Memories, memories, memories.  Some come with a smile and others with a tear.  Many are connected to feelings like accomplishment, anger, confusion, embarrassment, joy or sorrow.  Some are just snippets and others are full-fledged stories.  It has been a blessing to have others share their memories of dad and we especially appreciated his brother and sister sharing some of their early memories of dad.

I'm here to confess that one of my early memories of dad intersects with my thumbsucking problem.  There's just something about having a thumb always handy.  It doesn't get lost like a pacifier and it fits perfectly into the mouth no matter what the age.  I found it helpful to be able to hold something while I was sucking my thumb and for a while that something was a sock monkey.  I would drag him around by the tail and when I sucked my thumb, I would hold his tail in the same hand.

Dad and mom gently tried to encourage me to break my habit, but those cherished habits are hard to break.  One afternoon when I was still young enough to take a daily nap but old enough to remember, Dad put me down for my nap.  Of course I wanted my monkey, but dad thought I was old enough to nap without him.  He took my monkey and tied him around the bare lightbulb that was in the ceiling of my room.  The monkey hung from the lightbulb with all four legs hugging the bulb with his non-prehensile tail hanging down.  Dad turned off the light and shut the door so I could have a quiet rest.  I promptly fell asleep and had myself a good nap.  

We had guests at the time and for some reason, while I was asleep, one of them (I think it was another child) flipped the light switch on.  I was happily sleeping when my sock monkey began to smolder and I slept through the ensuing excitement.  When the smell finally reached my parents' noses, it was too late to save the monkey.  The non-prehensile tail hadn't been clinging to the lightbulb and it escaped the slow burn.

When I woke up, there was a slight odor in the room that I couldn't identify.  Dad came into my room with his hand behind his back.  He told me that he was very sorry that he had tied my monkey around the light and then told me what had happened.  His hand came out from behind his back and he showed me the tail which was scorched at its base.  I know that Dad felt badly about my charred monkey, but he thought maybe I would still like the tail.  I tried it once, but it just wasn't the same.

For years when I would see a sock monkey, I would remembered the monkey that had met its early demise.  I don't remember holding any grudges through the years because I knew Dad had really been sorry.  Once in a while I would be tempted to buy a new monkey, but I never did.

About a week before we traveled to New Mexico, I shared this story with a couple of friends.  We laughed and then our conversation took another turn, but Andrea didn't forget the story.  The day that dad died, she spotted a sock monkey in a store and purchased it for me.  On Sunday, she handed me a gift and when I opened it, I found my new monkey!  I tucked him into my bag where he sat during the service and when I left the service in tears, he was in my hand - a reminder of dad and a token of a friend's love.

It was a short long week. A happy sad time. We experienced joy in our grief and shared laughter through our tears. We were anxious to get there and were reluctant to leave.  Never have I packed so much emotion into such a short amount of time.

When we began planning a trip to New Mexico, I never imagined that I would stand beside my father as he took his last breath.  I had no idea that Mom and Dad's house would be filled with the entire family singing, praying and reading the Bible together as we sat with Dad before he traded time for eternity.  I had no experience making arrangements with a funeral home.  I had no intentions of placing flowers on my father's grave.  And yet, I know that it was all part of the Lord's plan for for that week between Christmas and the new year.

In his 50 years of ministry in New Mexico, Dad had been there for the community during more than 500 funerals and it soon became clear that that many wanted to be involved in honoring him.  Several men got together early in the week and hand shoveled the snow in the the church yard so it wouldn't be a sea of mud.  A group of Navajo men volunteered to hand dig the grave.  A former student met with my sister-in-law and wrote up an announcement to be read over the Navajo radio station and then hand delivered it to the station in Farmington 100 miles away.  We knew that the church wouldn't be large enough to hold everyone, and one of the young Navajo men that dad mentored made arrangements to have a tent attached to the church.   Women all over the community cranked up their stoves and began preparing food for a meal after the funeral and joined church ladies to serve and clean up.

As a California transplant, Dad had never appreciated the cold New Mexico winters, but the morning of the funeral, the sun was out brightly and the day warmed enough that I didn't need a coat.  We couldn't have asked for a more beautiful day in which to shed our tears.  Of course, the bright sun meant that the snow was melting and we all had our share of mud before the day was over.  

All of Dad's eight grandsons carried him into the church and Justin told us later that it was heavier than he expected.  We laid a Navajo rug over the casket and placed a small sheaf of wheat on it.  A crowd had already started to arrive an hour before the service began and by the time it started, J was wondering if it was over yet.

The service was held in the church that Dad helped build and where he faithfully ministered for more than 40 years.  Five ministers shared in the service.  Three of them had been mentored by Dad when they worked with him at the mission as young adults.  His cousin drove out from California to take part in the service and shared how he had been present at Dad's baptism exactly 60 years ago to the day.  Part of the service was translated into Navajo and one of the songs was in Navajo.  I had to translate it into English for the boys since they had no idea what we were singing.

It wasn't until the viewing began that we had any idea how many people were in attendance.  The Sunday school rooms as well as the tent had been full and it seemed like the people kept coming.  Many of them reached over to pat mom on her shoulder as they passed by.  Even though people had driven in from California, Kansas and Iowa, most of the 400 people in attendance were people that Dad had ministered to over the years.  Some of them had been around when Dad and Mom first moved to the Navajo reservation 50 years ago and others were teens who are currently students in the mission school that Dad started.

We followed the hearse across the road to the cemetery.   Here the mud was the worst and grown men took the younger grandsons' places and lowered the casket into the grave.  After the committal service, men from the crowd worked together to fill the grave while a group of Navajo ladies sang in Navajo.  I had stood in that same place many times before never thinking that some day I would be there to bury my father.  He is buried in the land he loved among the people that he loved and served.

During the day, I got to talk to many whom I've also known all my life.  I visited with women that I rode the school bus with, hugged former students and visited with at least two of my foster brothers and sisters.  I assured people that Dad had prayed for them and thanked them for sharing in our day.  We were blessed by those who had driven many miles to be with us and by those from the community who joined us in our sorrow.

We don't wish Dad back, but we sure do miss him.  He was a quiet man who earned the respect of many.  He loved Mom and all his children and grandchildren.  For now we speak of him through our tears, but we know that our grief is not without hope.  He longed to see his savior and one of the last things he said to me was, "Look for me near the Eastern Gate."  It's a comfort to know that he's traded his trouble and sorrow for eternal rest and glory.

Last Saturday evening we enjoyed a lovely Christmas dinner with many of our church family.  It was obvious that everyone was glad to be there.  Most brought something to help with the meal, many were dressed in Christmas colors or their Sunday best, the house was lovely and some of the more musically gifted of our congregation provided music and lead us in a carol sing-a-long.  At each table was a card with suggestions for conversation starters.  Our card read, "favorite Christmas traditions," and it did start an interesting time of sharing.  Dean and I decided that our tradition is to travel.  We usually make at least three trips to Pennsylvania between Thanksgiving and New Year's and in addition we travel to New Mexico every other year for Christmas.  As a result, we haven't developed many traditions for our own small family unit.

This morning I realized the we do have some traditions though.  Every year, we get out the paints and the boys paint a Christmas picture of some kind.  We don't claim to be great artists, but we have fun and we're getting a small collection of pictures that we display during the Christmas season.

When the boys were quite small, Dean bought them hats and it was comical to see how small their heads were in comparison to the hats.  We couldn't find any their size, so we pinned them smaller with safety pins and they had fun wearing them.  I kept them and every year, the boys pull them out and have fun wearing them around the house or out on jaunts around town.  They were just as excited to find them this year as they have been in past years.  The safety pins are gone now, but they were in terrible need of a good wash.  (I was pleased to find that they washed up just find and didn't bleed red all through the wash.)

As I've thought about painting pictures and wearing hats, I've realized that they're not the more standard traditions like baking cookies and sending cards (that's supposed to happen this week yet), but they are part of the Christmas festivities in our home.

We had invited J to spend Thanksgiving weekend with us, and his mother wanted us to pick him up Tuesday when he got home from school.  Jeremy and Justin finished up their schoolwork early on Tuesday so we ran a few errands in town before stopping to get J.  When he came out of the house, his next older brother came with him and I knew what the question would be.  He's been wanting to visit and seemed determined to cash in on that "later" promise I had made.  I gave him a choice of visiting over Thanksgiving or waiting three weeks and going along to Pennsylvania the next time we go and he chose the more immediate.  After some more negotiation we ended up bringing two of J's brothers, but I wasn't ready to have all three for five days.

For the most part, all five boys got along well on Wednesday.  They all helped out with small tasks when asked and since we have five bikes, they were all out riding part of the day.  J's brothers were fascinated with the small bow we have and both worked at trying to shoot it.  We had an early supper so we could attend our Thanksgiving eve service at church and I think they all cleaned up nicely.  (I keep extra clothes on hand for times like this.)  During church, the boy who had been so anxious for a visit began to feel a little homesick, but brownies after church helped him to feel better.  Now that I look at the picture I took before church, I see that maybe he was feeling a little blue when I snapped the photo.

Jeremy woke me at 6:30 Thanksgiving morning so he could help make the stuffing for the turkey.  While I worked on other tasks, he chopped the onion and celery and then helped with the mixing and stuffing.  He's been telling me for six months that he wanted to cook the turkey for Thanksgiving.  After we got breakfast out of the way, the boys all grabbed bikes and we took off.  I walked while they rode.  The weather was beautiful and I had just the right amount of time to finish up the sides when we got back.

Everyone was eager to eat, and even though it was obvious that some of the dishes were unfamiliar to the boys, they were soon full and ready to head outside for more play before the pie was served.  After I took J's brothers home (J will stay until Sunday), their mother called to see how things had gone.  She thanked me and said that any time I want them all again, I can have them.  We're thankful that we were able to share Thanksgiving with all the boys, but I must admit that I'm glad to be back to a more quiet house.

This year we celebrated Thanksgiving with Dean's family the weekend before Thanksgiving and we'll be home on Thanksgiving Day.  We had plenty of food, all the family was there and of course, when you get this many children together, there was lots of fun.  It was good to be together and to have this time to make more memories.

We are blessed to be a part of a family where ties are strong, marriages are lasting and faith is a common bond.

Even though we knew the call was inevitable, we were not completely ready to hear that Grandma Johns had died  We know that we will never be welcomed into her home again with her sweet smile.  Or be asked if we'd had enough to eat while sitting at her table.  Or hear her sweet laugh in conversation.  No longer will I hear her voice on the phone asking how Dean (her oldest grandchild) is doing.

Even though I've only known her for a short part of her long-lived life, I learned that she really loved her family and that the Lord and his people were important to her.  As the family gathers to say their last good-byes, there will be sorrow because this small woman will be missed greatly.  We will cry but through our tears we will remember the hope of the resurrection.

The goal of the second photography was to focus on close-ups, and Jeremy did that but took other shots as well.

Even though Jeremy doesn't take as many pictures as Justin, he still manages to compose some nice pictures.

Mom recently sent me some pictures from my childhood.  This picture was taken from the top of what we called the bell hill and the building on the left was our home.  The building on the right housed a clinic.  The big white truck was an x-ray truck that belonged to the Public Health Services.  I remember getting a chest x-ray in there since TB was a big problem on the reservation.  After that I think the x-ray testing was done with a skin prick.  We spent many hours playing on the bell hill and if you knew where to look at the right time of the year you could have arrow grass.  Those little darts really hurt, but if you let them dry out, the grass would curl and could no longer be used for darts.  Loco weed also grew on the hill and it was very pretty and we would pick small bunches for mom.  Whenever I see purple statice in a flower arrangement, I think of loco weed.

This is the church I attended as a child and where Dean and I were married.  (The picture was also taken from the bell hill.)  The fenced in area was a little garden where my father and grandfather worked to grow a few vegetables.  

In this picture is the house where my brother and his wife now live.  The building in the forefront was a chicken house.  I remember going in to gather eggs and having to watch where I walked since I was always barefoot.  I think it's also where the milk goats were kept.  (They didn't last long.)  

Whenever Justin sees pictures like these, he is convinced that the world I grew up in was black and white.  Even though there was color in my childhood, if I had color pictures to prove it you would see mostly browns contrasted by the beautiful cloudless blue sky.

The boys met with their photography teacher again this week and their assignment was to focus on small things.  Justin picked out a few of the many that he took to share.

And finally a self-portrait.  Justin really loves to use the camera.

When a friend at church asked if Jeremy and Justin would like to be a part of a photography class, we were ready to take her up on her offer.  We met last week at a local park where Susan went over some principles she wanted them to learn and then five boys were set loose with digital cameras and told to practice what they had just learned.  

First some of Justin's pictures.

 And some of Jeremy's.

Jeremy took time at the end of class to take a picture of everyone:  fellow photographers, mothers, models and teacher.  Now we're looking forward to another session this week.