Lori Bourne

A Life Well Lived

As many of you know, I have very elderly grandparents. I recently wrote a post about my 106-year-old grandfather's life. Yesterday morning, he passed away. My parents were up in Canada with him just last month, at Thanksgiving, to celebrate my grandmother's 100th birthday. I am so glad they got to see him one last time.

My dad wrote this about his father yesterday, and told me I could post it at my blog. Here's what he said:

"My father, age 106, laid his burdens down and entered the presence of our Lord this Wednesday morning. Dad did not have an easy life. He was born in 1902 to a German family living in the Ukraine, and during World War I, Russia insisted that all of the Germans had to become refugees lest they side with Germany in the war. My father's family was forced to make the difficult trek to Afghanistan, and there his mother (my grandmother) died at the age of 46 and was buried in a mass grave in Kabul.  My father, age 12, did not have a chance to say goodbye to his mother and thought he'd never stop crying.

When the war was over in 1918, Dad and his father and two brothers, were able to return to their farm and several years later he was able to immigrate to Canada. There in a church, he met my mother who had just become a Christian through the preaching of an evangelist. Dad walked her home, asked her to marry him, and within three weeks they were married. That was 77 years ago.

I will spare you all the hardship my father endured both in Europe and also the challenge of raising five children on a small farm. To this day, we as children don't understand how he did it all: for example, having to shovel countless loads of grain years before grain augers were invented. In addition, he had panic attacks, and couldn't work for days at a time. We as children said "goodbye" to him a number of times, because he thought he was dying. We never dreamed we would see Dad live a long life.

We were wrong.

Dad had come to know Christ as Savior in the Ukraine and throughout his long life he loved God, read the Bible consistently and cared deeply only about that which was most important. "I read the whole book of Ephesians today," he told me when we visited him in Canada when he was about 101.

When he was a hundred, I knelt next to him and asked him to give me a blessing as the patriarchs did in Old Testament times. He held my head in both of his hands and prayed a prayer that "would make heaven shake" as I put it.

When we visited my parents this past May, my dad, now in a wheelchair, spoke very little. He recognized us, but only occasionally. So while we were sitting and talking with my mother, he appeared to be sleeping and was quiet the whole time. Then to our surprise, he said in a complete German sentence, "We have been speaking about the present…now it is time for us to speak about eternity and the glory of God!"

Well, Dad, now you can speak of eternity and the glory of God in a way that you have never done before. Thanks for all the hard work…the care you gave to me and my siblings. Thanks for the hundreds of hours of prayers offered up on behalf of all of us. I can only hope those prayers will be answered.

Now my dear mother, who enjoyed her 100th birthday party three weeks ago, is a widow, anxiously awaiting her own entry into heaven. She often prayed Dad would die before she did so that she would know he was well taken care of. God answered that prayer."

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Many people have told me that I have an amazing family, and that is very true. I do not take any of it for granted - the unconditional love, the support, the faith, the strong family bond.

I have a cousin, Dallas, who was killed in a car accident in 1981 at the age of 16. My own firstborn daughter was stillborn 13 years ago. Today I have been picturing my cousin, my daughter, and my grandfather hanging out in heaven. I think they're having a great time.

All Things

I've been meaning to write a new post for this blog for awhile but I've been really busy. I wasn't sure what to write about - my youthful obsession with David Letterman, Christmas memories through the years - but tonight I realized what I'd like to share. I love to tell stories, so let me tell you an amazing story.

Five years ago exactly, my youngest sister, Lisa, and I were both pregnant. I was due in the middle of December and she in the middle of January. We were both having girls, and both of us were excited about our Christmas babies. But for Lisa, there was sorrow mixed in with joy.

Nine months earlier, Lisa's husband Ben, a Lieutenant in the Army, had been sent to Iraq at the beginning of the war. Lisa and Ben, only married for a few years, had been living in Germany where Ben was stationed, and had no thoughts of having a baby yet. However, just a week or two after Ben left for Iraq, Lisa found out she was pregnant.

The idea of being alone for the whole nine months - with no guarantee of Ben being able to come back for the baby's birth - was scary and sad for her. But when she told Ben the news they quickly began to get excited.

Lisa called Ben's parents, who lived in the Chicago area, to tell them about the pregnancy. They were excited, too, but had some news of their own. Ben's dad had just been diagnosed with lung cancer and given nine months to live.

A month later, the Army allowed Ben to come back to the US for two weeks and see his father. Lisa flew back here also so they were together for a little bit. They had such mixed emotions; on one hand, they were delighted about the baby. On the other, they were worried about Ben's dad. On top of it all, Ben had to go back to Iraq (specifically, Baghdad), and his life was in danger every day.

As the summer faded into fall, Ben's dad became very ill. Lisa moved back here from Germany because she was finding it difficult to be pregnant and alone. This way she could live with my parents, and be with her in-laws at the hospital. 

By November, Ben's dad had gone into an irreversible coma. The cancer had spread to the base of his brain and there was nothing the doctors could do. He didn't have much longer to live, and Ben had to make a decision: he could only leave Iraq once, for two weeks. Should he come back for his dad's funeral, or for the baby's birth?

As his dad's health declined, Ben decided to come home and see his dad one more time while he was still alive. Ben arrived in the US the week after Christmas. His dad was still in a coma and near death, and a few days after Ben came home, his father passed away.

The family scheduled the funeral for January 4th. On the morning of January 4th, Ben put on his dress blues - his formal Army uniform -  and drove to the funeral home. Lisa was starting to feel contractions (two weeks early) and had my mom take her to the hospital.

As soon as the funeral ended, Ben drove to the hospital and got there in time to witness the birth of their baby, Abigail. Still wearing his dress blues, he held Abby and cried tears of joy and sorrow. As Ben said later, Abby was the rose rising from the ashes, the promise of new life.

Rarely have I seen such a clear picture of the circle of life. Death and birth, so starkly contrasted. Pain and happiness, so tightly mingled. Ben, at the center of this maelstrom, dealt so gracefully with everything that came his way. I have never heard him express any bitterness about missing nine of the most important months in his family's life.

Every year at this time I think about that difficult experience five years ago, and thank God that Ben and Lisa survived their tumultuous year. Ben is no longer with the Army, and he and Lisa recently welcomed another baby girl, Evelyn, into their family under much better circumstances. Where there was grief, there is now healing and acceptance.

I once heard someone say that everyone has a story to tell. This is Ben and Lisa's story, and I am honored to tell it.

My Grandfather's Life: 106 Years of God's Faithfulness

On Friday, August 29^th, 2008, my paternal grandfather celebrated his 106^th birthday. This is his story.

My grandfather, Gustav, was born in 1902 in the village of Kurgany, right in the heart of the Ukraine. His parents were German by nationality, and had migrated to the Ukraine to take advantage of land offers from the Russian government.

Life was difficult. Children were often sent to work on other farms to make money for the family. Gustav was sent to several different farms starting at the age of seven, and worked long hours in the fields.

In 1915, World War I was in full swing. Gustav’s family was forced to leave their home. As Germans living in the Ukraine, Russian leaders believed they might become spies for Germany.

The German families were given two choices: the extreme cold of Siberia, or the warmer climate of Afghanistan. His family chose Afghanistan, and began the arduous journey. Food was scarce on the crowded freight cars carrying the immigrants. Finally the family reached Kabul, the capital of Afghanistan, and were taken to refugee camps to live in crowded barracks with other immigrants and prisoners of war.

Illness spread through the camps, fueled by the severe malnutrition and hot weather. Several of my grandfather’s siblings as well as his mother died of typhoid fever and were buried in unmarked graves. Nothing was explained to young Gustav, who was about 14 years old at the time. All he knew was that his mother and siblings were gone. His grief was incalculable.

Death continued to be rampant, and after eight months in the barracks of Kabul the refugees went to Siberia. In spite of the cold, conditions in Siberia were actually better than Afghanistan; there was less sickness and disease.

In late 1918, the family was able to return to the Ukraine. My grandfather and his brothers had a house to live in and were able to make money gathering firewood and building railroad ties. Still, my grandfather knew that there must be a better place to live. A distant relative had migrated to Canada, and was willing to sponsor Gustav’s journey to Canada.

At the age of 25, Gustav boarded a ship from Liverpool, England, to journey across the ocean to the new world. After docking at Quebec City, Quebec, he took the train all the way to across the Canadian prairies to Weyburn, Saskatchewan. He began working on a farm for a reasonable wage. He worked for several years and saved up his money so he could buy his own farm.

He also attended a local church, and it was there that he spotted Wanda Ludtke, another German immigrant. If Gustav was to buy a farm, he needed a wife to help him run it . He heard that Wanda was a good cook, so he asked if he could walk her home from church. She agreed, and three weeks later they were married!

Here is their wedding picture, taken on their wedding day – July 25^th, 1931. (You can click on each picture to enlarge)

Amazingly, Wanda had also been born and raised in the Ukraine, about 300 kilometers from where Gustav had grown up. She was also German by nationality, and had gone to Siberia with her family during the war.

After returning to the Ukraine at the end of the war, her family had saved enough money for all of them to go to the United States. However, by the time enough money was saved, the US had restricted immigration and they were told to go to Canada instead.

After their marriage, the my grandparents worked hard on their farm, persisting in spite of drought and hail that sometimes leveled entire crops. They also had five children. Their youngest child is my father.

Here is my father's family in the mid 1940's; my dad is the little boy on the right with his hand on his father's hand:

When I was growing up, every summer we made the long drive from Chicago to Saskatchewan to see my relatives. I have many memories of my grandparents: their thick German accents, their warm hugs, and the distinctive smell of delicious German cooking that always permeated their home.

My grandpa is one of the kindest and gentlest men I know. He never talked to us about his difficult childhood, but according to my dad, he carried no bitterness towards the people or circumstances that caused him so much pain in the early years. Throughout everything he's faced in his life, his faith in God has never wavered.

My grandmother is still alive also (she is 99) and both grandparents live together in a nursing home. My grandfather, while physically still in good health for his age, has forgotten most of the people and events of his later life.

He now speaks almost completely in German, frequently quoting the Bible or singing old hymns. He and my grandmother have separate rooms (he needs quite a bit more care than she does), but they eat their meals together and I’m so glad they can still see each other.

Here they are a few years ago, celebrating grandpa's 100th birthday:

My grandparents will never leave me money or property. They lived very modest lives and had no interest in accumulating earthly wealth. But they are leaving me the best kind of legacy: their unwavering faith in God. In spite of all the trials that he faced, my grandfather always believed that God had a plan for his life and would see him safely through.

My grandparents' faith is best summed up in the words of their favorite hymn, the one they always had us sing after dinner:

Take the name of Jesus with you
Child of sorrow and of woe
It will joy and comfort give you
Take it then where 'ere you go
Precious name, oh how sweet;
Hope of earth and joy of heaven.
Precious name, oh how sweet;
Hope of earth and joy of heaven.

Every time we visited them, we saw a list they had posted on the wall of all their children, grandchildren, and eventually great-grandchildren. They told us that they prayed for each of us, by name, every day. Throughout my life, knowing my grandparents were praying for me was one of the main things that sustained me during difficult times. 

It’s been a few years since I saw them last. I might never see them again until we meet in heaven. Even so, I have their shining example of faith in God – no matter what the circumstance – to inspire me the rest of my life.

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You can find my grandfather on the internet in a few places. First, this article in a local paper about my grandparents celebrating their 76th wedding anniversary last year. Here's a video clip that was aired in Canada last year about their long lives & long marriage. And, you can see the immigration records for both Gustav and Wanda as they entered Canada. They took the same route and the same ship, The Empress of Scotland; she came to Canada a year after he did.

Thanks to my dad and my Aunt Esther for interviewing my grandparents and recording their story for future generations.

Happy Birthday, Mom!

Tonight, my dad and I threw a surprise birthday party for my mom. I am pretty poor at keeping secrets, so several times in the past few weeks I've come thisclose to accidentally mentioning the party. Luckily I never actually did, so she was quite surprised to walk into a party room at Maggiano's and see all of her friends.

My dad asked a few of her closest friends to get up and share favorite memories and stories about my mom, and as they were talking I realized that everyone in the room was someone that I've known my whole life, and I have many memories of each person there. I grew up with all of their children, and in many cases, still hang out with them (the kids my age) and share marriage and parenting advice and stories just like my parents did with their generation.

The party went off with only 7 or 8 million hitches (all my fault), including leaving my camera at home - my dear husband went back to get it and still made it back before my parents got there. The important thing is that my mom had a wonderful time and felt loved and cherished.

I've got to post a picture of the cake, made by my friend Laura, who is the most talented baker I know. She's more of an artist, really - she's made all of my kids' birthday cakes and each one is better than the last. Here's what she made for tonight:

 

...and it tasted great too. Happy birthday, mom, and I love you!