How a famous Amsterdam resident influenced my life.

Anne Frank received a diary for her 13th birthday in 1942. A month later, she and her family went into hiding because the Nazis who occupied Amsterdam were capturing Jewish families and transporting them to concentration camps where many died or were murdered.

Years earlier, the Frank family had moved from Frankfurt, Germany to Amsterdam, believing they would be safe. They were until 1940, when the Nazis bullied their way into Holland. Initially the Franks only had to tolerate the restrictions that made for inconveniences. Jews were no longer allowed to own bicycles (still a major form of transportation), ride street cars, or ride in any car. They were forbidden to go to theaters, movies or other forum of entertainment or sports. As Anne wrote in her diary: "You couldn't do this and you couldn't do that, but life went on."

But by the spring of 1942, life stopped going on for many Jewish families. Intolerance had grown to annihilation. Families were forced from their homes and sent to their death in camps by the name of Auschwitz, Bergen-Belsen and Buchenwald. Anne's father, Otto Frank foresaw the finale. He prepared for his family's safety by setting up a hidden living space in the top two floors of the building where his business was located. The building's unique architecture made it possible for the Frank family to occupy their sanctuary for two years without detection.

In addition to detailing the increasing dangers for Jews in the city, the diary details the stresses experienced by eight people--some with domineering and dramatic personalities according to Anne's account--who are forced to live together, quietly, to survive.

While the "Diary of Anne Frank" is hailed for its historical and educational value, it is probably the single most influencial book in promoting journaling. I had forgotten its influence in my life until last week when I was standing inside the Anne Frank House, a popular tourist site in Amsterdam. My husband and I had gone there for vacation.

The House, located at 262 Prinsengratch, is where the Frank family lived before they were taken into custody by the Nazis on August 4, 1944. My husband read the diary for the first time before our trip and finished it a day before we visited the House. I picked it up afterwards, my second reading.

It was Anne's unflattering characterizations of her schoolmates that she wrote about before the family moved into the annex that captured me on this reading. I was transported back to my initial journaling experience that occurred after I read "Diary of Anne Frank" the first time--as a fourth or fifth grader. I think for many children the book was required academic reading. And I, like Anne, received a diary as a gift. It was palm-sized with the words DIARY emblazoned on the front and it came with a tiny gold key so I could keep it locked. Here was a treasure, a place in which I could write anything--any thought, good or bad, wrong or right. I couldn't be scolded or punished for expressing how I felt or for recording what I did or planned to do.

When Anne posted her thoughts, she wrote "Dearest Kitty" as if writing a letter. I remember posting "Dear Someone," initially. Through the years, I kept many diaries. They were records of my unexpressed anger, pain, betrayals and dreams. They were the hiding place for my longings and loves. When I was 18, I tossed my diaries in a trash bin behind the apartment where I had been living. This was symbolic, a cleansing of sorts. But within the year, I purchased a journal (a new name for diary). That was 1980. For years, I used steno pads or legal pads. I have stacks of them, along with many of the bound decorative journals you buy at Borders or Barnes and Noble--gifts from people who love me and know me best.

One night I dreamt that my house caught on fire but I couldn't leave without rescuing the heavy plastic bin filled with my journals. The thought of their destruction caused panic even in the dream. Once, I left one on a plane. It was a great loss and I vowed never to put my journal in the back pocket of the airline seat in front of me. I wondered if anyone picked it up and read it afterwards or simply threw it away, uninterested in a stranger's personal life.

Journaling has helped me sort through confusion, face challenges and has provided a sanctuary for my deepest longings. Acquiring the discipline of journaling is probably in the top three of survival skills I learned out of necessity. From journaling, the desire to write fiction and non-fiction grew and then the exhilaration that comes from writing a story that captures a slice of life that matters.

When Anne started journaling, it was for herself. Then, while the family was in hiding, she heard a radio announcement from a exiled Dutch government representative requesting accounts of how the Dutch people had suffered under Nazi occupation. So, she decided to publish a book based on her journal writings after the war. But Anne died in Bergen Belsen, three months before her 16th birthday. Her father, the only immediate family member who survived the Holocaust, made arrangements to have his daughter's diary published.

How does a person become famous? They do or say memorable things. They live their life in an unforgettable manner, one that has impact on future generations. Although she didn't possess a wide circle of influence while she was living, Anne Frank certainly qualifies for fame for one reason--because she kept a journal and made a decision to publish a book with a story that mattered. And her father honored that decision.

If you want to visit the Anne Frank House, the tourist companies tell you go early in day because there is always a line. There was when we went. Immediately I thought of Anne. Amazing. One teenager started all this. She made 263 Prinsengracht memorable. She made it worth visiting. As I walked through the rooms in the annex where Anne lived her last two years, I mourned the world's loss of the spirited teen who I will always be grateful to for keeping a journal.

Till next time.
Kathy

Thoughts about Inaugural Day - January 20, 2009

Jan. 20, 2009 will go down in history books as the day Barack Obama, a man of color, took the oath of office to become the 44th president of the United States.

Shortly before President Obama was sworn in, Aretha Franklin belted out “My Country Tis of Thee, Sweet Land of Liberty…” and I had a thought—what it was like to live in a house that wasn’t really mine.

I slept there, ate there, cried and laughed there, dreamed and laid out hopes for the future there. It was a place where I vacuumed the rug and swept and mopped the floors and even painted the walls when they needed a new coat. I grew up in one house and took on adult responsibilities in another. These houses were places I occupied, but didn’t attach to. They belonged to someone else.

I am co-owner of the house that I live in today. My husband and I had the privilege of selecting the colors and textures and styles of many of the features of this house. There is a different feeling that I have about this house. I have allowed myself to become attached.

I am white, so I will never really understand what it’s like to be a person of color living in the United States of America. But I wonder if what I felt about living in a house I didn’t own are similar to the feelings some African Americans have about living in the United States.

As I listened to the words of that great song Aretha sang, my hopes were raised for people of color who carry the emotional baggage of living in their country where their ancestors were not treated as equals. And, where some still feel the sting of inequality when words or actions, spat carelessly or deliberately, ignite the memory and cause pain.

When Aretha sang “my country” I thought of the legitimacy of the statement for her and others who may be hearing, for the first time, their life story imbedded in the song because it is tied to the historic occasion of the inauguration of the first American president of color. The verse “Land where my fathers died,” takes on a whole new meaning for black Americans in context of the tragedy of slavery and the triumph of the civil rights movement.

My hope is that those who have felt more like occupiers felt and embraced the sense of ownership that came with the words, “my country.” And finally, a sense of peace and belonging has resonated in their souls. My hope is also that those of us who have white skin can appreciate and rejoice in this restorative moment for our brothers and sisters of color even if we don’t agree with president Barack Obama’s positions on critical issues.

God is sovereign. History is “His story” as pastor Rick Warren said during the inaugural invocation. The American institution of slavery should never have been. The inequities experienced by people of color should never have been. It was and still is sin wherever and whenever it occurs. But I have a God-given hope that He will speak to the hearts and raise up the heads of those who call on His name.

Be hopeful

Kathy

Are You Puzzled?

Have you ever been puzzled?

Have you ever awakened in the middle of the night and thought, "why am I here? Do I serve any good purpose? Do I matter? Is there value to my existence?"

These are just some of the questions that roam through my mind every now and then.

Needless to say, my preeminent question--why am I here?-- was answered through my relationship with my Lord and Savior Jesus Christ. I know that I am here to worship Him and enjoy Him forever; to live and walk in the Spirit; to love Him with all of my heart, mind, soul and strength; and to love my neighbor as myself. I am secure in knowing these things.

And yet, there are moments in my life when those pack of restless thoughts, save the one, are aroused by an unexpected event--a twist of fate that sidelines my expectations--a situation, a suffering, a loss. And once again, those howling questions break loose in my mind: Do I really matter?; do I serve any good purpose?; is there value to my existance?

I have never been a puzzle enthusiast, but my wife has. She enjoys the challenge of finding and fitting edge pieces together first to create a frame and then filling in the frame. She says its easier to that way. I don't know. I don't do puzzles.

For the sake of this blog, let's say there is a universal puzzle and that each piece represents an individual within that universe. Some have sharp angles, others are more rounded. A few have complex patterns on their surface, while others are simple. Some are multicolored, while others possess a single hue. Some puzzle pieces even resemble others in their shape and colors. Even though they appear to be similar, each piece has a unique characteristic that cannot be dublicated. (You find this out when you try to fit one piece in a space designed for another piece.)

But even though they are different, each one is designed to serve a special purpose. And, they all matter. There is no puzzle piece of greater or lesser value and the big picture is incomplete if any are missing or lost. The manufacturer of the puzzle was intentional when he created each of these unique configurations.

Now imagine that you are a jigsaw puzzle enthusiast and while putting the puzzle together you notice that one or two pieces are missing. Do you realize how frustrated you would feel? Or, how anxious you would become? Would you not search underneath the couch, between the pillows and the dog bowl just in case? Would you not even forage through the trash can, open the refrigerator and the puzzle box again and again?

You might even ask the person or persons with whom you reside if they came across the pieces. And if they said no, would you not ask them again--just to be sure? The fact is it would be difficult to rest your mind until you found that missing piece.

The puzzle piece doesn't see its significance, but you see the big picture. The piece is small in relation to the puzzle, but priceless, because without it, the picture is incomplete.

You are fearfully and wonderfully made. The purposes and plans God has for you may not be obvious each moment of your life. But remember His promise: when you trust in Him with all your heart, leaning not to your own understanding--when you acknowlege Him in all your ways, He will direct your path.

You do matter. Your life has purpose. You are significant in your Heavenly Father's eyes. And as you walk with Him, you will discover all that He has in store for you.

A scriptural verse that has encouraged my heart over the years is found in Jeremiah 29:11- "For I know the plans I have for you, declares the Lord, "plans to prosper you and not harm you, plans to give you Hope and a future."

Michael