Annika

For eleven long years, I was the youngest of my cousins. As a child, this bothered me somewhat, as I looked up to everyone, and had nobody smaller or younger than me. So it was with some excitement that I learned in 1988 that I was going to have a new cousin. We lived in the Philippines at the time, and my aunt called us with the news . She also mentioned that they were coming to the other side of the world to visit us for Christmas. 1988 was a very exciting year.

So it was that my aunt and uncle came to visit us in December. By that time, the baby (I was hoping for a boy) was making his or her presence known, and I remember my aunt sitting on the couch and letting me feel her stomach to feel the baby kicking. While they were visiting, we took them around to the presidential palace and other touristy places, and we took them out to see the beaches and islands, riding bangkas (rowboats with wooden pontoons) and even doing some snorkeling. The Philippines has some amazing coral reefs, and snorkeling is an absolute must while visiting. That month was undoubtedly one of the highlights of my childhood.

But we had no way of knowing about the horrible year that was about to begin.

In March of 1989, our church had a retreat during Holy Week, a week full of traditions and superstition in the Philippines, in which people get their palm branches blessed and put them on their doors to ward off evil spirits. On Good Friday, many people beat themselves mercilessly with whips laced with shards of glass, and others are literally crucified, all in an effort to be forgiven for their sins (completely missing the point of Jesus' sacrifice). Most Philippine Catholics believe that Jesus is literally dead on Black Saturday, the next day, and they don't dare do anything for fear that if anything bad happens, Jesus won't be there to help them. It was that day that the church retreat ended and they carpooled back to church to return home. On the trip home, both tires on one side of one of the vehicles blew, causing it to roll. Most of the passengers were women and children, and it did not have seatbelts. Those who didn't hold on were thrown, and everyone was taken to the nearest hospital, which was on a skeleton crew already because some of the doctors and nurses didn't dare report to work because of Black Saturday. My parents, who had not attended the retreat, hurried to the hospital to be with them, and I went to a friend's house. It was a very anxious time waiting by the telephone to hear news. One of the passengers was pregnant, and she was the main priority at the hospital. I will never forget the pain I felt when our friend hung up the phone and told me, "Cynthia is with the Lord." Neither she nor the baby made it. I still get a lump in my throat thinking about it 22 years later. Fortunately, all the others in the accident recovered.

June 1 (May 31 in the US), we got word that my beloved paternal grandma had lost her battle with multiple myeloma. That was even harder to take. November 6, my maternal grandma, who I knew more and treasured deeply, lost her battle with breast cancer. We also lost another woman from our church that year, also from cancer. Another close friend from our church passed away the following year from a heart attack.

But through the deep pain, God sent two shafts of light at the perfect time, when we needed them most. Annika was born on April 20. Though we were far away, my new cousin - my first younger cousin ever - was truly a Godsend. We celebrated her arrival, and her picture was a bright spot in our house. The picture of my grandma, who was struggling with breast cancer, holding her brand new baby granddaughter was truly a treasure. December 13 brought another treasure in the form of my wonderful cousin Darcy. If it weren't for Annika and Darcy, and my dependence on God, I don't know how I would have coped with all the loss of 1989.

We returned to the US in 1991, just in time to visit my paternal grandpa for the last time before he passed away. Shortly after that visit in California, we continued on to Seattle, where we were greeted by my aunt, who was holding her young daughter Annika. So it was that I finally got to meet my beloved cousin at SeaTac Airport. Over the next week, I got my first taste of babysitting, and I got to know Annika better. She was somewhat strong-willed (my maternal grandpa predicted that she would be a general when she grew up), but she was, and remains, truly precious. I got to meet Darcy later that week, when their family visited, and an 18-month-old Darcy looked up at me like I was some weird stranger.

It has been fun watching Annika grow. One particularly memorable time, my great-aunt and great-uncle in Montana celebrated their 50th anniversary. We had a talent show, and at one point the younger kids sang a song. They all came up to the front in no particular order. As the emcee introduced them, those of us in the audience watched in amusement as Annika moved her cousins and second-cousins around. Pretty soon, everyone was arranged in order of height, much to the emcee's surprise.

In 1993, Andrèa joined the family, and she is another huge blessing. Since then, Annika has been a wonderful big sister as well (to Andrèa, that is). :-)

It seems hard to believe that the time has flown so fast, and today marks Annika's 22nd birthday. I have watched her graduate from high school, and later from Seattle Pacific University with a degree in nursing. I am incredibly proud of my cousin, now officially an RN. She came at a time when she was desperately needed, and she has blossomed into an amazing person that I truly admire.

Susan's Fate

*WARNING: If you have not read The Chronicles of Narnia, do not read on. SPOILER!*

Authors have a big task when constructing a novel or series of novels, and many show their brilliance in what they write and how they explain. In my opinion, one mark of a truly great author is what he leaves open to the imagination of the reader, rather than explaining.

Such is the fate of Susan Pevensie, one of the important characters of C.S. Lewis' The Chronicles of Narnia. Very few characters actually survive the series. We witness the deaths of the White Witch, Miraz, Caspian, the Lady of the Green Kirtle, even Aslan. We see Reepicheep go up the wave in his coracle to Aslan's Country. We hear about the death of Caspian's beloved Queen in a flashback. We see Prince Rabadash of Calormen transformed into a donkey, and he has to be transported to Tashbaan where he is transformed back into a man in the temple of his god Tash. He reforms and leads a peaceful reign, but we read that he eventually dies, and his people proceed to call him Rabadash the Ridiculous. Some characters die during the time between books. We don't know how, but for example, thousands of years have passed in Narnia between The Lion, the Witch and the Wardrobe and Prince Caspian. By virtue of the passage of time, we know that the Beavers, Tumnus and all the others have long since died by the time Prince Caspian starts. In The Last Battle, we see Ginger the Cat get overconfident, take one look at Tash, and shoot out of the stable like a bullet, unable to speak. Tash grabs Rishda Tarkaan and Shift and takes them away.

However, perhaps the most heartbreaking fate is that of Susan...and she is one of the few characters that actually survives.

After King Tirian pulls Rishda Tarkaan through the stable door in The Last Battle, Tirian finds himself in a beautiful paradise, and Rishda finds himself face-to-face with the reality that the evil god he has not believed but has pretended to worship all his life is very real and is not happy. Tirian turns to find before him nearly all of the Friends of Narnia that we have met throughout the series. Jill and Eustace, with whom he just fought the Last Battle, are there, along with Peter, Edmund, Lucy, Polly and Digory. Tirian is amazed to be before so many heroes from throughout Narnia's history, and he is mystified when he realizes that Queen Susan is not there. When he asks where she is, Peter explains that she is no longer a friend of Narnia. It turns out that she has decided that Narnia was child's play, and she doesn't understand how her siblings can still think it's real. In other words, she has contracted a serious case of adultitis. She is more concerned with the superficial trappings of being a woman and going to parties than she is with spending quality time with her loved ones and remembering the lessons she learned not so long ago.

As we read on, we find out that the Friends of Narnia have been trying to return. Peter and Edmund went to retrieve the rings that transported Polly and Digory to Narnia, and they were waiting at the train station for the others to arrive. The train rounded the bend too fast, crashing into the station and probably derailing, killing those on board and in the station. Peter, Edmund, Lucy, Polly and Digory suddenly found themselves in the New Narnia, and Eustace and Jill found themselves in the Old Narnia with a task to help King Tirian to defend their nation to the end. Oh yeah, forgot to mention that the Pevensies' parents are also on board the ill-fated train. They suddenly find themselves in a New London.

Beyond what is told above, we don't know what happened to Susan. When a child asked Lewis about it, he had this to say:

Dear Martin,

The books don't tell us what happened to Susan. She is left alive in this world at the end, having by then turned into a rather silly, conceited young woman. But there is plenty of time for her to mend, and perhaps she will get to Aslan's country in the end--in her own way. I think that whatever she had seen in Narnia she could (if she was the sort that wanted to) persuade herself, as she grew up, that it was "all nonsense".

Congratulations on your good marks. I wish I was good at Maths! Love to all,
Yours,
C.S. Lewis

Letters to Children, Letter of 22 January 1957

Think about it: Susan has just lost her ENTIRE family. Her nearest living relatives that we know of are her Aunt Alberta and Uncle Harold, who have also lost a son. All three of her siblings, her parents, her cousin, even the respected Professor who took her in during the war, have all died in one train crash. If that isn't enough to shake a person to their senses, I don't know what is. I've lost family members, but only one at a time--and none as close as a sibling or parent. I can't imagine what it would be like to lose so much at once. Not to mention that she's only 21 at this point. She has her whole life ahead of her, and she has to live it without the ones who have been closest to her growing up.

Susan's fate is both heartbreaking and hopeful. As Lewis pointed out to young Martin, Susan has a chance to remember the lessons she learned from Aslan and let go of her selfish pride and adultitis. As Aslan pointed out in The Voyage of the Dawn Treader, he has another name in this world. On January 22, 1952, Lewis explained in a letter to a child named Carrol that the word Aslan "is Turkish for lion ... And of course I meant the Lion of Judah." He likely expected Carrol to understand that the Lion of Judah is a name for Jesus in the Bible. Thus, Susan has a choice. She can continue to reject the hope that has been given to her in the form of Christ appearing to her in the form of a lion, or she can put her trust in Christ, who died to save her from her sin. (She saw this reenacted only a few years earlier as Aslan gave his life on the Stone Table to save Edmund from death, and then the Stone Table cracked and Aslan rose from the dead and defeated the White Witch).

Susan has a choice. Which did she choose? We'll never know, because she's a fictional character...but each of us has the same choice. We can choose to follow Christ and one day find ourselves in His presence, or we can reject Him and find ourselves in the presence of someone worse than Tash.

Rob Phillips

This has been a difficult week, as I lost a dear friend and brother in Christ early Tuesday morning (February 15, 2011). A heart attack hit, and suddenly he was gone, despite the best efforts of the doctors and nurses.

It all started when I joined Christian comedian Bob Smiley's online message board in approximately 2000. That was where I met Jerri Phillips, a wonderful Texan woman of God who I have grown to admire more and more over the years. She had a husband and two children that I heard about often.

Fast-forward to 2007. My friend Brian Green was getting married in Texas, and I was honored to be requested to come and be a groomsman. I decided to make a vacation of it and visited friends in Louisiana and Texas, as well as surprising Christian singer Clay Crosse by attending a concert in Baton Rouge (we've become good friends). After spending a few days in Louisiana with friends, I took the train to Dallas, where I was greeted by a very excited Jerri and her two children. Her husband Rob was at work, but I got to meet him when he got home that evening. Over the next few days, I got to know their family, and I gained even more of a respect and love for each of them. They took me around, and we generally had a great time. The kids especially are very artistic, and I also enjoyed my time doing artwork with them at their home. At one point, they took me to a restaurant they loved (I forget the name), and Rob introduced me to their cheese fries. Probably terribly fattening, but they were oh so good!

One thing that particularly impressed me about Rob was his thoughtfulness. About a month before Jerri's birthday one year, he sent out an e-mail to all of their friends and asked us to send birthday cards, as a special surprise for Jerri. He worked it out for us to send them to their neighbor so Jerri would not catch wind of the plan. Then on her birthday, she was flooded with cards from all over the country.

Tuesday morning of this week, I was on the bus, almost to work, and I checked my e-mail on my phone. I saw a message from Jerri explaining that Rob had had a massive heart attack shortly after midnight. I was immediately very concerned, and then a little confused when I saw in the next paragraph that there would be a celebration service. Then I reread the first paragraph and realized that it said "fatal massive heart attack." Then the bus arrived at work. Early in the day, I sent an e-mail to my manager explaining that I had lost a dear friend and may be a bit slower than normal doing my work, due to the shock. At lunch I called my friend Carmel, also a good friend of Rob and Jerri, to make sure she knew (I didn't feel I had the right to tell her what happened, as it needed to come from Jerri, but I recommended that she check her messages). Most of this week I have had to hold in the grief, or I would not get any work done. But this weekend I have had some time to process it. I don't, and probably never will, understand how or why God would choose to take a healthy 42-year-old man who had a family who needed him, and I can't fathom how it must feel for the family left behind. I know that I've shed lots of tears this week.

When looking through my pictures of my trip to Texas, I was disappointed not to find any of Rob, but I found a few of the rest of the family. (One of my favorites is at the top of this post.) Please keep Jerri, Anna and Robert in your prayers. I can't even begin to imagine their pain, but if it's been this tough for me, it's got to be much harder for them. I know that God will work even this out for good, but sometimes it's so hard to see the beauty to come through the difficult and strangling ugliness right now.

Update: Jerri reminded me that the restaurant with the cheese fries is called Snuffer's. If you're ever in the Fort Worth area, I highly recommend it.