Sacraments

On a shelf in the garage sits my Ore Ida French fry box. Inside, I store the tokens of my high school career: trophies, certificates, my graduation mortar board, four yearbooks, a disintegrating album with all manner of now embarrassing photos, plus miscellaneous stuffed animals, pins, and, well, stuff.

The summer after my high school graduation, my family moved out of our townhouse and into a nearby apartment. I brought the Ore Ida French fry box home from the bowling alley where I was working that summer. When I filled it full of my precious tokens, I had every intention of unpacking it “someday” when I would be out of college and living on my own.

Four years passed, and I moved out on my own. [Read more…]

On July 2, 1969, I came into the world alone and flawed. My birth mother relinquished rights at birth, so the medical staff was left to make decisions about how to treat a not fully formed aortic valve that was leaking blood from one chamber of my heart to the other. Left alone, my heart would probably develop and heal itself. Or maybe not. They decided to wait.

In the meantime, what to do with an infant girl un-adoptable with such a life threatening condition? The State of Arizona’s foster care system took charge and contacted a family that had taken high risk children in the past. Joe and Nel, with their own three children, said, “Yes, we’ll take the little lost miss,” and nicknamed me Missy since I had no other name.

Their one condition for the placement: baptism. [Read more…]

The Ore Ida French Fry Box

One baptism

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