One September Morning

It was a lovely morning in early fall.

I worked for The Salvation Army in Charleston, West Virginia. I had already seen my first few clients – helping them with bills, clothing, food and other needs associated with my job. I hurried back to the pantry to get a family some food, and made my way through the break room.  Normally empty early in the morning, all the administrative staff was in the room, sitting in front of the tiny television set saying very little.

I went about getting the food together and gave it to the client waiting at the back door. As I returned to my office, I saw that everyone was still looking at the television and walked to where I could see what they watching.

I saw the first tower smoking, and reporters were speculating about the kind of plane that accidentally hit it. About then, I saw the second plane hit the second tower. I remember saying, “That was no accident.”

Almost immediately they were calling for off duty medical personnel to report to all the New York City hospitals.

A couple hours later they were reporting the small number of people who were being seen by medical personnel. It became very clear that a relative few in the two massive buildings were wounded. The rest were dead.

And now came the rumors.

There were anywhere from 4 to 8 planes in the air heading for targets all over the United States. A plane had hit the White House, a plane had hit the Lincoln Memorial, and there were planes over Los Angeles…on and on…

A plane actually did hit the Pentagon.

But then, a plane crashed in a field in Pennsylvania, and somehow we all knew; it was no accident. We all knew, passengers on the plane realized that America was under attack and they fought back.

A brave young man with no proper authority did the unimaginable - he closed United States Airspace; grounding every plane in the country. We don’t know how many lives he may have saved, but no more terrorists acted that day.

For probably the first time since the attack on Pearl Harbor on December 7, 1941, America was of one heart and mind. We are like siblings who might beat each other to bloody stumps, but God help the person outside of our family who tries to harm one of us!

No matter what he may have done right or wrong, when our president went to New York and stood at what has been called “Ground Zero”, and vowed vengeance on those who attacked us, every American watching felt a surge of pride. Our leader stood up for us and he stood up with us.

The years have passed. Pain has softened, and sadly, patriotism has waned, but we have not forgotten. There are memorials in New York City, Washington, DC and Pennsylvania to those who died that day.

There has been a War on Terror in response to that day, and there are memorials in cemeteries across America of young men and women who answered their countries call.

There have been others who came home with wounds not even seen during World War II, to less jobs, an overburdened health care system, but nevertheless, to a grateful nation.

So many issues to think about, but today, on September 11, 2014, please take a moment and remember those we lost on that day not so long ago, and those we have lost in the years since.

Remember too that for a brief moment, America stood as one heart, as "One Nation Under God", and we survived.

Saturday Mornings, Raisin Omlets, Baseball and Sheriff Matt Dillon

My mom worked. It was during an era when that was much less common for a woman with a child to have a job outside the home. My mom was also divorced; something else not common for a woman in the 1950s.

My dad came home from WWII with what today would have been called Post Traumatic Stress Disorder. At the end of World War II, it was called Shell Shock. Though he loved my mom and I, he was violent and often dangerous. My mom protected herself and her child; me, and left him.

My mother's family lived in Pennsylvania. She had come to California with my father at the end of the war to his home in Northern California, and that's where I was born. By the time the marriage ended, we had moved to the Southern part of the state. As a  Navy WAVE, she was pretty much guaranteed a job with any United States Navy base, so it was a natural progression that she went to work at Port Hueneme, the Sea-Bee Base right outside of Oxnard, California.

During the week, she walked me to school and went to work. I got out of school and went to Mrs. Alford's house where I played with Cut Out dolls on the floor while Mrs. Alford listened to The Guiding Light on her radio. Shortly after it ended, mom got home from work and we would walk to our tiny house.

We were very poor but I don't think I knew it. I knew that after dinner I ran across the street to the local park and played while my mom did people's ironing. When the sun started to fade, I would come home, get my bath, and go to sleep with my mom reading me a story. I think in many ways, I had a very rich life.

On Saturday mornings we both slept until we were ready to wake up. I will never forget the sweetness of waking up to soft breezes blowing through my bedroom window and the smell of strong drip-o-lator coffee. There was a small cloud from mom's Viceroy cigarette as she sat at the kitchen table drinking her coffee and reading the newspaper.

I knew I was loved. As soon as my mom saw me, I remember a huge smile, her open arms, and "Good morning Snicklefritz!" as I hugged her.

During the week, I had cold cereal and a glass of milk for breakfast. Not so on Saturdays. On Saturdays, we had precious time, and mom would cook for us. Her specialty was a huge omelet, filled with Velveeta Cheese and raisins. It came with toast and orange juice! Part went to me and she literally ate the leftovers.

After breakfast, we did laundry. That meant a scrub board, a sink full of hot water and Felz Naphtha soap. I had to wash my panties and my socks, but she washed the rest. I helped hang our clothes on the tiny line outside, while mom washed dishes and cleaned our house. The rest of the day was pretty much mine to play in the park or with friends who lived one or two houses away from me.

In 1950, my grandma died, and mom got a tiny windfall from her life insurance. We bought a Television set. It was black and white, had a huge cabinet, and a very small screen. On Saturdays while I played, mom set the ironing board in front of the Television and watched her beloved Los Angeles Angels play baseball.

Saturday evenings we ate dinner, got ready for bed, and I got to sleep in her bed (which was a hide-a-way of our couch). We watched Gunsmoke and when I could stay awake, The American Hit Parade.

Sundays were cinnamon toast, chocolate milk, Sunday School, Church, and lunch with friends; often our pastor, his wife and their children. After lunch we napped even when I was nearly twelve. That was just what we did on Sundays.

Sunday evenings were You Are There (a wonderful living history program with Walter Cronkite who would be the 'imbedded reporter' at the storming of the Bastille, the battle of New Orleans, General Robert E. Lee's surrender at Appomattox Courthouse, etc.). After that was Victory at Sea; docudramas of battles at sea during World War II. The theme song was The Navel Hymn, and I was always moved by my mom's soft tears when she would hear the sad, lovely song. In my own life, I came to know that it was her patriotism and love of county that moved her to tears.

When you are a child, there are things that you see, but never know that you are seeing. My friends families all had cars. We walked every where. I guess I knew mom was sick, but I never remember actually knowing that she was sick. I guess I thought everyone's mother had Grand Mal Seizures. I guess I thought that it was normal not to be allowed to drive. I thought it was normal to occasionally have to go to the hospital and leave your child with their paternal grandparents.  

A few days after I had my twelfth birthday, my mom went to the hospital and never came home. Her brothers came from Pennsylvania and I left my home in California. I was twenty one years old when I went back and finally got to visit the Veteran's Cemetery where where is buried.

I remember my early childhood as very sweet. I knew I was loved. I knew that Saturdays were about Raisin Omelets, Baseball and Sheriff Matt Dillon.

"You Matter. You Have A Purpose"

On my way home from work, I saw a man on a street corner and he was holding a sign. Unlike most guys on the corner with signs, he was very neat looking, and would periodically turn and face traffic coming the from the opposite street. When I got to the corner, I looked at the sign. Instead of "Will work for food", it said, "You Matter. You Have a Purpose". As I turned the corner, I slowed down, said, "Good job Buddy!" and gave him a thumbs up. He smiled back and said, "For Robin."

WOW.

I thought about him all the way home. I don't think it comes as a surprise that many people feel personally impacted by the tragic death of the kind and funny man; Robin Williams. This fellow was saying something to express what so many of us would like to say - You Do Matter. You Do Have a Purpose.

The day it happened, two thoughts came to mind and I want to share my own thoughts. First, people wonder:

"How can anyone get so depressed that they would take their own life?" When my daughter died, I shared another of Robin Williams problems. I turned to alcohol to cope. Alcohol is a depressant - is it really a shock that people who drink too much become depressed?? Alcohol removes all the filters on your impulses. Most of us know that old Uncle George never would have gone skinny dipping in the church baptismal if he was sober. Mary Sue never would have gotten a tattoo which said "that", let alone "there" if she was sober! Is it really a surprise that many suicides involve substance use or abuse. Even though Robin Williams was more than likely sober, he was still an alcoholic, which is a disease and depression is part of that disease - drunk or sober!

I was drunk the night I walked down a road facing traffic, saw a coal truck and knew that if I just stepped one foot to the right, I would never hurt again. What stopped me was a little voice in my soul that said, "But what about that truck driver? What about the rest of his life?" Even at my worst, God has blessed me with a concern for others. I couldn't care for me, but I cared about that anonymous truck driver, and I didn't die that night. I knew that night that I would never try to harm myself again.

During this most recent battle with depression, there has been no alcohol, but the addictive personality of substance abuse has contributed to gaining over 50 pounds. During this battle, I have become even more sure that I won't ever harm myself. It would make some folks just too happy and I am far too stubborn to give them that!

The other question that folks wonder about, "Well everyone gets sad, but I certainly wouldn't do that!"

There are huge differences in some of those feelings. Sad, is when Justin Beaver  cancels the concert you saved to attend. It's when your puppy died, or you moved away from your best friend. Sadness is a normal reaction to a disappointment or to a unexpected loss or disruption in our life. You will fall in love with another amazing 'boy group', or after a time, get a new precious puppy, or learn to work around your loss or disruption. You will survive sadness, and you will probably grow because of the lessons it taught you.

Next on the rung is Adjustment Disorder with Depressed Mood. This is more pronounced than sadness, and is well on the way to actual Depression, often being very hard to differentiate. This is when your mom dies too young, and you just can't get past the grief. It's when you loose a long term job, it's when you loose a child, it's when there is so much trauma that the event overwhelms your normal coping skills - when life is completely changed for a time. It can be when you feel absolutely betrayed by those you trusted. There are many of the same symptoms as Clinical Depression. You may experience eating issues - too much or too little food. You might not be able to sleep. You might feel that there is no hope, but there are differences as well.




This problem is in all likelihood triggered by an event. It might be a sudden event like a death, or an ongoing event like war. It is possible that the event can also trigger Post Traumatic Stress Disorder. The big difference between this and actual Depression, is that (a) it will eventually be okay and so will you, (b) you will find comfort and answers through a counselor, a good friend, and/or a spiritual relationship. For me and for many others, that is a God who sent His only Son to die so that I don't have to. This is who many groups like AA and NA talk about and who they call, 'the God of your understanding'. Many folks have been horribly damaged by  "church folks", but addiction specialists know that only a connection with someone or something stronger than us, is what will eventually win over this great sorrow and addictions.

Depression is what is called one of 'The Major' mental illnesses. Real depression needs real help - counseling and probably medication. It can be managed and folks can learn to live with it, but it is an illness that like addiction, will never go completely away. With depression, there is never a sunny day. The sadness is ongoing and debilitating. People wondered how someone as funny as Robin Williams could be sad. He had an Oscar, money, fame, and a terrible illness. Depression is too often a precursor to suicidal thoughts - a symptom of depression - but it doesn't have to end that way. At one point I told my counselor that sometimes I felt she was my 'rent a friend'. She said that one of the things missing in our culture is the presence of constant friends - folks we could talk to.

Besides my faith, two dear friends have been what has been my salvation many days. I have known that at my worst, when I am not a nice person to be around, there are two people in this world who will let me be ugly and spiteful, who will let me rant, and who will love me anyway. A minister and a counselor have told me that friends like them are what is missing for so many people. I recently heard a sermon where the pastor said he wondered how many church crisis's could have been prevented, how many pastors suicides, how many sexual sins, could have been prevented if every minister had just one person that he felt free to drop every filter with, and felt free to call in the middle of the night and say, "Help Me!"

I am sad for Robin Williams family, but I am grateful for what he left - an open door for a dialogue about depression, addiction, and suicide. I am grateful for my two best friends, and for all the others have helped when it was all too much to deal with, when I felt so hopeless.

Today, I am grateful for a gentleman who held up a sign reminding every car that passed a busy corner, that "You Matter. You Have a Purpose."

Patriots and Martyrs - American Revolution

There had been offenses. 

On March 23, 1775 at St John’s Church in Richmond, Virginia, Patrick Henry finished his speech with, “It is in vain, sir, to extenuate the matter. Gentlemen may cry, Peace, Peace-- but there is no peace. The war is actually begun! The next gale that sweeps from the north will bring to our ears the clash of resounding arms! Our brethren are already in the field! Why stand we here idle? What is it that gentlemen wish? What would they have? Is life so dear, or peace so sweet, as to be purchased at the price of chains and slavery? Forbid it, Almighty God! I know not what course others may take; but as for me, give me liberty or give me death!”

January 21, 1776, in the Anglican church of Woodstock, Virginia, Reverend Peter Muhlenberg had just given a sermon based on the text from Ecclesiastes, “To every time there is a season….” At the end of the sermon he declared, “And this is the time of war!” He stripped off his clerical robes, revealed his Colonel’s uniform of the Continental Army and walked from the church. As he left the church, 162 men followed him. The following day, they recruited 300 men from the country side. The Eighth Virginia Militia had been born. (Muhlenberg Family History) – Lutheran Archives of Pennsylvania.

In early autumn of 1777, Gentleman Johnny Burgoyne sent out Hessian Mercenaries seeking fodder for his horses from the local peasantry.

The New York farmers watched as brilliantly-uniformed Hessians walked into their farmyards and demanded free food for the general's army ... and shot them dead, sometimes wiping out entire detachments to a man.“

Who had Burgoyne surrendered to? Washington and the entire Continental Army--excepting the aforementioned Gen. Arnold and a handful of other officers in fancy coats--were in Philadelphia, withdrawing before the successful (but finally meaningless) siege of Gen. Howe.


The answer--inconceivable to the kind of European mind that ordered the band to play "The World Turned Upside Down" at Yorktown in 1781--was that Gentleman Johnny Burgoyne had surrendered an entire British army to the American militia, to nothing but a gang of New York and New England farmers.”http://www.freerepublic.com/~2banana/

General George Washington looked at the troops that winter in Valley Forge and declared, “To see men without clothes to cover their nakedness, without blankets to lay on, without shoes, by which their marches might be traced by the blood from their feet, and almost as often without provisions as with, marching through frost and snow, and at Christmas taking up their winter quarters within a day’s march of the enemy, without a house or a hut to cover them till they would be built, and submitting to it without a murmur, is the mark of the patience and obedience which in my opinion can scarce be paralleled.”

In July of 1776, the Declaration of Independence had been ratified in Philadelphia. The most widely known section reads,

“We hold these truths to be self evident that all men are created equal and are endowed by their creator with certain inalienable rights, that among these are life, liberty and the pursuit of happiness.”

The last line reads, “And for the support of this declaration, with a firm reliance on the protection of divine Providence, we mutually pledge our Lives, our Fortunes, and our sacred Honor.”

Had the war been lost, everyone who fought against England could have been tried as a traitor, stripped of their land and possessions, they and their families put in prison, or hung.

The document was signed, and the tiny thirteen colonies were at war with England and Germany; the world’s superpowers, and they won!

Have a joyous Independence Day, thanking God for your many freedoms by honoring those who are responsible for securing your freedoms, and those who still defend your freedom.

A QUIET PLACE

          I don't remember how old I was, only that I was very small. I lived in Nevada City, in northern California with my parents. People who live very close to what is known as a tourist attraction seldom see them . We were getting ready to move to the southern part of the state, and my parents wanted to visit the Sequoia Forrest one more time.

          We walked the ancient forest of giant trees. At some point, my parents stopped to admire a particularly large tree, and I kept walking. Suddenly I just stopped. There was no sound. I don't mean that it was still or very quiet, but that there was no sound. No birds chirped, no leaves rustled, no car sounds; just absolute silence. I was too little to say what I felt, but I remember. What I felt that day was reverence. I felt awe. I felt what Moses must have felt at the Burning Bush. I felt the presence of God.

          I remember my parents coming to me and asking what was wrong. Evidently I was just standing there sobbing. I could only tell them that I heard God.

          Life happened. 

          My parents divorced. My mom died. I was sent to live with relatives in Pennsylvania. I survived many troubled years. I married and had children. I divorced, and stood beside a bed as my youngest child died. I entered a dark place; a place that I pray that those that I love never see. I came out of that place to a new life where there was and continues to be light and goodness.

          For reasons that I have never even tried to understand, I have been compelled to search the scriptures. I have discovered my quiet place, and am even more sure that I stood in the presence of God.

          Elijah had just stood and with the help of God, prevailed against the priests of Baal, but he was still afraid and confused. An angel sent him to a high place and told him to wait, that the Lord was about to pass by. He went and stood on the mountain and there a mighty wind, so strong that it was splitting mountains and rocks, but the Lord wasn't in the wind. Then there was an earthquake, but the Lord was not in the earthquake. Then there was a fire, but the Lord wasn't in the fire. Then it says, "and after the fire a sound of sheer silence. When Elijah heard it, he wrapped his face in his mantle and went out and stood at the entrance of the cave. Then there came a voice to him that said, "What are you doing here, Elijah?""(I Kings 19:11 - 13 - The New Oxford Annotated Bible with the Apocrypha-Augmented Third Edition)

         Some time later, I read Habakkuk, and again, found the silence. Habakkuk was a Hebrew prophet who is believed to have lived in the late part of the seventh century, BC. The first two chapters of Habakkuk could have been copied from this morning's newspaper. He talks about cities and nations who destroy without mercy. He talks about those who `load yourselves with goods taken in Pledge' (folks drowning in debt?), and "Will not your own creditors suddenly rise and those who make you tremble wake up?" (Foreclosures? Repossession? Bankruptcy?) 

         After telling his people what they are bringing on themselves, he just stops and says, "But the Lord is in His Holy Temple; let all the earth keep silence before Him!" (Habakkuk 2:20)

         No sermon here today, just a little comment on the first time I knew that there was truly a God, in the silence of an ancient forest. The real joy has been learning to bring that silent place to my own soul.

CODE TALKER By Chester Nez With Judith Schiess

This is a book review I did a couple of years ago. I thought it might be appropriate for Memorial Day as this remarkable gentleman is still with us.

2011

Prologue

In Chester’s home state of New Mexico, Native Americans were still denied the vote when he volunteered as a Marine in World War II.

Chester grew on the Navaho Reservation, up in the Checkerboard Area of New Mexico – hard country, close family ties, deep history, a big sky, and close walk with the Ancients – the spirits. He grew up in an atmosphere of peace and a belief in the balance of life and nature. 

“I’m no hero, “Chester Nez chuckles. “I just wanted to serve my country.”

                                                   November 4, 1942: Approaching Guadalcanal

“Born to the Navajo Nation, now a Marine – Private First Class Chester Nez – I’d never even seen the ocean before enlisting.”

The landing at Guadalcanal was more traumatic for the young Navajo men than from some of their fellow Marines. The Navajo have an aversion to dead bodies, and the water that they rode through, and then walked through to get to the beach which was literally filled with fallen Marines. This was far from the plateaus of his home – of Chichiltah – “Among the Oak Trees”, between Gallup and Zuni, New Mexico. 

For decades, the story of Chester Nez, was classified. Chester was one of the original Navajo Code Talkers. Not even their families knew of the great service they rendered the United States of America. It was not until July 2001, in the Rotunda of our nation’s Capital, when President George W. Bush, presented the Congressional Gold Medal to four surviving heroes – the Code Talkers. 

When Chester was eight years old, the government decided to send he and other boys his age to the Indian School at Tohatchi, New Mexico. 

Immediately, their names were changed from their Navajo names to more ‘American’ sounding names. The second day at school, they learned that they were to speak only English, and that they would be severely punished for speaking their own language. The government transferred the Navajo boys from Gallup to a much older high school in Tuba City.

Closer to his home now, he listened to the radio reports of fighting in Europe, and he read the resolution written by the Navajo Tribal Council. In part it said;

 “Now, Therefore, we resolve that the Navajo Indians stand ready to do as they did in 1918, to aid and defend our Government and its institutions against all subversive and armed conflict and pledge our loyalty to the system which recognizes minority rights and a way of life that has placed us among the great people of our race.”

Then on that Sunday morning, December 7, 1941, word spread like wildfire, “The Japs bombed Pearl Harbor!”

In April of 1942, Marine recruiters gained permission, and were allowed to visit the reservation. They asked to speak with only men fluent in both English and Navajo. They were being interviewed for a special assignment at a special school.

Between December and the following April, the Japanese had conquered Hong Kong, Guam, most of the Philippine Islands. Soldiers were dying and it almost seemed that the tiny nation of Japan would soon rule the entire South Pacific. There was no security in passing messages to troops. Every code had been broken, and lives were being lost in tragic numbers.

Enter Chester Nez and 18 other young men – raised Navajo, beaten until they learned English, with warrior blood in their veins, and a great love for their country. These young warriors raised their right hands and became proud members of the United States Marine Corps. By the end of WWII, that number had grown to 420, due to the success and lives saved by these men and ‘the code’ that they devised.

You must read this story of heroism and valor in its truest sense. 

As of March 2012, Chester Nez, now in his 90’s is still alive and lives with his son. When he is able, he still attends meetings of WWII Vets and book signings.

Post Script – May 26, 2014

Chester though old and frail attended a program for this Memorial Day on May 23, 2014 with Ms. Avila, the author of his story, in Pittsburg, Kansas. In an article in The Joplin Globe, the news reporter announcing the event, Ms. Andra Stefanoni, ended her article by stating;

“The Choctaw serving in the U.S. Army during World War I are said to have pioneered code talking. In addition to Navajo, other Native American code talkers deployed by the U.S. during World War II included Cherokee, Choctaw, Lakota, Meskwaki, Seminole and Comanche.”

"When Jesus is in Your Story"

I attended a Women's Spring Tea at church. Her subject was, "When Jesus is in Your Story" and as I listened, I was reminded of a couple grandmother stories from the scriptures. For this Mothers Day, I would like to share them with you.

" 5 When I call to remembrance the unfeigned faith that is in thee, which dwelt first in thy grandmother Lois, and thy mother Eunice; and I am persuaded that in thee also." 2 Timothy 1:5 

This was a devout mother, who raised her daughter to also love the Lord, and under their lifelong teaching, Timothy grew up to be a young man filled with love and honor for his God, which positioned him to be used in Paul's ministry. 

Well, that was a Maternal Grandma, but what about the 'other' grandmothers; the Paternal Grandmas? How close can a paternal mother in law actually be? How faithful can a paternal grandmother be?

1 Now it came to pass in the days when the judges ruled, that there was a famine in the land. And a certain man of Bethlehemjudah went to sojourn in the country of Moab, he, and his wife, and his two sons.

² And the name of the man was Elimelech, and the name of his wife Naomi, and the name of his two sons Mahlon and Chilion, Ephrathites of Bethlehemjudah. And they came into the country of Moab, and continued there.
³ And Elimelech Naomi's husband died; and she was left, and her two sons.
⁴ And they took them wives of the women of Moab; the name of the one was Orpah, and the name of the other Ruth: and they dwelled there about ten years. Ruth 1:1-4

Naomi was a Jewess from the city of Bethlehem. During hard times, she lost her husband and ten year later she lost her sons. To say that her heart was broken hardly explains it. She told her friends that the Lord had dealt harshly with her. 

She determined to return to her own land where at least she knew people. Because she loved her daughter in laws and because she wished them only good, she told them to leave and to return to their own land. The women cared for Naomi and didn't want to leave her, but Naomi told them to go and to find new husbands and to have children with them. She accepted the years of oneness in front of her, but she wanted better for them.

They both wept as they loved Naomi. Orpah returned to her country, but Ruth refused. In one of the most beautiful statements in the Bible;

^"16 And Ruth said, Intreat me not to leave thee, or to return from following after thee: for whither thou goest, I will go; and where thou lodgest, I will lodge: thy people shall be my people, and thy God my God:
¹⁷ Where thou diest, will I die, and there will I be buried: the Lord do so to me, and more also, if ought but death part thee and me." Ruth 1:16-17

Ruth didn't just travel with Naomi, she gave her heart and her beliefs to Naomi.

When they reached Bethlehem, old friends recognized Naomi and she was reintroduced to her family. There was a wealthy man in her family and his name was Boaz. I won't go into all the details, but Naomi played matchmaker, and Ruth married Boaz. 

The story begins at that point. Ruth and Boaz had a son named Obed. In time, Obed had a son named Jesse, and from the sons of Jesse, there was one chosen - David - to be the King of Israel. 

The scriptures say;

^"13 So Boaz took Ruth, and she was his wife: and when he went in unto her, the Lord gave her conception, and she bare a son.
¹⁴ And the women said unto Naomi, Blessed be the Lord, which hath not left thee this day without a kinsman, that his name may be famous in Israel.
¹⁵ And he shall be unto thee a restorer of thy life, and a nourisher of thine old age: for thy daughter in law, which loveth thee, which is better to thee than seven sons, hath born him.
¹⁶ And Naomi took the child, and laid it in her bosom, and became nurse unto it." Ruth 4:13-16

Ruth loved her mother in law, and Naomi loved her daughter-in-law and she loved Ruth's child. In the book of Luke, we find that their love fulfilled prophecy, and in Naomi's home town of Bethlehem, their relationship and love became a part of the  blood line from God to Jesus earthly parents - Mary and Joseph. 
  
As our speaker said, when Jesus is in your story, anything is possible such as the supernatural love between a widowed mother in law, her widowed daughter in law, that ended in both of them being used by God in the most important event in human experience, the birth of the Messiah.  

Supernatural love can still happen in families who can overcome.. A grieving mother in law can still be a restorer of life and a nourisher. Little children can still warm themselves in her arms, and as with Obed, only God knows what those children who are nourished and loved by their grandmother might someday become, when Jesus is in the story.