Problem Solved

Twice a month we'd meet to solve the problems of the world and every time I looked forward to it.

I was the one from North Dakota. Sometimes North Carolina, but it made no difference to me.

His face would brighten when I came to his bedside, drawing close enough for him to see me clearly. Genuinely and repeatedly he would thank me for coming. My goodbyes were drawn out and lengthy as he had a way of keeping me present when pressed to leave. He would tell me how much he enjoyed my visits, and I would tell him that it was most definitely mutual.

We connected over farming but our conversations were varied. We talked about history, religion, politics, and any thing in between. Always on ending we would assign one or the other homework: choosing the next problem we would solve.

Two days before his final breath, while lethargic, weak, and confused, his eyes still brightened when he saw me and he grasped my hand tightly. I knew he knew it was me, the one from North Dakota. How would I say my goodbye this time? What could I possibly do for him? His wife was now bedside, his daughter also present.

Oh, dear old farmer. So kind and gentle. Though your surroundings weren't ideal, you stayed ever positive. But I remember that deep look of sadness on your face when you first lost the ability to use your prominent hand. Your joyful spirit was broken. Yet, you smiled at me. That was the day we were both reminded of your mortality. Your usual pleasant affect was now downcast. "I never knew I would come to this," you said sorrowfully. Indeed, growing old is one of the hardest things to do. Yet, you've done it well, my friend. You've brought me joy, you've been a friend. I will miss you.

I guess we must have solved all the world's problems, didn't we?

A Tribute to My Grandfather

I had the intimidating task and privilege of writing and presenting my grandfather's eulogy at his funeral this past Friday. How does one encapsulate all that a person was as a husband, father, and grandfather in a document a little over a page and a half? With input from many family members, here is my best effort. I love you, Grandpa. I will miss you so much.

Robert “Bob” Suckut

Eulogy

By Tennille Shin, granddaughter

When I think of Grandpa, I think of sitting on his lap as a little girl, his brush running through my hair and his soft humming of what came to be known as the German lullaby. Grandpa always had a way of putting his grandchildren to sleep or calming us down with that lullaby. When we did cry, Grandpa would try to cheer us up by asking to collect our tears in a little cup so we could see them; and it worked. Grandpa loved children. At family gatherings, he could often be found with a child on his lap or children surrounding him enthralled with his humor and antics.

click to make pictures larger

Grandpa with great-granddaughter

Grandpa enjoyed working with his hands and he was known throughout the family as the man who could fix anything. Grandpa could see something in a store, then go home and make it himself. He never hesitated to fulfill granddaughters’ requests for hand-made picture frames and make his grandsons’ hand-made kites, which he then, of course, helped us fly. I think we were all filled with child-like wonder at his ability to make airplanes out of pop cans and yard ornaments out of piping.

Singing together with the family

Grandpa enjoyed gardening and it was always a treat to taste his fresh strawberries when we visited. He also loved music, teaching himself how to play the harmonica and guitar. Grandpa enjoyed polka and bluegrass especially and he was the number one fan of The Peapickers, often sitting in the front row with his tape recorder during concerts. Many of his children and grandchildren share his love for music through his influence.

Always finding time for fun

Grandpa also had a way of dealing with troublesome animals. While his children remember family gofer-hunting trips, his grandchildren may remember him shooting blackbirds out of the second story window with a bb gun. Then there was the electric line wired from his house to the bird feeder, rigged to a button, so he could give unwanted squirrels the shock of their lives. Now that I think about it, this sounds pretty similar to the story of Grandpa rigging the back seat of his car to shock unsuspecting passengers.

Grandpa at 90 with a chainsaw

Grandpa was a hard-working and active man. Everybody in town knew him from his daily 2-mile walk to the spur and back and as he walked he would pick up trash discarded by the roadside. As much as his children tried to keep Grandpa from doing exhaustive labor in his older years, he just couldn’t stop working. He continued to mow his lawn and blow snow at age 95. When his snow blower broke this past winter, he bought himself a new one and made his son go pick it up for him so he could keep going. I remember my mom calling me once last winter, “Grandpa was up pushing snow off the roof today.” Yep, that’s Grandpa.

Grandpa & Lace (granddaughter)

But even though Grandpa had such a strong work ethic, it never took him away from spending time with family. Grandpa was an active father and grandfather. He is remembered as a father who would lay down his chores for a quick baseball game in the yard or to teach his children to fish and hunt. He would even let his daughters put curlers in his hair and one day accidentally opened the door to a visitor forgetting they were there.  In the winter he would hook up a sled to the tractor and give his children rides while he packed the snow down in the driveway. And too many memories to count were made at the Jamestown Reservoir, where every summer he would take his children and grandchildren fishing at the camper at Smokey’s Landing.

As each of his children and then grandchildren grew up and married, Grandpa always welcomed each new spouse with as much love and affection as we knew. Whenever family or friends came to visit, they could always spot Grandpa sitting in his favorite recliner behind the picture window. He was always there when we drove up and always there waving with Grandma when we drove away. The time in between was easily spent eating fresh produce from his garden, visiting over a game of dominoes, or playing on the big bouncy ball Grandpa rigged to hang from the tree in the backyard. Upon leaving their home, without fail, we would all receive a hug and a kiss.

It almost goes without saying that Grandpa adored Grandma. As a small girl I remember Grandpa planting a huge kiss on Grandma’s lips in the middle of the street in front of the café. “Bob!” Grandma said embarrassingly. Grandpa replied simply, “What? We are married.” When Grandma was diagnosed with breast cancer in 1990, her doctor met with Grandpa, “If you love your wife, quit smoking." The story goes that even though Grandpa had tried to quit several times before, that very day Grandpa threw his cigarettes away and never touched them again. This was Grandpa.

                              

Two Months Married (1942)

69 Years Later (2011)

Grandpa was also a man of quiet faith. He thought for himself and had many questions about biblical topics. He enjoyed visits from Pastor Edwards and Pastor Pflugrad and shared many spiritual conversations with his children. When Grandpa chose to be baptized at age 91, Grandma chose to be re-baptized alongside him in support, another testament to their marriage. July 17, 2010 was a glorious day as his son, Randi, at Pelican Lake surrounded by family and friends, baptized him.  

Memories could go on forever and I’m sure we will all remember easily throughout the coming years whenever we hear a harmonica, taste a lemon drop, play a game of Rummikub, go fishing, listen to polka, or pick juneberries. Whatever memory it may be for you, it remains true for us all, Grandpa was a remarkable man who instilled in us the values of integrity, respect, work ethic, sacrifice, quality time, and family. And the legacy he left us will live on through all the lives he touched.

Picking Juneberries

Obituary

Picture Credits: Myndi Timothy

The Last Breath

I knew she was ready to die, at least by all medical directives. She was terribly emaciated. Her flesh already decomposing. But here she was, still hanging on for weeks past the deadline we unofficially gave her. Her family was exhausted but lovingly supportive and present. They were ready. She seemed ready. None of us could understand why she kept hanging on.

Today, I thought, would be just another day. Her nurse had the day off. The chaplain was overbooked. Someone, though, should visit her. She often had periods of anxiety when she didn't want to be left alone.  Sure, I would go. I would love to.

I drove the 30 minutes to the facility of her residence. I signed in at the desk, asked a staff member how she was doing. They didn't know.

I walked down the hall and dropped my bag and coat at her door, put on gloves and a special covering over my clothes. She had an infectious disease. This was protocol.

I turned and went behind the curtain. I stopped. How it was possible, I don't know, but she looked even worse than last week. She didn't look alive. But she was breathing.

I went to her bedside and touched her shoulder. There was no response. Just breathing.

All outward appearances told me these were her last moments. But I couldn't be sure, could I? I second-guessed myself. I'm not a nurse, after all. But . . . the way she looked. The way she breathed.

I recalled the visit I had had with her a few weeks ago when she asked me to read to her from the Bible. She requested Romans 8. She was a woman of strong faith, and prayer, and Bible study.

I reached for her Bible.

I spoke to her.

It's okay.
I'm here with you.
You're not alone.

I rubbed her leg gently.

It's okay, my dear.
You can go.
Your family is going to be okay.

Her breathing lessened.

Rest, my dear. You can rest.
Be at peace.
Rest . . . in peace.

I turned to Romans 8, and looked up.
She was gone.
She had taken her last breath.

I sat there. I looked at the clock.
Only six minutes had passed since I had arrived.
I touched her shoulder once more.
Then called the nurse.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

I will always remember her for the gift she gave me. The honor to be present. An almost holy, certainly spiritual, moment in time.

I don't think there is anything quite like it.

I'm so glad she didn't have to die alone. But what an honor for it to be me at her bedside.
Thank you, my dear, sweet lady. You will always be remembered.

"For I am persuaded that neither death nor life, nor angels nor principalities nor powers, nor things present nor things to come, nor height nor depth, nor any other created thing, shall be able to separate us from the love of God which is in Christ Jesus our Lord."  

Romans 8:38, 39

I will see you again.

Remembering Papa Camara

I've been reflecting quite often lately on the time I spent in Mali, West Africa when I was a student missionary with Adventist Frontier Missions in 2005-2006. A couple of months ago, I started compiling emails and e-newsletters that I wrote to family and friends while I was there. It is an ongoing project that I hope will eventually result in a printed book as a personal keepsake.

After working on this project more heavily this last week, it seemed strangely coincidental that I received an email just this morning from the missionary family I served under, a certain blast from the past.

The email, besides being a friendly Christmas greeting, was filled with this news:

I'm sorry to have to write this but I thought you would like to know that we just heard this morning that Papa Camara died last night.  Apparently he died in Bamako at a hospital and they are bringing his body back to Kangaba today.  We know that you guys had a great relationship with Papa Camara and his family and we would certainly appreciate your prayers for the family and for us, that we will be able to be some sort of blessing to the family in this time of their sorrow.   

Papa Camara was a beautiful, gentle, intelligent man, who was also my host for four of the nine months I was in Mali. He was not only the head of the courtyard we lived within, he was the head Imam of the village - the Muslim religious leader.

Though he knew we were Christian missionaries, he took us into his household, providing us with shelter, food, and the companionship of his family.

In memory of dear Papa Camara, here are some excerpts from my correspondence to family and friends.

The three student missionaries--myself,  Nicole Van Allen, Krystal Peck--with Papa Camara.

September 13, 2005

After eating our lunch at the Curry’s house, we met Papa Camara—our host. He greeted us and seemed happy to see us. He is a tall, skinny, elderly man. Delightful. He chuckles often and smiles even more. I took to him right away.  

[...] It is customary for visitors to adopt a Malian name while here. Later in the day we met with Papa Camara (on our choice) to have him name us. I am now Aminata Camara, named after his daughter.

[...] The first two weeks here are "immersion time" so Papa Camara has been providing us with breakfast every day. Breakfast is the same thing every morning. It’s called moni, and it’s a type of porridge with little bites of soft dough, much like the texture of soggy rice. It's interesting. We eat it with him right on the steps in front of his house. We don't talk while we eat. We just listen to the sounds of the chickens in the courtyard and try to slurp down the porridge without grimacing too badly.

I love Papa Camara. Talking to him is so pleasant. We spoke to him briefly before bedtime and he seemed pleased to have our company. Kangaba - Mali - Africa. It's a wonderful place.

November 4, 2005

It's customary to bring back a little something from Bamako and one of those things is bread. We gave some bread to Papa Camara, who was so happy to see us. He came to greet us and also to give us a bag of dates from the feasting. How sweet!

December 6, 2010

When we brought Pastor Rich to meet our host, Papa Camara, he was so thrilled! It was amazing. He just kept saying over and over again how happy he was that Pastor Rich had visited. It was neat to see him smiling so much and so happy.  

March 11, 2006

At the end of our trip,  Krystal and I were able to make it back down to the first village we lived in, Kangaba, and visit old friends for the weekend. Seeing the smiling faces of our friends, who we thought we would never see again when leaving in January, was a delight. Seeing our old courtyard, and little, old Papa Camara, our host, was priceless. His big grin and warm heart welcomed us.

We pray for the Camara family and hope Papa Camara's heart was truly seeking after God.  He was always a good and godly man, so gracious to us and our student missionaries.  May God's love comfort and draw them at this time. 

Maybe one day I will see you again, Papa Camara. I hope you knew that we loved you.

To the Grandmother I Never Knew

David's maternal grandmother passed away on Thursday, February 18.  Though I never had the privilege of meeting her, there is something about her that lives on in the minds and memories of those who did.  It wasn't until David's aunt, Debbie, gave a tribute at the funeral, that I understood what that was. 

The Korean word for "grandmother" sounds a lot like, to my English ears, the word harmony.  The first time I heard David's family use the word, I thought of how pleasant it sounded. Harmony is now my own endearing term for this grandmother I never knew.  

The irony is that her life was far from peaceful.

Harmony was born on November 12, 1927 in northern Korea.  She grew up in an era I can only read about and shudder to imagine.  It was the time of the Japanese occupation.  Her life was hard and material goods were scarce. 

Later, as a newly married woman with one daughter, the Korean War broke out. She experienced freezing cold, starvation, and near death.  Then, just as the border was drawn separating North Korea from South she made it across to the safety of South.  Only, however, to be permanently separated from her parents and younger siblings.  She never saw or heard from them again.

Harmony worked hard to survive.  She eventually had three more children. Her family moved to Japan, then later America.  But no matter where they were, she could always be found helping those in need.  Harmony was a pastor's wife.  In the states, she helped meet the needs of many newly immigrated church members from Korea.  She provided for her family also.  She grew a large vegetable garden to provide food.  She knitted mittens and sweaters, and sewed dresses.  She made sure her children never went hungry, even walking in the pouring rain to bring a forgotten lunch to her daughter at school.

This woman--this wife, mother, grandmother--must have been a mighty woman of faith.  A woman of endurance.  Of unwavering determination.  Yet a woman of sweet kindness and self-sacrificing love.  I know she was, because there are remnants of her life visible in her family today.  I've noticed the legacy she has passed on.  I notice the way her family remembers her. 

Though we never met, I know Harmony wouldn't want me to remember her as the woman I typically would--a woman struggling for the last two years of her life, the first two years of my marriage to her grandson.  But I won't.  I choose to remember her as the woman her family does.

A woman who fought the good fight, and finished the race.

Mother's Day: questions, answers, comments, miracles

"Are you pregnant?" someone asked me today after church.

"No." I said simply, not really thinking much about the question. I am asked about future babies every once in awhile and was also asked more recently if there was a pregnancy when I cut back to part time (hoorah for part time).  

But then she went on to say, "Oh, I just noticed you had a little tummy there."

Oh you did? Huh.

Happily, I didn't take any offense because I know well enough that I haven't gained anything lately. But I did have to wonder about what it takes to be that bold.

Perhaps my bulging belly earlier was due to the fellowship meal we had just eaten--a yearly tradition of 'Aunt Bette's tacos' made by the men of the church.  Combined with the Mother's Day emphasis today, maybe it was just "in the air."  

But I do want to say a very happy mother's day to a few of my favorite individuals!  Mom, you're the best mother ever and I am so blessed to have grown up in your household.  You've been a tremendous blessing to me and I love you so much.  Thank you for always answering when I'm at the grocery store wondering where I would find the next item on my list, or when I'm in the kitchen wondering why my zucchini bread didn't raise.  Thank you for your guidance, love and longsuffering.

Lace, your daughters are the most beautiful girls in the world. I love being aunty to them and I only wish we were closer so I could be more of a part of their lives. You are a tremendous mother to them and I know they will grow up with a love and respect for their mother.  Thank you also for being a wonderful sister to me and all you've done for me over the years.

Meghan, HAPPY MOTHER'S DAY!!!  You're a mother!!!  I'm SO excited for you and your little Elaina.  I am so sure that you have fit wonderfully into this new role of yours.  My prayers and thoughts are with you as you continue to learn and grow, as well as teach and mold precious Elaina into a wonderful reflection of God's love.

So thank you ladies, for being wonderful women and mothers!

On the subject of Mother's Day, I had organized a Mother's Day Tribute during the worship service of the Williamston church.  I had a small gift for each mother and afterwards I had a few left over. Which I was hoping for because I wanted to mail some to a few of our missing female members.  I should say here that not long ago, the women of this church got together and split up all the names of our missing female members, assigning some to each of us as "Heart Call sisters." Basically an outreach to win them back. I have three, and of those,  I have met only one before. The others had quit coming to church before we even came.  So as part of my personal outreach to them, I began by sending them our church bulletin every week or so.  

Today after church (and the Aunt Bette's tacos), David and I did some door-to-door outreach, then decided to do some pop visits on some members we've been trying to connect with. One of which was one of my "sisters", one that neither of us had ever met before. The most touching and encouraging experience followed.  She answered our knock at the door, we introduced ourselves, I gave her the Mother's day gift and a hug, and she invited us in. As we sat on her couch, she shared with us about different struggles she had faced. I could sense the sorrow, the second-guessing she was doing on some of her actions and decisions. Then she said to me, simply, "You remembered me."  Her daughter was there too, a convert to Muslim as was evident by her dress.  The daughter affirmed her mother by saying, "Every week, you would send her a bulletin. I asked mom if these people had even met her before and she said 'no' and I thought, 'wow, that's a church to belong to.' Week after week, remembering my mom even though there was no sign from the other end. After years and years of not attending. Thank you."  Again and again, my "sister" would say that the Lord had been working on her heart.  Someone would call her and invite her to church.  Then the notes she would get from me in the mail.  Now an actual visit.  "I'm coming next week" she said. "I can't deny it any longer."  Again and again she would reference the notes I'd send, the simple church bulletins and the "Women of Spirit" magazine we send her. "I read it cover to cover."  As we left, the thank you's were so genuine and sincere. I had tears in my eyes as I realized that such a simple action, so easy to do, had made such an impact on this precious lady. I had simply remembered her, and it had made all the difference in the world. 

Wow. 

Lord, to You be the glory. 

Continue to use me to reach Your children. 

What a rewarding place to be, right in the middle of Your gospel commission.

To Grandpa

They say Germans are stubborn. They are said to be strong and resilient.

And perhaps they would rather talk about how the crops are doing or today's weather than their feelings. Perhaps they do prefer working hard and finishing a task over having a heart-to-heart.
But I don't mind.

Because it's the story behind those calloused and stiff hands from the years of hard work that I cherish. It's the story told each time you make a picture frame, or loom, or another requested item for a granddaughter. It's in the kites you made us as children, the airplanes out of pop cans. It's the german chocolate cake we get to eat on your birthday. It's that brown brush you used to brush my hair with and the german lullaby you would hum to put me to sleep. It's the electric wire you have running to the bird feeder to keep the squirrels away. It's the binoculars beside your recliner. It's the harmonica you play, the folk music you like. It's the house you built and the trees you planted. It's the christmas tree that gets shorter and shorter each year. It's the bb gun and the blackbirds.

It's the story written from the unspoken words. The story that continues on with each memory made.

Still now, it's in the unspoken words that I find you. They tell me of your heart's tremblings. Of the questions. Of the fears. I long to hear your troubling thoughts. But how do I approach such a thing? After all, we are Germans. Strong and silent. Yet an uneasiness is sensed. It is there. I long to tell you that it would be my greatest honor to bear it with you.

If I could bear your burdens, I would.
If I could take your sleepless nights for myself, I would.
If I could be the one making oatmeal without water, I would.

If my prayers are really heard, may I never cease.
May my prayers for you be as frequent as my breath.
May I be woken from my slumber...to pray. To pray for you. For that is the least that I can do.
I love you.

Thank you for your legacy. As another year passes, I can only be ever more grateful that my heart continues to be etched with your story.

Tribute to a Friend

In a time of need, a wise man once told me "whining is a sign of strength & dignity."

That good man's birthday is today and everyone should wish Aaron a happy day.

So here's to you Aaron. You've been a great friend. Your advice is impeccable. Your wisdom astounding. :)