On August 22 & 23, I joined Deborah and Jhett, our social worker, to read case studies of prospective adoptive families at ICAB (Intercountry Adoption Board). This was the first time that I helped with the reading. Before this, Dad would have been reading with them.
Jhett and I got to ICAB early Wednesday afternoon. She set us up at a table and brought over the roster of families. She showed me what we needed to look for, and then we started looking for families that fit our child.
Deborah showed up after a while, and soon each of us were reading a case study. And then came the difficult part; how to choose between good families? Dad would come home from reading case studies and agonize over the choices in front of him. Now I understood. After taking the personality of the child and the various families into account, we were still faced with difficult choices. How do you choose between good families? As I read the case studies I could hear the cry of their heart for a child. If only we could give them all a child! Instead, we have one. Argh! So you go with your gut, and trust that God is guiding your hand to the right family for your child. So we made our choice. And now we wait to see if they choose our child in return.
Sara
Tuesday, August 28, 2007
Wednesday, August 1, 2007
Reflections on Services and Scattering
July 14, 2007
Our final “road trip” with Dennis came to a wonderful conclusion on the prairies of northern Montana where it all began over 30 years ago. It was a full circle that embraced a good share of the globe before it was over. Who would have known, all those years ago, that this farm kid would touch lives and hearts in countries as far away as Afghanistan, India, Pakistan, Thailand and ultimately give his final twenty years to the infants of the Philippines?
But, when you come to think of it, kids were always his thing. When he was principal of the Christian school in our home church in Sunburst, MT, who was being a very un-principal-like lion with the younger kids up on the second floor? Noon hours usually ended amid shrieks and squeals as Mr. Gunderson, down on all fours, chased delighted kindergarteners, roaring with a fierce “Ra-a-ar!” as the rest of the staff stood below and just smiled and shook their heads.
In the Philippines, as he walked along village streets and beaches, went into the markets, rode in the jeepneys, enjoyed a burger in McDonalds, wherever he was, if there were kids there, he and they were attracted to each other. And, sure enough, here would come the “gagumba” (spider), or “lamok” (mosquito) that always ended up in a tickle and a yelp from a delighted child and elicit a smile from an amused parent.
As we have listened intently to others speak of his life during the four services for him, the two in Manila, and the two in Montana, there were numerous themes that emerged again and again; his unshakeable commitment to the work that God had called him, his dogged if not always elegant perseverance, his passion for children, his love for the lost, his delight in all sorts of music, his love for and belief in family, and his determination to trust God thoroughly. Once he put his hand to the plow, he never looked back. And, he went to be with his Lord still hitched to the plow.
The services have all been joy-filled, fun, if one dares call a memorial fun; filled with “Dennis” stories, tears, laughter (of course, this is Dennis we’re talking about), and lots and lots and lots of singing. They were what we had hoped for; reunions, and all the joy that goes with such an event. In that, Dennis was honored.
We scattered his ashes in a beautiful patch of green Montana prairie that rests up against our beloved Sweetgrass Hills. The land had been part of the first land purchased for Dennis and his brothers by their dad. It was late in the afternoon by the time we arrived, a dusty caravan of friends and family coursing our way there over miles of graveled farm roads. Shadows were beginning to form in the folds of the Hills, making them feel more breathtaking and present than ever. The heat of the day was waning and a slight breeze came down off the Hills just barely stirring the grass every now and again.
None of us were quite sure how to go about this and for a moment we looked at one another rather awkwardly. Finally, someone led out with a couple of Scripture choruses from the “early” days, “This is the day that the Lord has made” and “Thy Loving Kindness is better than life”. Slowly, we reached into the urn and took small handfuls of ashes, letting them trail into the grass as we walked or casting them into the small breeze. Montana twilights are long and there was no rush….not with this precious time. Some of us returned time and again to fill our hands with ashes and scatter, pray, weep, hug one another, laugh, or just visit together. Our three grandsons, who had also joined in the scattering, soon took to romping in the prairie like lions, often almost disappearing in the tall grass. It seemed that no one really wanted to leave. It was too lovely, too peaceful. However, finally we drew the journey to a close, singing the first verse of “How Great Thou Art”, a reading of Ps 121, and prayer.
I would like to share what some farm neighbors wrote on their condolence card. How suitable their words:
There is no easy way to say this:
The pain, sorrow, the grief is real.
Speaking of real, Dennis was real.
When he talked about those kid and
Started to cry; that was real.
When he talked about the fathers
That weren’t fathers, he was angry;
That was real.
When he worshipped; he really worshipped;
That was real.
We will miss the real father, brother, husband,
Grandfather and friend; he was real.
I will lift up mine eyes unto the hills, whence cometh my help.
My help comes from the Lord, which made heaven and earth
Psalm 121.1-2
Our final “road trip” with Dennis came to a wonderful conclusion on the prairies of northern Montana where it all began over 30 years ago. It was a full circle that embraced a good share of the globe before it was over. Who would have known, all those years ago, that this farm kid would touch lives and hearts in countries as far away as Afghanistan, India, Pakistan, Thailand and ultimately give his final twenty years to the infants of the Philippines?
But, when you come to think of it, kids were always his thing. When he was principal of the Christian school in our home church in Sunburst, MT, who was being a very un-principal-like lion with the younger kids up on the second floor? Noon hours usually ended amid shrieks and squeals as Mr. Gunderson, down on all fours, chased delighted kindergarteners, roaring with a fierce “Ra-a-ar!” as the rest of the staff stood below and just smiled and shook their heads.
In the Philippines, as he walked along village streets and beaches, went into the markets, rode in the jeepneys, enjoyed a burger in McDonalds, wherever he was, if there were kids there, he and they were attracted to each other. And, sure enough, here would come the “gagumba” (spider), or “lamok” (mosquito) that always ended up in a tickle and a yelp from a delighted child and elicit a smile from an amused parent.
As we have listened intently to others speak of his life during the four services for him, the two in Manila, and the two in Montana, there were numerous themes that emerged again and again; his unshakeable commitment to the work that God had called him, his dogged if not always elegant perseverance, his passion for children, his love for the lost, his delight in all sorts of music, his love for and belief in family, and his determination to trust God thoroughly. Once he put his hand to the plow, he never looked back. And, he went to be with his Lord still hitched to the plow.
The services have all been joy-filled, fun, if one dares call a memorial fun; filled with “Dennis” stories, tears, laughter (of course, this is Dennis we’re talking about), and lots and lots and lots of singing. They were what we had hoped for; reunions, and all the joy that goes with such an event. In that, Dennis was honored.
We scattered his ashes in a beautiful patch of green Montana prairie that rests up against our beloved Sweetgrass Hills. The land had been part of the first land purchased for Dennis and his brothers by their dad. It was late in the afternoon by the time we arrived, a dusty caravan of friends and family coursing our way there over miles of graveled farm roads. Shadows were beginning to form in the folds of the Hills, making them feel more breathtaking and present than ever. The heat of the day was waning and a slight breeze came down off the Hills just barely stirring the grass every now and again.
None of us were quite sure how to go about this and for a moment we looked at one another rather awkwardly. Finally, someone led out with a couple of Scripture choruses from the “early” days, “This is the day that the Lord has made” and “Thy Loving Kindness is better than life”. Slowly, we reached into the urn and took small handfuls of ashes, letting them trail into the grass as we walked or casting them into the small breeze. Montana twilights are long and there was no rush….not with this precious time. Some of us returned time and again to fill our hands with ashes and scatter, pray, weep, hug one another, laugh, or just visit together. Our three grandsons, who had also joined in the scattering, soon took to romping in the prairie like lions, often almost disappearing in the tall grass. It seemed that no one really wanted to leave. It was too lovely, too peaceful. However, finally we drew the journey to a close, singing the first verse of “How Great Thou Art”, a reading of Ps 121, and prayer.
I would like to share what some farm neighbors wrote on their condolence card. How suitable their words:
There is no easy way to say this:
The pain, sorrow, the grief is real.
Speaking of real, Dennis was real.
When he talked about those kid and
Started to cry; that was real.
When he talked about the fathers
That weren’t fathers, he was angry;
That was real.
When he worshipped; he really worshipped;
That was real.
We will miss the real father, brother, husband,
Grandfather and friend; he was real.
I will lift up mine eyes unto the hills, whence cometh my help.
My help comes from the Lord, which made heaven and earth
Psalm 121.1-2
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