kristin”

We both cried. Imagine the miracle of sight, immediately given. Today he plays the snare drum in the marching band. I wish we could be there, but we certainly feel the joy. Thanks be to God.

Here are some of the photos Kristin put up on Facebook.

With his mom and dad

In the high school courtyard

Even today, the blind see

His name is Thomas Reilly Gault, and, typical of grandparents, we’re proud of him. At 15, Reilly is known as a math whiz, and one application of this is his participation in speed-cubing contests, where he solves different of configurations of Rubik’s cubes as fast as he can.

One of his passions is music, with an emphasis in percussion. He is the lead drummer in his high school band, and plays the snare drums in the marching band. He also plays the marimba, piano (playing dinner music in hotels) and cello (playing the bridal march in weddings). He loves being part of the worship team in his congregation.

An interesting detail in all of this is that Reilly is legally blind. Glasses bring his vision up to 20/500 in each eye, which helps, but isn’t all that great. He uses a cane at school and has learned braille. With all of this, he looks forward to a career in engineering and music, and would love to be part of a youth ministry team someday. Needless to say, Reilly faces unique challenges as he walks into his dreams.

Recently, while browsing the Internet, Reilly discovered the new technology of electronic glasses that give people with impaired vision the chance to see as clearly as most of us do. He found “eSight” and became excited about the possibilities. His parents joined him and they contacted the organization and found that he would be a prime candidate for the glasses.

The major set-back in this possibility is that a pair of these wonder glasses costs $10,000, a price beyond the means of Reilly’s parents (my daughter Kristin and son-in-law, Jon Gault). But the organization helps family members engage their community to raise funds for this project.

So a few weeks ago, Jon and Kristin, after consulting with local government officials and the school system, took the plunge and set up a donation site. Reilly wrote the essay for the site. Here’s a part of his description:

“Until a few months ago, I did not know that there might have been a possibility that I could be able to see like other people.  I discovered eSight one day, while browsing the internet, trying to learn about possible cures for different types of blindness and visual impairments.  I immediately told my family, and they seemed interested right away.  I could not get this off of my mind, as it seemed that my disability could possibly become an ability.  As you can tell, I am really stoked about this idea, and I would love it if you would be willing to embark on this journey with me, this journey that could change my life. 

“I was born with albinism and optic nerve hypoplasia, where the back of my retinas, and my optic nerves, were not fully developed. When I was younger, around 1st grade, my vision was stable at 20/100.  After 2nd grade, my vision deteriorated to beyond legal blindness, which is 20/200.  It kept deteriorating, for some unexplainable reason, until it stabilized around 20/500, with correction (glasses).  My parents raised me with the mindset that I could do anything I put my mind to, regardless of my disability.  For example, a nurse told my parents that, because of my low vision, I would not be able to play any ball sports in the future.  My parents promptly enrolled me in soccer, which I went on to play from kindergarten to my freshmen year of high school.  After that, marching band took over.”

To read the rest of Reilly’s essay, go to his eSight page. To learn more about the electronic glasses and how they work, go to this site.

I love to read about Jesus instantly healing the blind, and I believe in the possibility of that happening today, although I confess I’ve never witnessed it or even heard of a case. But I’m also willing to let God work his sight-giving miracles through modern technology.

I can’t wait for Reilly to be able to clearly see his mom and dad, his brother and sister, and, yes, his grandparents for the first time. 

Saddle Shoes

Here is the prompt I followed in my writing time this morning: “That was the ugliest piece of clothing anyone ever had to wear in front of her friends.”

    They were called “saddle shoes.” The name evokes images of mules, dusty trails and rural klutziness , but my mom expected me to wear them. To school. In front of everyone.

I must have been in the fourth or fifth grade. My mom was the proverbial Good Mother, so sensible shoes were the order of the day. After all, they were “good for my feet.”

Sturdy, yes. Substantial. But also clunky and awkward. A white shoe with a large black band across the top—the “saddle”—that tied up and needed to be worn with ankle socks.

In those days little girls wore dresses to school. The saddle shoes definitely did not go with dresses. They were not feminine. They were not pretty.

Ugly.

I hated them. And I was angry at Mom for making me wear them.

Furthermore, I was skinny. One of my nicknames—what the other kids chose to call me—was Bird-Legs. Can you picture it? Top to bottom: a crop of unruly naturally curly blond hair, a frilly dress, two thin stick-like legs, stuck into a foundation of chunky sensible shoes.

No wonder I felt ugly and awkward.

It took me years to realize I was pretty.

Now, as an older person with strong, healthy feet, I get it. While I no longer have to wear saddle shoes, I choose sensible. Thanks, Mom.

Declaration of Independence, Interdependence and Total Dependence

Since the first shall be last and the last first, I’ll start with Total Dependence.

Declaration of Total Dependence

--I declare my total dependence on God. I want to say with the psalmist, “Whom have I in heaven but you, and on earth there is no one I desire who compares with you.”  “In God I live and move and have my being.” God alone is my source of glory (recognition, acknowledgment, and the fulfillment of my longings for beauty, love and belonging). God is my glory and the lifter of my head. Jesus is my companion on the road, my resting place, my home. The Spirit in me is the fulfillment of my dearest dreams. I live to love, praise, honor, rejoice in and glorify my Lord. “Praise to you, Lord Jesus Christ, King of endless glory.”

Declaration of Interdependence

--Thank you God for providing me with a human companion on the road. Thank you for Hal, my best friend, my lover, my colleague in work, my prayer partner, my peer mentor, someone to laugh at my jokes and understand my tears, the human being I love above all else in ways that are ever changing. What a life you’ve called us to and what a joy now to be able to grow old together. We do depend on one another. In our case, two definitely are better than one. We walk forward hand in hand to the dawn of a perfect day.

Declaration of Independence

--In terms of the beautiful children and grandchildren you’ve given us, we declare our ongoing love and, at the same time, our independence. I’ve raised my children to be independent mature persons, and now they are passing it on to their children. I release you, dear ones. More than that, I not only get to rejoice in your independence from me, I get to declare my own independence. I will always love you, but I do not need you to keep needing me. I am even becoming free of any need for your approval. While I am still parent and grandparent, the roles have changed. I am free to be who I am with you and to go beyond the role. I don’t have to be “Super Grandma” or “Ancient Wise One” or “Whatever.” I can let the roles mature and meet you face to face.

Independent, yet interdependent. All of us together dependent on our Lord and the creator of all this joy. So help me, God.

Young Quaker artist from Africa

I realize that I’m walking the dangerous edge of a proud grandmother. But I think I have good reason to be proud. Gwen Emily Amahora Thomas, currently a senior at Newberg High School with only a few weeks before graduation, is sharing her art with the world. The lobby of Friendsview Retirement Community is displaying her African portraits, fruit of assignments from her AP art classes.

She describes her art in an essay accompanying the portraits:

“Home. That word has both enchanted me and haunted me my whole life. I was born and raised in Rwanda, Africa as one of the few white kids in the country. However, my skin color didn’t prevent me from finding my home in Africa. In recent years, I have had to leave my beloved home and live in America. Saying goodbye to my life-long friends, taking a last glimpse of my childhood home, and finally boarding that plane was the hardest thing I have ever done. But boarding a plane and living somewhere else doesn’t mean that I leave it behind. Rwanda will always be in my heart and a part of who I am. It’s no wonder that most of my art work reflects my love of my country. The portraits are all created as a reflection of the transition I was and am going through.

“I am currently a senior a Newberg High School. I spent my freshman and sophomore years at a boarding school in Kenya where my art began to improve. After graduation this June, I will be going to George Fox University to study nursing.”

Enjoy!

 Self portrait

Proud grandparents!