Lori Bourne

The Power of a Blanket - A Story for Blog Action Day

On Blog Action Day, thousands of bloggers will write posts about poverty. By posting on the same day, a global discussion can take place about the devastating effects of poverty and how people can help eradicate it. This seems like a good time to share one of my favorite stories.

Karen & the Refugee Camp

I have a friend named Karen. She is, in many ways, a typical wife and mom. She stayed home with her two kids through the grade school years, but when they entered high school, she found herself feeling the desire to do something more with her time - to really make a difference in the world.

In 2000, the opportunity presented itself for her to visit a refugee camp in Namibia, Africa. This camp was a place where people fled to escape the civil war in Angola. As many as 30,000 people lived in tents with little food, no medical care, and no schools.

Karen wasn't sure what to expect when she went over there. If she had known what things would be like, she might not have gone. She stayed in shacks and tents where only mosquito nets kept away the numerous bugs and spiders. She watched children cry because they had no food. She saw suffering beyond what most of us could imagine. Her heart was touched. She decided that she had found her cause, the place where she could put her time and energy.

After her trip, she approached our church staff about creating a new ministry to the people of the Osire Refugee Camp. Everyone agreed that the cause was a worthwhile one, and Karen began organizing drives to collect supplies to send over to Namibia, as well as planning her return trip there.

Finding Blankets

One day at church she stopped me in the hallway. "Lori," she said, "I would like to find a way to give blankets to the people in the refugee camp. I don't know what the best way is - to buy blankets, or donate fabric and have the people of the camp make them - but could you look into that for me?"

She explained to me that nights in Namibia can be cold, and that many of the people had inadequate clothing for the cooler temperatures. But blankets provided more than just warmth; they meant security, a place to sleep, and a feeling of owning something that belonged only to you. If you died, you were buried in your blanket.

I told her I would help, but privately wondered if I even knew where to begin. It sounded like a huge project, and I didn't know much about how we would deliver an enormous amount of blankets or fabric to people who lived so far away. I sort of regretted telling her that I would help.

Later that week, I sat down to do a little online searching. I searched for "refugee blankets" and did find some organizations that were selling them for $5-6 each. We wouldn't be able to send many blankets for that amount of money. Not to mention that the blankets were in North America or Europe and would need to be shipped across the ocean.

I was almost about to give up searching when I decided to put in a different combination of search terms. New results popped up, and I soon found an organization selling refugee blankets for $2 each - already wrapped in pallets and ready to be shipped. Amazingly, the blankets were located in South Africa, which meant a short trip up to Namibia over land instead of water. The website stated there were 10,000 blankets available.

Karen and I hadn't discussed her budget, but I was pretty sure that she was looking to spend less than $20,000. I decided to go straight to the top and called my dad, the senior pastor of our church. He would have the final say on how much money we could spend.

Dad Comes Through

"Dad?" I said hesitantly. "I've found these refugee blankets online for just $2 each. They are in South Africa so it wouldn't be hard to get them to Namibia. There are 10,000 available. How many do you think we could send?" I took a deep breath and waited for his answer. Could I hope for 1000 of them?

"Lori," he said, "Why don't we just send them all?" Go, dad! I still get choked up when I think about his answer. I wasn't sure how we were going to do it, but I called Karen and we shrieked in delight together.

That next Sunday, I happened to sit in the balcony where I could look down over most of the congregation. Right before the offering, my dad told the people that he had a special opportunity for them. He explained that there were 10,000 refugee blankets that the church could send to the Osire Refugee Camp, and with about 2,000 people in attendance that morning, all we needed was $10 from each person there.

I can't tell you how it felt to watch people reach for their purses and wallets to pull out some money to give. I sat there, looking down at them, with tears running down my cheeks. I marveled at the way God works to bring people together to help others who are less fortunate.

Later that week, my dad called and said that we had received enough for all the blankets, and that the church would be contributing $5000 from the missions budget to cover the cost of shipping. Emails and phone calls flew back and forth between the church and the refugee agency in South Africa until all the arrangements had been made.

Shipping the blankets still took a few months, and Karen arranged to be at the Osire camp when they were delivered. She was there to open the shipping containers and hand out the blankets. She later told me about watching the people literally dance with joy after being handed a blanket. I wish I could have been there too.

Can You Help? 

I am not a perfect person (no kidding!). I have regrets and I have missed many opportunities to help people because I wasn't paying attention or I didn't care enough to get involved. But I will always remember the Osire blankets and the feeling I got from helping so many other people.

Most of us feel a twinge of conscience now and then when we think about how much we have and how little most people have. Today of all days, if you feel the twinge, consider donating to one of these organizations. You literally can change someone else's life forever. Here are some of my favorite charities:

Compassion International - sponsor a needy child for only $32 per month. Children all over the world have been given hope in the midst of despair when someone decides to sponsor them. Every year when Compassion is independently audited, they rank as one of the best places to give money because such a large percentage of your money goes to the children and not administrative costs.

Samaritan's Purse - they are consistently out there helping people in need. When there is a disaster like a tsunami or earthquake, they are almost always the first organization to bring in supplies. They bring food and fresh water, set up medical stations, and bring kits containing tents, stoves, and other supplies to help families recover and rebuild.

Charasia - this organization has schools and orphanages in India for children who would otherwise be homeless or sold into the sex trade. The work they are doing to rescue kids from a horrendous fate - especially girls - is amazing.

Can you help? I think most of us can. My friend Karen is currently planning her 18th trip to Africa. I was happy to donate to her cause. This time, she'll bring a team of American women to teach the African women how to make pottery and quilts and soap and other things they can sell to provide an income for their families. When women are empowered, the whole society benefits. Thank you, Karen, for the work you do. You are my hero.

Failure, Thy Name is Lori

There's no guilt quite like the guilt of motherhood. The second you bring your baby home from the hospital, it begins. You are completely responsible for this new life, which means thousands of different decisions to make. Each new decision means a chance to screw up.

Wow, Lori, having a happy day? No, not really. I'm feeling stressed and overwhelmed, and I can handle a lot so that's saying something. Our house is now up for sale, and we've nearly killed ourselves getting it ready. Not that anything was really "wrong" with it, but buyers are really picky these days and we've tried to make it perfect. I'm a neat freak, but it's still tough to keep up with everything, especially with the kids always ready to make a mess.

But really, out of all the things that are going on, the straw that broke the camel's back (I'm tired, and tired people are allowed to resort to cliches) was that when I picked up my son from sports camp today, he was sunburned. Really, really sunburned. How did this happen?

Well, they were going to a water park today and it was an outdoor water park but I didn't know that. You know, that's an excuse. I should have asked, or just slathered him with sunblock anyway. I feel angry that the camp counselors didn't offer to share their sunblock with him, but really I'm just angry at myself.

The real thing about parenting is, no matter how many things you do right, it's the one thing you do wrong that sticks with you. Somehow the sunburn cancels out the field trips, the hugs, baking cookies, the walks to the park. All I can think about is how I failed my son.

He's going to be fine, and I'll get past my anger, but in the meantime I've got to somehow forgive myself and just let go. My son and I have agreed that no matter what his sports camp schedule, we're covering him in sunblock every day. It helps to make vows like that. But it doesn't take away the sting of failure completely.

Some might say, what's a little sunburn - we've all had it happen when we were kids. Sure, I did too. It's not so much the sunburn itself (although that bothers me too), it's the feeling that my son needed me to protect him and I didn't. I do not like that feeling at all. I knew I'd sleep better tonight if I got my rant "out there", so world, here it is: I'm a mom, and I feel like a failure.

Hong Kong, China, and Me

When I was 12 years old, my family had an amazing opportunity: we were able to visit mainland China (then, still called the People's Republic of China) for two weeks. To this day, I don't know exactly how the trip came about, except that someone arranged for a group of about 100 American college students to travel over there, and then invited some well-known Christian pastors to come and speak to the college students during the trip. My dad was one of the pastors, and they told him to bring his family along.

We flew to California, and from there, to Japan and then Hong Kong. We survived the 14-hour flight across the ocean by pretty much playing UNO non-stop. Thank God for UNO. We were able to spend several days in Hong Kong, and we loved it. The shopping...oh, the shopping! I still have some of the things we bought there, including Hello Kitty calculators and tons of jewelry. We stayed at the New World Hotel, which I still remember vividly for the rooftop pool and adjacent 7-floor shopping mall.

Then, it was on to Beijing (then still called Peking - this was 1984 and that makes me 36, in case you were wondering). After arriving at the airport in Beijing, we were informed that the man who organized the trip hadn't yet purchased our return tickets out of Beijing, and so we were required to stay in the airport until the tickets were purchased. We had to wait at the airport about 10 hours, if I remember correctly.

Not to worry - I simply whipped out my brand new Kodak Disc camera (it was the camera of the future, ya'll) and took some candids of the airport. Within no time at all, some officials came over and made it clear (though we spoke no Chinese and they no English) that I was not allowed to take pictures of the airport. My parents assured them (through gestures) that I would not do it again. The officials left, and what did I do? I snuck the camera back out of my bag and surreptitiously took more pictures. Why, Lori, why? I thought I was very cool, in a James Bond kind of way.

Then we got on a tour bus which took us to the city of Tianjin. I guess we stayed there because it cost less than Beijing. When we arrived at the hotel in Tianjin, we were starving but it was evening. The hotel was kind enough to send up some food to our rooms, which consisted of a brown paper bag containing an unwrapped hunk of meat, a hard boiled egg, and a thermos of boiled water (you couldn't drink from the faucets). Thank goodness my mom had packed granola bars and some other stuff for us to eat.

For the next week and a half, our days went like this: in the morning, my dad and the other pastors taught the students. During that time, my sisters and I and the other pastor's kids played in our hotel rooms, singing, playing games, and concocting elaborate skits and plays. In the afternoon, we all loaded up on tour buses and saw the sights...the Ming Tombs, the Forbidden City, the Great Wall. We visited a preschool (the kids were darling) and a Chinese rug factory where we each purchased a rug.

The entire time we were there, we were the center of attention wherever we went. My sister, with her blond hair, was usually surrounded by Chinese people wanting to touch her. You have to remember that the country was completely closed at this time - most people there had never seen pictures of foreigners, let alone real ones.

The food was unreal - from "brain bread" (it's not made from brains, but it looks like it) to octopus and fish eyes - we had never seen/smelled/tasted anything like it. Thank God for white rice...although it had grains of sand it in, we quickly learned how to spit out the sand like pros. We weren't given forks, so we became experts at using chopsticks.

As I mentioned, there was a group of college students with us, and since we were younger than they were, we looked up to them with rock star-like adoration. I still remember many of their names, and even though I do have an amazing (and photographic) memory, that's a little scary. One young man in particular, Derek, was the best-looking guy on the trip and we (and all the college girls) crushed on him like crazy.

I mentioned that we filled our mornings with skits and plays. We came up with one that was great (I think one of us had seen it a camp or something) and decided to work Derek into it without his knowledge. We rehearsed and rehearsed this skit until it was perfect. None of the college kids had seen it because we practiced in our hotel room while they were in their sessions.

On our last day in China, my dad let us come with him to the teaching session and perform our skit. In front of everyone, our friend Sarah (one of the kids on the trip) came out in front of everyone in a blanket and I announced that she was the ugliest person in the world, and anyone who saw her would fall over dead.
I asked if there were any volunteers, and one of my sisters came up, peeked under the blanket, and fell over. I asked again, and the other sister came up, peeked under the blanket, and fell over. Then, I scanned the audience and casually asked Derek to come up and look under the blanket. When he did, Sarah promptly fell over. The audience died laughing. It was a triumph.

We flew back to Hong Kong for another day (rejoicing to go to McDonald's after all that Chinese food) and then back to California and finally Chicago. I don't know how we brought back all of our souvenirs, but we did.

I could never record every memory of that trip, there are so many. I was 12, my middle sister was 10, and my youngest sister was 6. We were young and impressionable enough that everything we saw became a permanent part of who we are today. My love for China was so strong that in college, I majored in Asian History just to learn more about what I had seen so many years ago.

Part of me would love to go back, and part of me wonders just how disappointed I would be if everything were different from how I remember it. It was such an unusual opportunity. Maybe I will go back someday and take my own family with me. I'd like my kids to have the chance to form the same attachment to China that I did.

Regrets Only

Most people have heard the famous (and somewhat overused) quote by John Greenleaf Whittier, "For all sad words of tongue and pen, The saddest are these, 'It might have been'." I don't know if that's completely true, but I do know that as I get older, I think about the things I might have done differently. I have a few regrets, and I'm wondering if I should take the time to correct them.

In the interest of full disclosure, I'll share one thing I wish I could go back and change if I had a chance. Back when I was in college, my high school drama teacher (who had been in poor health for several years) passed away. Many of us who had been in his classes, plays, and musicals went back to our high school for a special program that the school put on in his memory.

After the program, all of my friends and I went out to dinner. I was excited because I had just gotten engaged, and wanted to show off my engagement ring and talk about Bruce to everyone there. During the entire evening, I never went over to the drama teacher's son (who had been in my graduating class) to tell him how sorry I was about the loss of his father.

Granted, I wasn't very good friends with him - he had only attended our school for his junior and senior years and we hadn't really hung out in the same circles. But his dad had just passed away! Someone who I admired and respected! I have no excuses. I was boorish, insensitive, and rude. It may have been a sin of omission, but I still think about it a lot.

I've Googled the guy, but I haven't come up with anything. If I find him somewhere, I'll definitely send an email and ask him to forgive me for being so unfeeling. I'm not wanting to do it just to feel better about it myself, but because it's the right thing to do. If I can reach out to him, it will be one less "might have been" to weigh on my conscience.

My Life, In Miniature

When I was young, my parents bought a dollhouse for me and my two younger sisters. I don't remember if we asked for it or they surprised us with it, but either way, it was love at first sight for me. My sisters didn't really care too much about it, so quickly the dollhouse became mine. I think I was about 10 when we got it, and immediately I started buying and making stuff to put inside it.

The dollhouse and I were best buddies - it became sort of a training ground for me to try out different skills, and over the years I painted, wallpapered, shingled it, and even wired it for electric lights. Of course, I could never get all the lights to work at the same time, and spent hours testing connections to try to find out why one light wouldn't work one day and then work the next.

Because of the frustration with wiring it, but having the strong desire to see it lit up, I started to rely on miniature candles. Yes, they make real miniature candles. Why my parents let me routinely light 4-5 candles in my (highly flammable) dollhouse, I have no idea. Perhaps they didn't know what I was doing.

Blessedly, I never set the entire dollhouse on fire. However, there was one time that I lit a candle in the middle of the dollhouse dining room table, which I had made myself out of cardboard draped in fabric - with a flower arrangement in the middle made from tiny pieces of curled paper. Basically, a bonfire waiting to happen. I turned my back for a second, and when I looked at the table again, the entire thing was on fire. I don't remember how I put it out, but luckily not much damage was done.

When I got older, I thrilled to put things in my dollhouse that reflected my own life. They included real miniature pictures of our family in tiny frames,  a lovely mini oil painting I bought in Greece, and a tiny carved marble village from China. Every time we traveled, I tried to buy something for my dollhouse. If it was Christmas, I put up a tree (and lots of other decorations) in the dollhouse.

When I got married, I made a miniature wedding reception shadowbox. By then, I was pretty good at making miniatures.  I would even make little shadowboxes as gifts for friends and family. But I haven't done that in a long time. And I finally sold my childhood dollhouse a few years ago, as we didn't have room for it and I plan on buying a bigger and better one someday.

My parents bought a dollhouse for my daughter last year, and I've had so much fun buying things for Anna to put in it. I've also saved all my dollhouse furniture and accessories, and though many are too small or delicate for her to use, many of them have found their way to her dollhouse and I love seeing her play with them.

I have lots of dollhouse memories, like how the very morning my parents gave it to us (it was waiting under the Christmas tree), my cousin who was visiting got so excited she leaned on it and broke the railing of the balcony. But my favorite dollhouse memory is when I decided to put my hamster, Nathaniel, in the dollhouse because I longed to see what it looked like with a "real" tiny being in it. I think I was about 12 years old. When my parents found out about my plan, they (wisely) forbade me to do such a silly thing.

I decided to do it anyway (big surprise). I set Nathaniel in the dollhouse living room and watched his plump hamster body knock over chairs and tables. I went to go get my sisters and show them this wondrous sight, but when we returned I couldn't find Nathaniel in the dollhouse anymore. We searched the entire dollhouse, and the floor, and the room, and he had literally disappeared. I thought my heart would leap out of my chest, because now my parents would find out for sure.

Suddenly, we heard a scrabbling noise and found Nathaniel hidden behind the dollhouse staircase. I don't know how he got there, because the staircase was pretty heavy and it would have needed to move for him to get behind it, but there he was, gnawing on a tiny wooden watermelon he found in the kitchen. I was so relieved. And I still have the watermelon with Nathaniel's teeth marks on it -  a fun memory of the time when miniatures ruled my life.

Can You Be Too Organized?

Anyone who knows me will testify that I am very organized. I can't stand clutter - my house doesn't have those mysterious "piles" of mail, papers, magazines, etc. that seem to plague many other people. I love to read books about conquering clutter, but more because I can sort of gloat about how I don't have a problem with it, not because I'm trying to learn anything about it.

One thing my mom drilled into me and my sisters is that the kitchen must always be clean. "As goes the kitchen, goes the whole house," says the Flylady, and she's right. My husband mentioned this Simpsons episode once where a meteor or something is about to hit the Simpson house, and Marge runs back into the house to do a few dishes before running back out again to safety. Totally true!

There are times when it's a pain to be a super-neat person. For instance, my kids and I can be getting ready to go out (piano lesson, field trip, etc.) and I need just a few more minutes to straighten the house. I love coming home to a clean house. But there are times when I have to say to myself, "Well, Lori, what are you going to do? Take the kids to the planetarium or do the dishes?" Because I can't do both. I usually try to choose the kids over cleaning.

My mother-in-law, Pat, has told me many stories about her mother (Bruce's grandmother), Anna Elliot. She was evidently a very lively, fun person but her house was always in shambles. However, Pat has so many fond memories of her mom and all the great things she would do with them. She mentioned one time when they were done with dinner, and instead of clearing the table and doing the dishes, Anna just threw a sheet over the entire table and took the family out for ice cream.

I admire that. I think there's something to be said for putting the kids and fun family times ahead of cleaning and organization. It's really hard for me to do that, but I'm trying. I'll never be messy, but I can learn to "let go" of some of the smaller, less important chores so that I have more time with my family.

Migraines Ahoy!

Wow, I've been gone for a long time. I've just been so busy with my business, my other blog, homeschooling, and the holidays that I haven't had a chance to post here.

I am afflicted with migraines. I always hoped I wouldn't grow up to get them. I watched my mom suffer with them for so many years when I was growing up. She had been plagued with them since childhood. It was much worse for her - there were no medications targeted to migraines when she was young; really, not much was known about them at all.

I live in the age of Imitrex, which has been such a blessing for me and my mom. I don't know what we would do without it. I get two-day migraines a couple times a month, and although the Imitrex doesn't take the migraine away completely, it does provide a lot of relief.

I've tried to figure out whether they're the result of stress, things I eat, lack of sleep, etc. but the only pattern seems to be that they're related to monthly hormones. And, of course, they're hereditary.

My sisters don't get them, and I'm so glad about that. I really hope that neither of my kids take after me in this regard. We'll just have to see. In the meantime, I'm on day two of this month's migraine, and I'm really hoping it goes away soon.

I'm Still Here!

I know I haven't blogged here in awhile - it's been a crazy month and a half. August is so busy for me, with my business, and then I started up homeschooling again, etc. etc. Since my last post was a downer, I figured it's time to come back and post something more cheerful.

So, what has happened recently? My grandparents celebrated their 76th wedding anniversary in July, and then my grandfather turned 105 in August. I don't really know how they've lived so long, but they are eager to go to heaven. They think God has forgotten them, the poor dears. Amazingly they are still able to live at home, with the care of my aunt and some nurses and caretakers. They are one of the oldest living married couples in the world, both by length of marriage and by their combined ages.

When I was growing up, I had a friend who had hermit crabs as pets. Naturally, I thought he was a geek (sorry, Eric!) Recently I decided to get some hermit crabs for my kids, and have found myself totally smitten. I love them! They are hilarious to watch, and it's fun to let them run around on the carpet. The highlight of my day (I'm easily amused) is to give them a piece of banana and watch them go crazy.

My husband has a doctor's appt. tomorrow, and hopefully his hand will be healed enough to get his cast removed. We are all eagerly awaiting this day, as he's been in a cast for a full six weeks at this point. So let's cross our fingers (ouch) that everything will go well.

So, When Does Mary Poppins Arrive?

Sunday night, I was sitting at the computer working on my business when the phone rang. It was my husband, Bruce, who was playing basketball at our church. He told me that he thought he had just broken his finger, and would get back to me from the ER. An hour later, he informed me that while his finger was only dislocated, he had broken two bones in his hand. Basically he had run into another player while reaching for the ball, and the impact curled his hand around unnaturally.

Right now he's wearing a splint, and hopefully in a few days the swelling will have gone down enough for him to get a cast. Unfortunately, it was his right hand (he's right-handed), and he's had to learn to do everything with his left, making us a family of lefties =)

Last week, my kids had this cold/cough virus that's going around, and this week I got it. So by Tuesday, I had lost my voice completely. There were times when I was gesturing to everyone while Bruce tried to figure out what I was saying, only to turn around and have to hold something or open something for him. We felt like we equaled about 3/4 of a parent. I kept hoping for a kind, gentle nanny to drop out of the sky and help us, but she never came.

I'm feeling better today, and Bruce has adapted to being one-armed, so things are feeling sorta normal. Hopefully this week I'll have a chance to set up our school area for this next year, and Bruce will get back to  work. Barring any unforseen circumstances, that is...

The Half-Hearted Gardener

I must admit, I love the idea of a garden. I love the Chicago Botanic Gardens. I love eating garden-fresh food. The problem is, I just don't want to spend the time necessary to have a thriving garden.

We have four large garden boxes in our backyard, and every year it's the same: we plant seeds, water them, and end up with a huge, overgrown jungle. I never label the seed rows, so I don't know which plants are which until the vegetables start growing (this drives my husband crazy, but I like the element of surprise).

My grandmother always had a huge garden - actually, she devoted most of her backyard to it, which I always found strange. I recently realized that it's because she had lived on a farm most of her life, where she would have naturally had a very large garden. When she and my grandpa retired and bought a house in the city, she must have wanted to continue her gardening.

I have many wonderful memories of eating food straight from grandma's garden - one specific memory was picking peapods and, after shelling the peas, eating the pod. I don't know why they tasted so good, but they did. She also made homemade pickles with her cucumbers, and they tasted about 300 times better than store-bought.

So, my ideal would be to have a garden like my grandma's, with neat, long rows of vegetables and flowers. The thing is, she spent hours each day out there watering, weeding, hoeing, and all the other things you do with a garden. I just don't have the time or the desire for that.

Recently, my kids and I found these beautiful gold beetles in our garden. We were fascinated, and watched them for a few days until we realized that they were eating holes in all the leaves. That's the kind of gardener I am - more interested in the lovely yet destructive bugs than in the health of the garden.

Last night, we had cucumbers and green beans from our garden. In years past, we've enjoyed delicious yellow squash and zucchini (although they didn't grow this year; I have no idea why). We've had tomatoes, cilantro, carrots, and peas. One year we grew sunflowers that got to be 10 feet tall. So, it hasn't been a complete failure. It's not my dream garden, but the kids enjoy planting the seeds and watching them grow. I guess it's just the right amount of garden for us.