Author: chelleren

Celebrating my father’s milestone of 90 years is a testimony to God’s faithfulness. When I think back to my mother’s passing and how we thought he would all pass away, I am filled with gratefulness. My most vivid memory is the Monday after my mother’s funeral. I reposted a previous entry to remember.

The main lesson my mother always taught me was: to be grateful for little things and search for praises in the midst of the storms of life. However, I struggled to think this way yesterday.

The call came while I was leaving the grocery store. “We didn’t see your dad at breakfast, so we went looking for him, ” the desk clerk explained. ” We found him on the bathroom floor. The room was in disarray. He was unresponsive, so we called the ambulance who took him to the hospital.” I clutched the phone, in disbelief. “No! This cannot be happening!” I cried. “What hospital?” I sped out of the parking lot and headed to the familiar path on M-6, crying as I drove. “Please, God. Don’t take him”. I couldn’t bear the thought of my dad leaving us, so soon after my mother’s passing. I remembered a friend, describing her parents’ double funeral and how it caused me to burst out in tears. I don’t think I could take it. My mind went back to Sunday. What happened to cause a fall? Was it his low blood sugar? We enjoyed such a wonderful day at my brother’s house. He was quite sad, but I left him at Royal Park on Sunday evening and he seemed better. A myriad of thoughts filled my mind as I frantically drove the familiar highway.

Since the hospital was unfamiliar, my brother met me so I could follow in my faithful van, Salsa. The drive seemed to take forever as we weaved through the Holland streets. Upon arriving, we both found parking spots in the busy lot. Why are so many people at the hospital? I found it depressing to think of people spending time at a hospital on a Monday morning. I wished for a school parking lot instead where children with backpacks exited cars, filled with excitement for a new day.

Words were few as we entered the hospital doors and headed to the emergency room area. At first, the security guard told us that he hadn’t arrived yet, causing us to wonder since I had driven from Cutlerville and Royal Park was nearby. Apparently, there was some mix-up with the volunteer who was supposed to find us and we headed to the room. Flashbacks of the summer when my mother fell entered my mind. The scene, eerily familiar, made me shake my head in disbelief. Would that experience repeat with my father?

My dad, in an agitated state, was unresponsive as we talked and encouraged him. “Hi, Dad!” we expressed as we held his hand and patted his head. Unfortunately, his hearing challenges prevented any type of music therapy. The doctor ordered a series of tests and we waited. Each test came back negative– no stroke, no urinary tract infection, etc, etc. For that, we were grateful and I could feel myself calming down.

However, the most difficult conversation came with the neurologist. “Do you know how he takes his medications?” he inquired. I described how Waterford had been dispensing the meds and then we moved my dad back to Royal Park where he resumed taking them by himself. “My brother fills the 30-day supply box and he takes his meds in the morning and evening”, I explained. But as I looked at his face, I knew what he was thinking and felt myself wither. “You don’t think….”I paused and felt the emotion welling up like a water spout, ready to burst. “We have to ask,” he gently responded. “No! I could never forgive myself”, I barely uttered. ” I have wondered, though.” Suicide prevention training, a session I attended this past spring, included information about elderly people who decided that life is too difficult to bear and head this route. As the day continued, however, this did not seem to be the reason for my dad’s fall.

The day ended with me staying the night with my father, a scene that reminded me of July 10 when we remained at the hospital with my mother, awaiting surgery. It was a crazy and sleepless night because my father was confused and disoriented most of the time. I acted like a mother to him at times. ” GO TO SLEEP!” were my instructions. “What? Isn’t it morning?? ” he would ask, genuinely puzzled. My brother’s 5:30 arrival filled me with relief and I headed back home.

The day began as a struggle, but I ended with it gratefulness since my father did not break a bone. They are still not quite sure the reason for his fall, but he is receiving excellent care. It reminded me of my mother’s comments during challenging situations: Always find something for which you are grateful. It reminded me of teaching friends who encourage others with the phrase: Choose joy. It brought back to mind the black, rectangular box we placed on the table at my mother’s funeral: blessed. As the journey continues, I will remind myself of this word.

Blessed- the word is one I need to remind myself often as I find myself struggling with different emotions as I continue teaching. I struggle with knowing my purpose after being an interim principal. Why was I in that role, God? Why are people still angry with me? Why did I lose an actual friend over this position?

However, I am blessed to have a teaching position, even when people continue to do things I do not understand. I am blessed to have three children who love the Lord and faithfully attend church. I am blessed to live in Indiana, a state close enough to allow a three-hour trip to visit my father and in-laws.

As this journey continues while living in the Hoosier state, I need to remind myself of my mother’s words: Always find something for which you are grateful. On this Mother’s Day, I will repeat her words to myself and thank God for His constant provisions.

The black binder frequently catches my eye. Even though I know I should be grading papers or involved in other kinds of teaching preparation, I cannot refrain from reading the stories.

On May 10, the German army invaded the Netherlands. Around 4 AM, Bert and his brother were awakened by their mother. The sound of German planes filled the air above their home. Their father, an active member of the Red Cross, already left. The older boys were ordered to take two teams of horses and wagons to the town where they would transport elderly people out of the firing zone. Bert’s mother was now left with the rest of the children, including one child who had not yet celebrated her first birthday. The answer was evacuation. After a tiresome ten-mile bike trip, we arrived at my uncle’s farm. After we arrived, the total number of people numbered around twenty-five.

Rereading these stories and then comparing them to the events in Ukraine leaves no doubt that I need to help these people. I need to keep reminding others to do the same.

The Service Team at school decided to organize a shoe drive for Ukraine. It’s a unique fundraiser because the shoes will be purchased by funds2orgs.com which will then sell them to impoverished countries. These countries will use the shoes to establish micro-businesses. The challenge? We need 100 bags filled with 25 pairs of shoes by May 25. Phew. Right now, we have 8 bags, but that seems like a huge mountain to climb!

However, when I reread the stories of my father’s family, I must persist. We must remember the hardships they are facing and do whatever it takes to help them during these perilous times.

Peeling the potatoes for Sunday dinner brought up memories. How can a potato do that? It’s just a potato!

However, memories of my mother peeling potatoes on Saturday evenings came to mind as I was preparing for another Sunday dinner. She was the fastest potato peeler I ever met. ” How can you bo so fast?” I often asked her. She smiled and answered, “with lots of practice”.

My father has shared some memories of potatoes during the war. One of his brothers had a crazy idea to plant a large number of potatoes. It was some ridiculous amount and my grandmother ended up needing them the next year when she cooked for the refugees who lived in their home. Who would have known?

The Tuinstra family cookbook includes a variety of potato recipes. One frequent dish served at most family parties is ” Cheesy Potatoes”. This mixture of frozen hashbrowns, chicken soup, and cheddar cheese is always a favorite.

These potato memories and thoughts made me wonder: what are the Ukrainians eating during the war? Is the potato part of their diet?

I researched and located an article: https://www.potatonewstoday.com/2022/04/21/market-analysis-the-impact-of-russias-war-on-the-potato-industry-of-ukraine/

The author of the article described how Ukraine is one of the top potato producers in the world, a fact I did not know. Did some of them store extra potatoes in anticipation of a war? What are the people who did not exit the country eating? The author also describes the war’s impact as Ukrainian farmers are unable to produce potatoes because of the devastation.

As I continue to use potatoes in our meals, I will take a moment to remember those in Ukraine dealing with devastation and challenges I cannot fathom.

It’s hard to believe that my father is turning 90 years old next month. Last year at this time, we celebrated his 89th because we weren’t quite sure what another year would bring, but here we are!

Planning a birthday party from another state is different but possible. His home church is where the festivities will take place. It will be a two-hour open house with cake, ice cream, and beverages.

How does one actually celebrate 90 years of life? Music seems proper, but his hearing is so bad that he won’t be able to understand it. I would think that the best thing would be anything visual that helps him remember the last 90 years. Pictures, memorabilia, his favorite color orange? I don’t know, but I hope people make an effort to help us celebrate.

As I look back on this journey, I never thought we would make it to this point. His breakdown, after my mother died, left me wondering how long he would be with us. Now look- 90 years!

Spring Break allowed me time to focus on a variety of tasks, including the upcoming wedding of my middle son. As a mother of the groom, my involvement is somewhat limited, but the rehearsal dinner is our responsibility, a task I eagerly embrace. Figuring out the menu, designing a tablescape, and visualizing the flow of the evening are creative activities I enjoy.

While searching for different items, I remembered another item, tucked away in a cedar chest: my mother’s wedding gown.

After she passed, I took her wedding gown causing my brother to ask, “What are you going to do with that thing?” It was difficult to throw it away, so I simply answered, “You will see”, hoping that I would be able to think of a creative way to use it.

The dress, yellowed and wrinkled, is hanging in our office. I took it out of the cedar chest, home to the dress for the last two years. At one point, I thought of ripping it up and keeping parts of it for family members’ bouquets. I didn’t do it because it was hard to think of actually ripping it up.

I love thinking back to how my parents met through a church magazine, The Banner. Back then, people would use the magazine as a way to connect to other Christians and future spouses. It was the older version of E-Harmony. Someday, I hope to locate the actual advertisement in its archives.

As the wedding plans continue, honoring grandparents and their marriages is part of the discussions. One idea is to set up a room at the reception and include family members’ wedding dresses. My son didn’t seem too thrilled about this idea, but what son gets excited about looking at past wedding dresses? I think that it would generate interesting conversations and remind guests of the beauty of marriage. Plus, it would finally answer my brother’s initial question. Another idea is to create an area of photos from parents’ and grandparents’ weddings.

I wish my mother could attend his wedding, but perhaps her dress is another way to keep her memory alive. I know she would have been thrilled to see her first grandson marry a wonderful girl.

It was another early morning as we headed up to see my father in Michigan. With hair barely styled and tired looking eyes, we took him to church and then out for brunch.

The topic of conversation quickly turned to the war in Ukraine. His eyes always take a certain look when he relives some of the stories of World War II. ” Did I ever tell you this story?” he usually asks. Even though we heard it many times, we are grateful that he is staying awake for the visit.

A Heroic Mother

The following story has remained with me very vividly. It probably happened during the year 1944. The German army was very nervous. ” A Bridge Too Far” had been fought and they knew that the Allied troops would eventually cross the river. German troops would swarm from one area to the other. Stories were told that whenever the tropps invaded a farm, they would demand all available milk and other dairy products. When my mother heard these stories, she expressed determination to keep the milk. This was her plan. As soon as the Germans entered the farm homestead, she would take a pail of milk and present it as a gift, hoping that they would view it with pleasure. The German officer was so impressed that this farm wife exhibited such graciousness that he didn’t care about getting additional milk for others. This went on for a couple of days, but my mother didn’t like the idea of the German officer receiving a full pail of milk. She started diluting the milk each day until it was half water and half milk. The Germans drank it happily, not having any suspicions. During this time, my aunt, who lived in a neighboring village, was getting ready to give birth to a baby. My mother often helped with delivering babies. However, delivering babies often takes more time than expected. When it was time for the milk delivery to the German, she was not around. My oldest sister decided that she needed to give the milk instead. My mother was very careful about diluting the milk. She would pump a pail of water, take it into the kitchen where she proceeded to dilute the milk. My sister, however, took a pail, filled it half with milk and walked to the pump where she filled the rest with water. This was all in sight of the Germans. Why did she do it that way? I have no idea! The officer exploded, screaming and swearing that he would kill my parents and burn the house down. We immediately went into hiding and decided to try and intercept my mother before she came back. After some time, she came biking down the road. We begged her not to go back, but she took matter into her own hands instead. She went back, found the officer, and gave him the milk, apologizing for the misunderstanding. She told the officer that a family tradition was to dilute the milk and her daughter had assumed the same for his milk. Wonder of wonders, he accepted the apology. Two days later, my mother diluted the milk again and the officers never knew the difference. Here again, we witnessed God’s hand at work.

The hallway erupted in raucous yelling, prompting the diligent first-grade teacher to return to the classroom. “This is NOT the way we walk down the hallway on the 100+ day of school, ” she sternly told them.

As she watched them exit to the playground minus the regular winter coat, she commented, ” Ah…the simple joys of not wearing a coat. Who would think it would bring so much happiness?”

The warm spring weather is a definite relief from the crazy winter weather, but it’s also a reminder of God’s goodness to us. Difficulties do not last forever.

The people of Ukraine filled my mind as the war images flashed across the screen. What are their simple joys? A friend posted a video that summed it all. ” He Will Hold Me Fast”. It all reminded me of my own grandparents during WWII. Here is one of the stories, written by my father.

For four years, Dad managed to snowball the Germans. However, in the spring of 1945, the Germans caught on and Dad had to go into hiding. He received word that the Germans figured out that he was tricking them. On April 16, Dad came home for a few minutes to take care of some urgent matters. Somehow, our place had been under surveillance because soon the Germans came and arrested him. I never will forget the sight of my dad walking down the road with a German pushing him in the back. We did not think we would see him again, but God had other plans. The Allied forces were on the outskirts of our town and the Germans were extremely nervous. The city hall, where my father was held, was surrounded by German troops, but they were in total confusion. One Dutch policeman, a friend of my dad, was working in the city hall. While this policeman kept an eye on the German troops, my dad escaped through the back door of the building and found his way home.

God will hold the Ukrainians fast, just like He continues to do for all of us.

These two words have been circulating in my brain for the last two weeks. I keep evaluating myself.

I decided to complete a web search on these thought-provoking words and discovered an array of blogs and suggestions on how to accomplish this goal in the hurried fast-paced world.

• https://lynnjsimpson.com/an-intentional-breath/ Thinking about the winter snow where no feet have trodden made me stop and think. The pictures in this blog are beautiful!
• https://www.lifehack.org/893096/be-intentional– This blog contains some very practical and helpful tips. Narrating your progress, as the author terms it, could be life-changing!
• http://lemonadeandgrace.com/intentional-moments/ This poetic blog reminds me of the beauty of small moments.
• https://kfishwickteacherportfolio.weebly.com/intentional-and-spontaneous-teaching.html And then…. intentional teaching. This teacher reminds me of the meaningful moments when working with children.

Intentional, not flurried or hectic, but purposeful moments in life where I purposely create important memories. Do I actually do this?

I have been communicating with my father in different ways. He seems to be able to hear when we use Facetime audio. Who would have known? I also want to keep my goal of seeing him once per month, but I have to be deliberate in this planning as winter weather can be unpredictable.

My goal is to be intentional with my third-grade students as I realize that my time with them is rapidly drawing to a close. They are one of the most precious groups of children I have ever taught!

I need to be intentional with my service. What am I actually doing to help other people? Am I listening to their needs or just consumed with my own?

Intentional moments- what is my definition? What am I doing with my time? I will continue to ponder as the journey continues.

Recently, I searched for information regarding the current senior citizen population. I located information from https://www.consumeraffairs.com/

According to the U.S. Census Bureau’s latest estimates:

• Over 50 million senior citizens live in the U.S., making up 16.5% of the total population.
• Florida has the highest percentage of senior citizens (21%), followed by Maine (20%).
• Utah has the lowest percentage of senior citizens (10.8%), followed by Alaska (11.1%).
• California is home to the largest total population of senior citizens (over 5.4 million), followed by Florida (4.2 million).

Author Kathryn Parker includes additional statistics for other states. She also describes how people in this age bracket want to ” age in place” which means to stay in their homes and not nursing home facilities. It’s not surprising. My father still mentions his home on Swather Drive.

After reading the article, I wondered about statistics about caregiving. How many caregivers are located in these same states? How many people actually have designated caregivers, people who consistently advocate for the elderly’s needs?

A few weeks ago, I came into contact with a caregiver. Her words reminded me of the vast need to support those who dedicate time and energy to help the elderly. She remarked, ” Someone asked me if I had taken a vacation. I was surprised at such a question and then realized that most people do not know what it takes to be a caregiver unless you are one yourself.”

It made me wonder what resources are available for caregivers. This partial list may be a start.

• https://circleof.com/app/— This resource would have been a huge benefit to me when I was in Michigan!
• https://www.caringbridge.org/resources/caregiver-support-groups/—- Caring Bridge is a wonderful way to connect with others.
• https://news.yahoo.com/huntington-hospital-opens-reichert-family-l–And this! a place at a hospital for caregivers! Excellent idea!
• https://www.aarp.org/caregiving/local/info-2021/state-caregiver-resources.html– This resource breaks down support groups by states.
• https://www.focusonthefamily.com/get-help/encourage-your-elders-faith-and-spiritual-life/– How can the church help? This article reminds the church to help those who are elderly and reach out on a regular basis.

Remembering the elderly also means remembering the caregivers. I think I will reach out to one today. How about you?

The Facetime call, on Saturday afternoon, prompted the final decision. ” I really want to go to church and take communion,” my father pled. ” Is there some way I can go?”

Leaving at 5:30 in the morning seems crazy, but we somehow managed to arrive and pick up my father for church. His beaming smile made everything worth it. Taking communion was important since he only visits the church once a month. He thoroughly enjoyed visiting with the people, although his hearing always prevents detailed conversations.

Eating an omelet for Sunday Brunch seemed to perk him up. Even though he described the portion a too big, he managed to eat most of it.

To top it off, a colossal ice structure greeted us when we brought him back to Waterford. I had to stop for a picture. ” It would be crazy to have Dad in that picture, wouldn’t it?” I somewhat jokingly asked Mitch. “YES!” he immediately responded. I could not help thinking how cool it would be to create some black/ whites with him in it, but I had to agree.

We dropped him off at the front entrance and headed back to Indiana. Surprisingly, the roads were clear and the drive seemed to pass quickly. It was a perfect Sunday visit.