Category: gratefulness

Months ago, I stood at the window startled, but amused that a squirrel had grabbed onto a corner of my patio rug and was literally unraveling the entire edge. I opened the door to scare it away, but the little critter soon returned to complete the task. I had never witnessed anything like that after having patio rugs for years, so I took a picture to capture the moment.

For weeks, the rug looked tattered and disheveled, but I believed the squirrel(s) had lost interest and moved on to other mischief around my house or in the neighborhood. It was time to purchase a new rug, as I knew It would bring new life to my patio. Also, anyone  visiting  my home wouldn’t look upon the rug and wonder why I didn’t take pride in the appearance of my surroundings.

A couple days ago my rug arrived. The wrinkles from being rolled tightly during shipping  were still apparent throughout the rug, as the “new smell” lingered. No more shabby patio! As I opened my blinds today, I was “awe struck.” Whether it was the same squirrel or a relative, it had not only frayed the entire edge of my rug, but had chewed and decimated  some of the rug.

I whispered, Oh dear God, can’t I have anything in my life which isn’t frayed and marred? Yes, it is merely a rug, but it was a reminder to me of the many times in our lives  when we try so earnestly to start over; to replace or repair what has been damaged. We grow weary of having people see us as though we don’t care; as though we have allowed the distressed edges to be what is the most visible.

Even though the center of the rug is new, whole and lovely, the unraveled edge with the missing pieces is what my eye was drawn toward. I sat on the ground, tape and scissors in hand slowing and methodically going around the entire edge of the rug, trusting the heavy tape would deter the squirrel guest from damaging the rug even further.

Satan finds a small way to pull and tug at us, realizing he can fray us so we are unattractive to those we meet. They don’t see the body of the rug; our life and the way God blesses us.  They see only the ugly, mutilated edges of our attitude or personality. Our hearts and lives may be as lovely as the center of my new rug, but the ruined edges, can’t be hidden.

They need to be wrapped in God’s love, so Satan won’t continue to pull and tug until our entire image is destroyed.  The edges Satan chewed and tore are there, but the beauty is “in the center” of our lives. We are bound in God’s love, so the frayed edges are not as visible. We know where the destruction is, but God’s light in our lives has diminished the damage. Psalm 147:3 NIV “He heals the brokenhearted and binds up their wounds.”

In addition to playing with the precious babies and toddlers and assisting Martha with chores and errands, during my summer visit, there were several special adventures.  John and Martha loaded all of us in the van with lunches, snacks, water and drinks and off we went. Like the explorers of yesteryear, we explored the native land of our first Americans. We traveled to special events in Window Rock, AZ, serving as the seat of government and capital of the Navajo Nation.

Closer to the Barre’s home, I caught a glimpse of the culture of the wonderful Navajo people. John and Martha visited the residents in their homes; hogans. Hogans were built of wooden poles, tree bark and mud. The doorway opened to the east to receive the morning sun as well as good blessings. The hogans of the 1960’s and earlier possessed no running water and seldom was there electricity.

Their homes weren’t decorated with the latest décor, floor coverings or artwork. These homes were basic protection from the elements. Parents and children all slept in one room. There was no option to “slam the door and stomp off” to their room when someone was angry. Conflicts were resolved in one room, among the family members. No one grabbed meals and sat in front of the television. These were homes with only the basic needs and necessities. These were families of meager means, dwelling in nature and by the work of their own hands.

The skills and artistry of many of these residents was reflected with the beautiful handwoven Navajo rugs or the silver and turquoise jewelry. Even as a young teen, I was smitten with the inconceivable exquisiteness of the rugs woven on roughly built looms, occupying some of the living space of their humble homes.

I realized it was those weeks of residing among people of another culture that caused me to desire to learn more about those living in a world far different than mine. I was keenly aware, my world with my own poor family , living in a small, modest rental home was not the “norm.” Yet, we did have running water and electricity. Our floors were cold, bare tile or linoleum. Yet, the Americans residing in the hogans stepped onto dirt floors when they awakened each morning.

There were no lush lawns with abundant landscaping. An occasional wild pinyon pine or juniper tree might provide a small amount of shade in the summer heat. Sagebrush and tumbleweeds were the “in vogue” shrubs of Thoreau. There were advantages to this topography in that no one in the family was “yelling at the other” to mow the lawn.

I saw John and Martha several other times after I returned home that summer. Yet the memories from those few weeks have remained decades later. I learned there is no requirement for family vacations, luxuries of life or “having what the Joneses” have in order to be happy. The Barre home was filled with love which money truly could not buy. That summer of the early 1960’s imprinted my heart and life for an eternity. John 15:12, NKJ, “this is my commandment, that you love one another as I have loved you.”

When the hungry, children awakened, their patience was disguised. They also needed to be dressed and readied for their day ahead. Martha and I recognized to begin the chores uninterrupted, it was compulsory to begin our day before the children’s.

The chores and tasks I assisted with, were enjoyable as they were not the routine I had with my family of origin.  I also knew I was supporting Martha in her work for the Lord. She had labored assiduously for the past several years without complaints and meager assistance. Her work ethics as a German World War II bride were astonishing. She worked tirelessly all day without “breaks” or “me” time.

After the daily laundry was done, the breakfast served and the children attired for the day, there were a  few hours of playing and interacting with the children, before the afternoon naps and preparation for dinner began. Monday and Friday were our days of adventure. John was residing at the Navajo Language School in Gallup five days a week.  He was  learning the Diné language to preach the Sunday sermons to the reservation residents that attended their small chapel close to the Barre’s home.

Martha used those days for errands in Gallop, including grocery shopping and visits to the post office. There were no stops at the local convenience store for soft drinks or candy treats. There were no special outings for ice cream or hamburgers. These were luxuries, not provided to missionaries on a minimal budget with twelve mouths to feed.

With Martha’s homemade hamburger and hot dog buns, there was not a burger or hot dog in New Mexico as tasty as hers. I know if we had patronized the local sandwich shops, our paletes would have been disappointed.  Also, Martha’s homemade ice cream and fry bread outranked even the finest chef.

I learned more during those weeks as a missionary helper than I acquired over several years in my own family.  I understood poverty as a result of my biological family subsiding on government commodities. Yet, living on a meager income was never recognized in the Barre home.  I never experienced family love, devotion and dedication, for one another as I did during those few weeks with them.

From Friday night to Monday morning, John was home to participate with and enjoy his family. How I loved John as a father, for he delighted in bantering with me which my own father never did. Years later when John and Martha came to visit me as a young wife and mother, John reminded me of my “toilet water” from years earlier. When we all resided in Ohio as friends, I received a bottle of the Eau de toilette fragrance (toilet water on the label) as a gift.

As a young, naïve schoolgirl, John told me he could “refill” my bottle anytime I desired. With big eyes and belief of John’s words, I said, “you can?”  John smiled, “sure Janie, just bring it over. I have plenty.” It was Martha that brought me back to reality.  Those were heartwarming times. To be continued: Psalm 144:15 NKJ, “Happy are the people who are in such a state; Happy are the people whose God is the Lord.”

Even at age fourteen, I understood I didn’t need to pause to consider such an incredible opportunity. This experience might never be offered again. “Janie, would you like to spend the summer with us, helping me with the children?’, Martha queried.

Our family friends, John and Martha Barre, the age of my parents left their comfortable lifestyle and beautiful new home in Ohio to become missionaries to the Navajo Indians in Thoreau, New Mexico. John had been an executive with a large corporation, but they felt the calling of God in their hearts and on their lives. They left behind their family, friends, and the stability of a middle-class background, taking their two young sons to an unknown land with an unfamiliar culture to serve others.

The Barres were now rearing seven orphaned Native American children on the Navajo reservation. Martha knew how much I loved babies and babysitting.  With seven infants and toddlers, under the age of three, she welcomed my willingness to assist.

Martha’s love for children was perhaps as great as mine. However, Martha had lost several babies before their birth or shortly thereafter. The only daughter she would have had, God called home before the baby was born. Thus, Martha and I bonded that summer in the 1960’s, not only in household chores, cooking, baking and childcare, but as a “mother and daughter.”

This was perhaps one of the richest times of my life with new and stimulating occurrences, but  there were no “lazy days” of relaxing. The Barre’s austere 2 story frame house stood among the cliffs where the wild horses roamed, and the cacti flourished. There were no porch swings, lush green grass, or welcoming swimming pools. There was not a single flower or blade of grass. Hardened gypseous soil and barren terrain surrounded their house on every side.

This was a missionary home. It was basic and the needs plentiful. Martha arose each morning by 4:00 a.m. to begin her day of baking and laundry. There was no local gourmet coffee shop, florist, or bakery. The closest town was thirty-one miles away.  Grocery trips were planned. There was also not a desire to put seven children in the car to “run to town.” This calling on the lives of John and Martha looked nothing like “living the American dream” they had practiced in Ohio.

When I awakened around 6:00-6:30 a.m. daily, it appeared Martha had already fulfilled a full day’s work. There were several loads of laundry ready to hang on the clothesline behind their house. “Be careful to watch for the rattle snakes”, Martha instructed, as I seized the heavy basket.

After hanging the dozens of diapers and baby clothes outside,  Martha’s large breakfast of homemade cinnamon rolls or biscuits, homemade jams, eggs, bacon, or ham would sustain us for hours of work. TO BE Continued: Matthew 25:40 NIV “The king will reply, “Truly I tell you, whatever you did for one of the least of these brothers and sisters of mine, you did for me.”