Wednesday, April 29, 2009

Fw: Wedding Poem/Blessing


In line with our PW Wedding Traditions
event coming up, I though I would pass this on.

A wonderful family friend of mine gave me this poem for a wedding gift. In our culture, our marriage should be blessed by an elder
of my family. My "uncle" Joe Upicksoun gave this to us as a blessing. Mr. Upicksoun has passed on to the next life. He is a relative, but "great uncle" made him feel old, so he was always just Uncle Joe.






In honor of Joe, here is a link to an interview with

this wonderful man.

History and Culture Interview with Joseph Upicksoun



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Tuesday, April 28, 2009

The Invisible Mother

This is from an email a friend sent me. I do not know who the original author was, but as a mother, sometimes we have the power of invisibility.

The Invisible Mother

It all began to make sense, the blank stares, the lack of response, the way one of the kids will walk into the room while I'm on the phone and ask me a question. Inside I'm thinking, 'Can't you see I'm on the phone?'

Obviously, not.

No one can see if I'm on the phone, or cooking, or sweeping the floor, or even standing on my head in the corner, because no one can see me at all.

I'm invisible. The invisible Mom. Some days I am only a pair of hands, nothing more: Can you fix this? Can you tie this? Can you open this?

Some days I'm not a pair of hands; I'm not even a human being. I'm a clock to ask, 'What time is it?' I'm a satellite guide to answer, 'What number is the Disney Channel?' I'm a car to order, 'Right around 5:30, please.'

I was certain that these were the hands that once held books and the eyes that studied history and the mind that graduated summa cum laude - but now they had disappeared into the peanut butter, never to be seen again. She's going; she's going; she is gone!

One night, a group of us were having dinner, celebrating the return of a
friend from England ..

Janice had just gotten back from a fabulous trip, and she was going on and on about the hotel she stayed in.

I was sitting there, looking around at the others all put together so well.
It was hard not to compare and feel sorry for myself.

I was feeling pretty pathetic, when Janice turned to me with a beautifully wrapped package, and said, 'I bought you this.'

It was a book on the great cathedrals of Europe .

I wasn't exactly sure why she'd given it to me until I read her inscription:
'To Charlotte , with admiration for the greatness of what you are building when no one sees.'

In the days ahead I would read - no, devour - the book. And I would discover what would become for me, four life-changing truths, after which I could pattern my work:

No one can say who built the great cathedrals - we have no record of their names.

These builders gave their whole lives for a work they would never see finished.

The Wells Cathedral in South EnglandImage via Wikipedia


They made great sacrifices and expected no credit.

The passion of their building was fueled by their faith that the eyes of God saw everything...

A legendary story in the book told of a rich man who came to visit the cathedral while it was being built, and he saw a workman carving a tiny bird on the inside of a beam. He was puzzled and asked the man, 'Why are you spending so much time carving that bird into a beam that will be covered by the roof? No one will ever see it.' And the workman replied, 'Because God sees.'

I closed the book, feeling the missing piece fall into place.

It was almost as if I heard God whispering to me, 'I see you, Charlotte. I see the sacrifices you make every day, even when no one around you does. No act of kindness you've done, no sequin you've sewn on, no cupcake you've baked, is too small for me to notice and smile over. You are
building a great cathedral, but you can't see right now what it will become.'

At times, my invisibility feels like an affliction. But it is not a disease that is erasing my life. It is the cure for the disease of my own self-centeredness. It is the antidote to my strong, stubborn pride.

I keep the right perspective when I see myself as a great builder.. As one of the people who show up at a job that they will never see finished, to work on something that their name will never be on.

The writer of the book went so far as to say that no cathedrals could ever be built in our lifetime because there are so few people willing to sacrifice to that degree.

When I really think about it, I don't want my son to tell the friend he's bringing home from college for Thanksgiving, 'My Mom gets up at 4 in the morning and bakes homemade pies, and then she hand bastes a turkey for three hours and presses all the linens for the table.' That would mean I'd built a shrine or a monument to myself. I just want him to want to come home. And then, if there is anything more to say to his friend, to add, 'you're gonna love it there.'

As mothers, we are building great cathedrals. We cannot be seen if we're doing it right.

And one day, it is very possible that the world will marvel, not only at what we have built, but at the beauty that has been added to the world by the sacrifices of invisible women.

- author unknown

Saturday, April 25, 2009

Cutest Thing

Tonight, while getting ready for bed, Daddy said to Emily
"If you are not the cutest thing on the planet, I don't know what is."

Emily smiled, and replied, "Me either. I love you, Daddy!"

Wednesday, April 22, 2009

Gratitude to God

The purpose of this entry to be grateful to God and his provisions.

I sought the LORD, and He heard me, and delivered me from all my fears.

Psalm 34:4 (New King James Version)


Through God, I have a home, food, security, and a loving family. When I prayed for an angel, God sent my future husband to me. My angel builds me up when I am down, believes in me when I don't think I can. The Lord is my shepherd and I shall not want (Psalm 23). When I asked for prayer to relieve the pain of fibromylagia, the pain was relieved. I used to need pain relievers every day and my stomach became irritated. Now, I just need a pain reliever every now and then. Usually, when I don't take care of myself.
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Tuesday, April 21, 2009

How to have a heart that Loves thy Neighbor

December 19, 2008

Last night, I dreamed about a neighbor helping a a neighbor. A little disclaimer here. The following story is just a dream, and any resemblance to anybody is just by chance. None of these events have really happened. This is meant to encourage a heart like Jesus. It is about how a simple prayer taught a girl how to accept others, whether they are across the street or across the world.
ONE NIGHT

The neighbor across the street came over at 11 pm one December night and asked if they could spend the night because their heater went out. Of course, we couldn't turn them away. So, Lucy and her two sons, their older brother and sister came over with their mom and dad. (John, Lucy, Johnny, Sammy, Eli, and Sasha).


Well, although we have two kids of our own, we had forgotten what it was like to have kids as young as little Billy. Billy kept waking up, and as a result waking his brother, who woke up his mom. The first time, the whole house got up. Lucy didn't know where to find something in the kitchen. Dad got up and helped her find it, well Billy's crying woke up the other members of the house. Mom went to go settle the kids down. Half an hour later, the house was quiet. Mom and Dad were climbing back into bed, when Mom said “ Don't let anybody but the angel Gabriel wake me up until it's morning. I have to get to work tomorrow.” And she went to bed. She didn't awake until morning.


She got up and got dressed quickly. Dad came back into the bedroom with a cup of coffee for her. It didn't register that he was out of bed before the alarm went off. She ran down the stairs and nearly ran into Dr. Smith as he was coming up the stairs with a to-go cup of coffee. She thanked him for the coffee and he said, “Wait, let me get you a saucer or something.” Because the coffee was spilling on the stairs. “Don't worry about it.” and she ran out the door and off to work.


That evening she came home to a very different neighborhood. Friends and neighbors were helping her family and the family across the street. A following Sunday, there was multiple sermons as there usually is. She attended the second service and went home. It was about loving thy neighbor and it highlighted the help Mom and Dad gave their neighbor Lucy. Later that week, as she helped check in the DVDs for the church library, there were at least three copies of the sermons. The early morning sermon, which was about Good Stewardship, Love thy Neighbor Sermon 2a, and Love thy Neighbor 2b. “That's odd she thought, why are there two about Love thy Neighbor?” Although there were three services, the last two usually have the same sermon.

* * * * *

THAT WINTER NIGHT

Back to the night they helped Lucy and John. Dad informed her that little Billy kept waking up, and in turn kept waking up the rest of the house, except for Mom. Wondering, she asked “Why didn't anyone wake me up?” Well, you said, 'Don't let anybody but the angel Gabriel wake you up until morning'. John or Lucy must have heard you because after that they quietly woke me up instead.

Also, Sasha couldn't sleep with all the racket and borrowed your I-phone. She saw your NetSpace entry and found someone her age in Browerville HS. As Internet searches go, she found out that Browerville HS only had graduates for the last two years.”

“Well yeah, Browerville didn't have a HS when I went.”

Dad nodded and continued. “Exactly, but she didn't know that. Curious, she dug further and looked up Barrow High School. She found the reverend that used to live in Barrow. She told him how wonderful you and your family were for helping them.

“Oh, I wondered how he came to be a guest speaker at our church for Sunday.”

“Well, besides what you heard on 'Love thy Neighbor Sermon 2a,' Sasha spoke to the pastor after and he modified it for the third service. Watch, Sermon 2b.” So we put the DVD into the player and watched it. In the middle of the sermon, the pastor asked Sasha to come up and share her story of how we had helped her that night.

Side note here, although Mom is Inupiaq, her skin is light. Although her hair is long and black, reminiscent of the traditional Native American Princess, she could still be considered 'Caucasian.' Lucy and her family are black and from Texas.

“Sasha explained what went on that night from the point of view of our guests. Billy kept waking up every half hour, after the second time she couldn't get back to sleep. She saw your I-phone, and used it. As she was searching for your high school, she found out that Browerville and Barrow HS students seem to have a rivalry going. At first she thought it was silly that two HS in the same city were rivals, but the more she dug into it, she realized that it was no different then our family helping their family. Neighbors didn't always help their neighbors, especially if the neighbor is the only black family on the block. The white neighbors didn't often help the black neighbors, especially in St. Louis or Texas. That's when she realized that people may look different on the outside, but on the inside we are all the same, with the same troubles. Each needing help at different times in our lives.”

But because we helped her family, our friends came and helped them. Mr. Lane (who works for Cuivre River) called someone to fix their furnace. Dr. Smith helped with getting our kids ready that morning. Melissa helped take care of their pets and so on. Channel 2 news came by and interviewed everybody. Chanel 2 cut the story down to “A local family helps their neighbors get through the coldest night this year.” and went on to discuss how you can help by contributing to “Heat Up St. Louis.”

* * * * *

MISSIONARY TO THE MUSLIMS

Now, lets meet Jamal Al Shir, a Muslim who was attending that service, and actually all three services that Sunday when our story was part of the sermon. During the first sermon, a few questions were raised by a black man in the front row. The pastor answered the first question, but it was obviously going to be an involved discussion, so he kindly asked him to see him after the service to further discuss the question. Between the end of the service and the time the black man got to the pastor for greeting, he had run into a little girl wearing a white dress. It was Sasha. She knew the answer to his question. Intrigued, the pastor asked her to share her version of what happened that cold night. That night, she realized that people can look different on the outside, but they are all the same on the inside.

Jamal heard her story, and shortly after returned home to preach to Muslims about Jesus. He often used Sasha's version of the story in his sermons.

* * * * *

A LASTING FRIENDSHIP

Well, now a few years later, and my husband was well recognized well for his accomplishments. The reporters are always tagging along him and our two kids. But only the reporter from Channel 2 seems to get the exclusive news from our family. Why? After all, Montel is also a black reporter, so why wouldn't he get some of the exclusive news as well? That's because he wasn't there when the story about the neighborhood helping the black family. The Channel 2's reporter was. Now he and my husband are best friends. He knew the whole story, and was disappointed when it was reduced to two sentences.

* * * * *

and THE MORAL OF THE STORY

It is now years later, and my two daughters and little Billy are grown. But, I'm sharing this story so that hopefully you will learn from mistakes of narrow-mindedness. Jamal came back to our town and gave a guest sermon. Channel 2 news reporter was there as well. Some Muslims in the congregation left early in disgust at the “betrayal” of their fellow man. A white man, lets call him Jack, asked the Channel 2 reporter, “That's odd. You would think they would be proud of their people for what Jamal has done. Do you think they got the message?”

The reporter responded, “I don't think so, at least not today.”

“Do you think they ever will?” asked Jack.

“That depends if they find the answer to question I asked during that first sermon, 'How can I learn to accept my neighbors of a different color?”

“But I thought the pastor wasn't able to answer your question. Did you ever find the answer?”


“Yes,” said the reporter, “through prayer. That cold winter night, Sasha learned that the key to accepting others that appear different from her was to pray,

'Lord, come make my heart like Yours, let me see the kindness and gentleness as well as the hurts and needs of those around me. Help me to understand that people are the same, regardless if they are across the street, or across the world. Amen.'”




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