Gracie's Speech

Last fall, Susan Grace was nominated to run for class president in her 6th grade class at the Korean school. She was surprised by the nomination and even more surprised when she won. A week later she told me that each class president had the option of running for student body president. I asked her what she was going to do. She said, “I think I’ll run”.
I had mixed feelings about her running. I thought she would make a great president, but knowing the language and the culture certainly must be a requirement for running, no? So, in a bossy mother tone I offered my unsolicited opinion, “If you run, your speech had better be in Korean”.
She worked hard on that speech and many friends and neighbors helped her. The day of the speech arrived and I went to the school to cheer her on. The speeches were streamed live from the principal’s office into each of the thirty classrooms where the students watched them on 52 inch flat screen televisions. I found Miriam’s classroom and watched from there. One by one the class presidents gave their speeches. After each speech the class politely clapped. As time went on, children became bored and there was a lot restless background noise. I waited. Finally, Gracie’s turn came and she started her speech, in English. My heart sank. I couldn’t help but feel disappointed. I watched the screen as she came to the end of her speech and paused. She looked up at the screen, smiled and then looked back at her paper. She took a deep breath and started to speak. This time, she spoke Korean. She seemed to struggle with every word. The rustling papers stopped. The background chatter ceased. The classroom was completely silent. The only sound was her struggling voice. She finished, looked up at the screen and smiled. The silence broke and there was an unexpected burst of cheering that filled the classroom. My eyes filled with tears as I stepped into the hallway. The hallway roared with the cheers of every classroom in the building. I could not believe it. No one could.
When she came home from school that afternoon she smiled her "I’m so excited" smile and said, “I won Mom!” I hugged her and thought, “Yes, Gracie, you did”.

Orchard Row

One of my favorite places to go walking is on the mountain behind my home. On the mountain, there is a special spot of mine. I call it, “Orchard Row” because of the curving, dirt path lined both sides by big, old trees. There are streams along the path and if I walk far enough, I will eventually find a secluded pond with lily pads. Last January, I walk and hiked along my Orchard Row. It was quiet. Winter’s darkness had settled in there and it was cold and dark—even though it was midmorning. For the most part, my orchard felt "dead". I touched the bark of one of those big, old trees. I couldn’t help but whisper out loud, “Is it possible?” And then, the answer came not from the tree, but seemed to whisper from somewhere else in the orchard, “I promise.” I returned several times during the next few months. Again, it seemed quite hopeless in those winter months that those trees could be any different than they were.

In early April, during my walking there, I noticed the smallest forming of a bud on the long straight branches of one of my trees. I couldn’t help but gently pat the tree, and smile.

Within weeks, Orchard row was all but a million blossoms. The streams were running happily down the hill and children were playing in open meadows. As I entered the orchard from the busy road of concrete and noise, I couldn’t help but feel like I was stepping into an enchanted storybook forest. It’s hard to describe the feeling I get during those days of the blossoms. I feel close to God. I feel close to the Garden Tomb spoken of in Matthew, Mark, Luke, and John of the Holy Bible. One day as I walked slowly down the dirt path of “my orchard” looking up at those giant old trees, the sweet fragrance of blossoms filled the air and I could have sworn I heard them singing, “Hallelujah! Oh praise Him! Hallelujah!

So it is with life. Dark moments full of disappointment, despair, and even death may surround us. All hope seems to be futile. The winter is dark and quiet. But, there is a promise: In the right time, during the right season, faith will replace doubt, hope will replace despair, and life will replace death. I promise.