Janet's Blog

We worship and praise You, we sing and adore You,  Baby Jesus, born of Mary, asleep on the hay. We sing to Messiah, the promised of ages, Baby Jesus, our Redeemer, asleep where You lay, In a manger, in a stable, not a blanket nor a cradle; Just the shepherds and the angels Were there on that day.                         Now we sing along with their joyful song, Praise our God above, sing our song of love; We praise You today.                                                  We worship and praise You, we sing and adore You, Holy Father, God Almighty, we bless You this day. We sing to the Spirit, our Helper and Comfort, And to Jesus, blessed Savior; oh, what can we say? First a babe so small, then You conquered all, Took our sin away, died, our debt to pay, Rose on that third day.                         Now we sing along with the joyful song, Praise our God above, sing our song of love; We praise You alway. Now we sing along with the joyful song, Praise our God above, sing our

When I was a young child, viewing neighborhood Christmas lights was an important part of every Christmas celebration.  Since we lived in a hotel instead of a real house, we weren't able to decorate outside as we might have wished.  So, two or three times each December, we all piled into the car after dark, and Dad would drive slowly through the Norfolk streets in search of the best colorful light displays.  Usually, the lights outlined the edge of a roof or a window, or were draped around an evergreen tree in the yard.  In the early 1960s, the lights were always brightly colored--sometimes all  red or blue, but often multicolored.  White lights were never used.  The light bulbs were larger than the small lights that are seen so often now.  Sometimes, the lights blinked off and on, but the light displays were not at all high-tech.  Then, as now, the more extensive displays attracted the most attention. Now, white lights cascade off roof edges in imitation of icicles, and outline l

When I think of the ideal Christmas tree, I always think of my Grandma and Grandpa Vawser's tree.  They always chose a large, pungent, real evergreen tree with rather sparse branches, so we could see and appreciate each delicate glass ornament.  Old-fashioned, multi-colored strings of lights were looped around the tree, blinking on and off randomly in the dimly lit living room.  (I miss that kind of Christmas tree; now, my allergies dictate that our Christmas tree must forever be artificial.) The presents were piled high under the tree on Christmas Eve, spilling out onto the surrounding floor.  Grandma was never extravagant in her gift-giving, but she always made sure that every one of her six children, their spouses, and eventually, her 20 grandchildren and numerous great-grandchildren, always received a gift.  She thought carefully about each gift, even though she and Grandpa often gave duplicate gifts to people with similar interests.  One year, the boys who were around six to

Thanksgiving is over.  Now the countdown to Christmas can begin!  Yes, I know that the stores all began their countdowns weeks ago.  The holiday merchandise has been out since Halloween (or even earlier) and the stores have been playing Christmas carols for just as long.   (It's a little ironic that so many retail chains insist that their customers be greeted with "Happy Holidays" rather than "Merry Christmas," but that traditional Christmas carols, both secular and Christian, are the predominant background music this time of year.)  As far as the retailers are concerned, Black Friday was bigger than Christmas itself, effectively kicking off a whole frenzied season of buying and selling. We've had Christmas parades already, too, on the Friday and Saturday after Thanksgiving, and Santa Claus has officially arrived to greet excited children who are ready to recite laundry lists of longed-for Christmas presents.  The neighbors have put up their outside lights

So, I've been thinking all week about what to write for Thanksgiving.  I could write about everything I'm thankful for--family and friends, our home and pets, a job I love, our secure lives here in Gering, Nebraska, or, most of all, for God's loving care and His Son's great sacrifice for me and everyone.  But so much of it seems like a cliche.  Of course, we're thankful for all of these things, and we express our thankfulness this Thanksgiving, as we do every year, to God and the people we love.  There's nothing wrong with that.  But, somehow, it just doesn't seem to be enough. Every Thanksgiving, someone always expresses the feeling that our thankfulness should not be reserved for one day of the year, but should continue all year long.  I believe this, too.  But, this week, I've been thinking about all of those things that we take for granted, that we forget to thank God for because we just accept life the way it is most of the time.  So, why don'

When we lived on the farm in the 1950s, our telephone was a large wooden box, attached up high on the wall, with a horn-shaped mouthpiece you spoke into and a handheld receiver that you placed on your ear.  I doubt that this model of phone had changed much in the half century or so that phones had been common communication devices for rural households in Nebraska.  Children did not often answer the phone, let alone use it.  On the rare times I talked to one of my grandmas on the phone, Mom or Dad held me up so I could reach the mouthpiece, or I stood on a chair.  The telephone had no push buttons, and no dial, but it did have a crank on the side, which was used to summon the telephone operator or call a neighbor on the same party line.  Most calls were operator-assisted; to make a call, you turned the crank, waited for the operator to answer "number please," and gave her the number for the person you wanted to contact.  Most phones were on a party line, which meant that sev

People talk about "getting your foot in the door" as a way of being in the right place at the right time, so something good will happen as a result.  For me, though, getting my foot in the door was the beginning of a rather painful chain of events that would never happen in the twenty-first century. It happened the summer before Laura was born, when I was six.  Mom and Dad had taken a rare fishing vacation to Minnesota, leaving Dan and me with Grandma and Grandpa Wegner, who came to stay with us at the Oxnard so they could run the hotel while Mom and Dad were gone.  It had been a traumatic morning, to begin with, because our beloved yellow canary had choked on a seed and died.  Perhaps Grandma was trying to make us feel better about our poor pet, because she decided to make pancakes for breakfast.  However, we were missing some necessary ingredient, so Grandma, Dan, and I walked the half block, across the alley, to the nearest grocery store to buy what we needed. Nowadays

It's November--National Adoption Month.  Bill and I first talked about adoption years ago, soon after we were married.  We wanted as many as six children and, even then, we planned to adopt and provide foster care, as well as raise our biological children.  The time frame has been a little different than we expected, but the results have been worth the wait. It was just eleven years ago this week that Victoria joined our family permanently through adoption.  We saw her picture on the internet in June, filled out reams of paperwork, and attended one training after another.  We first saw little Victoria, across the room at her daycare center, in August, and we met her for the first time in September, when we joined her foster family for a picnic lunch and a trip to Riverside Zoo.  Victoria was almost five years old, very tiny, and very cute.  A proposed six month transition period was shortened into six weeks of back and forth travel between our house and her foster home, an

October is such a busy time for me.  I have to evaluate each of my thirty-five students online, for fifty different criteria for each child.  The old-fashioned method of using pencil and paper would be much faster.  Even though I've been testing kids individually and working on this assessment ever since school started in August, the final rush to get it done before parent/teacher conferences is almost overwhelming.  I certainly couldn't do it without the assistance of my faithful para-professionals.  But, finally, it's done!  What a relief! This assessment is partially the result of the No Child Left Behind legislation, which is about ten years old.  On one hand, such assessments provide valuable information about each child, so that I can tailor my lesson plans to meet each child's needs, and share assessment results with eager parents.  But, on the other hand, the whole assessment process takes away from the time I could be using to work with children to boost the

It was a family tradition that happened every fall:  Mom, Dan and Laura, and I took a drive in the country to gather dead weeds.  Then we drove back home to make winter bouquets. I think it happened for the first time in Norfolk, when I was in Brownies.  Mom was the leader of our group; Dan and Laura always came along to Brownies, too.  I don't remember if the whole Brownie troop went along to gather the weeds, or if Mom brought them to our meeting for the girls to make into bouquets.  Whatever the case, we all had such a good time assembling winter bouquets that it became a family tradition that lasted for years, until I was in high school.  I'm not sure why we called them "winter" bouquets, because we made them and used them in the fall.  The process was simple.  On a chilly Sunday afternoon in late October or early November, we gathered an assortment of beautiful dried weeds from the ditch next to some gravel road out in the country.  We always searched hard to

After endless days of near record-breaking temperatures throughout September, and even into October, it seemed like fall would never really arrive this year.  At last, the leaves on the trees are beginning to change from green to gold, and there's a little nip in the air in the evenings.  A cool breeze swirls through the few skittering leaves that have fallen to the ground.  Finally, summer's shorts and tank tops and flip flops have morphed into jeans and long sleeves, shoes and socks.  It's pumpkin picking time!   Every October, we take our preschoolers to the Adams Family Pumpkin Patch, located just east of Scottsbluff.  For many children, this first field trip of the school year marks their first ride on a big yellow school bus.  For many, the two mile bus ride is the best part of the trip.   The kids are so excited about riding on the bus that they just can't sit still.  Wiggling and giggling, three to a seat, chattering children crane their necks to see out

Have you ever noticed that many people just don't like change?  How quickly we become set in our ways, preferring comfortable routines because "we've always done it this way."  Familiar activities are safe because we know what to expect.  Change feels risky.  Change often requires us to trust in something or someone beyond ourselves. Change may require us to adopt new attitudes and new ways of doing things.  Even a little change, like yet another adjustment in Facebook format, causes much frustration for many people.  And, heaven forbid, if the church should change service times or music styles! Personally, I like change, at least some of the time.  I think that moving provides a wonderful chance to clean out and start fresh.  However, Bill hates moving so much that he doesn't plan to move ever again, so I guess I'm stuck in this house for a long time yet.  It's a good thing that we like our house, and that it provides the space we need.  However, we'

We've been hearing a lot lately about the U. S. Postal Service's struggle to survive in this world of e-mail and online magazines.  Additionally, private companies, such as UPS and Fed Ex, have gradually taken over much of our country's package delivery.  Postal rates can only be raised so high, or the post office will never be able to compete with private companies.  Let's face it:  there is less mail these days, and more competition from the private sector than ever before.  Yet, even with all of these changes, most Americans insist that the U.S. Postal Service, as we know it, should not change.  We shudder to think that some postal workers may be laid off and some smaller post offices may need to be closed.   On a more personal level, we want to keep our mail service just the way it is; we like picking up our mail from our convenient front porch or roadside mailboxes, six days a week, rain or shine.  I don't have a solution to this dilemma, but I can't help b

My family has always raised horses.  My brother and sister and I all rode before we walked.  When we lived on the farm, Ginger and her newest foal were right there, ready to be petted and ridden.  Even when we lived in the hotels, the horses were close by. Ginger was Dad's horse, a shiny, black mare that he rode from the time he was a teenager.  It was rare to find anyone from outside of the family who wanted to ride her because she was half American Saddle horse and half thoroughbred, very fast, and more than a little bit feisty.  Man o' War was her grandfather.  We kids rode Ginger double with Dad, or Dad led her while we perched on the saddle high above the ground.  Ginger was not a kid's horse, but we loved her anyway. When we moved from the farm to Norfolk, Ginger lived in a rented pasture not too far from town.  Her buckskin colt, Mr. Ed, was born there.  (I wonder how many colts were named "Mr. Ed" in the early sixties.)  Unfortunately, we had to leave

Magazines, TV, and the internet are wonderful resources, but I am convinced that children learn best by seeing and interacting with real, live animals.  Many parents and co-workers know how strongly I feel about having pets in my classroom.  It's amazing the way people will help out when they know about your passions. When I first started teaching kindergarten years ago in Michigan, I set up the ten gallon aquarium that Bill and I had received as a wedding present, and stocked it with a handful of tropical fish.  It wasn't long before my students' parents added a frog and other exotic fish to our tank.  After I let the children and their parents know that we would welcome additional pets in our classroom, someone donated a guinea pig, which was a wonderful pet because the kids could hold it comfortably, and if it got away from them, it was big enough for us to find easily.  Unfortunately, the guinea pig died when I sent him home with a kindergartner for the summer. The

I'm not sure why Dad decided to build a houseboat.  Although he refurbished many barns and sheds over the years, I don't remember that Dad ever built any other structure.  Perhaps he was influenced by our proximity to Gavins Point Dam, where many other home-built houseboats were moored.  The dam on the Missouri River, just fifty miles north of Norfolk, provided deep water, good fishing, and the opportunity to get away from the constant business pressures associated with running the Oxnard Hotel. My memories of the houseboat may stray a bit from the truth, since I was only six or seven while Dad was building it.  I remember that he bought an old rowboat and trailer, probably at an auction.   At first, he parked the boat in the vacant lot behind the hotel, where Dan and I enjoyed hours of playtime, imagining that we were fishermen or pirates embarking on a long voyage.  I don't know which came first, the rowboat, or the idea to build a houseboat.  I remember that the rowb

I realized something not too long ago, and it made me stop and think:  This is the first time in nearly 35 years that I haven't had a key to the church we attend, and I don't mind at all. I first got my own key to Trinity Lutheran Church in Traverse City, Michigan, when I started teaching kindergarten at the school in 1977.  I used the key if I needed to work in my classroom on the weekends, but I can't say that I needed it desperately, because I was never the first to arrive in the mornings. (I've never been a morning person.)  Still, it was convenient to have the key, because I didn't have to worry about tracking down my principal, or walking next door to the parsonage in hopes of finding the pastor at home, if I needed to get into the church and adjoining school.  I found out rather early in my teaching career that I needed God's help and guidance daily so I could do my job well, so I soon developed the habit of slipping into the sanctuary for a few minutes

I thought I had left them behind nearly thirty years ago, when we moved away from Michigan and away from my kindergartners.  I thought I'd escaped having any of those little blue creatures in my house, but no.  Thirty years later, they're back.  The Smurfs have invaded this country again. I don't know why even the thought of Smurfs bothers me so much.  They really are quite innocuous.  I can't even tell you (yet) what they do, but I'm sure that Levi will soon be telling me all about them.  After all, he's the one who brought home a little blue-and-white, plastic Smurf the other day, after enjoying a Happy Meal with a friend.  I've heard there's another Smurf movie in theaters now, so I suppose that a weekly or, heaven forbid, daily television program will soon follow (again.)  When Christmas arrives, most young children are destined to find at least one Smurf toy or T-shirt or coloring book, or even the movie itself, all wrapped up under the tree. 

Kids who grow up in a family-run business start working at a young age.  I suppose we were not much different from farm kids, or any kids whose parents teach them how to cook, do laundry, or mow the lawn.  The jobs may be a little different, but the work ethic is the same. I was nine when we moved to the Mary-Etta.  At first, when we weren't in school, Laura, Dan, and I followed Mom around as she worked.  If she was filling in for an absent maid, I helped her make beds.  If she was helping serve a meal to a large group of people, we stayed in the kitchen and put a dinner roll or sprig of parsley on each plate.  I remember helping Dad empty the change from the pop machine and fill it with pop bottles.  Once, Dad handed me a broom so I could help sweep the lobby, but my technique didn't quite meet his standards, so he never asked me to sweep the lobby again. (That job probably fell to Dan, who also helped shovel the snow that covered the sidewalks every winter.) By the time I

Today was my last day of summer vacation.  I've accomplished many things this summer--yard work, spring (summer?) cleaning, Bible studies, extra time with Levi and Victoria, and time with lots of other family members I don't get to see as often as I would like.  I've traveled with my family all over the state of Nebraska, into Colorado and Wyoming, and even as far as Jamaica.  These last few weeks have flown by, providing a welcome change of activity, but now it's time to get back to a more normal routine.  First thing tomorrow morning, I'll head back to school to prepare for another year of teaching.  I don't usually stop to think what an awesome responsibility it is to teach so many little children.  That's undoubtedly a good thing, because if I spent too much time thinking about it I would probably feel overwhelmed.  I do feel privileged to work at a job I love, using the gifts God has given me to make a difference in the lives of my students.  I know I

When I think of Jamaica, I can't help but think of the magnificent turquoise seas and the endless white sand beaches.  The water is oh, so warm, and glassy smooth, except during tropical storms, when majestic waves crash ashore. Then,  surfers usually choose other islands. Levi enjoys the beach On this trip, we had access to a beautiful beach just a short trek from the condo.  We were all mesmerized by the starfish and fiddler crabs, zebra fish, stingrays, and snails that shared their habitat with us. Victoria and Levi built sand castles and collected a myriad of shells, and we all meandered along the top of the stone breaker, peering into the water lapping the rocks.  It was amazing to see so many varieties of sea creatures that we usually watch only on a TV screen or, perhaps, in a pet store.  God has made such awesome creatures! Victoria found a friend  I love mid-summer sales, because we were able to pick up an assortment of inexpensive snorkeling gear right before o