Perhaps the most confusing part of having been a Protestant minister and wife through the years of 1943 to 1985 has been to be hired mind, soul, heart and strength. Many ministers have resisted the impulse of congregations to hire the whole person. They have set rigid hours, or rigid days off. Some ministers' wives have cracked under the strain of trying to be all things to all people. Some indulge in self‑pity that seems disproportionate to me. We have certainly never been overworked by any outside force, and I think the average congregation is extremely understanding and considerate.

But there is a sense in which one is thought to set oneself up as different or apart. The notion that one can be all things to all people is of course absurd. To be a "servant of Christ" does not mean that one wants to be a slave to either a church or Pope or congregation. Of course that is undesirable as well as being impossible. Yet there is a sense in which "the fun" may go out of things if they're not spontaneous, and if a church is always expecting you to fill a certain role, it's easy to either become pompous or hypocritical. Bob used to say occasionally that it would be nice to get out of the ministry so that one could be a real Christian. When all your "Christian deeds" promote your own professional welfare, you become vaguely corrupted.

When I first discovered the Japanese word, "Muga", I was entranced. Muga means doing a thing without thinking, "I am doing it." I like to think a swimming fish has muga -- it is not thinking, "I am a fish swimming elegantly in my place in my school of fishes..." He is just SWIMMING, I'd like to think as God intended him to. Whereas there have been times in my life when I have taken communion feeling very conscious of my behavior or even of my clothes, at other times I have been in a state of muga ‑‑ I wish it had always been so.) Actually I think the Japanese word has a slightly more specialized meaning: a true state of muga would be the opera star who belts out an aria after so much study that he or she no longer thinks of technique or appearance, but just makes a beautiful sound with no apparent effort. It seems to me that more of life should be like that. Wouldn't sainthood be that kind of shining life?

Dick Stein once said, "The Methodist Church was designed to give every minister a guilty conscience." How does one live with a job that is never done? This is the problem of all creative work and all idealistic people who hope for social improvement. Ministers AND their wives have to cope with this. The goal is not to be a saint but to be a good human being. Buttrick was helpful in never running away from the fact that we are human creatures.

The longer I live the more I have admired the people who just hang in there and try to do their best without taking themselves too seriously. There are plenty of dynamic star players who burn out all too quickly.

Bob and I have managed to ENJOY the years far more than the average couple in our position. I would give Bob credit for having a lot more humility than the average minister ‑‑ if anything he has tended to undervalue himself. He and I have complementary skills in some ways. He has had the discipline and literary, creative talent to produce well‑constructed, solid and inspiring sermons for all these years. He has been willing to do his share of the "dirty work", fixing the mimeograph, investigating the smell and extracting the dead rat (he used to list his occupation as "pastor and assistant janitor" ‑ meaning that he did the work that was too demeaning for the church custodian). He has been unfailingly good humored, accepted the suggestions of others and has had a gift for getting a congregation to work together in harmony.

I think I have more of an ability to become intimate with people. I like making calls better than he does. I have often been the instigator in seeing where human relations could mesh or not mesh. We're both good idea people but in different ways. We have both been peacemakers.

Now it is 1990:

We have two more grandchildren: Robin Cherese born October 6, 1986 to David and Priscilla; and Meagan Amanda born April 26, 1987 to Bill and Kathy. Each one adds a new dimension to our lives. Robin opened new vistas for all of us when we realized that she had Down Syndrome. Thanks to her loving and insightful parents it has been a growing experience for all of us to cherish this very special little girl. And like so many experiences in my life it has strengthened and deepened my faith.

Since we retired two years ago, we have made two big trips back East renewing very dear relationships with long‑lost cousins and friends ‑ Ethel Havens Shaw, John Lambias, Mary Burrowes Snyder, etc. The centerpiece of each visit was a pilgrimage to see Charles and Keiko and family during the two years he is visiting professor at St. Lawrence University in Canton, New York. I can hardly bear to see them go back to Japan without another visit ‑‑ they may not even be able to stop on the west coast on their way back to Chiba. I want to be able to talk to the children in English before they revert to their Japanese culture. I'll keep on yearning.

My 50th College Reunion at Oberlin was a greater satisfaction than I could have hoped. We had all "mellowed" with age and I felt the experience did me good. So many of the things I had hoped for in life had come true ‑‑ far beyond my wildest expectations. It was a satisfaction like reading a good book.

Another satisfaction was the publication of "Object Talks from A to Z" by Standard Publishing Company. The royalties have been nice and the whole experience has been fun. I was interested that they used most all of my illustrations but gave me no credit but turned them over to their own artist who made them look more "Sundayschoolish" but more professional of course.

Bob's pursuit of his McCabe ancestry and putting together that story has been a major joy and made us feel extra close to all his family.

Now that we are "completely retired" and living in a comfortable "manor" or apartment with a beautiful view here in Rossmoor, we are very conscious of how good our life is. And how short! We just returned from a thrilling trip to China ‑‑ another mind-expanding experience, and it was good to get home to our comfortable home.

In recent years we thought a lot about whether we'd ever find a place to live in retirement. But that was only in fairly recent years. We were too busy living in our early and middle married life to worry about the future. In fact I sometimes wonder at some of the young people (I mean 30‑40 year old) who are so much more retirement conscious than we ever dreamed of being, even while they have far greater financial security in technical terms than we ever had.

So much of it is all in your head. We never thought we were POOR in the depression. We knew we didn't have an extra dime, but we didn't think poor. To me anyone who lives in Rossmoor is rich. Our whole country is rich. It haunts me that I haven't made much if any headway with the huge needs we pray about ‑‑ the very real poverty and hunger. And then it doesn't haunt me. And I am insulated and comfy. So it is always unfinished. I don't want to end on a gloomy or pious note. I've had a nice life. If I died tomorrow, I couldn't ask for anything more, but then I said that 30 or 40 years ago...

Adela Johnston, my dear neighbor, said one day, "Tell me ONE good thing about growing old." Maybe that's what I can spend some time thinking about...