Eight Days (Story)

Written last year, here is a story that starts on Thanksgiving eve, when a winter storm likewise hit the Northeastern US.

~ ESA
_______________________________________________________________

EIGHT DAYS

The winds howled wordlessly outside. All the local trees had the last of their leaves torn mercilessly from the branches. Driving rain and heavy wet snow covered the northeast the day before Thanksgiving.

In the small riverside town of New Hope, PA, the residents feared the worst. The waters of the Delaware River rose alarmingly as the downpours continued. Some abandoned their holiday plans to move to higher grounds.

Up on the hill, a small Jewish synagogue prepared for both the storm and for the celebration. Wednesday night was not only the eve of Thanksgiving; it was the first night of Chanukah this year.

As the winds and blinding precipitation increased Wednesday morning, the lights around their small community were winking out, even before the full onset of daylight. Wednesday had become a dark day indeed.

The Rabbi of the local synagogue was a practical hands-on woman. She went out into the driving rain and started the generator. The lights in the little shul slowly blossomed into life again.

Shaking the rainwater from her hair as she stepped back inside, the Rabbi pulled out her cell phone, praying the reception from the cell tower would hold a while more.

"Hello?" the synagogue's Administrator answered.

The Rabbi identified herself and updated the Administrator on the situation. "The question in my mind," she added, "is how long do we have?"

"For lights, water pump, and minimal heat we have enough propane to last three days. Maybe less."

"Three days," the Rabbi signed, remembering Hurricane Sandy. "I pray this storm is not as bad."

"Will you cancel tonight's celebration?"

The Rabbi laughed at the challenge, "Of course not! This is Chanukah!"

The nor'easter continued through the day. While the winds died down in the evening, the widespread devastation in Eastern PA included their little town. Limbs were down everywhere. Power lines snaked across lawns and streets. Power was out and calls to PP&L discovered that the major trunk lines into the area were destroyed. New Hope, being a small tourist community, was nearly last on the recovery list.

The town needed to rely on its own resources for the next few days...

Being a hardy lot, the residents had weathered many snowstorms and outages before. Even if many of the roads were blocked, the residents came out on foot in droves Wednesday to assess the damage and to help each other.

By the afternoon, the Administrator had called the propane supplier in Harrisburg, PA. Then she called the Rabbi with the bad news. "With the roads into our town closed, they cannot get us anything. We were originally scheduled for a delivery Friday, but now it looks like it will be sometime next week."

The members of the synagogue helped each other to the little shul on the hill Wednesday evening, some even walking a mile or so through the last of the rain and blowing snow as the sun remained hidden behind darkened clouds.

At the end of the service, the Rabbi announced that the synagogue was ready to help any who needed a shelter. Even more, hot showers and hot meals would be provided.

The administrator approached the Rabbi with her brows drawn down in a worried scowl, "When I said three days, Rabbi, I meant heat, lights and water pump only. If we start to use the propane for hot water and cooking, we have less than a day's worth of propane! Our pipes will FREEZE! You know temps are predicted to plummet Thursday night!"

The Rabbi nodded. "That is EXACTLY why I opened the invitation. There are many in need. We should not turn them away."

The Administrator grumbled that there will be a price to pay, but the Rabbi caught her sleeve to grab her attention, "One more thing: Tell no one about the propane issue."

That night, seven families moved into the temporary shelter set up in the synagogue's community room. Hot soup, juice, coffee, tea and showers were made available. Even crayons and coloring pages were ready for the children.

The next day, the Rabbi got a call from the local Christian Church. They had fourteen families sheltering there, and their fuel tank was practically empty. "We have enough to cover Thanksgiving meals, but we'll be in the dark tonight. Can you help?" the minister asked the Rabbi.

"If we still have lights, send them up the hill," the Rabbi responded, wondering where they could get the fuel themselves. She sighed, "We will do what we can. All of us are in G-D's hands now."

The Christian Church's generator sputtered to an end around noon Thanksgiving Day. The church's volunteers served the community a hot dinner in a cooling room lit by candle light. With no generator to bring water up, they relied on portable toilets and paper plates. The kitchen pots and pans would just have to wait until there were resources to clean them.

Members of the Jewish community helped relocate the fourteen families from the church to the synagogue. An additional three families joined them as their gasoline generators died during the day. Twenty-four families crowded into the little shul's community room. Somehow, the water continued to flow, the heat, hot showers and hot food continued to be available, and the lights remained on.

The Rabbi wandered out to the generator just as the sun was making its final approach to the horizon. She rapped the propane tank with her knuckles near the bottom. It sounded sadly empty. She bowed her head in dismay. It was a matter of minutes now. There were no other shelters in the community with lights.

She wrapped her coat tightly around her as she walked back to the building. It was time to light the second candle on the Menorah.

By the morning, the Rabbi was dumbfounded; the generator continued to chug through the night. The smell of hot coffee and hot breakfast greeted her as she went through the community room, asking how everyone was doing.

She also made discrete inquires if anyone changed the tanks during the night. No one had. In fact, all were clearly unaware that there was no fuel.

She went outside and checked the tank. It was still the same tank, right down to the identifying number stamped on its side. She rapped it once again; it still sounded empty -- completely empty.

The temperature climbed from the freezing numbers through Friday. So the community got to work clearing the tree branches and shoving the dead power lines to the sides so they could travel the local roads.

Pick-up trucks ventured to the main roads into town. Some had huge swaths of limbs down as though a tornado or down draft plowed through the Deleware Water Gap's Forest. Others were washed away completely by the flash floods that ran down the steep hillsides. They were, indeed, cut off for some time to come.

The residents of New Hope took matters in stride.

As Friday evening's and Saturday's Shabbat ceremonies were held, a few new curious faces joined those in the synagogue.

While black-Friday shopping was a bust, most of Main Street was cleared by Saturday. Shop-keepers were still out of power and heat, but they used the natural light pouring in through the windows. Some even braved the elements and set out tables on the sidewalks to lure shoppers.

By Sunday, the world seemed to have forgotten their little town. PP&L still reported that they are doing their best to repair the trunk lines to get the power to their local substations. Penn-DOT reported that road clearing and repairs would begin on Monday.

Through all this time, the propane tank at the synagogue continued to supply the generator, heat, hot water and kitchen, defying all rational explanation. The Rabbi and Administrator kept this to themselves; they did not want to worry those sheltering there.

Sunday night, after lighting the fifth Menorah candle, those crowded into the little shul stared at each other as a loud reverberating noise filled the air. They gathered at windows and outside as a cacophony of roars grew in volume. Then over the mountain they saw the National Guard helicopters. With no place to land, they guided people to a location using spotlights. There they carefully lowered crates of supplies to the ground.

Food, bottled water, blankets, medical supplies... the volunteers quickly sorted through the contents in those crates. The Rabbi ran to one of the soldiers who was on the ground coordinating the supply drop. "What about propane? Any propane?"

"Sorry, ma'am," the uniformed guard shouted back over the roar of the hovering choppers. "Not this run. Maybe on the next trip. You should see the devastation. We've got towns cut off all over Pennsylvania and New Jersey. Maine, New Hampshire and Vermont have towns buried in snow."

The soldier studied the faces of the community, "Are there any evacuees? Anyone who needs medical attention outside your town?" The Rabbi shook her head, "As long as there is the insulin and the other medical supplies we asked for, we should be OK. What we really need is propane. I don't know how long we have before we get the power back."

The soldier nodded, "I'll relay your request, ma'am. It's a good thing you had full tanks when the storm hit."

The Rabbi shared a lopsided smile with the solider, and replied quietly, "The truth is we didn't; we only had enough for one day..."

Monday night, a new family showed up at the little shul. A few hisses and whispered comments were passed among those gathered when the family climbed out of the car. The mother and her two teenaged daughters were wearing hijabs.

Several members of the synagogue stormed through the Rabbi's office door. "We have a problem, Rabbi. There are those here that would rather stay at home and freeze than to shelter a Islamic family under our roof."

The Rabbi looked up from the pages she studied on the desk before her. "Are we not taught to help our neighbor?"

"But these are Muslims, Rabbi! They are not our People!"

"The Christians we brought under our roof are not Jews, yet we sheltered them."

"That is different. We have done a lot of work for our community with them. We know them. This family... is different; they are strangers. There is no mosque in New Hope! Let them go across the Delaware to find help. They are not welcome here."

The Rabbi closed the book on her desk and wordlessly met the eyes of each and every person gathered there.

Then she quietly responded, "We were strangers in Egypt. Yet Our G-D heard our cry and led us out of Egypt to Israel. This family is now crying to G-D. They are cold and hungry. When we were cold and hungry those 40 years in the desert, did G-D abandon us? No! G-D sent us food. Now we have a family whom G-D in His Wisdom has led here, with whom we can share G-D's Love and Providence."

One of the men growled through his beard, "Remember, Rabbi, you are an employee of this synagogue's counsel. If you push this upon the community, you will find yourself out of a job before the end of December!"

The Rabbi sat back, then resolve filled her heart and soul. "If that is what this synagogue community wants, then I will accept what G-D has in mind for my life." She gestured toward the propane tank visible through her window. "Do you see that tank?"

Those gathered were taken aback by the sudden change in topic. One of them inquired, "What about the tank?"

The Rabbi smiled a knowing smile. "We only had enough propane for one day."

She fell silent to let the meaning of the words sink in. That fuel had lasted for over six full days and still continued.

One of the women began to cry. One of the men hit his knees and began to pray. The others wordlessly shuffled out of the Rabbi's office and began to spread the news.

The Rabbi went outside to greet the newcomers personally, welcoming them to their little hilltop shul.

On Wednesday, Penn-DOT finally cleared one of the roads into town. The Administrator put in the call to the propane supplier; they would be there the next day.

As the final candle was lit on the Menorah that night, the generator outside sputtered and died. Those gathered in the synagogue blinked in the darkened room. Only the menorah provided light for the room, and those gathered gazed upon it in silence and wonder.

Then the lights came back on. Not from the generator; the main trunk lines into town had been restored, and the small town of New Hope, PA was back on the main grid.

The Rabbi walked toward the light switch as tears streamed down her cheeks. She snapped off the electric lights and in the soft glow of the lit Menorah, she began the ritual prayers.

Eight Days (Story)

Here is a new story for the Holidays.

~ ESA
_______________________________________________________________

EIGHT DAYS

The winds howled wordlessly outside. All the local trees had the last of their leaves torn mercilessly from the branches. Driving rain and heavy wet snow covered the northeast the day before Thanksgiving.

In the small riverside town of New Hope, PA, the residents feared the worst. The waters of the Delaware River rose alarmingly as the downpours continued. Some abandoned their holiday plans to move to higher grounds.

Up on the hill, a small Jewish synagogue prepared for both the storm and for the celebration. Wednesday night was not only the eve of Thanksgiving; it was the first night of Chanukah this year.

As the winds and blinding precipitation increased Wednesday morning, the lights around their small community were winking out, even before the full onset of daylight. Wednesday had become a dark day indeed.

The Rabbi of the local synagogue was a practical hands-on woman. She went out into the driving rain and started the generator. The lights in the little shul slowly blossomed into life again.

Shaking the rainwater from her hair as she stepped back inside, the Rabbi pulled out her cell phone, praying the reception from the cell tower would hold a while more.

"Hello?" the synagogue's Administrator answered.

The Rabbi identified herself and updated the Administrator on the situation. "The question in my mind," she added, "is how long do we have?"

"For lights, water pump, and minimal heat we have enough propane to last three days. Maybe less."

"Three days," the Rabbi signed, remembering Hurricane Sandy. "I pray this storm is not as bad."

"Will you cancel tonight's celebration?"

The Rabbi laughed at the challenge, "Of course not! This is Chanukah!"

The nor'easter continued through the day. While the winds died down in the evening, the widespread devastation in Eastern PA included their little town. Limbs were down everywhere. Power lines snaked across lawns and streets. Power was out and calls to PP&L discovered that the major trunk lines into the area were destroyed. New Hope, being a small tourist community, was nearly last on the recovery list.

The town needed to rely on its own resources for the next few days...

Being a hardy lot, the residents had weathered many snowstorms and outages before. Even if many of the roads were blocked, the residents came out on foot in droves Wednesday to assess the damage and to help each other.

By the afternoon, the Administrator had called the propane supplier in Harrisburg, PA. Then she called the Rabbi with the bad news. "With the roads into our town closed, they cannot get us anything. We were originally scheduled for a delivery Friday, but now it looks like it will be sometime next week."

The members of the synagogue helped each other to the little shul on the hill Wednesday evening, some even walking a mile or so through the last of the rain and blowing snow as the sun remained hidden behind darkened clouds.

At the end of the service, the Rabbi announced that the synagogue was ready to help any who needed a shelter. Even more, hot showers and hot meals would be provided.

The administrator approached the Rabbi with her brows drawn down in a worried scowl, "When I said three days, Rabbi, I meant heat, lights and water pump only. If we start to use the propane for hot water and cooking, we have less than a day's worth of propane! Our pipes will FREEZE! You know temps are predicted to plummet Thursday night!"

The Rabbi nodded. "That is EXACTLY why I opened the invitation. There are many in need. We should not turn them away."

The Administrator grumbled that there will be a price to pay, but the Rabbi caught her sleeve to grab her attention, "One more thing: Tell no one about the propane issue."

That night, seven families moved into the temporary shelter set up in the synagogue's community room. Hot soup, juice, coffee, tea and showers were made available. Even crayons and coloring pages were ready for the children.

The next day, the Rabbi got a call from the local Christian Church. They had fourteen families sheltering there, and their fuel tank was practically empty. "We have enough to cover Thanksgiving meals, but we'll be in the dark tonight. Can you help?" the minister asked the Rabbi.

"If we still have lights, send them up the hill," the Rabbi responded, wondering where they could get the fuel themselves. She sighed, "We will do what we can. All of us are in G-D's hands now."

The Christian Church's generator sputtered to an end around noon Thanksgiving Day. The church's volunteers served the community a hot dinner in a cooling room lit by candle light. With no generator to bring water up, they relied on portable toilets and paper plates. The kitchen pots and pans would just have to wait until there were resources to clean them.

Members of the Jewish community helped relocate the fourteen families from the church to the synagogue. An additional three families joined them as their gasoline generators died during the day. Twenty-four families crowded into the little shul's community room. Somehow, the water continued to flow, the heat, hot showers and hot food continued to be available, and the lights remained on.

The Rabbi wandered out to the generator just as the sun was making its final approach to the horizon. She rapped the propane tank with her knuckles near the bottom. It sounded sadly empty. She bowed her head in dismay. It was a matter of minutes now. There were no other shelters in the community with lights.

She wrapped her coat tightly around her as she walked back to the building. It was time to light the second candle on the Menorah.

By the morning, the Rabbi was dumbfounded; the generator continued to chug through the night. The smell of hot coffee and hot breakfast greeted her as she went through the community room, asking how everyone was doing.

She also made discrete inquires if anyone changed the tanks during the night. No one had. In fact, all were clearly unaware that there was no fuel.

She went outside and checked the tank. It was still the same tank, right down to the identifying number stamped on its side. She rapped it once again; it still sounded empty -- completely empty.

The temperature climbed from the freezing numbers through Friday. So the community got to work clearing the tree branches and shoving the dead power lines to the sides so they could travel the local roads.

Pick-up trucks ventured to the main roads into town. Some had huge swaths of limbs down as though a tornado or down draft plowed through the Deleware Water Gap's Forest. Others were washed away completely by the flash floods that ran down the steep hillsides. They were, indeed, cut off for some time to come.

The residents of New Hope took matters in stride.

As Friday evening's and Saturday's Shabbat ceremonies were held, a few new curious faces joined those in the synagogue.

While black-Friday shopping was a bust, most of Main Street was cleared by Saturday. Shop-keepers were still out of power and heat, but they used the natural light pouring in through the windows. Some even braved the elements and set out tables on the sidewalks to lure shoppers.

By Sunday, the world seemed to have forgotten their little town. PP&L still reported that they are doing their best to repair the trunk lines to get the power to their local substations. Penn-DOT reported that road clearing and repairs would begin on Monday.

Through all this time, the propane tank at the synagogue continued to supply the generator, heat, hot water and kitchen, defying all rational explanation. The Rabbi and Administrator kept this to themselves; they did not want to worry those sheltering there.

Sunday night, after lighting the fifth Menorah candle, those crowded into the little shul stared at each other as a loud reverberating noise filled the air. They gathered at windows and outside as a cacophony of roars grew in volume. Then over the mountain they saw the National Guard helicopters. With no place to land, they guided people to a location using spotlights. There they carefully lowered crates of supplies to the ground.

Food, bottled water, blankets, medical supplies... the volunteers quickly sorted through the contents in those crates. The Rabbi ran to one of the soldiers who was on the ground coordinating the supply drop. "What about propane? Any propane?"

"Sorry, ma'am," the uniformed guard shouted back over the roar of the hovering choppers. "Not this run. Maybe on the next trip. You should see the devastation. We've got towns cut off all over Pennsylvania and New Jersey. Maine, New Hampshire and Vermont have towns buried in snow."

The soldier studied the faces of the community, "Are there any evacuees? Anyone who needs medical attention outside your town?" The Rabbi shook her head, "As long as there is the insulin and the other medical supplies we asked for, we should be OK. What we really need is propane. I don't know how long we have before we get the power back."

The soldier nodded, "I'll relay your request, ma'am. It's a good thing you had full tanks when the storm hit."

The Rabbi shared a lopsided smile with the solider, and replied quietly, "The truth is we didn't; we only had enough for one day..."

Monday night, a new family showed up at the little shul. A few hisses and whispered comments were passed among those gathered when the family climbed out of the car. The mother and her two teenaged daughters were wearing hijabs.

Several members of the synagogue stormed through the Rabbi's office door. "We have a problem, Rabbi. There are those here that would rather stay at home and freeze than to shelter a Islamic family under our roof."

The Rabbi looked up from the pages she studied on the desk before her. "Are we not taught to help our neighbor?"

"But these are Muslims, Rabbi! They are not our People!"

"The Christians we brought under our roof are not Jews, yet we sheltered them."

"That is different. We have done a lot of work for our community with them. We know them. This family... is different; they are strangers. There is no mosque in New Hope! Let them go across the Delaware to find help. They are not welcome here."

The Rabbi closed the book on her desk and wordlessly met the eyes of each and every person gathered there.

Then she quietly responded, "We were strangers in Egypt. Yet Our G-D heard our cry and led us out of Egypt to Israel. This family is now crying to G-D. They are cold and hungry. When we were cold and hungry those 40 years in the desert, did G-D abandon us? No! G-D sent us food. Now we have a family whom G-D in His Wisdom has led here, with whom we can share G-D's Love and Providence."

One of the men growled through his beard, "Remember, Rabbi, you are an employee of this synagogue's counsel. If you push this upon the community, you will find yourself out of a job before the end of December!"

The Rabbi sat back, then resolve filled her heart and soul. "If that is what this synagogue community wants, then I will accept what G-D has in mind for my life." She gestured toward the propane tank visible through her window. "Do you see that tank?"

Those gathered were taken aback by the sudden change in topic. One of them inquired, "What about the tank?"

The Rabbi smiled a knowing smile. "We only had enough propane for one day."

She fell silent to let the meaning of the words sink in. That fuel had lasted for over six full days and still continued.

One of the women began to cry. One of the men hit his knees and began to pray. The others wordlessly shuffled out of the Rabbi's office and began to spread the news.

The Rabbi went outside to greet the newcomers personally, welcoming them to their little hilltop shul.

On Wednesday, Penn-DOT finally cleared one of the roads into town. The Administrator put in the call to the propane supplier; they would be there the next day.

As the final candle was lit on the Menorah that night, the generator outside sputtered and died. Those gathered in the synagogue blinked in the darkened room. Only the menorah provided light for the room, and those gathered gazed upon it in silence and wonder.

Then the lights came back on. Not from the generator; the main trunk lines into town had been restored, and the small town of New Hope, PA was back on the main grid.

The Rabbi walked toward the light switch as tears streamed down her cheeks. She snapped off the electric lights and in the soft glow of the lit Menorah, she began the ritual prayers.

Kindness of Hearts

Yesterday, I spent the day at Lake Compounce with my extended family. This included my elderly mother for whom we brought  a motorized scooter.

Moments after 7PM, a few sprinkles came down over the park. Like many others, I looked up, saw only small gray clouds and shrugged it off, continuing to enjoy the rides and attractions.

My niece and I helped my mother onto the "Twister" ride, as the rain started to come down heavier. Concerned that her iPhone was getting wet, my niece asked to be released from the ride. Then, concerned that her hairdo was getting wet, my mother asked for the same. So I got off and escorted my mother to the nearest shelter, which was a tree beside the exit gate.

The ride started up as I raced through the steady rain to help my husband cover up the motorized scooter.

Then the skies opened fully and a deluge came down. We helped my mom under a more substantial shelter and then I ran back out for the scooter. With plastic still covering the controls I powered it toward the shelter of a nearby restaurant, getting completely soaked in the process. Halfway to the shelter though, the scooter stops - dead.

The battery still has a charge, but the motor will not function. And with the motor not engaged, the wheels locked. My husband and I had to literally pick up the scooter and carry it the rest of the way.

We tried to dry everything off, going through handfuls of napkins, but nothing seemed to work.

In the middle of this chaos, the power at the amusement park cut out.

Usually Lake Compouce is very responsible, having people off the rides LONG before any severe rains come in. But what seemed sprinkles from a stray grey cloud, bloomed into a downpour within minutes - out of nowhere! People were stranded on the rides; some wound slowly and silently down to the the ground in neutral positions. A crowd of people were stuck on the chain of the roller coaster in the downpour. Many were watching from the top cars of a motionless ferris wheel.

In the midst of all this, my family debated how to get my mother back to the car and how to get the scooter back to our van. My sister was convinced we would be stuck hand-carrying this heavy scooter all the way back to the van. By ourselves.

I, on the other hand, had a lot more faith in the people around me and the people that worked there.

Before my sister wandered off, a park employee named Angie came over and asked if they could help. Here the park was scrambling with clearing rain-soaked riders from disabled rides, and handling the surge of people in the shops and restaurants. Yet... she saw a disabled scooter on its side and came over voluntarily and offered us help as well.

Before we could even ask, they offered and made arrangements for a substitute wheelchair for my mother. They also came up with a creative solution to get the scooter to our van, using an oversized wheelbarrow. Another employee, Dylan, came with us, helping my husband to lift, move and transfer the scooter into the van.

My sister offered money to those who helped, but it was refused, politely but firmly. So my husband and I stopped by the customer service booth. While the manager there dealt with a string of grumbles and shouts about being stuck on rides and similar complaints from dripping, irate customers, we brought a compliment on how helpful their staff was.

We never asked for the help; they offered it out of the kindness of their hearts.

If we think the worst of people, often the worst we see.

When we think the best of people, the best there can be.

~ ESA

Elementary, Mr. Watson

Today my husband and I attended our first Men on the Tor event. It's a group that enjoys the Sherlock Holmes stories written by Sir Arthur Conan Doyle, one of my husband's favorite authors.

Today's event was at a State Park called "Devil's Hopyard" but the devil seemed to be quite far. The sky was so clear that near the end of the event the coordinator pointed to the only wispy cloud that marred the blue dome overhead - the only cloud seen the whole time.

While we sat with the group at the picnic, I was prompted to look around and really take it all in. Sherlock Holmes was known for his keen observation, after all.

There were many people in the park: hiking, biking, playing catch, eating, running, playing, laughing... even romancing.

There was life all around, from giggling toddlers to smiling seniors. I even saw a middle-aged woman drawing with chalk on the pavement.

When Christ lived here, He was aware of all around Him; children brought Him delight.

I had a smile moment too, when one barged into the toilet with a broken lock. Without embarrassment, she simply closed the door and called to her mom that there was some lady in there. The sweetness of innocence. :D

On Monday I need to be in the office at 6:30 am to move all the furniture back and rewire the office after the painters came through this weekend. Then I have a long work day after that. 

All too quickly, this world with its responsibilities, schedules, requirements and demands intrudes into our Peace.

How do we deal with it all?

Elementary, my dear. Take the time to refresh ourselves. Even if we cannot visit distant parks between meetings, we can still take a five-minute break in prayer ~ anywhere.

God can deliver some of that refreshment to the place where we are ~ anytime.

And God doesn't expect tips.

~ ESA

Celebrate from the Start

Often there are protests against abortion and attempts to make it illegal. Instead of "thou shalt not," what if religious organizations, instead, focused on celebrating life with ceremonies from the start? In this time where we globally celebrate the birth of Christ and the start of a new year, perhaps we should see how our religious communities, or even just friends and family, can celebrate the steps toward creating a family.

We can have ceremonies surrounding the parents - BOTH parents, when possible - during the period leading up to the arrival of the child for both pregnancies and adoptions.

There are highs and lows in both; worries and questions abound. But when we mark the steps with a ceremony, shared with a community, we are encouraged as we go.

One of the series I read has a "dead rabbit" party as a major cultural celebration. The whole community of friends and family not only celebrate the news, but also pledge their support to help the couple and this new child - from the moment the couple knows of its existence. Noting the first ultrasound and start of the second and third trimesters are also good points, as that marks the development and vitality of the child.

Celebration points for adoption can be:

• The approval of the perspective parents to adopt,
• Getting a place prepared for the new arrival,
• The first time a child gets to spend the night,
• When the child is officially cleared for adoption,
• The official court adoption, and
• When the child calls you mom/dad.

While many may not want to hear the news, almost 80% of first pregnancies end in a miscarriage. And the first successful pregnancy is no guarantee for those to follow. Sometimes the parents may not even know there is a pregnancy. Sometimes "viable embryos" do not survive. It is something that should not be swept under the rug. 

If they want to affirm that life exists before birth, religious organizations should also have a ceremony for miscarriages, as they have funerals for those who die after birth. It not only marks the loss in a meaningful way, it helps the parents and the community better deal with the grief.

When my husband and I miscarried, friends and families didn't know what to say or do, so no wanted to talk about it. Our church's only "support" was a suggestion to "try again." Four years later, we had to create our own ceremony (described here) to help us say goodbye, especially after we received news that we would never be able to have a biological child...

A ceremony for aborted as well as miscarried children says more than any picket sign. Not every one that is aware of a pregnancy may have agreed to its termination.

To truly show the Christian spirit, forgive the decision makers and invite them to the ceremony too.

"Miscarriages" can happen during adoption processes too. Not every adoption process started ends in an adoption.

My sister has gone through many steps in adopting a girl. Her family went through the approval process, had the girl spend the summer with them, and spoke to her via Skype at least weekly since. Then the adoption "fell through" just before the final plans were made for the girl to share Christmas with them.

Adoptive parents welcome a child into their hearts well before the child ever steps foot into their homes. When an adoption does not work out, there is a loss as keen as parents who have a miscarriage or have a child die.

Sometimes the simplest of ceremonies can help the adoptive parents through that loss as well, especially when the ceremony helps them realize that they are not alone... that they have a community to help support them.

Good and bad, we can commemorate the new additions to our lives.

Mark the steps.

Celebrate

Support

~ESA

Yesteryear's Hurricane Stories

The following are true stories heard following last year's Hurricane Irene. I pray we have less damage, and more stories of neighbors helping neighbors as Storm Sandy tackles the eastern seaboard this year.

While there was damage, and thousands of people were without electrical power on Long Island (NY), neighbor came out and helped neighbor. In other parts of the country, this may be the norm, but not as much in and around NYC. The news had the reporter in awe and he added, "We have not seen such neighborly acts of people reaching out to one another in this area since 9/11."

The day following the hurricane, in Richmond VA, no one in the neighborhood could get out of the driveway, let alone down the street. So many trees had fallen, but 15 neighbors in the area got together and spent the day cutting and moving the fallen trees. One jokingly added they were all stocked up with firewood for the winter.

In Connecticut, the local news reported what areas were out of power. Those few who had power opened their homes for others to come over for a meal, a hot shower, or even just to charge their electronic devices, such as cell phones, laptops and children's video games. Local high schools acquired generators so they could offer the same. Each night, people in darkened homes would go outside and share with their neighbors the news they heard, report where there was food to buy, power to charge items, and where one may get some ice... 

Within 24-hours there was a shortage on ice. However, untold numbers of water bottles were packed in working freezers as well as ice cubes bagged to go for friends and neighbors who had no power. Room was made in freezers and refrigerators to help keep what little food could be saved. 

In some parts of this small state, there was no gas available; a combination of high demand for all the independent generators and vehicles, plus inaccessibility to get fuel trucks into areas and the stations not having power to pump the fuel. Many grabbed gas cans when power came back in their town and drove some fuel to others who lived in the more remote parts of the state, keeping them going a bit further. For those who may not realize this, unless one lives in a city or some of the "downtowns" that have public water, when you loose power, you loose water too.

In our apartment complex, a community dinner was organized on the third day without power. Anything that people had been able to keep with ice in melting freezers was cooked up, and we collectively sat outside on that beautiful evening to a feast that would rival many Thanksgiving dinners.

Other nights, a neighbor gathered fallen tree branches around the area and had a make-shift campfire in her bar-b-que. Kids spent the time chasing each other with flashlights and the light from their phones and video games, playing hide-and-seek in the vast darkness where we usually have many security lights. 

From Vermont came a remarkable story. In the communities that were completely cut off from the rest of the State because roads were washed away, neighbor came out to help neighbor "just as we did in the old days." There was a daily gathering in the town greens, where people asked what was needed and collectively determined how those needs would be met that day. They could not depend on supplies from outside, as roads were gone. So, they would go out into the fields and harvest what was ripe - by hand. Then they would gather again on the green and cook the food, sharing it so all could eat. 

There are sad stories, which the media loves to cover, much of which is already forgotten in the wake of other hurricanes, wildfires and other news. But there are also happy stories too. We were blessed with unseasonably beautiful weather for almost a week after the hurricane - perfect days where we did not need heat nor air-conditioning. The outages were scattered so that some power was found in driving distance. People had many opportunities to help others near and far. 

When other disasters come in its day,
May neighbor help neighbor in this way.  

~ ESA