Birthing Story #1 - Kelly Nicole Jones

I'm not sure what happened to "Birthing Story #1 - Kelly Nicole Jones"...so here it is!

Mickey and I got married young.  We were both 21.  He was still in college and working a more than full time part-time job.  Knowing we would both have to provide for our living expenses, I had quit college and was working the night shift at a local factory.  We lived in Batesville in married student housing on Arkansas College's campus.  Mickey worked as a night computer operator in Newport at a local factory.  When we got married, Mickey was entering his Junior year as a Data Processing and Mathematics Major.  We enjoyed our life together, had a lot of friends and family close by.  I'm not sure what our thought process was, but we made the decision that we wanted a baby and we didn't want to wait until it was sensible.

I think I called him from a pay phone at work to tell him the news.  I was indeed pregnant and due at the end of April - about the time he would be graduating from college.

I worked throughout my pregnancy.  I was a calibrator and tester for hot water heater controls.  The job was not as hard for some of us who were younger and we were fast.  Management recognized that we could do the job and pretty much left us alone as long as we didn't get QC rejects.  I was standing over a hot tank of water, lifting trays of hot water heater controls, moving to a tester, pushing and pulling racks of controls around and when my belly got big enough, they left me on the tester.  It was demanding physically.  But I was happy and healthy.

We decided to move in with my parents the first of April.  We knew that I was due about the time Mickey would graduate and we couldn't stay in married student housing after that.  We also knew that we would be moving somewhere else and couldn't sign a lease or get another place to live for that month.  My parents were happy to have us (or at least acted as though they were).

On April 14, Mickey went to school, as expected and Mom went out of town to see her parents.  I woke up and could not straighten up.  I was in tremendous pain.  It didn't seem like labor because it was constant.  I was still two weeks away from my due date.  This was my first child and everyone knows first children don't come early...in fact, we'd been told to expect it to be up to two weeks late.  The pain was unbearable and so I made the call to my sister, Jo.  She could come and get me and take me to the doctor.

She was surprised to see me walking bent over and feeling so sick.  We decided to just go to my doctor's office.  When we got there, I was miserable! I couldn't sit still.  Jo took matters into her own hands.  She told the office girl that if he couldn't see me NOW, she would take me to the ER and he would have to leave his patients to come over there.  I got in immediately.  I don't know how he got word, (I guess Jo called the school - no cell phones in those days, you know) but Mickey showed up at the doctor's office.  He had examined me and turned to Mickey and said, "Does she give into pain easily?"  I was bent over, unable to talk, and so glad my husband was there to answer for me...and THEN he said, "...Yeahhh".  WHAT?  If I'd had the strength, I would have socked him!! The doctor determined that I was scarred of having the baby and that he needed to give me a shot to relax me.  He gave me a big old shot of Demerol that not only made me loopy, but conked me out!  And then the real problems began.

He sent me home and all day that day, I slept - except when I was throwing my guts up.  Jo stayed with me and put me on Mom and Dad's bed.  I couldn't get up.  I couldn't function. I don't know how many times I threw up in the trash can beside the bed.  I do remember that Jo leaned in at one time and she had been eating Frito chips and the smell was so repulsive that I once again lost it.  What had once been food on my stomach all came up and then I began to throw up bile.  Now that was disgusting.

Late in the afternoon my mother got home.  I have dream-like memories of the rest of that day.  She came rushing into her room where I was half unconsciously lying and began giving orders.  She told Mickey to get me a housecoat and shoes.  She was excitedly mad and worried at the same time.  She didn't hide it.  I was helped to the car and taken immediately to the ER.  When I got out of the car, with Mickey's help, I was goose stepping and out of control.  A nurse saw me coming and ran out with a wheelchair.  She didn't hide her anxiety either.  She knew something was wrong.  She started asking questions and was shocked when told that I'd had a shot of Demerol that morning.  I knew she disapproved.

I don't have a good memory of much that happened next, except that my mother was in charge.  She probably saved my life and the life of my baby that night.  The Radiologist, Dr. Charles McClain (a dear friend of ours), was called in.  He looked directly at my doctor and asked, "Do you know where this baby's head is?" to which he nodded.  The ultrasound and x-rays revealed that I had blockage from gall stones.  My liver, pancreas and gall bladder were all blocked.  I was admitted to the hospital while waiting on decisions about delivery and what to do about this monstrous gall bladder attack were made by my doctor.

My mother was so mad at my doctor.  She had known him as a youngster at church and was never really comfortable with him as my physician.  He had said the wrong thing to her.  Before the x-rays, he had told her it was all in my head...that I was just afraid and the pain was in my head.  She told him, in not so nice of a tone, I'm sure, that HER children did not have problems in the head.  He was put on notice (at least in her mind).

My mother-in-law worked nights at a hotel as a clerk.  She came to the hospital to stay with me and let everyone else go home.  My face was so hot.  I needed to pee.  This was the way our night went.  I would ask her to turn over my pillow, she would get up and do it.  She would settle back down.  I would tell her I needed the bed pan.  She would get up and get it for me and help me on it.  I could't pee.  She would settle back down.  Then we would repeat the process over and over - all night long.  What an angel she was and I never forgot it.  I always called her on April 14 and asked her if she remembered what she was doing (however many) years ago tonight.  She never forgot either.

Mickey had Senior Tests the next day, April 15.  I told him to go on.  We laugh about it today and wonder how he did.  I'm not sure we ever got results, but he graduated.  His father was and IRS auditor - how appropriate that his first (and only that he ever knew) grandchild would be born on Income Tax Day.  But I am getting ahead.

The decision was made late in the afternoon to bring the baby on.  I was given a drip to begin labor and we waited.  But not for long.  They hooked me up to a monitor and as I was lying there, I began to notice the activity on it.  I asked the nurse, "Was that a contraction?"  She said, "Yes.  Honey, can't you feel that?"  I could't because the gall bladder blockage pain was too intense.  I felt the urge to push and said so.  On the gurney, the quickly wheeled me into the delivery room.  Mickey was with me. I remember the doctor saying to me, "I just need you to know that in the case I have to make a decision, I always save the mother's life."  I nodded my head - really not thinking there was a chance of that - being naive and stupid about the real danger we were both in.

The time had come to deliver.  I wasn't given any extra pain reliever, but probably the shot from the day before hadn't worn completely off.  I had about two contractions that I actually felt and it was time to push.  A little girl came out, blue and was whisked away quickly.  Her apgar was and 8 because she didn't breath immediately, but when she did, she pinked up quickly.  She had a full head of dark hair and very dark eyes and she was perfect.  Her head was round and her skin was already darker than mine.  She was like a doll.

After explaining to me that I could not nurse her because I would be on too many powerful drugs over the next weeks, I told them to give her a bottle.  They pretty much knocked me out and I didn't know a lot for the next day or two.  I did get to hold her and feed her, but Mickey had to be with me at all times.  I was kept in the hospital for the next week as they administered very strong IV antibiotics.  The gall stone had pushed through upon my delivering my baby and I had to heal now.

In those days there was no rooming in with the baby.  They kept them in the nursery.  Kelly was in the nursery with 12 other babies - all boys except her.  The grandparents weren't allowed to hold her or touch her.  No one but Mickey and I were allowed to do that.  One day I walked down the hall to see her and she was missing from her crate.  I asked where she was and they took me to an isolation room.  The nurse on duty was very secretive but because I asked why she had to tell me.  She had a very small spot of staff infection and had to be kept away from the other babies.  Staff infection is common in hospitals and she had contracted it.  They treated her for it and it quickly cleared up.

At the end of the week, Mom came to see me one day.  There was an older black nurse tending me that day.  She caught on that Mom had never gotten to hold her only grand daughter and was aghast.  She went and got scrubs and put them on Mom and brought Kelly to her.  It was a happy day for all three of us.  Finally after a week, the doctor released us and we got to go home where I continued to recover and learned how to care for a baby - from the best, my mom.

Birthing Story #2 - Lacey Rebecca Jones

(*graphic warning)  31 years ago right now, I was lying on my bed watching the clock.  I couldn't sleep...the contractions were sporadic but definitely occurring quite frequently.  Mickey and I had been playing PacMan earlier that evening when I was stunned by a shooting pain across my abdomen.  I was three weeks away from my baby's due date, so it came very unexpectedly.  I threw myself on the bed and began to roll around like a wounded animal.  Mickey was wide-eyed and didn't quite know what to think.  I told him to call my doctor in Newport and tell him that I was not coming there and that I was going to the hospital in Batesville which happened to be right across the street from where we lived.  I didn't think I could make it there.  I had not had a good birthing experience the first time having had a gall bladder attack the day before, and I fully expected everything to go like clock work this time - not what I was then experiencing.  He called my doctor - the one I had chosen because of his good reputation as an excellent and caring physician.  He had seen me through some tough months of my pregnancy including a cancer scare and shingles.  He calmly assured Mickey that the baby's head was just moving into place and told him to bring me to Newport if my contractions became consistent and closer together.  Mickey passed on that assurance but called my sister to come and get Kelly to spend the night - "just in case".  So, there I was - clock watching.  The next morning, I was still feeling strange but Mickey, who worked in Newport, went on to work.  I got ready to go to Newport later that morning for my regularly scheduled appointment with the doctor.  Soon it became clear that I should probably call someone to take me on over to the hospital as my contractions leveled and became more consistent.  I called my mother and told her that I needed a ride.  This is what I said to her..."I think I'm really in labor and I need to go to Newport to the hospital, but I am not riding with you.  Would you call Dad?"  Mickey's mother was at the beauty shop and in those days, without cell phones, you couldn't get a woman out from under the hairdryer for anything!  Dad and Mom came to get me.  As I got into the car, a contraction began.  I started my breathing for some relief and looked at my watch.  As the next one began, my dad looked in the rear view mirror and asked me how far apart they were.  "Oh, five minutes...", I said.  He looked shocked and I felt the car speed up a little.  We arrived at the hospital and everyone there was calm.  They took me into an examination room and confirmed that I was indeed, in labor.  Mickey met us at the hospital and we began the wait.  It was about 11:00 or so in the morning by that time.  I was definitely feeling my labor pains by then.  We would talk some and I was falling asleep in between.  I was so tired from the night before.  After 2:00 pm I felt a gush and thought my water had broken - a very normal procedure in the course of child birth.  I don't mean to be relating too much information here, but to my surprise when the nurse came to check, what she found was not water at all, it was blood - and a lot of it.  She threw a sheet over me and in an elevated, panicky-type voice started moving my gurney.  She looked at Mickey and said, "The scrubs are in there.  I don't have time to mess with you now."  We were moving but I didn't know why.  I just thought it was time.  She wheeled me into the delivery room and a flurry of activity began.  My doctor came running in and told me to push.  I did.  He then leaned over me and said, "Little Pet, you have to push this baby out this time.  It is in trouble."  I knew what must be done.  I pushed with all my might and with every fiber of my being, letting out the most hair raising scream that could be heard all over the hospital, I'm sure, and not caring at that moment what it must have looked like or sounded like.  My poor Dad and Mom were just out in the hall and later told me how horrible it was for them.  But I did it.  She was born and I heard the doctor ask if she had footprints and finger prints.  They laid her on my tummy and I got my first look at this tiny 6 lb and 7 oz, three week early baby girl.  She was covered with that waxy white film and with blood.  She was gurgling and making a coughing sound.  She was grey.  She was ugly and I said so.  "She is so ugly, ' were my first words about this precious life who had been born under trauma and survived.  We found out later that the placenta had actually torn the night before when I had felt that huge pain.  She had been drowning for 12 hours.  Oh, how good my God is.  He wanted her to be on this earth.  She shouldn't have made it.  I shouldn't have made it.  I never felt fear because I was protected by my ignorance of the situation.  As I settled in my bed, sitting on the most amazing tea bag treatment, I called the nurse and said, "Would you bring me my baby?".  She was a little reluctant, but didn't tell me why.  She brought Lacey to me and and as she was handing her over she said, "Umm, we have been having to suction her nose and throat very often to remove the blood that she swallowed.  She had blood in her first bowel movement, you know."  Well, no I didn't.  And please, don't leave her here with me.  I might kill her.  My thoughts were running rampant.  That was when I realized that there had been real danger in her delivery.  It wasn't long until the doctor came to see me and gave me the news that my heart had gone a little wonky during delivery.  He would be setting up tests and watching me closely over the next few weeks.  There was a slight snow that was falling on February 5th, the day we were released from the hospital.  There was no car seat and nothing to protect any of us.  Just a steady hand on the wheel of the car, navigating a familiar road, as a proud Dad took his pride and joy home to begin life as a family of four.  Our family was complete.

Baby, Its Cold Outside

It is cold outside tonight.  I don't really like cold weather.  It makes me want to stay inside in my pajamas and sit around watching TV or be in the kitchen cooking a big pot of vegetable soup.  I don't want to go anywhere.  I don't love the piles of clothes, hats, gloves and coats that make it tolerable.  I dread the icy whip of the wind as I step outside.  I hate getting into a frost covered car and waiting for the heat to kick in.  No...I don't like cold weather.

As I considered this, my thoughts turned to another time and another place.  When my youngest daughter decided to "trek" in northern India a few years back and to live in the Himalaya Mountains for a couple of years, I didn't know what to expect.  I spent a lot of hours on the internet learning as much as I could about the place she would be living.  I learned about the dangers of mountainous trekking - lions and tigers and bears...oh,my! Well, tigers, anyway.  I learned about the random trail shelters that are common on the paths for trekkers to stop in and spend a night.  I learned about the need for wool socks, good trekking shoes and an all efficient back pack.  I thought I had a good idea of what it would take to survive and tried to help prepare her with the best we could afford as she left our US shores and traveled half-way around the world.

Some years later, I now know that I didn't know anything and had no idea about life "over there".  Although I know now that I know so little, I am beginning to get a better picture of what it looks like to live in a third world country, in the winter, in the mountains.

I'd like to compare life "there" with life "here" based on the beginning statements of this writing.  In the Himalaya Mountains in the winter, it is cold...very cold outside - AND inside.  My home would have no insulation...and no heat.  Yes, there is electricity - when it is working (hydro-electric power from the Himalayas freezes in the winter months thus not much "hydro" to be had).  It would be cost prohibitive to heat the house with electricity.  People don't heat with wood.  Wood is precious.  At the highest altitudes there are no trees.  To burn it for heat would be wasteful.  Gas is available to use in small amounts for cook stoves and heating geezers, but it would be very expensive to heat a home with it.  I understand that in some places they burn dried yak dung, but that would not be the norm for the type of structures that are the homes in small towns in the Himalayas.  So yes, it is very cold outside tonight - and every night.  I'm sure I would make use of a hot water bottle and thick wool rug-like cover for the mat intended for sleeping.

If I were living in the Himalayas, I would probably NOT want to sit around in my comfy pajamas all day...I would be wearing layers, instead.  A bottom layer of long johns and a couple of layers of warm shirts and my coat.  Since it is too cold to take a shower more often than every week or so (or longer), and I would not want wet hair for sure, I would wear a stocking cap...inside and outside, around the house and in the bed.  As for watching TV, I could do that when the electricity is working...but it would not be all English and it would be mostly old shows, if I could get any.  I could watch a DVD on my computer - but the locals really don't have much of an opportunity to do that.  Most of them, if they have a computer, would have to visit an internet cafe and pay a pricey amount to use the internet.

As for cooking a big pot of vegetable soup, I suppose that would be possible.  I would have to visit the market and get the vegetables I needed - of which most are small and poorly grown.  After going through a cleaning process, I would have to cook my own tomatoes and would need to learn to cook with a pressure cooker for best results.  If I chose to have meat in the soup, that would require visiting the market to purchase it from a slab that is hanging in open air and probably has not been butchered in the cleanest of situations.  But vegetable soup is very tasty.

Going nowhere would not be a big problem.  There is nowhere much to go...no malls, no amusement parks, no indoor activities...just home.  I have already addressed the piles of clothes that are necessary for survival and not an option.  Now about transportation...the most common form is at the end of my  legs.  If I must get out, walking is the only option.  That is true for most - both tourists and locals.  The Himalaya towns and villages are not easy to traverse.  The roads are made of dirt with potholes and the streets are too narrow for traffic.  There will be an occasional car or delivery truck that will make its way through the winding hilly township, but for the most part walking is the way to get around.  So - no worries about waiting for the frost covered car to warm up.

As I was considering all of this, I became more and more grateful for these cold winter days.  And more and more grateful for insulation, electricity, heat, hot water, clean prepared food, coats and hats and cars.  It is cold - tonight, but I live in a place where it will probably be warm by the weekend - even in January.  This comparison brings to light how spoiled and blessed I really am.  Bring on the cold night! I really think I can "tough it out" now.

*By the way, as it turned out, my daughter did very little actual trekking while living in the Himalayas, but she did experience the harshness of those long cold winter days in a small village town.  She lived a difficult life during that year and a half, and I am proud of her courage just as much as if she had faced a tiger and won!

A Big Blue Bus and Suckers

I was 14 or 15 years old when I began riding on the big baby blue re-purposed school bus as a part of the Children's Bus Ministry of First Baptist Church in Paragould, Arkansas.  I don't remember a lot of the details of how I began working the ministry, but it significantly impacted my life in several ways.

I worked the ministry initially with the family of Benny McDaniel.  He had a small team of drivers who were way past their prime, his wife and small children, and a couple of teenage girls as his team.  We would meet on Saturday mornings in the church parking lot and wait on the bus for everyone to arrive.

On the front seat of the bus was a box of penny suckers.  They glimmered in the sunlight like glass on a stick.  We would stuff our pockets and hands full of them as we descended the stairs to the ground after parking at the end of a chosen block, hoping to find takers with whom we could share our bounty.  Benny paired us up - a teenage girl with an old man and perhaps a small child tagging along - to go door to door.

Our goal was to find children - many of them unsupervised and neglected - who would like to ride our big blue bus and attend church with us the following Sunday morning.  Benny believed that we should be blanketing the small town in which we lived, providing a means of church attendance for every child and a hope for their salvation by doing so.

Benny would scout out the streets and neighborhoods that seemed to have a lot of children and families that we could reach.  We prayed for the children and their parents and homes.  We knew that many of the children would never be understood or accepted within the traditional church setting but Benny fought for them.  The church was uncomfortable with these dirty little street urchins and it wasn't long until a "Children's Church" format was created so that they could attend without disturbing others.  It was a good plan for the time and so the bus ministry went on.

The children in the poorest parts of our town got to know our big blue bus quickly.  They would run to us, run along side us, and wait for us.  One small boy would climb on board with us at the end of his street, stuff his pockets with suckers and get off at the end of the street.  We were ok with it.  Benny would go to the homes on the block and talk with the parents when he could.  Many of them were incapable of holding a conversation - either were still in bed or were too wasted to make much sense. It was a time when there wasn't so much of a threat of child abduction and we weren't perceived as a threat - really we were welcomed because we would be taking the children away for a few hours on Sundays.  Free child care was all the parents cared about and so they willingly sent their children with us.

The sights and smells of the broken down neighborhoods and homes are still in my mind and nostrils.  There was a family that was on our radar for some time.  There were ten children and the oldest was a girl my age.  In fact, we went to school together.  We were 15 years old.  They lived in a condemned house in the edge of town.  Benny wanted me to go to the house with him.  I saw the worst human conditions that I believe exist in the US that day.  The house was a very small ply-board house with no electricity or utilities.  Remember, it was a condemned house - they didn't pay rent, nor have permission to live there, and there were not even proper windows and doors.  As we entered the front doorway, the most rancid smell of urine hit my nose that I had ever smelled.  I wanted to puke.  Benny had warned me about the bad conditions and I knew that I could not react in a loving way if I didn't just physically block my nose by holding my breath.  We were in what should have been the living room but there was no furniture.  In the corner was a huge pile of clothes.  It was obvious that the children slept on them, probably peed on them, and then would get up and find something from the pile to wear.  I think I lost my innocence that day.  We picked the children up for church the next morning - all of them.  The baby was filthy and wearing a soppy wet cloth diaper - and that was all.  Joy (name change for her protection) was carrying her on her hip.  I knew the nursery would not be ready for this, but Benny was ready to meet the challenge and didn't bat an eye.  We picked them up several times and even traced them down to pick them up when the city evicted them.  Joy's belly began to bulge and it became very obvious that she was with child.  She was not only with child, it was her father's child.  Oh, the depth of shock my little heart felt when I was told this truth.  I had never even entertained that such things happened.  And here she was, my age and pregnant by her own father.  Yes, I definitely lost my innocence on that big baby blue bus.  I also found a compassionate heart.

There were many experiences that I had and still carry today that help me understand the depravity of man and the love of our Father in Heaven.  I watched anxiously from the safety of the bus and in the care of my old man friend bus drivers one Saturday morning as Benny rushed to break up a violent fight in-between two women.  The police were called and we were urged to continue on.  I told about Will, our little street rider, who rarely actually came to church with us but sure did love our suckers.  He lived at the end of a dirt path in a one room shack with some old man.  I always thought he was his dad, but probably not.  He always wore overalls that were dirty and too small for him.  He always traded hugs for suckers.  There were some children who attended who made professions of faith.  One of the little girls was raped.  I don't know what happened to her.

We met at the church on Sunday mornings bright and early and went to the streets that we had converged the day before, driving slowly, hoping to see children waiting to get on the bus.  Some did. We would greet them and sit with them.  We would sing and talk to them.  It wasn't hard or uncomfortable.  We would help them find their Sunday School class and then meet them on the bus to take them home.  Of course, when they got off at home, they were given a hand full of suckers.  They would smile and wave and we would shout good-byes and remind them we would be back next week.

We enjoyed our time together, Benny's family, the old men bus drivers and the teenage girls who went along.  We would sing and talk and pray.  The teenage girls were ok that the old men would sometimes back into a pole, or swerve into a small ditch or start off when we weren't quite seated and ready, hitting every possible bump in the road.  They were committed and consistent and loved the opportunity to bring children, who otherwise would never get the chance, into the church to learn of the love of Jesus.

I was involved with the bus ministry for two or three years during my teen years.  I don't know the long term effect that the bus ministry and our suckers had on these children of extreme poverty, but I know what it had on my heart.  I will always treasure the opportunity to serve the Father and have never regretted my time spent on the big baby blue bus with others who loved it the same.

Christmas 2013

New Year’s Day 2012 began for me (Betty Gail), with a bang – Bangalore, India, that is.  Chase and Lacey Moore and I were awaiting the coming of our sweet granddaughter, Ari Eden, playing games and visiting with our friend, Mason Wadley (I KNOW – strange but true) and one of his friends, when we heard the first bang ringing in the new year.  I went outside to check it out.  I saw one of the funniest sites I’ve ever seen - a stampede of street dogs was coming straight at me with terrified looks on their faces!  They were coming from the direction of the loud popping which sounded like bombs going off.  I looked into the sky and was amazed by the huge fireworks display over our part of the city.

In the wee hours of January 6^th, I heard voices and sensed movement in the house.  It was 2 am and Chase and Lacey were up and I suspected that our little girl was about to make her entrance.  Ajay was sleeping peacefully in my room in his pack-n-play.  Lacey was definitely in labor but also a little bit in denial.  She was sitting on a beanbag chair, contracting every few minutes but didn’t want to go to the hospital too early.  Some after 3:00 pm, Chase made ready by calling their ride to the hospital and gave me a cell phone.  Their ride to the hospital would be 45 minutes or so and I lay down on the sofa, knowing that Ajay would get up early and I was the only one on duty for the day.  It seemed that I had just drifted off to sleep when the cell phone rang, just before 6:00 am.  The first thing I heard was a baby crying!  WHAT?  Then Chase’s voice, “She is here.  Mother and baby are doing just fine.”    

  My plan was to leave India and be back in the US for a week or so before our 5^th grandchild was born.  Kelly was due shortly after Lacey, but I should be able to make this baby’s home birth, too.  I would be leaving India on January 15, which is still Jan. 14. US time.  As I packed and made ready for my long trip, Lacey was checking FaceBook.  “Oh, my – I think Kelly is in labor!”  We began a flurry of activity to try and find out.  Sure enough, little Caleb Clifton made his appearance in this world and didn’t wait on his Nanna.  Dundee got to be present for his birth though.

So that is how our year, 2013 got started!!  Our family grew quickly in one week’s time.  Ari and Caleb brought us from three grandchildren to five.  We are so blessed!!

The spring of the year consisted of my getting back on my feet – literally.  I had an injured heel that I needed to stay off of to let it heal.  In May, the Moores came for a visit – and finally, Mickey got to meet his one and only granddaughter. Our time was full and blessed.  Mickey and I celebrated 35 years of wedded bliss together.  Our girls had so much fun putting together a little party and we had some amazing family pictures made.

Mickey and I are still in the Church Planting business, if you want to call it that.  Compass Church has had many changes this year, most of which are exciting and very good.  We purchased property and are moving forward with plans to build our own meeting place.  Hopefully, we will see plans set in motion in 2014.  We are happy to welcome, Jeremy and Kerrie Sullivan and their son, Jack , to Compass to serve as our Pastor of Discipleship and Families.  Mickey stays very busy with his Compass duties and ministry and also with his Arkansas Baptist Convention church planting duties and North American Mission Board connections, as well.  We really enjoyed going to the NAMB Convention in Dallas this year and representing innovative church planters, along with all of the young ‘uns who are out there doing the same. 

I am still teaching ESL to my five year long student, Veronica.  We both enjoy not only a teacher/student relationship but also a friendship.  I went to her daughter’s 6^th birthday party this year.  It was a highlight of my teaching experience.  I am also involved with the mission’s arm of Compass Church and also am enjoying a discipleship ministry using the book, “Multiply”.

Mickey and I went to South Dakota this summer, on a mission trip, with several other Compass couples our age (and our church intern, who is not our age).  It was a great trip requiring a lot of walking and meeting people who are completely unchurched/de-churched.  As a side, we got to visit Mount Rushmore and see the Badlands.  We hope to return some time for another church planting mission with Doug Hixson.

Kelly and Aaron are still in Northwest Arkansas doing Children’s Ministry at Fellowship Bible Church.  Most of their work is with 3^rd and 4^th grade leaders and they also meet with a small group of which they are very excited to be a part.  Benjamin and Asher are both in school (K and 1^st Grade) and are doing very well.  Their all time favorite activity is playing WII, but they also enjoy their outdoor time with the neighborhood kids.  Caleb is pulling up and trying to walk and his all time favorite activity is being with his momma.  Kelly is still finding time to write music and loves life as it is!

Chase and Lacey are in Asia in the shadow of the Himalaya Mountains.  Their team, Team Everest, is opening a coffee shop to serve both the locals and any tourist who might make it into their part of the city.  Circle Street Coffee is the name of the business.  They have raised enough funds to get started but are still in the fund raising mode – needing to furnish and supply the business.  They have learned/are learning Tibetan and beginning to be able to communicate more effectively with their people.  Ajay is a fun loving, inquisitive, and very social little boy who is attending a local preschool for the expat community.  Ari has been getting around on her own for a couple of months but her most preferred way to do so is walking on her knees!  She also loves being with her momma, most of all.

My mom has had a pretty difficult year, plagued with illness and physical issues.  BUT we are praising the Lord for her recovery.  At 88 years old, she is once again able to get around, cook, and do some shopping.  Even in these winter months, she is holding her own.  We are blessed to live with her and have her in our every day lives.

Hoping this Christmas letter is finding you, our friends and family, in the best possible way.  We pray that you are finding comfort and peace in the presence of our Lord Jesus Christ and that you are basking in his goodness every day. 

More evident, is his gift of grace to us, right now than ever before.  We are learning over and over of its blessings.  Our faith in Him through his grace is our only righteousness – we have none of our own but we have His righteousness.  We are so glad that our morality has nothing to do with our salvation because if it were so, we could never achieve it by our behavior or good works.

We pray that you, too, rest in the only peace that is of value – the peace of knowing Christ and trusting in His provision! 

Love you all so much! 

Until NEXT year – Merry Christmas and Happy New Year!

LOVE, Mickey and Betty Gail Jones

Merry Christmas, Everyone!

Excitement for the holiday season has been creeping up within me for weeks.  I could hardly wait to get my tree decorated.  I have enjoyed seeing all of the new decorations in town.  I have "liked" every picture of Christmas trees pictured on FaceBook.  I shopped early and still wanted to go out on Black Friday to shop a little more.

As I "decked" my halls, I took my time.  I savored all of the memories of Christmas past.  I looked at pictures from years before.  My heart was warmed and I felt joy for the season as I strategically placed each ornament and bobble.  I have played Christmas music to go to sleep by many nights.

There is nothing that is different about this year than all of the rest.  My stateside grandchildren are busy in school and their parents are carrying on with life as usual.  My youngest sweet thing is learning how to negotiate slick wood floors and trying to reach anything that looks of interest in his eye of discovery. My overseas kids are busy getting ready to open a coffee shop.  They will have Christmas in their country, sharing moments with their team and other expats who live there.  Mom is doing well, and has also caught a little of the Christmas spirit overflow that I have.  Mickey is watching football.  Although the nephews, nieces and greats will all make their way to our house at sometime this Christmas, for the most part it is just the three of us who reside here that will be together.  Still there is a spark of Christmas cheer that is running through my life this year.

As I pondered this I began to think about the last few Christmas seasons.

In 2010, Ajay was born - in December.  Chase and Lacey were in Church Planting school and were planning their US exit at the time.  They knew they would live somewhere other than the US and so did we.  His birth was miraculous, no less.  He was so precious and we were filled with wonder at our third grandson's arrival.  We felt an urgency to get to know him.  We wanted to be with him even though he lived in Texas, far away.  This happiness was tainted only by the pending move that we knew would take him from our lives eventually.  He came to our house for Christmas that year - only 2 weeks old.  Everyone wanted to see him, to hold him, and to be with his parents.  Everyone else knew what we knew - that it would be one of the last Christmas seasons with them.  I must admit that I was so overwhelmed.  Our house was full all the time with people coming and going.  It didn't feel like Christmas.  It wasn't slow and easy.  It was hard.  I was sad much of the time.

In 2011 we experienced our first Cyber-Christmas.  Chase, Lacey and Ajay were in Asia and having Christmas alone.  Kelly and her family were at our house.  We Skyped Christmas package opening.  It is what it is.  It is so nice to see their faces over Skype and be with them as we can, but it isn't the same as being in another one's presence.  You can't smell them or touch them.  We began to learn about blowing kisses.  I am so grateful for this media blessing but I just want to touch them and smell them!!
Dad was also very sick that year.  He had home health coming in and his health was failing.  We didn't know then, but it would be his last Christmas with us.  Alice and Bob were standing on alert to come when they were needed.  Neither did we know or even suspect that it would also be Bob's last Christmas with us.

December the 5th, 2012, I found myself boarding an airplane headed to India.  Our grand daughter was to be born, hopefully by the end of the month, in India.  My plan was to spend Ajay's second birthday with him, have Christmas with the Moore's in India, Skype reverse with my grandchildren, Kelly and Aaron, Mickey and Mom on Christmas day, and be present for the birth of my first (an as it turned out, only) grand daughter.  I had never spent a Christmas, in 56 years, away from my mother and had never spent Christmas in 37 away from Mickey.  It was our first holiday season without Dad and Bob.  I spent my 56th birthday over the ocean in great anticipation of touching and smelling my overseas children and grandchildren at Christmas that year!  I was also very sad for what I'd left behind.  I decorated half heartedly that year, knowing that I wouldn't be there to enjoy the sights and sounds - and I don't think I really felt all that jolly.  I missed the birth of my youngest grandson back in the US, however, once again, Skype saved the day.  I finally put away my Christmas decorations in March this year!

So there it is.  My reason for cheer this year...the past few years have been shrouded with change, loss, excitement and sadness.  I don't think I have enjoyed the pure joy of the season for a few years now.  I intend to make the best of what this year is offering.  We purchased a new tree and new decorations, I plan to holiday bake and give small token gifts of love, I plan to make a Christmas music playlist, and enjoy every moment of every day.  I don't really care if you say "Happy Holidays" or "Merry Christmas" to me!  I am grateful for the light spirit of holiday happiness and joy that God has placed in my heart for this season!

AND next year...we will ALL be together again!!

Feliz Cumpleaños, Mariana

My young friend, Mariana, had her 6th Birthday Party today.  I was invited.  I purchased a small gift and wrapped it for her.  I was excited about attending my first ever Mexican birthday celebration!  I had heard of the great parties that Hispanic people were known for giving - a lot of food, dancing, games, family and friends.  I was not disappointed!

Veronica had told me that 2:30 on Saturday was the time it would begin.  I should have realized that 2:30 really meant 4:30...and that the party would last all night!  Being the American that I am, I intended to be on time and was a little fretful that I was running late.  When I arrived at their home, I counted four cars parked in the yard and behind the house.  Two of them were Mario and Veronica's.  I should have caught on quickly, but just thought maybe they were planning a small party.

I knocked on the door and Veronica answered, looking very beautiful. She was definitely dressed very stylishly in tights, a sweater and boots.  Her makeup was perfect and she had pulled her black shiny hair up into a pony tail which she could still sit upon.  She smiled and welcomed me and called Mariana to do the same.  Mariana didn't hesitate to take the small package that I was carrying and greeted me, as well.  She was wearing a long satiny white party dress with a red dress coat over it.  Her dark eyes were snapping with excitement.

Veronica quickly began introducing me to the people in the room.  They were very gracious as they shook my hand and greeted me warmly.  So far, Veronica's sister and her children and Mario were there.  Mario was taking pictures of Mariana and her cake and her cousins.  Just as quickly as she had appeared, Mariana disappeared, running off to play with her young girl cousin.  Her older cousin stayed and visited with me for a while.  He spoke English very well.  He was pleasant to chat with and we became friends for the day, quickly.  I felt good because I knew if I couldn't communicate with anyone else, I could always talk to him.

Veronica's sister talked to me some also.  We made small talk about jobs, children, and Veronica.  Finally another guest arrived.  It was Mario's aunt and her young son from out of town.  Her use of English was similar to that of Veronica's.  I could tell she understood much more than she could communicate.  It wasn't long until Veronica came back into the small living room and motioned for me to come with her and I understood her to say, "...the other building".  This was a relatively small comfortable home on a small lot in town and I could not fathom where we might be going.  We went through the kitchen and out the back door and low and behold, there was, indeed, another building.  Mario and a couple of men were sitting outside the building and in between the house and the building there were banquet tables and chairs set up.  They were decorated with purple and white table clothes and purple and pink balloons.  We went into the other building, which I had believed to be a storage building, to find it decorated with streamers and balloons, tables and chairs with purple table clothes, and music playing from a stereo set.  This was no storage building at all.  It was sheet rocked, painted a lovely green with windows, a front and back door, and had electricity.  It was a party building!  It was big enough for seating for about 30 people.

I kept thinking, poor Veronica and Mariana!  They have put all of this work into this party and no one is showing up.  Mario's aunt and I sat down in the room and with my inadequate Spanish-speaking ability and her broken English tried to have some conversation.  I found I was so much more comfortable with the children, because they all knew English.  I wanted to at least try to talk to some of the adults though.  Finally a few more people began to arrive.  I hadn't seen Veronica is quite some time but suddenly she appeared with two bowls of what I would have called soup.  I was told it was beans - beans with bacon and chorizo - and I was grateful to have it.  It was getting colder outside and the conversation was lagging.  It was also very warm and tasty!  I asked if Veronica made it and she said, "No!".  I teased her remembering that she claims she can't cook.

More and more people began to arrive and soon I realized that it was after 4:00 pm.  The time had really gone by quickly.  Veronica came back into the party building and invited me and the aunt to get in line for the tacos.  We went outside and it was as though a make-shift outdoor galley had appeared out of thin air.  "The Taco Lady" was working over an outdoor grill with chopped beef, onions and jalepenos sizzling and tortillas warming and smelling heavenly.  There was a spit with pork and pineapple cooking nearby.  There was a bar with what Southerner's call "fixin's" including cilantro, pico, limes, and different sauces.  As we went through the line, the Taco Lady loaded our plates with four tortillas piled high with the beef and grilled onions.  I asked for a small jalepeno.  I followed the aunt and added pico, cilantro and lime to my plate.

We made our way back to the party building and found our seats still empty, although more and more people were arriving.  Veronica came out with a plate of foil wrapped food explaining to me that she had ordered me two tamales.  Seeing that I would not be able to hold them, she said she would send them home with me.  I felt that it was her goal to take care of me and make sure I had a good time.  She did not dissapoint.  She asked me what the time was on my phone and was surprised when I told her near 4:30.  She told me that the pinatas would be next and then the cake.  I knew that they were important parts of the party that she didn't want me to miss.  And more people were arriving.

There were three piñatas.  The men found a long rope and threw it over a large limb of the tree in the yard.  They hooked up the first piñata - a Dora doll.  By that time there were many people there.  I counted loosely and came up with 60 and more arriving.  The children gathered around.  Mariana had the stick and Mario had the end of the rope.  Before anyone could whack at the piñata there had to be a picture of Mariana and her young cousins.  Mariana got the first try.  The older boys began a sing-song rhyme that they continued as the one with the stick would swing at the piñata hoping to burst it open for the candy surprises inside.  Veronica's sister was the adult in charge.  She would laugh and sing and pick someone new to try and keep everyone in line as they should be.  She was having as much fun as the children.  Finally, one of the older boys knocked poor Dora's leg off and the candy went flying - and the children scrambled.  It was time for the second one.  This one was filled with plastic balls and everyone waited anxiously to catch one as they trickled out one by one.  The last piñata was a princess crown and everyone was getting ready for the cake which was to be cut next.  Still people were arriving with gifts in hand and by now it was getting dark.  This one broke off of the rope and fell to the ground.  Mario ripped it apart and tossed the candy randomly at the children.

It was time to cut the cake.  Everyone who could fit squeezed into the party building.  Mario made his way to the stereo and put on music that must have been special for the birthday girl.  She stood shyly by her cake as people made her picture and tucked her head with an embarrassed smile.  She tried hard to smile for the pictures and was so proud when the candle with a 6 on it was produced for her to blow out.  She bent forward to take the first bite out of the cake and her cousin quickly shoved her face into it.  I feel like that is a traditional birthday trick that everyone expects.  Everyone laughed and clapped and they made pictures of her.  Mariana was given the knife and made the first cut in the cake. Veronica carefully cut out the piece where her face had been and put it away.  A large pot of something that looked like a fruit salad was being served on the side as Veronica and her sister passed out cake to their guests.  I didn't have to wait long because Veronica sought me out with one of the first pieces.  It was a delicious Mexican milk cake.  It wasn't quite as sweet as others I have had, but it was delicious.  The "fruit salad" side turned out to be jello cut into small squares in a milky sauce.  It was also very good.

I waited until Veronica was finished serving her guests, for the most part - there were a lot of people there, and told her that at 5:30 it was time for me to leave.  I could tell this party was just getting started!  She graciously excused me and I left the party building.  She remembered that she had tamales inside for me and her sister went to get them for me.  As I went outside, I could see people sitting around a cosy fire and others still at the tables wrapped in coats to keep warm.  This party was just getting started, indeed. With my bag of Mexican party treats and special tamales in hand, as I got into my car I noticed more people arriving

What a wonderful experience! I love that we are blessed with different cultures and that they have come to the United States.  I can't wait until Mariana's 7th birthday and this time I will know to arrive a little late and plan to stay later!