She's Here!

The words of “Saturday, In the Park,” penned by Robert Lamm and sung by Chicago, echoed throughout my senior year in high school. Many years later, they’ve been ringing in my mind the past few months, especially one line: “and I’ve been waiting such a long time for the day.” I’m not on the lookout for dancing people, laughing people, or “a man selling ice cream.” Instead, “I’ve been waiting such a long time” to write this column, knowing it would signify the safe arrival of our fourth grandchild, the sweet Emma Belle Shade. 

Our youngest son Dan and his wife Becky announced the news of their pregnancy as our family gathered for a Christmas celebration. Their sister-in-law Lauren was pregnant as well, two months ahead of them as she and Greg prepared for the birth of Henry Kyle, brother to the lovely Madelyn Simone and the delightful and determined Elizabeth Holiday. 

How fun! Two new babies to welcome to our family in the spring of 2019. Yet just past the midpoint of their journey, Dan and Becky discovered they were facing a high-risk pregnancy, resulting in a fifty-seven day stay in the antenatal unit of the hospital. Our family had already experienced a NICU stay with Elizabeth, and for weeks, we prepared ourselves as best we could for an imminent birth and a repeat NICU residency. How grateful we all are that with extensive medical support, the faithful prayers of family and friends, her parents’ extreme patience, and Emma’s cooperation, she was born just a day shy of week thirty-eight, with chubby cheeks and a head full of black hair. 

There is a sense of the miraculous in every birth, as each mother’s body can attest to. I remember looking at my firstborn with incredible awe, wondering how on earth I could have possibly birthed a child. And how was it possible that the milk produced by that same body could sustain my child’s life outside the womb? As amazing as the birth of each one of our sons, seemed, there is an extra measure of the miraculous to claim in Emma’s birth, as her tiny life was at such risk. I am – we are – overwhelmed with gratitude.

I’ve been asked, with grandbabies #3 and #4, am I still a smitten grandmother? Absolutely. Can you multiply “smitten” by four? Writing about the love grandmothers feel, Lynne Sharon Schwartz describes me: “There’s something suspiciously viral about the condition: relentless, forceful and all consuming.” 

So now what? I love being the Magical Nana of playground visits, ice cream cones with rainbow sprinkles, and generous clouds of fairy dust. I’m cherishing newborn cuddles with Emma, and soaking in toothless smiles from Henry. Thinking ahead to next summer’s “Adventures with Nana 2020,” I may even need to purchase a mini-van to accommodate all these kids. Dream on!

Yet I cannot become all consumed in these four little ones without giving thought to the world they are growing up in. I ask myself each day: what kind of legacy are we leaving to our grandkids? Silly Forrest Gump jokes are sure to come from Emma’s paternal grandfather, Larry will offer Donald Duck sneezes, and I’ll have a song for every occasion. Our legacy may include funds for college, a precious collection of spoons or stamps, or a piece of heirloom jewelry, a reminder of their heritage.

Ours will also be a legacy of presence or absence. Being fully present to a grandchild, no matter location or time, will create lasting connections. Our boys were blessed with my dad’s ability to be present to them, especially at the video store and on the pool deck.

Yet I’ve also been thinking of the bigger picture of legacy. At age twenty or thirty, will their world be at peace? Will ocean rise be claiming coastal cities? Will the stranger be welcomed or rejected in their community? Will the faith that sustains us be theirs as well?

William James suggests, “The great use of life is to spend it for something that will outlast it.” A generous legacy for Emma Belle, her precious cousins, and the children of the world.

To the Playground!

Now that the sun has returned to Ohio at least every third day or so, the delightful and determined Elizabeth Holiday and I are resuming our exploration of Northeast Ohio’s playgrounds. On our most recent visit, she played for quite a long time on the playset designed for running, jumping, and sliding. She’s nearly four now, so she can investigate on her own – no need for a Nana to hover over her every second. 

I watched as she checked out a free-standing climbing wall, not sure what her response would be. Last summer, we watched her sister conquer a more treacherous wall at Sluggers and Putters, cheering Madelyn on as she scaled its heights, protected by a climbing harness. Each time she reached the top and rang the bell, Elizabeth joined me in cheering on her sister’s accomplishment.

Now, Lizzie grabbed my hand and dragged me to her newest challenge, the wall reaching about eight feet into the sky. As I stood behind her, offering  a bit of instruction as to how best to place her feet and what to grab onto, she finally reached the summit, eliciting a “great job, Lizzie,” from her adoring Nana. To which she responded, “I’m so awesome.”

With summer on the horizon, the lovely Madelyn Simone will soon be released from the time-consuming  restraints of third grade, and the three of us are already planning our summer adventures: Sluggers and Putters, the spray park at the Kroc Center and the splash pad in Plain Township, a Cleveland day trip, swimming at Clay’s Park, and our old standby – the playground.

My first paid job was at a playground. I was probably fourteen, responsible to unchain the swings each morning and keep an eye on the kids during the day. Somedays I’d watch the wading pool, filling it and draining it daily. One momentous day, I got drafted to umpire a girls softball game – that was one of these “never again” experiences. While I knew something about the rules from watching my dad play softball, I couldn’t keep track of the number of balls and strikes. Oops!

Madelyn, Lizzie and I don’t run into many playground attendants, but we do like our playgrounds. Boettler Park has a mini-zip line, and if we go to Kid Station Playground in Stow, we can sneak in lunch with their dad who works nearby. We also like Ashland’s playground at Freer Field, with its bumpy sliding fun (although Elizabeth can’t quite understand why she can’t play on the adjacent Dale-Roy School playground). As self-proclaimed playground connoisseurs, we’re excited about the playground advancements planned for the Ashland area, recently supported by the Ashland County Community Foundation in a new strategic grant opportunity.

I’m not sure of the timeframe for the construction at each of the locations, but soon there will be a wonderful DK’s Play Zone at Ringler Field, and a new playground at Ashland County Job and Family Services. There will also be an inclusive community playground at Mapleton Elementary School, and a new playground will be included in Park Street Brethren Church’s construction project. I wonder if we’ll be able to visit all four playgrounds in one day? 

I’m especially excited for DK’s Play Zone, as this student-led project will honor the memory of Danny Kripinsky, an important presence in Ashland’s world of soccer who died at the beginning of 2019. The next time I hear someone complain about middle school kids, I’ll be ready with the story of how these seventh-grade kids, twelve and thirteen years old, have been dreaming, designing, and fund-raising – that’s what I call awesome kids.

KaBOOM!, a national non-profit dedicated to bringing balanced and active play into the daily lives of all kids, quotes research: “When given the choice, most kids would rather play outside.” With these new playgrounds in the works, the kids of Ashland County won’t have any excuse to stay indoors in the future.

George Bernard Shaw said, “We don’t stop playing because we grow old; we grow old because we stop playing.” No climbing wall for me this summer, but I do plan to try out the swings at every playground we find. ‘Cause that’s what awesome grandmothers do!

If Only . . .

A recent photo on my Facebook feed captured my attention. In the foreground was a five-year-old girl with a bright smile and wrinkles in her tights, walking towards the photographer. Behind her, talking intently with three other men, was her father, John Fitzgerald Kennedy, the thirty-fifth president of the United States. On his shoulders, the weight of the world. In his posture, a hint of the chronic back pain he wrestled with daily. In his hand, his daughter’s baby doll.

The doll-in-hand photo was taken in September 1963; the youthful president would soon lie victim to the assassin’s bullet, dead at age forty-six. David Powers and Kenneth O’Donnell later wrote of his life, quoting the old Irish ballad in their title, “Johnny, We Hardly Knew Ye.” When considering the presidency of JFK, what might have been different for Vietnam, for civil rights, for a little girl with a doll and a wee lad bravely saluting his father’s casket, had he not died so young? 

It’s a question we often struggle with when someone dies at what we consider to be “an early age.” Addie Mae Collins, Carole Robertson, and Cynthia Wesley were fourteen years old; Carol McNair was eleven. Just days after the president had been photographed clutching his daughter’s doll, the four girls were donning their choir robes in the basement of the Sixteenth Street Baptist Church in Birmingham, Alabama. On that Sunday morning, no anthem would be sung. The planned sermon, “A Love that Forgives,” would be silenced, at least for that day. What might the lives of these four young women have brought to their families, their community, the world if bundles of dynamite had not robbed them of life? We will never know.

This week, two voices that have spoken deeply into my soul were silenced. One, Jean Vanier, lived a full life, dying at age ninety. A philosopher who lived as he taught, he created community for many around the world, especially intent to include those with developmental disabilities. “A community is only being created when its members accept that they are not going to achieve great things, that they are not going to be heroes, but simply live each day with new hope, like children, in wonderment as the sun rises and in thanksgiving as it sets.” For Vanier, the invitation was clear: “We must do what we can to diminish walls, to meet each other.”

The second voice was one of welcome as well. Rachel Held Evans, age thirty-seven, blogger, author, encourager of so many and lover of Jesus, tweeted that she was being admitted to the hospital with complications from the flu. Two weeks later, she was dead, leaving behind a grieving husband and two tiny children. She also leaves a bereft community of Twitter followers, and, as she described, “a bunch of outcasts and oddballs gathered at a table, not because they are rich or worthy or good, but because they are hungry, because they said yes.” And, in God’s kingdom, she added, “There’s always room for more.”

Fellow conference conveners (and dear friends) Sarah Bessey and Jeff Chu told this story about Rachel: “Once, when she was caught onstage during a Q&A with a fussy baby in the wings, she didn’t press on; she stopped, went backstage and brought her daughter out to finish the session – one hand around her baby, one around the microphone. She modeled the integration of faith, family and vocation.”  

Yes, her writing inspired me. Her courage gave me courage. We shared a heart for wonderers and wanderers. But I never met Rachel. Never shared a cup of coffee. Never exchanged a word on Twitter or comforted her babies. But somehow, I knew her, and I will miss her.

A life cut short? Heidi Stevens wrote, “It’s not the ending any of us would have imagined for Evans.” Nor for JFK, or for four girls putting on choir robes. Yet as we grieve, Rachel reminds us of our work: “We are called to enter into one another’s pain, anoint it as holy, and stick around no matter the outcome.” Vanier’s words lead the way: “we must do what we can . . .”

A Vibrant, Livable Downtown

When we first moved to Ashland in 2006, Gilbert’s Furniture was still open for business, anchoring the west end of Main Street while Home Hardware and Irwin’s Office Supplies and Equipment held court near the corner of Center Street and East Main. Two out of three remain open today, although the faces at each have changed a bit, with a new name and ownership for Farm and Home Hardware.

I did wonder back then how much longer Gilbert’s would survive. Once home to the best furniture in Ashland, by the time of our arrival, its inventory was limited, and its sales floor often deserted. In the thirty-six months of organization, design, and construction of the new Salvation Army Kroc Center, our offices were still located on the edge of downtown, in the brick storefront on East Third Street. Enamored by the possibilities I saw for the community, I claimed my place as a stakeholder in downtown Ashland. As such, I climbed the steps to the upstairs meeting room at Gilberts a few times, trying to brainstorm ways the charming but tired storefronts could find new life.  

In the intervening years, my personal attention shifted as the Kroc Center rose from Cook’s Field and the Third Street Salvation Army building was demolished. During that time, Gilbert’s Furniture went out of business, but at least some downtown business owners continued to hold on in hopes of gaining enough momentum to steer the ship in a more positive way for downtown Ashland’s future.

Wanting to work towards redevelopment in a more systematic way, Ashland Downtown was formed in 2010 to help create a “vibrant, livable downtown.” Yes, they’ve planned some fun times, including summer concerts, car shows, and tours of its “hidden places” (coming again on May 10^thand 11^th). But they’ve also worked to bring funding for building restoration and increased investment in the center of the city of Ashland, with the goal of “building community by strengthening our downtown.” Thank you, Sandra Tunnell and the board of Ashland Downtown, for your vision and encouragement for all things “downtown.”

As part of those revitalization efforts, Gilberts claimed new life, with its main venue the Uniontown Brewery. The building’s heritage in Ashland is long and storied. It was first the McNulty House, a first-class hotel that hosted future presidents William McKinley and James Garfield. Past its prime as a hotel, George Hemmingway operated it as a rooming house for single gentleman, but the facility had been vacant for a time when Mr. Gilbert bought it for his growing furniture business, which included casket sales and funeral services. And we think the full-service big box store was a new idea!

Now, the building has been re-born once again. “Seat yourself,” the sign directed me as I entered. I chose a table in the front window, where I could observe the patrons and take in the rhythm of Main Street in downtown Ashland. 

On a Monday night, downtown in small-town America, the place was booming. Anna Mary was there with family, including a son from Chicago who had just run the Toledo Marathon. Seminary friends chatted nearby, while a table of college women enjoyed each other’s company companionably, with lots of laughter. Approaching 7 p.m., familiar faces entered an adjoining space, gathering for Bible study led by the inimitable Tom Snyder, pastor emeritus to the entire City of Ashland. 

Down the block, two men carried load after load of demolition debris from a nearby storefront to a waiting dumpster. In the other direction, a reincarnation is under way as Fig and Oak prepares to move into the space recently vacated by Ashland Books. I also noticed a mini-crane down the street –another sign of progress to be sure.

At the risk of sounding like a broken record, I’ll say it anyway, Ashland. In the neighborhoods, in downtown, and in gathering places of all kinds, new life is springing up and deep roots are bearing fruit. As Oprah Winfrey counsels, “If you look at what you have in life, you’ll always have more. If you look at what you don’t have in life, you’ll never have enough.” Preach it, sister!