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  • Cheryl 1:33 pm on March 25, 2013 Permalink | Reply  

    Things I can check off my bucket list now that I’ve trained for a marathon… 

    falltrailWalds1. running in the dark with a head lamp and coming face to face with a large wild boar.
    2. standing still on the trail in the dark and jingling my keys so the boar and his friends would know not to come back down on the road. (because of these experiences, I no longer run while it’s still dark…)
    3. seeing three young stags cross the road in front of me, stare at me and then run on up the hill. (surprisingly, this is an experience I had TWICE. amazing.)
    4. running through strong winds
    5. running through strong winds and freezing rain
    6. running in strong winds, freezing rain and snow drifts up to my knees
    7. having my water bottle tops freeze while I’m running
    8. going to the bathroom in the woods more times than I can count
    9. discovering the merits of gumme bears, something I don’t appreciate when I haven’t been running more than 10 miles.
    10. running until I thought I couldn’t go any more, only to discover that I could
    11. having my hands so numb that I couldn’t get the snacks out of my fuel belt. The pain when I got home and put them in warm water was one of the most excruciating things I’ve ever experienced!
    12. throwing up after a run. It was the chocolate milk that did it…
    13. seing a rainbow over the Donon (the highest peak near us) that I like to think no one else saw.
    14. running with a dog from the farm over the hill who seemed to understand every word I said to him and was great company.
    15. a treadmill stress test that was very difficult, but which I passed with flying colors.
    16. a headache the day after I went on a long run without taking my blood pressure pill.

    17. having a cheering section in my Bible study who are going to watch for me on TV.  They’re convinced I’ll come in in the top 10.

     

     

     

     

    • Sheryl 6:49 pm on March 26, 2013 Permalink | Reply

      I’m so proud of you!

      #17 is my favorite.

    • Karen 9:37 pm on March 27, 2013 Permalink | Reply

      So proud of you Cher! Training for a marathon is such….an experience like none other. I hope that the race is a positive experience for you, and wish that it had worked for me to come and run it with you. I have to say that I’ve not even come close to experiencing #1 and #2! That sounds wild!

    • Matt Edminster 9:38 am on March 29, 2013 Permalink | Reply

      This is so cool Cheryl. I am envious of your bucket list and really proud that we’ll be there to cheer you on. What a great chapter!

    • Clara 10:31 pm on April 29, 2013 Permalink | Reply

      Sorry I didn’t see this earlier :-( Even thought I’ve talked with you, seeing your bucket list was fun!!

  • Cheryl 2:56 pm on November 29, 2012 Permalink | Reply  

    Hitting a wall 

    Last Saturday, I hit the wall. This is a common human experience. And the expression is very appropriate. Like a race car zooming along the highway at top speed when a wall appears where it should not be, everything suddenly screeches to a halt and there’s a deafening crash, followed by complete silence.
    Most days, I zoom along. There are meals to prepare, dishes to wash, food to buy, fires to build, loads of laundry to wash and hang by them (aforesaid fires, that is), children to care for, listen to, feed and assist in any way I can. Add to this all the other “children” in our lives, our neighbors, our kids’ friends, James’ pastoral colleagues, the church musicians, the ladies who help with Sunday School, come to the Bible studies or those who serve the food at the annual Advent dinner. Even if it feels like I don’t get out to see people much, they are also on my heart, part of the picture.
    Then there are our families. I shared in the last post some of our experience of loss this fall in James’ family, added onto my own loss of Dad two years ago. Mom just came for a visit, stayed nearly three weeks, and was an invaluable help and confidante. Friday morning, she left. Saturday morning I hit the wall.
    I need to explain that we’ve been having trouble with our furnace. When Mom arrived, the heat wasn’t working, but we still had hot water. We stayed warm by the fire, and waited for the repair man to come. He came twice, and the probem still wasn’t fixed. The day Mom left, we had neither heat nor hot water.
    So here was the straw that broke the camel’s back : I walked into the kitchen Saturday morning, aware that I had a full day at home alone with the children, and beheld a significant number of dirty pots and pans, most of which couldn’t be washed in the dish washer. They were on every flat surface. Mom had done dishes every day she was here. But not only was she now on the other side of the ocean, I had no hot running water. This may not be a big deal to someone who lives, say, in Albania, or in Africa. But Saturday, it was suddenly the deal breaker for me. James was in a rush to leave for an all-morning work project in Belmont, wanted breakfast, and I found myself weeping into his fried eggs.
    After he was gone, everything came to a screeching halt. I simply had to sit down and think it all through, get up enough courage to go on again, gather my wits. I sat in my rocking chair and waved aside my children, journaled, and basically tried to pull myself together. I halfway succeeded, but remained on the verge of tears for the better part of the morning.

    Our heat and hot water have now returned, and it’s a good thing, as we had snow last night.  I had one of the top ten best showers of my life on Tuesday morning after my run.  Things are looking up.  Advent is upon us and Jesus is coming, the long-expected One.  That helps too, of course.

    How about you ?  Hit any walls recently ?

     

    • Mike weber 3:34 am on February 14, 2013 Permalink | Reply

      Hi Cheryl. Thanks for the wall. Have been there too. Am winding down at the church here in anchorage. Am still teaching 7th grade bible and love it. I keep thinking about France and told Keran what would she think about ministry. Could you use me for a month? Use me for anything. Am presently doing visitation

      and greeting at anchorage grace and teaching 3 classes at grace Christian school. We bought a house at grants pass and our time seems to be winding down. But France…and missions? I have been a us missionary and some in Mexico but cross cultural seems to be something God may be impressing upon me more and more. Could you use me? Hokie told me about your dad and I read it in your wall. What an awesome guy. He had a profound impact in my early Christian faith. So many Fairbanks memories. Anyway, I hope to hear from you…Mike.

  • Cheryl 12:52 pm on October 16, 2012 Permalink | Reply
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    A long way away 

    Most of the time, I don’t think about how far I am from my childhood home.  I even forget, all too often, to call my family members and let them know I’m doing fine.  Life just goes on from day to day, and I do the normal, day-to-day stuff, and I don’t think about the fact that an ocean separates my family and me.

    But then something not so day-to-day happens.  We receive an email, or a phone call.  I gulp for air and say, “Oh no!”  Eric, beside me at the table doing his homework looks up in alarm.  “What?” he asks.

    “Uncle J died,” I say.  And I don’t try to wipe or hide the tears running down as I read the email.  This is not right, I think.  It is so hard!  And then I have to tell James when he comes home that his uncle has gone to heaven.

    Suddenly, that big ocean becomes an ocean again, and we would do anything to be able to cross it just to be with family members.  We need to be there, to give and feel a hug, to cry together.  But the ocean is immense.  Uncrossable at this time.  So we are alone with our grief on this side, limited to phones and the internet.

    This morning as I was running, I thought of our brothers and sisters in Alongside, and I suddenly found myself weeping and crying out in prayer for all of us, for the weight of this distance that we carry day after day, and that tears us up at times.   I thought of the cross-cultural marriages among us, where one partner has to choose to live far away–an ocean away–from family and home for this ministry…  I thought of all the life that goes on for our families while we are far away.  Like James said, it’s not the kind of pain that makes us throw in the towel and say, “This is too hard.  I’m going to quit and go home.”  It’s just a long-term ache that we chalk up to the price of living here.  The ache that becomes less bearable at times like these, when we’re a long way away.

     

    (photo from shutterstock.com)

     

  • Cheryl 12:36 pm on October 9, 2012 Permalink | Reply
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    A tribute to M 

    Part of living here, in an aging community, is growing accustomed to death.  Several times now, we have had to say good-bye to friends, and often it seems like God takes the ones we can the least afford to lose.  I wanted to write today about a friend from Fouday to whom we recently said good-bye.  To respect her privacy, I will simply call her M.

    She was the faithful one, consistently coming to church, to choir practices and whole-heartedly supporting the team for Bruche-Spiruline-Centrafrique, our presbytery’s development project in partnership with a church in the Central African Republic. She was the one selling pastries at the last parish dinner, the one who drew amazingly beautiful greeting cards to sell to raise funds for the spiruline project.

    One of M’s hand-drawn greeting cards inscribed with Psalm 80:16, “Protect the vine which Your hand has planted.”

    She never married, had no siblings or children.  But the church was full for her funeral service, full to overflowing with her many, many friends. How many she had loved! I am one.
    I remember the day we happened to be on the same train coming home from Strasbourg. It was soon after our arrival in the valley and she wanted to know how we were settling in. I shared my dismay about our fireplace which seemed to smoke quite a lot. She gave reassuring advice, telling me how she dealt with the smoke when she lit her fires and helping me to know that my problems were not unique or insurmountable. It was not simply what she said, but who she was that reassured me that day.
    She gave gifts.   She was a retired middle school French teacher, and when she heard that Eric was skipping up a year and starting middle school, she gave us a big bag full of school supplies, some of them expensive, all of them beautiful. She had carefully written post-it notes on some of them, and included a new binder especially for Sara, so that she wouldn’t feel left out. Every Easter she had surprises for the whole family, and each Christmas, expensive cans of foie gras. Always with a card beautifully hand-written, with a quote from Bonhoeffer or Martin Luther King, Jr.  Such refined and lavish kindness.
    M was ill, and we didn’t know it. Some remarked that she was looking tired. One friend, a neighbor, found her on the floor when she went to check on her, and severely disoriented. Turned out she had a tumor in her brain, and she was hospitalized immediately. Then came long days for her, and the busy summer months for everyone else. James and I struggled with now-familiar feelings of “we should go and see her–but when?” I went alone early on in her illness. She was still awaiting some tests and results, although they had found the tumor. She seemed to me to be barely concious, asleep but restless. I sat beside her and talked about the parish, about what we had been doing, about the children. I was embarassed, because she was wearing a hospital gown and would never have wanted to appear this way to her pastor’s wife, and because she seemed not to hear most of what I was saying.  I wasn’t even sure she knew I was there.
    But then I began to sing a song we had sung together in the choir, and she began to sing with me. Suddenly I recognized her, and she me, and we smiled.  I took her hand and we sang one or two more. She was weary, but murmured right along with me. I told her how we missed her, and that James sent his love.
    That was in June.  In September, suddenly, she was gone. The pastor who presided at her funeral (which was in Strasbourg, so it wasn’t my husband) told us not to say that she had gone away, but rather that she had arrived. This I knew for a fact.  The faith in Jesus which filled and sustained her, which had touched and warmed so many of us, had now brought her safely all the way home.
    As I looked around the church I was amazed at the wealth of relationships M had cultivated in her 77 years of life. And I regretted not having spent more time with her, not having known her better, not having learned more from what she had suffered, not having given her gifts.
    She would not want a tribute written about her. She doubtless did not feel extraordinary. None of us do. But the friends gathered to console one another at her death tell a different story. No, M, there was no one quite like you. We will miss your cultivated, discrete gentleness, your winning smile, your steady support. We are glad you are now home.

     

  • Cheryl 9:44 am on September 28, 2012 Permalink | Reply
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    Where the wind blows… 

    Eric and Johannes Becker enjoy the breeze on a boat crossing the Loire River. Johannes, from Germany, is an evangelist with Agape France in Nantes, and has an uncommon love for and attachment to the city.

    I enjoyed being in Nantes.  It is a beautiful city near the western coast of France, where the Loire river is widening to flow into the ocean.  There are university students there, and artists, and some fascinating historic buildings.  It also boasts tons of sidewalk cafes, even more than Strasbourg, despite the fact that the weather seemed to be changing every five minutes…

    But the single most important feature about the city to me was that it’s a place where the wind blows.  Since it’s founding, Nantes has been a port city, a place of comings and goings, a place that saw countless maritime explorers leave French shores, a center of  the less glorious but very lucrative slave trade (of which the residents saw nothing, but which brought them considerable wealth).  I can’t help but feel all of this bubbling under the surface when I’m there.  It comes out in the wonderfully useless machines artists and engineers design and build in the reconverted shipyards.  You can also sense it when you walk the streets and see the wealth of colors, building designs, nationalities represented. There are sculptures and murals and a surprising number of green parks.  In the group of students who joined us for discussions and Bible study at the Eglise Reformée in downtown Nantes, there were a surprising number of nationalities represented.  We spoke French and English with Polish, Ivoirian, Togolais, Malgache (from Madagascar), and Marrocans, just to name the ones that come to mind.  Oh yes, and I remember the Egyptian student who brought us home-made pastries that first Sunday.  I had only been there for a day or two when I realized what I so appreciated about the place.  The wind blows.  Let me explain what I mean.

    In Strasbourg, where I lived for eleven years before coming here to Waldersbach, things are settled and permanent.  Lots of them simply don’t change.  There are protestant churches there still named after saints.  Now that is Lutheran, perhaps, but it is also a sign of deep, established tradition.  There is something beautiful about the traditions.  There is a long-standing oecumenical movement in Strasbourg, for example, between Protestants and Catholics which sometimes surprises people from other parts of France.  There are many churches and a wealth of theologies, but in the end, Strasbourg is also a victim of geography.  Although situated on a river, Strasbourg was never an important port city like Nantes, and after being fought over by French and German armies, Strasbourg would rather defend her own than open to new cultures.  True, they just inaugurated the new mosque yesterday, but this is also a subject of much debate.  Alsace remains a place where alsacians are for alsacians, and traditions are important.  It’s a rather monocultural place, a place where foreigners have a hard time entering into friendships with locals.  We once realized that our closest friends in Strasbourg are mostly people who have also come from other places in France.  With the large exception of our friends at St Nicolas church, none of our close friends were alsatians.  Strasbourg is also in a sort of a basin where there is not much wind.  At times, during the summer months, the pollution is visible, hovering over the city.  And I remember some stifling summer nights when there was not even a breath of air to cool us off.

    But in Nantes, the wind is blowing.  It felt to me like a place where anything can happen, where something new is just around the corner.  So many times, as we were walking and enjoying the city, I would close my eyes and put my face into the wind and revel in it.  It was a strong wind, especially on the bridge over the Loire.  That wind might carry you away somewhere.  Or it might bring something interesting, any time now.

    The Eglise Réformée Protestante de Nantes

    Now that I’m back home in Alsace, I remember Nantes with fondness, and not a little envy.  As we slog along under the weight of these traditions, seeking and praying and longing for renewal, I remember the wind and wish for it.  But as Jesus said to Nicodemus, “The wind goes where it wishes and you hear the sound of it, but do not know where it comes from and where it is going; so is everyone who is born of the Spirit.” (John 3:8)

    And I have heard the wind whistling through the evergreens on the hill above our home…

    (photo credits : Bekah Franklin, artist and AD2012 participant)

     

  • Cheryl 1:44 pm on August 20, 2012 Permalink | Reply  

    Wow. What an amazing summer this has been ! July was full of AD2012, an AD project quite unlike any we have done before. Now we are home from our vacation in the the Hautes Alpes–beautiful, as always. And now gearing up for a visit with my sister and nephew in Paris next week. Never a dull moment. I promise real post soon, with news of AD, the vacation and Paris!

     

  • Cheryl 2:11 pm on May 21, 2012 Permalink | Reply
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    Talking of Jesus 

    We once worked with someone who was always insisting that Jesus be brought into the picture.  Were we writing a letter to a friend?  The perfect letter always contained something about Jesus.  Was a Christian organization raising money to combat poverty?  We needed to write them a letter deploring the fact that Jesus was not mentioned anywhere in their publicity materials.  Was someone asking existential questions? This colleague could be counted upon to say, “But what do they think about Jesus?”

    The thing is, she was absolutely right.  It’s sort of like focusing a camera in from a wide angle to a close-up of a flower.  It’s far too easy to talk in general terms about religion, or church, or faith (the word I’ve been using in my titles).  We can even talk in general terms about the Bible.  The fact is, though, it all comes down to what we do with Jesus.  Who is He and is He present, powerful and reigning in our lives?  This isn’t just a question for those far from God, or those who are searching or even for those, like some of the people I’ve been writing about, who are smugly at ease with their lives without Him.  It’s a question for everyone.  I’m thinking that this is why we are finishing up our second straight study of an entire gospel in the Bible studies I’ve been leading.  We all need to focus in on Jesus.

    So thanks, Aunt Jean for your comment that sparked this line of reflection.  I intend to take it to heart.

     

     

    • Jean 1:21 am on June 12, 2012 Permalink | Reply

      It’s all so very simple, isn’t it! We love you guys and pray the Lord will use you greatly! Our trip to Austria certainly opened our eyes to your world-religion everywhere, but Jesus hardly anywhere! Our friend there told us that she knows no one who has believing grandparents….may the Lord use you greatly as you glorify Him with your life!

  • Cheryl 3:48 pm on May 12, 2012 Permalink | Reply
    Tags: Bible study, , prayer   

    talking of faith, part III : For praying out loud. . . 

    These things Jesus spoke; and lifting up His eyes to heaven, He said…

    John 17.  Jesus intercedes for His disciples before His arrest.  As I prepared the Bible study on this chapter, I almost felt dizzy.  There is some mind-blowing stuff in there.
    Little did I know how long we would spend on this first verse.  A commentary I read had sparked what was to me a simple but important question : Why did Jesus pray out loud?  He was God’s beloved Son.  He was in constant contact with His Father, and probably prayed all day long silently.  Why, here, did He talk out loud?

    To me the answer was obvious.  It was because He wanted His prayer to encourage those for whom He was praying.  They were about to go through something very difficult.  He was deeply concerned for them, and wanted them to be strong and courageous.  I thought of all the times people have prayed for and over me, even laying hands on me, lifting me up to the Father.  They were saying out loud truths about God’s love for me, His ability to help and strengthen me.  Yes, they were asking God for specific things, but their words reminded me of God’s presence and identity.  This was my own experience.  I discussed it with James and he agreed.  The main reason Jesus prayed out loud was so that the disciples would hear his prayer and be encouraged.

    I thought this would be a great question to ask the Bible study group, because at the beginning of each study we have a time of prayer, but I’m almost always the only who prays aloud.   I figured it might inspire them to reconsider the way they pray if we talk about how Jesus did it.

    “So,” I said, after a few preliminaries to introduce the chapter, “why do you suppose Jesus says this prayer out loud?  He could have prayed silently in His heart.”  I looked around the table, and saw that no one was quite sure.  “To teach them how to pray?” suggested one person.  “Maybe,” I said.  I waited until I realized that no other answers were forthcoming.  Then I proposed my own answer.  “I think He said this prayer out loud to encourage His disciples.  Maybe you have had the experience of someone praying for you, and they are right next to you, but they say the words out loud, and even just hearing their prayer encourages you.”  There were one or two nods around the table, but very soon someone launched into what became a half-hour discussion:  “But I never pray out loud.”

    “Ah bon??” I replied.  “Really?  Never?”  And we were off and running.  The five of us, two catholics and three protestants, began to share what we discovered were very different experiences of and attitudes toward prayer.  I was amazed.  Here something I took for granted in the life of a committed Christian was completely foreign to some Christians’ experience, and even to their conception.  When I came upstairs after the study, I talked it over with James.  I had discovered that at least one participant did not even pray along with me when I prayed out loud during the opening prayer.  That rocked my world.  Why even do it then?  Maybe we should just have a time of silence.

    Then I thought, Well, the disciples who listened to Jesus’ prayer for them in John 17 didn’t pray along with Him either. They were mostly awed and upset and who knows what else.  That didn’t mean Jesus should have simply prayed to Himself.  So as James and I talked, we became even more committed to praying often, and to finding ways to help people pray.  More than anything else, the things that came out of that evening’s discussion proved that most people, even the ones who have grown up in the church, are not used to praying out loud, even with just one other person.  Faith is such a personal, intimate thing.  Do they feel too unsure of themselves?  too far from God?  too sinful?  or is it simply a matter of not knowing how?

    Here is where we come in.  And you.  We recently celebrated the first anniversary of our Wednesday prayer meeting.  We have been praying every Wednesday from 5:30 to 6:30 pm (Paris time) for a year now.  Sometimes we are just the two of us; sometimes there are one or two more.  We sing, we read scripture, we offer prayers of praise and we intercede for the needs we are aware of.  Program your cell phone or other personal device to remind you to pray along with us at the same time in your time zone.  We are pleading for a revival, for the Holy Spirit to come and give people a hunger for His Word and a desire to pray.

     

  • Cheryl 12:47 pm on April 3, 2012 Permalink | Reply
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    talking of faith, part II : faith as an option 

    The tiny chapel at the Champ du Feu where oecumenical services are held twice yearly.

    This is the second in a three-part series on recent conversations that have made me stop and think.
    When a kind and obviously well-educated woman began to talk about her impressions of the Church, I silently prayed, O Holy Spirit, help me now to listen. This is important.
    We were at the riding club where Sara goes to ride ponies once a week.  We chatted about what we did, as she explained a little of the way the club functioned.  When she discovered I was a pastor’s wife, she said, “Well, I don’t need to explain this to you.  I imagine it’s pretty much the same in your parish.”  I smiled and said, a little ruefully, “Well, the ideal would be for people to come to church in the first place. . .”

    That was when the words came tumbling out, and I prayed for help in listening.  It was as if what I had said had inspired some kind of guilt that she wanted to absolve herself of.  She told me that she thought the Sunday morning church service was completely out-of-date, that it is unreasonable to expect people to come to a church service each week, and especially on a Sunday morning. She said that, for her, it would be interesting to come once in a while–and she repeated that part : just once in a while, you understand–to a group sharing time where there would be “people of faith” who would share about their lives, inspired by “the word.” (I’m not sure what she meant by “word”…) At the very end, I discovered that she was catholic, and had grown up deep in Protestant territory, in the Cevennes mountains, near the home of Marie Durand, which is now a museum. She didn’t offer any sympathy for our plight in the historic, emptying church, because she had none. It was simply totally irrelevant to her life.

    I sighed, and said, “Sometimes I have the impression that I’m from another time.”

    She gave me a long look, and said, as if to clarify, or verify, “From another time.”  She thought for a moment, and then said, “That’s about right.”  (C’est à peu près ça, oui.)

    Conversations like these are what give rise to the Andorra complex I described in a previous post.  At times, I feel increasingly irrelevant, as one of a tiny minority of people who actually pray and attend church.  So one of my burning questions on any given day is :  How is this relevant to real life?  Do I even know what real life is like?

    How do you stay relevant?

     

    • Jean 2:33 pm on April 3, 2012 Permalink | Reply

      I guess I agree with her that it is irrelevant to go to worship someone who you don’t worship no matter what the worship service looks like. It’s all about our relationship with Jesus. Praying for you guys, Cher, as you glorify Him to those your live around!

      • medminster 8:19 am on May 10, 2012 Permalink | Reply

        Sorry for the delay in getting your comment up, Jean. We’ve had difficulties with the mechanics of the site lately.

  • Cheryl 4:48 pm on March 17, 2012 Permalink | Reply
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    talking of faith, part I : faith as a crutch 

    This is the first in a three-part series on recent conversations about faith that have made me stop and think.

    As she moved around me, snipping away at my shaggy head of hair, we chatted, as we always do.  I enjoy trips to the beauty shop for this reason.  I like S because we can talk about anything and everything, and we share a common bond, because we both lost our dads within the same year.

    I expressed sympathy for her sister, who owns the shop, and who had recently lost her husband.  S explained the whole situation, and then said, “But she has her faith, and that really helps her a lot.”

    This was new to me.   I had no idea G was a practicing Christian.  So I asked what she meant.  “Oh she’s a member of this New Apostolic fellowship in Selestat,” S said.  “They have been really supportive all through her husband’s illness.  If she didn’t have that community, I don’t know what she would have done.”

    We went on about this for a while.  I was trying to understand exactly what sort of church this was.  But then S said something interesting.  “For some people, having faith is really helpful.”

    I asked her what she meant.  “Well,” she said, “I have never felt like I really needed religion to be happy in life, I mean, I have my husband and my children, and things seem to be fine.  And I’m really content.”  Apparently, G had tried to “convert” her on more than one occasion.  She was apologetic about what she said, aware that she was talking to the pastor’s wife.

    I appreciated her honesty and her serenity.  I was also surprised, as I almost always am, to find someone so willing to admit their contentedness without God.  And I wondered, Maybe I am simply one of those people who need faith in Jesus to get along in life.  Maybe I simply could not make it any other way.  The only thing is, it can’t only be true for me and for G.  God loves S too, and longs for her friendship.

    So is Jesus only for the ones who feel the need for Him?

     

    • Karen 12:32 am on March 18, 2012 Permalink | Reply

      I have wondered this very thing often, Cher. I don’t understand it because in my own life i so desperately need God, it seems hardly possible someone could be contentedly God-less, yet there are people in this world like that. I have no answer. I’ll be interested to read what else you have to say on this topic.

      • Cheryl 3:46 pm on March 20, 2012 Permalink | Reply

        One of the things I wonder is whether it’s simply that the need has not been discovered yet. It’s easy to fill life with good things, like the things S mentioned, and if you’re busy enough, this will be sufficient until those things, one or all of them, are removed or altered. Perhaps it’s then that they will turn…
        James just got a hair cut, and interestingly enough the topic came up again. Like me, he just didn’t know what to say…

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