Math + Marriage

Math has been a huge challenge my whole life. Despite tutors, easier courses, and a mom sitting over me at homework time, I just “didn’t get it.” I still don’t. I cannot shop without a calculator, balance a checkbook, and often reverse numbers. My husband knows this and keeps me a “safe distance” from the banking.

What about math and marriage? The glorious pictures of a fuzzy-edged couple running slow-motion into each other’s arms hardly describe our journey. I’ve kept past anniversary cards—most reading, “It’s been a rough journey, but I’m glad we could travel it together.” We’ve endured more hardships than seem “fair” for one couple.

After one period of harrowing years, I happed upon an article on marriages surviving the tough stuff. Included—a survey of percentages each specific crisis took away from a marriage. Most marriages hit by multiple difficulties ended in divorce. Brian came into the room while I completed the survey.

I dropped the magazine and said, “If I add up the percentages of problems we’ve gone through in our marriage, we've got a 0% chance.”   

“Good thing you’re not very good at math,” he replied with a smile.

The only (totally unscientific) explanation I have for us still being Rev. & Mrs. Brian Hampshire is that on November 25^th, 1978 we made a pledge before God. We kept our word, and the Infinite kept His.

Thanksgiving

During my growing-up years, we placed a fruit-filled wicker cornucopia on our Thanksgiving table, surrounded by pilgrim, indian, and turkey candles we were forbidden to light, lest they become headless before the meal ended.

We sang hymns in church not heard other time of the year~ones with words so rich, honoring God—the One Whom we thanked.

Below are lyrics to one of those hymns. I awed especially at the last half of the second stanza. Back in the 1990s my husband and I were falsely accused of a crime and tried for it. Although eventually cleared, our spirits hit bottom. Yet hope's flame burned, unlike those wax figures on my childhood Thanksgiving table. God defended us and won our victory. Thanks be to Him!

We Gather Together
(Public Domain)

We gather together to ask the Lord’s blessing;

He chastens and hastens His will to make known.

The wicked oppressing now cease from distressing.

Sing praises to His name, He forgets not His own.

Beside us to guide us, our God with us joining,

Ordaining, maintaining His kingdom divine;

So from the beginning the fight we were winning;

Thou, Lord, wast at our side, all glory be Thine!

We all do extol Thee, Thou Leader triumphant,

And pray that thou still our Defender wilt be.

Let Thy congregation escape tribulation; 

Thy Name be ever praised! Oh Lord, make us free!

Blessed Thanksgiving, all!

Happy Adoption Day!

Photo by Kim Graves at Camp KYSOC Reunion

Included in November’s claims is National Adoption Month. We didn’t know that 14 years ago when we set out through a blizzard to seal our four-year-old son’s new name and status. That day the judge claimed he was ours. But, ya know, he belonged long before that.

When we told folks we were praying about adopting a little boy with challenges, some said we were nuts (likely so). Others warned we didn’t know what we were getting into (true). A few bluntly asked “why”~to which we answered “temporary insanity.” Still a handful said this child couldn’t have found more suitable parents. (Oh, you encouraging yet disillusioned folks!)

Truth be told, Min’s foster mother’s prayer of hope and determination played and important role in his coming to America. At each meal and bedtime she prayed Min would find his family. You see, foster care in Min’s native land ends at age 3. If not adopted by then, children are placed in orphanages. Min’s foster mom begged the system to let her keep him a bit longer, believing there was a family for him. During this same time, we had learned about Min and began the process of adopting. East met west, and the rest is history.

I’d tell you raising Min is sheer joy, but not all days are such. Some days are downright hard. Some days I cry. And there are days I wonder what we’ve gotten ourselves into and if we'll survive. But we’ve never said we shouldn’t have done this.

Min was a 24/7 challenge when he arrived. Later we learned he came with more than we “bargained for.” But no child, whether from the womb or flown across an ocean, comes with guarantees. Each child is a gift, differently wrapped with contents unique to that one. And our son is special beyond belief. To know Min is to love him.

So on this day, Min, we say happy adoption day, and we love you!

Always,

Dad and Mom

Votes and Vets

Mike                              Steve                              Nate

This week marks elections and Veteran’s Day. The two share a common bond. We vote because of our vets. “Freedom isn’t free” may be a cliché, but it’s also truth. Any kind of saving grace births out of shedding blood—from our spiritual salvation from sin to our country’s independence.

Right now the hope of our nation lies in the balances. What can we do to impact our nation’s future? 

First, pray. Nations going back to the beginning of time have been brought to their knees and stood again through prayer.

Secondly, act. Vote—our fundamental right and a gift from The Constitution of the United States. Another life-affecting act is “paying it forward.” Has someone blessed you? Can you, in turn, be a blessing to the next guy—perhaps one who’s hurting?

Thirdly, honor our veterans. Whether you’re for or against war, your ability to proclaim your stand has been preserved by those who fought—some shedding blood, others paying the ultimate price. (Freedom of speech is still allowed. Value this. It may not always be so.)

My husband and I honor our fathers—one a US Navy man who guarded our freedom during World War II on the Pacific Coast and the other an Army corp engineer who helped build bridges for combat troops to cross the Rhine. Then there are our sons who've served seven deployment in our country's war against terror.

May God be able to bless America because this nation turns its heart once again toward Him!

"If my people who are called by my name humble themselves, and pray and seek my face and turn from their wicked ways, then I will hear from heaven and will forgive their sin and heal their land."  

2 Chronicles 7:14 (ESV)

ITEM OF INTEREST:
I just learned about France's boxcar gifts to the 48 United States (plus one shared between DC & Hawaii) in gratitude after World War II. Here's a link to the story and a picture of the Kentucky boxcar...

http://www.kyrail.org/boxcar.asp

When One Finger Hurts

At age twelve I learned how to make peanut brittle. I awed when white sugar crystals melted into a translucent, brown, extremely hot liquid. At that point, the other ingredients were quickly stirred in then poured onto a baking sheet to cool and harden.

Peanut brittle—my more than 100-year-old Great Grandpa’s favorite candy! I’d make him some for Christmas! Problem? Mom said no—there wasn’t enough time before leaving for our church’s Christmas service where I had a violin solo. I was quite certain she was wrong. Besides, wouldn’t she have a change of heart since this was for HER grandfather?

I rush about, preparing. All went well till I accidentally poured some of the molten liquid onto my left index fingertip. Horrific pain! I bolted to the sink and threw on the cold water, melting away the candy coating over my already blistered finger. Tears poured as I squeezed ointment onto my wound and bandaged it. How could I play my solo now? I told Mom what happened, but she insisted I still perform. After all, hadn’t she told me to wait?

That evening I wept as I contorted my aching hand to substitute for notes my burned finger failed to play. Some folks in the congregation told me how moved they were by my emotional playing. (I’m sure my playing could cause weeping anyway.) I’d only injured one finger, but my whole hand hurt.

Later in life I heard someone say, “When one finger hurts, so does the whole hand.” My mind flashed back to that Christmas and the painful solo. My husband and I learned this on a much larger scale when our daughter ran away from home and didn't return. Our whole family hurt.

When you love someone in pain, you hurt too. The “whole hand” does. That’s the way it is. Jesus Christ, our Balm, brought us through those prodigal years and continues to give us hope.

Do you have a family member going through tough stuff? A friend? Where do you turn for hope?

Cancer, Causes, and Cures

During Breast Cancer Awareness Month, pink's promoted everywhere—not just in women’s clothing but NFL uniforms as well—all in hopes of raising money for a cure. Why do we wear pink and not blue for that guy-cancer? And why wear ribbons to make us aware?

I don’t need reminding. October 1990 I spotted a billboard advertising free mammograms. I scheduled one, keenly aware of this cancer’s cruelty. My mom lie dying of it. Her mother also had breast cancer, making my sister and I what the medical community calls “high risk”

Today marks the anniversary of two events: Our twin son’s birthdays, and Mom’s passing into eternity. We celebrated life and death the same day. The day after we buried Mom, I went for my mammogram.

The technician saw my grief and asked if I was okay. I wasn’t and explained why. Extra eyes examined my films, and a compassionate radiologist shared that a suspicious spot needing follow-up was detected. That first step led to others, including an oncologist and eventual lumpectomy.

No, I don’t wear a pink ribbon. I have, however, been deeply affected by the disease. It didn’t look very “pink” to me. Cancer’s ugly—in any form. If folks need an awareness ribbon or month to remind them to take care of themselves or a loved one, so be it. 

Has cancer touched your life? Wouldn’t a cure be wonderful? But Hope exists whether a cure is found or not—through salvation in Jesus Christ. And should you know Him and find yourself dealing with cancer, view the places it takes you as opportunities to spread hope to folks who need it. 

A Season For Everything

Photo by Kailey Kaska~use with permission~Kim Bankley-Olson

Fall break from school has ended, but the weather cooperated. We finished sorely-needed weeding on those unseasonably warm days filled with autumn sights and smells. Neighborhood children played in clothes that will soon be packed away till spring.

I love autumn. The beautiful colors really signify death, leading into months of cold and desolation. Yet with each fall, then winter, comes the promise of spring and summer. Predictable—marked on calendars. As surely as one season passes, another will takes its place. What a great God to plan four of them!

Seasons remind me of a God Who cares. Study the foliage—the wonder. Even in the temporary dying of leaves, He displays His artistry. And God’s palate of browns and grays also holds vibrant greens and rainbow colors He paints again come spring. So the cycle continues.

A time to be born, and a time to die. We just welcomed grandbaby #5, one amongst the 350,000* plus births celebrated in the world on his special day! This autumn famed Steve Jobs died, along with 150,000* plus unknown to us who also stepped into either eternal life or eternal death that same day.

A time to plant, and a time to pluck up. Farmers in our area finished harvesting crops, now stored in barns. They’ve rolled their hay, which is transported to many horse farms across Kentucky’s bluegrass region.

For everything there is a season, and a time for every matter under heaven: a time to be born, and a time to die; a time to plant, and a time to pluck up what is planted … I have seen the business that God has given to the children of man to be busy with. He has made everything beautiful in its time. Ecclesiastes 3:1,2,10–11a (ESV)

Enjoy the Creator’s artistry!

*Various websites differ in their calculations. This is an estimate from several.