Impressions of the Denomination I Grew Up In

A Sunday School attendance pin, like one I received for perfect attendance.

Say "Presbyterian" these days, and people likely think of a relatively bland group of pleasant people.  Some may think of that as the only Protestant denomination they know the actual name of.
I grew up in two Presbyterian congregations.  Both suburban, both middle class.  In both places, there were old Scots who were concerned about the budget, and the mission field, and whether or not we were educating the young people in the right way.  In both there were Scandinavian families, who were similarly concerned.  In both there were also families like ours that were going along as best we could.

Predestination, or the idea that it is determined even before our birth that we will be saved or not, used to be a big doctrine associated with Presbyterians.  Not so much anymore.  They will grant that God may have known ahead of time, but the choice is freely our own.  The modern denomination is more diverse, and rather less Calvinist than it used to be, at least from what I've seen.

A favorite description of Presbyterians is "God's Frozen Chosen.'  Yes, pretty much they just sit there during the service.  Maybe they'll stand to sing a hymn, and maybe they'll take part in a responsive reading, but really, they mostly just sit there.  Very still.  OR ELSE.  (That last is from my Mom.)
I learned a great deal about the Bible from growing up in Presbyterian Sunday School.  I memorized very large chunks of it, in fact.  We also learned history, and about the culture of the world at the time.  (It was deemed important that we have a good context in which to place the knowledge we received.)
 I know a great many good people  who are quietly going about doing God's work here on earth as Presbyterians.  I left because in so many congregations, the liturgy is being lost.  Services are far too "modern" for my taste, and the sense of continuum had gone.  Also, my husband was not raised Protestant.  He is Episcopalian, which isn't ROMAN Catholic, but is still not Protestant.  I became an Episcopalian officially after we moved here to Oklahoma, and found St. Paul's Cathedral.  THIS is a diverse congregation that all love each other and work well together in spite of how different we are.  The Episcopal church is like that.  Very inclusive, very tolerant, and NOT opposed to people having a good time. (Some call us Whiskeypalians, but that is a bit of an exaggeration.  It's usually boxed wine at church parties...)

You see, most Presbyterian churches, much more so when I was growing up, are rather against the idea of people having fun.  The denomination is at its roots Calvinist, and well, Calvinist belief seems to say that if you're enjoying life, you're doing it wrong.  "You have to bear the cross to wear the crown" is a favorite saying in the old line Presbyterian churches.  In fact, you will see the cross and crown emblem carved into the cornerstones of old churches.  They have changed the denominational symbol in recent years, but all through my youth, it was the Cross and Crown.  (Though many other denominations also use that symbol, also.)
Now, don't go believing all Presbyterians are dour old Calvinists.  As I said, the church in this modern era has loosened up quite a bit.  The last Presbyterian minister I had was an Air Force chaplain, who also became a friend.  He is very witty, and not the least bit stodgy, and not opposed to enjoying life.  (His major flaw is a great affinity for puns.  Awful ones.)

These are just my impressions, having grown up in two Presbyterian churches, and having visited MANY in the course of trying to find a place to worship with my husband.  We were married in the Episcopal church because they would let us have champagne at the reception.  Also, because we both love the liturgy and sense of history and connectedness to all that came before that is such a part of Episcopal worship. We have been members in good standing at St. Paul's since 1995.  I was confirmed in 1998, I think.  It was around then, because we were back in the cathedral itself after the rebuilding from the Murrah Bombing.

I will always be grateful for the great foundation in my faith that I learned in the Presbyterian Church.  That beginning allowed me to look honestly at the places available to worship, and make my decision based on what would provide the best environment in which to practice what I believe.
Your mileage may vary.

Futzing Around On A Friday Night

So, it's been awhile since I felt really moved to write something for this blog.  Ideas will present themselves, but at VERY bad times.  Like when I'm in the middle of work, with two customers waiting for me to go get their books on hold, and check them out for them.

So, while I'm goofing around this Friday night, let me tell you how this week has been.
Kinda crummy, actually.  Found out ALL of my friends got an item we had all ordered already, when mine didn't even have a ship date set.  (Turns out I hadn't ordered what I thought I had when I thought I had.  Have now fixed that, said item will be here next week.)  I felt irrationally left out and childish.  Then I realized it was all my fault.  I hadn't ordered mine from the same place after all!
Work was another source of weirdness, and on Tuesday, crumminess.   The building is technically closed because we are having some minor remodeling done.  We had a small version of our library services available in one of the meeting rooms.  By today, it was working pretty well.  Tuesday it was full of bugs.  TOO MANY PEOPLE showed up too close to closing, with inadequate staff to handle all their requests in a timely and efficient manner.  This was successfully communicated to our supervisor, who made some modifications, and by today, things were going pretty smoothly.  The folks who happened by were very grateful to us for having the services we had available.  Many hadn't paid attention to the publicity about the closing, and didn't realize we wouldn't REALLY be open.  To be able to check their email, pick up their holds, or make a copy of something or fax something was of immense value to them.  We were profusely thanked, even when it appeared that we didn't know if we were coming or going. (Truthfully, on Tuesday we didn't!)

All external factors aside, I've had the worst bout of allergies EVER. I almost lost my voice, I've been living on Muscinex and Chlor-tabs.  It is finally starting to get better, but it has been driving me NUTS!

On to other things:
Fall is finally in the air,though the equinox is ten days away.  I know that because our wedding anniversary is on the day of the autumnal equinox.  September 22.  My husband chose the date, don't look at me.  So, in 10 days we will have been married 30 years.  Does NOT seem possible.  We can't possibly be old enough to have been married that long. We still have a similar sense of humor, and that causes us to start chuckling about something long before others catch on, usually.  (We have many "in" jokes, just between us.)

I have no illusions about the cool weather lasting very long.  This IS Oklahoma, after all, but it was nice to be able to wear a sweater today.
This will have to be completed in the morning.  It has become rather late.

+++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++

So much for good intentions. Saturday was a day of good food, good friends, and football. 
So many things in this life we mean to do and never get around to.  In this case, I think I chose wisely.  Is it not better to choose to spend time with people you love than to spend time staring at a screen?  (Especially one with an annoyingly blank  page on it. )

Today was first filled with church, as Sunday usually is.  Bishop was there, preached a VERY good sermon.  Anthem went well, as did the descants on the hymns.
Next, we came home and I did laundry.  Yes, every weekend I must do laundry.  We do need clothes to wear all week, ya know. 
Next weekend I will no doubt be whiny and self-pitying.  I have to work both Saturday and Sunday.  Very rare that this should happen, but alas, it has.  Here's hoping my customer service skills hold up.  My job is very important, though it is but a small one.  I have had the rare privilege of being able to make someone's day better, and I take that very seriously.  Always want to live up to my faith and my ideals by being kind to all people, and being as much help as I can.  I fail at this more often than I would like to think about, but sometimes it is just because I don't know what to say or do.  Sometimes, my brain just shuts off.  I blame my age, but it's always happened to me.  My mind will wander off without me at the oddest times.  That's one reason I can't memorize piano pieces.  My mind wanders, and I have no idea what to play.  (For some reason, sung pieces are easier. )

Back to the Bishop's sermon.  Very interesting, and very challenging.  He spoke of a recent visit to the Holy Land.  He went to Jordan first.  Seems in Jordan, all faiths live in harmony with each other.  They all honor each other's faith, and celebrate many holidays together.  He said wherever he went in Jordan, he was greeted by friendly and helpful people, people of all faiths.  How different from our society, where anyone different is immediately suspect for some reason.  Our challenge is to obey those two commandments we hear every Sunday.  Really hear them, and really obey them. Love the Lord your God with all your heart, with all your soul, and with all your  mind, and your neighbor as yourself.  Every Sunday in our church's liturgy we hear these two commandments .  "On these two commandments hang all the Law and the Prophets" ends the quote.  Perhaps we hear them so often because though they sound so simple, they are so very hard to keep.  We need the reminder.  Constantly and consistently.  I don't know about you, but many things get in the way of my "God time."  Constantly yammering at me from cell phone and computers and tablets, distractions abound.  If I can't make time for my love of God, how do I expect to be able to love myself OR my neighbor?  It's all connected, you see.   Anyway, this is what the Bishop's sermon has had my brain chewing on off and on all day.
The over-arching message of God to His people, in my experience anyway, is LOVE.  Love is what is most important, love is what lasts.  We are made to love and be loved.  We need each other, and we often forget this.  We isolate ourselves more and more in this world.  There abide in this world loving and openhearted people,and I have been very fortunate to meet many of them.  Both in "real" life, and online.  You can show others your love without being pushy, or mushy, or creepy.  It happens every day.  In small gestures, in shared smiles, in asking how it's going, opening a door for someone.  All small things, but think about how those small things make you feel, whether you're doing them for someone else, or someone does one of those small kindnesses for you.  It makes you feel good.  It lifts your heart.  Makes the day seem a little brighter, the prospect less bleak.  That's love.
Those little online hellos from far-flung friends, the gentle banter we share, the shared interests, all of those are little messages of love floating out into the world to multiply and make it better.
So, I guess that's one way of saying that even my distractions can be used for good.  Hmmm. 

With A Voice Of Singing...

"With a voice of singing declare ye, and tell this; utter it even to the end of the earth. Hallelujah!" - from the anthem "With a Voice Of Singing" by Kenneth Jennings

The Reading of the Gospel, sometimes sung, in the midst of the people.

The lyric above is from a choral anthem that we have sung at St. Paul's Episcopal Cathedral on a few occasions.  It is a lovely anthem, has some beautiful harmonies in it.  Matt and I have been in the Cathedral Choir since July of 1995.  We tried out for the choir at the urging of another member. We had been attending regularly since the bombing of the Murrah Building in April.  We had attended sporadically before that since we had arrived in Oklahoma in June of 1993.  When the bombing happened, so close to the church, we decided that we had better get ourselves back in the habit of regular church attendance, and we should make ourselves useful members of the congregation.
So, for almost 20 years, we have been with these gifted musicians, week in and week out, over every major holiday, singing and being blessed in doing so.

When you sing with someone for many years, your voices blend, merge, fill in the gaps for one another almost seamlessly.  Lou and I have been singing next to each other for 18 years now, and we sound like one voice when we sing together.  Leah hasn't been with us as long, but already she is blending with us so well that we still sound like one voice.  Many times now, I will sing 1st with Leah, and Lou will sing the 2nd Soprano line with Mary.  Such long association even helps with harmonies.  It's like we can feel our way around each other and the music somehow.

Our rehearsal this evening was a wonderful reaffirmation for me of how much I have learned, and how well we all work together.  Most of the pieces were familiar, and we picked them right up.  The one that we more or less sight read was not as difficult as we thought it might be.  All still need practice and polish, but we knew what we were supposed to sing, and could find the notes. And I did this with a scratchy throat from allergies.  I have decided it isn't a cold, because antihistamine makes it almost completely go away.  Colds are unfazed by the antihistamine usually. Also, the grass and ragweed pollens are off the scale this week.  I wasn't always so sensitive to them but since they tested me, and I came up slightly sensitive, I'm feeling like maybe I'm now MORE sensitive to those pollens.
At any rate, I am very grateful to still be able to sing.  Singing makes me feel so good, lets my spirit soar, and when I lose my voice, it is extremely frustrating.  Not just for the progress I lose in my voice training, but for the fact that I cannot let myself soar with the music when my voice is gone.  I miss the communion of sound when we sing with the choir, I can't bear to be in church if I can't sing.  Singing is such a big part of our worship in the Episcopal Church.

Our church has an entire page of the website devoted to our music.  Here are a couple of things from that page:

O Come Thou Sweet Redeeming Fire  sung by our Cathedral Choir.  (Lou and I were singing First Soprano.)

A photo of Lou and I in the loft singing :

Several Long Days in the Hot Pollen Filled Haze...

Had Jimmy Buffett on the brain today.  Well do I remember the "brown L.A. haze",  as I grew up breathing it.  It never wiped me out the way the air here does in the Summer.  Heavy, dusty, and pollen filled, the air here fills my head with cotton.  It makes it hard to sleep, hard to read, hard to exercise, hard to BE.  Only a few days every year are really this bad, but when they come, they hit hard.

Yesterday was perhaps a bit better because I was forced to be active because I had to work, and then friends came to visit. Today, we would have gone to church, but neither of us slept well last night.  I just could NOT settle down, couldn't get comfortable, and I guess I kept Matt awake.
Because of this lack of sleep, I feel even more muzzy-headed today.  Sleep deprivation on top of several doses of antihistamine is a real incentive killer.  Makes one feel like the proverbial bump on a log:  not capable of or inclined to movement.

Now that the surly, sultry sun has gone down, the air is cooler, and I feel more awake.  Ironic, isn't it? In an hour or two, I'll have to try to sleep, just when I've started to feel awake and ready to do things.  Sigh.  Story of my life.  Always feel the wrong way at the wrong time.  Lethargic and sleepy when I should be alert and paying attention; alert and attentive when I should be sleeping. I'm just contrary, I guess.  Especially in the late summer, when it's been too hot, and when Texas has been so generously sharing it's cedar pollen, and when our ragweed has come into full, profuse, and irritating bloom.

My high school pals, Senior year.

I don't often miss L.A., but when I do are the days like today, when it would have been great to be able to pack up and go to the beach, even if EVERYBODY else in the Universe seemed to be there, at least there would be the ocean to listen to.  I miss hearing the ocean.  I miss the pulse of it, the rhythm of the waves, the constancy of it.  Even though we lived a good way inland, we could always drive to the beach pretty easily, even when we lived in the San Gabriel Valley.  I liked going best in the cold weather, though, when there weren't anywhere near as many people.  The Northern California and Oregon beaches are more beautiful than the beaches down south where I grew up, except for the beaches on the windward side of Catalina, where the cliffs rise above the sea.  I have found beautiful driftwood and sea glass on the Oregon coast, and have seen such beautiful views from there, and from Catalina's far side.  Only got to those places once, but they made a lifetime's worth of an impression on me.  Cool breezes, beautiful blue and turquoise waters, lighter sand than I remember Huntington Beach having, and no refineries or huge crowds present.
There are no photos from our high school and college age trips to the beach.  No cell phones and their cameras then.  We never thought to bring a camera to make pictures, that was something our folks did.  Most of us were far too extensively photographed as children, we disliked cameras intensely most of the time.  I wish now we had been able to make some photos of our lazy beach days at Huntington State Beach, (where the parking was free), when we had all pooled our money for gas and for lunch at a fast food place on the way down and/or the way back.  The long drive out of the valley, using the surface roads, because they were SO much more fun than the freeway.  Out over Hacienda Blvd and all it's winding ways, eventually to Beach Blvd, a straight shot to PCH, and then, THE BEACH!  Took us an hour or more, but it was hilarious!  There were always other kids on their way to the beach, and we had a bit of a carnival atmosphere as we drove down.  My senior year in high school, I actually had the nerve to wear a 2 piece bathing suit.  No pictures exist of me wearing that suit.  I was too shy, really, to preserve that particular sight.  Besides, I would either constantly find fault with my image, or it would depress me now, because such a figure and such looks were wasted on such a shy and retiring girl as I was then.
Another rite of my high school years that I really miss is Hollywood Blvd Safari.  We used to make sure my girlfriend's Delta 88 had a full tank of gas, we all piled in, and headed out to Hollywood.  We'd cruise the boulevard and observe the nightlife, which in the late 70s, was indeed colorful, entertaining, and dangerous.  We had rules:  Keep all windows up and doors locked at ALL TIMES, and DO NOT INTERACT WITH THE NIGHTLIFE!!  We used to argue over whether some of those strutting the boulevard were girls or drag queens, but we never tried to find out!  If our parents had known we were doing that, we would STILL be grounded!  We had no mishaps, and were not traumatized by what we saw.  There was a beauty, an art to what we saw, it fit where it was, strange and wonderful, beautiful and forbidden. 
Though really, I wonder how we managed to never be pulled over by the cops on those trips...

Summer Reverie
By C.K.Armistead
August 31, 2014

Wrapped up in the cotton
That fills my head
Old memories thought forgotten,
Feared fled
Have come out to taunt me
With whispers of coolness
And a sweet ocean breeze
That I miss
The heat that bakes my brain
Draws out the things usually stored
Plays again the sad refrain
Of melodies lost and adored.

A  photo of me at the beach when I was 2 or maybe 3.

Of Trending Behavior, Peer Pressure, And NOT Giving My Usual Response To It

You have undoubtedly seen the Twitter, Facebook, and Instagram posts of people dousing themselves with ice water to draw attention to ALS.  This disease deserves some attention.  It is a horrible, scary disease that gradually takes away your ability to control your body.  I cannot even imagine the horror of facing such a diagnosis.  The ALS Association has benefited immensely from this campaign.  Awareness of the disease is higher that ever, and people ARE actually donating money.

I think the use of ice water is very appropriate.  I have often thought of fear as the feeling of a bucket of ice cold water being poured on my head.  The dreadful  feeling seeps into your whole being from the top down.  It is shocking, it is paralyzing, and you have to force yourself to get moving again.  Long time ALS survivors, that is those that live the longest after the dread diagnosis, face that fear every single second of every day, and they live in spite of it.  They are heroic people to go on in the face of such a difficult series of losses.  I hope and pray that the money raised by this challenge does indeed provide the funding that finds a cure.  It would probably benefit many other neurological conditions, also.  The more we know about our nervous system and our brains, and the connections between them, the better we can fight such diseases. 

Now,  a LOT of people I know have done the challenge.  I was sort of ignoring it until I got called out by my fellow #Perlgirl Jana Waller.  She challenged ALL of us to do it, and well, I went against my usual response to peer pressure, which is to strenuously resist, and did it. 
So did Kelly, Paulette, Mary, Fiona, Molly, and Patti, that I can remember.  Perlman has yet to do it, but several people who have worked with him have nominated him, so we shall see. 

Clergy at my church have done it, including the Dean.  I challenged the Children's Department at our library to do it, but I have yet to hear from any of them. 

Here's a link to Dean Justin's #IceBucketChallenge
Here's a link to Father Tim's #IceBucketChallenge

Here's a link to My #IceBucketChallenge

If you do the challenge, please also donate to the cause, and keep those who suffer with this disease in your thoughts and prayers.  There are many, many things out there in this world that need our attention and our concern.  For this week or so, the InterWebz are paying attention to ALS.  I hope we continue to remember all who suffer, and to do what we can, when and where we can to help. 
Here's a video with an important perspective on the challenge.  Please watch.
Last Ice Bucket Challenge You Need To See

And here's a link to The ALS Association's Ice Bucket Challenge Page  Please go make a donation.  Even a little one will help.  When many people make little donations, they turn into a pretty big donation, so go, do what you can to help. 
ALS can strike anyone, anytime.  It can run in families, but not necessarily.  Nobody's immune. 
As I am fond of reminding myself, we're all on this little ball of rock and mud in space together.  We got nowhere else to go (at least not yet) and even so, all we've got is each other.  Let's take care of each other more, and hate each other less.  Dousing yourself in ice water is kind of a round about way of doing that, but it gets the point across. 
Peace.

Reflections On Depression

First off, let me say that I have been very fortunate never to have really faced profound depression the way so many have.  I have been depressed, I have felt hopeless and overwhelmed, I have been close to that state of feeling that it will never, ever get better.  Something has always helped me hang on.  I have no answers for those who are consumed by that darkness, only that they should know there are lots of us out here who love them, who need them in our lives, and will help them, if we can only figure out how. 
I have lost friends and family members to depression.  It is an illness, just like cancer.  There are some treatments, but they don't work for everybody.  Just like with cancer, sometimes the disease wins.  Doesn't mean they gave up, doesn't mean that on many levels they didn't want to live.  It just means that the pain became too much, the darkness too dark, the battle too hard to fight anymore.  Their resources were all used up.

I have felt helpless when seeing others in dark despair.  I don't even know how I have gotten out of the dark places I have wandered in.  Not really.  I know that on some level, it never got so dark that I couldn't see and feel the light of Love reaching for me.  It got close to that dark a few times, but somehow, I always found the light to see the path out.  There are still times when I feel like I am not worth the space I take up in this world, that all I am is a pest and and a drain on others.  I feel overwhelmed by the things that I *SHOULD* be doing and feel I have no emotional strength to do.  It seems sometimes like it isn't WORTH trying to keep going.  The feeling that the big dark ugliness is right behind you, and just waiting for you to stop running is truly scary. 

The only explanation I can give for the fact that I have not fallen too deep into that darkness is that there is light in me.  (There is light in ALL of us, but sometimes, it gets really hard to see.)  There is a purpose worth living for.  There are people who love me, who need me in their lives.  And for me, there is my faith.  There is a God who loves me, who understands how hard it is sometimes to go on, but whose love reaches me in that dark place, dries my tears, takes my hand, and leads me back to the light.  I have no other explanation.  I hear the words to old hymns playing in my head, I see the faces of those who I KNOW love me, and hear their voices, and realize it would be horrible to be apart from them.  Even worse than the pain of trying to deal with my personal darkness.  I believe that is God's Spirit at work.  Reminding me that I have value even when I feel worthless, that there IS light in me, even when I cannot find it in myself. 

There is an old and rather sappy hymn that I hear at times like this. 
O Love That Wilt Not Let Me Go
(words by George Matheson, 1842-1906)
O love that wilt not let me go
I rest my weary eyes on Thee
I give Thee back the life I owe
That in Thine ocean depths its flow
May richer, fuller be.

Those ocean depths bear me up, carry me safely to the shore, and help me stand again. 

Another verse is also one that I have heard when I seemed to need it:

O Joy, that seekest me through pain
I cannot close my heart to Thee,
I trace the rainbow through the rain,
And feel the promise is not vain
That morn shall tearless be.

I am pestered with this hymn, and others, and with scripture, and with the evidence of past experience, until I have the strength to try to keep going.  I am better at it some days than others, and it has been a LONG time since I have been in the dark enough to feel that I should not go on. 
My husband's love has a lot to do with that.  So do my friends. 
Depression, like any illness, can run in families.  My mother has suffered from bouts of it, and she always told me I was like my aunt, who died before I was born, who also had dark moods.  She always said I was moody and broody like Aunt Lorene, and I wrote poetry like my aunt.  As far as I know, my Aunt died as a result of a heart defect she was born with, and did not end her own life.  I think the poetry helps.  More than likely, the illness isn't as strongly present in me.  I know it took my cousin.  He tried to drug it away, drink it away, but he finally drank himself to death.  There have been others, and I don't know what demons inhabited their darkness, but I find myself wishing there had been a way I could have shared my light with them more effectively.  Could have pushed that door open and let the light in, just a little.

For those who suffer with this illness, I pray you are always able to find the light again.  I pray that you will be granted strength and light for the fight, that you will hear and see the love that truly is all around you.  And that you let the light in, let it banish the darkness, reach for it, and KEEP REACHING.  You ARE loved, you ARE needed.  You MATTER.  You are not in this fight alone, no matter what  you think.  Don't listen to the darkness of depression, it lies.  It tells you there is no hope, no light, no love, but there IS.  There IS light inside you.  Please, please ask for help when you need it. 
Those that have lost the fight are not lost forever.  I believe this.  The light that was in them, that they managed to share but not see in themselves, lives on.  Love lives on.  Always.  Love can never die. 
And I firmly believe that God, who IS Love, will not desert those souls so lost and in pain.  He will find them and grant them peace and comfort.  I know this.  I do. 
Doesn't make it any easier for those of us left behind, who can only remember the light our lost ones brought us, and try to keep reflecting it in our hearts forever in their honor. 
We must never forget them, or their struggles.  We must also try to find a way to share the light we have with others, a way to really hear and listen to what others say.  We're in this boat on this stormy sea together, folks.  In the end, all we have is each other.  

A Bit More About Our Tour in Germany

After the Gulf War, we still had a couple of years of our tour left, and Matt changed jobs to a non-flying job.  It was during this time that we met the Rosenfelds.  Rich Rosenfeld was the chaplain who officiated at the 08:30 Protestant Liturgical service.  He met Matt at a squadron meeting, and found out we were Episcopalian.  He talked Matt into coming to the service, and the rest, is history.
We became regular attendees at the 08:30 service, and became friends with the Rosenfeld family.
They introduced us to ""Allo, 'Allo"  a British sitcom that is a typical farcical sendup of WWII resistance fighters in France.  (We are still trying to find a way to send them the Christmas Puddings, but shipping them could be treacherous...)
I love to hear Stephanie read Patrick McManus stories aloud.  She has to stop often due to uncontrollable fits of giggles!  They shared so much with us, and helped us with so many things.  Truly people who live their faith.
Matt often worked on computer issues for the chapel, and he worked as a funds counselor.  I baked goodies for the fellowship time after the service.  It was the first time in our married life that we really had a "home church" where we felt like we belonged.  That experience is what made us seek a church home here in the OKC metro area. (Once we set foot in St. Paul's, we knew we'd found it! We've been in the choir for 19 years now.)

I don't have any pictures from that time, as we were too busy to think about it for the most part.  Matt was the NCOIC of Current Operations at Rhein-Main, and he was often working long shifts.  I believe I do have a graphic of the certificate Rich gave us when we left Rhein-Main.  It's a classic!

I think the friendships we found while we were over there were the best part of our tour.  We have lost touch with the Knoebel family, but the Ronsenfelds still email us and show up on Facebook.
We treasure their friendship, and cherish our memories of the time we spent together.

Here's a closeup of the certificate Rich gave us, and a picture of it and the Airlift Memorial Window plate that the chapel staff gave us on the wall in our living room.