Jennifer L. Wright's Blog, page 13

The Tragedy at Aberfan

It was foggy on the morning of October 21, 1966.

Not that that was unusual for the small Welsh village of Aberfan. It had been raining for weeks, but that wasn’t unusual either for an area that received over 60 inches a year. It was dreary and misty, yes. But also full of excitement.

Because, for the pupils of Pantglas Junior School, it was the last day before their half-term holiday. It would begin at midday, if only they could make it through just a few more hours of school. Head teacher Ann Jennings knew her students were anxious; morning assembly was full of titters and restless bodies.

And, at 9:15 am, the sound of distant thunder.

Thunder turned out not to be thunder at all.

As the sound grew louder and louder, eight-year old Gayle Minett recalled that “all the school went dead. You could hear a pin drop. Everyone was petrified, afraid to move. Everyone just froze in their seats…the sound got louder and nearer, until I could see the black out of the window. I can’t remember any more but I woke up to find that a horrible nightmare had just begun in front of my eyes.” 

The distant rumble turned into roar as a tidal wave of coal waste 40 feet high slammed into the school, filling classrooms and burying those inside underneath 140,000 cubic yards of coal waste. Unbeknownst to those inside, the landslide had already taken out a farm and several houses on its way down the mountain.

Terrified parents and community members rushed to the scene. One journalist wrote:

“Men, women and children were tearing away the debris in an effort to reach the trapped children. As the men shovelled debris from spade to spade, children’s books appeared. An odd cap was seen. A broken doll. Mothers gathered around the school steps, some weeping, some silent, some shaking their heads in disbelief. Teams of men and boys worked in long rows from the school building, handing buckets of slurry from the classrooms. At regular intervals everything would come to a halt – the roar of heavy machinery, the shouts, the scraping of shovels. Not a murmur would be heard among the thousand workers. Time stood still. And rescuers listened tensely for the slightest sound from the wreckage – for a cry, a moan, a movement – anything which would give hope to the mothers and fathers.”

Of the 169 people inside Pantglas Junior School, just 25 survived. When all the bodies were finally recovered weeks later, the final death toll stood at 116 children and 28 adults.

Over half of the youth population of the village of Aberfan had perished in a single morning, the result of an incident that a tribunal later commissioned to investigate called a deadly accident that “could and should have been prevented.”

So what happened?

Mining had been a part of the landscape of South Wales for many years. During a time when coal was necessary for domestic heating, demand was high and the area around Aberfan was rich with resources. The Merthyr Vale Colliery was opened in 1869 near the village, providing a boon and much-needed employment to the town’s residents. By 1916, however, the operation had run out of space on the valley floor for “spoil tips,” or waste produced during the mining process. No matter; the company simply began piling it on the mountainside above the village instead. Within a few decades, there were seven large piles (called “tips”) containing 2.7m cubic yards of waste on the hills surrounding Aberfan.

One of these, Tip Number Seven, lay directly above Pantglas Junior School.

The pile had grown so large on a hill so steep that local residents began to worry. In both 1963 and 1964, the Aberfan Town Council raised concerns to the National Coal Board over the tip. “I regard it as extremely serious as the slurry is so fluid and the gradient so steep that it could not possibly stay in position in the winter time or during periods of heavy rain,” read a statement in the 1963 letter.

The National Coal Board ignored the plea. But, more than just taking no action, the Board attempted to bully the town into silence. “The threat was implicit,” reported the BBC later, “make a fuss and the mine would close.” For the over 8,000 miners and their families in and around Aberfan, it was a risk they couldn’t ignore.

The town council backed down from their appeals.

Tip Number Seven, the waste pile in question, had been started in 1958 and, by 1966, rose 111 feet in the air and contained 230,000 cubic meters of waste. It not only sat in a precarious position behind the school, it had also been built atop highly porous sandstone that rested atop an underground spring. Heavy rains in the weeks prior had swollen nearby mountain streams and, at 7:30 a.m. on October 21, workers assigned to the tip discovered that it had started to slide. Although the crew opted not to move forward with the day’s planned tip operation, they were unable to prevent further slippage, and at 9:15 a.m., an avalanche of slurry began hurtling toward the village below at over 80 miles per hour.

It was a disaster of epic and heartbreaking proportions.

A tribunal was tasked with investigating the Aberfan disaster. After interviewing 136 witnesses and examined 300 exhibits, the panel concluded the sole party responsible for the tragedy was the National Coal Board.

“The Aberfan disaster is a terrifying tale of bungling ineptitude by many men charged with tasks for which they were totally unfitted, of failure to heed clear warnings, and of total lack of direction from above,” the investigators wrote in their 1967 report. “Not villains but decent men, led astray by foolishness or by ignorance or by both in combination, are responsible for what happened at Aberfan.”

The Coal’s Board president, Lord Robens, denied all wrongdoing.

When Sin Seems Justified

“She started it!”

“No I didn’t!”

“Yes you did!”

“Nu-uh!”

If you’re a parent, I bet you’re cringing right now. And, even if you’re not, my guesses are you might be, too. Because we’ve all been there, either with our children, the children of others, or even in the memories of our own childhood. A friend or sibling does something to us so we retaliate (and sometimes he or she retaliates back), and so the cycle goes until one (or both) end in tears (or a time-out).

And it doesn’t end with youth. We may be a bit more subtle with it as we age, but the desire for retribution never truly goes away. You cut me off in traffic, I’m going to tailgate you. You say something mean to me, I’m going to say something mean back (either to your face or behind your back). You don’t come to my party, I’m not going to come to yours.

It’s human nature at its basic sense, this prideful need for vindication. And yet, as “natural” as it may be, it is also sin. Plain and simple. 1 Peter 3: 9 says, “Do not repay evil with evil or insult with insult, but with blessing, because to this you were called so that you may inherit a blessing.” 1 Thessalonians 5:15 says, “Make sure that nobody pays back wrong for wrong, but always try to be kind to each other and to everyone else.” Jesus says in Mark 11:25, “And when you stand praying, if you hold anything against anyone, forgive him, so that our Father in heaven may forgive you your sins.”

And, trust me, these verses don’t even begin to scratch the surface.

My point is that denying ourselves an opportunity for revenge feels so counter-intuitive that we often-times feel justified giving into our sin. We tell ourselves that although we know and understand the Bible tells us to forgive, the offender’s perceived crime against us was so reprehensible, this one particular sin is okay. No, it’s more than okay. It’s rational. It’s reasonable. It legitimate.

The trouble is once you justify one sin, it’s a whole lot easier to begin justifying others.

Let’s revisit a perhaps familiar story in the Old Testament to see what I mean. In the Book of Daniel, we find the Jewish people in exile, under the rule of the Babylonians. Daniel and three of his friends, Shadrach, Meshach, and Abednego, had been put into the service of King Nebuchadnezzar. Although surrounded by a pagan and hostile culture, the four men were steadfast in their commitment to God and His decrees, ultimately earning favor and position within the kingdom even despite their Jewish background.

Until the day Nebuchadnezzar decided to erect a statue.

A statue of which he thought very, very highly.

Too highly, in fact.

“So the satraps, prefects, governors, advisers, treasurers, judges, magistrates, and all the other provincial officials assembled for the dedication of the image that King Nebuchadnezzar had set up, and they stood before it. Then the herald loudly proclaimed, ‘This is what you are commanded to do, O peoples, national, and men of every language. As soon as you hear the sound of the horn, flute, zither, lyre, harp, pipes, and all kinds of music, you must fall down and worship the image of gold that Kind Nebuchadnezzar has set up. Whoever does not fall down and worship will immediately be thrown into a blazing furnace” (Daniel 4: 3-6)

Well. That escalated quickly.

Now Shadrach, Meshach, and Abednego were included in this decree but they, unlike other people, recognized something wrong with the king’s command. You see, they weren’t just any old people. They were Jews, members of God’s chosen, specifically set aside and called to a higher set of standards and commandments.

Namely, not bowing down and worshipping anyone or anything other than the One True God.

And yet failure to do so would mean a certain and more likely excruciating death.

Surely, worshipping the statue to save them from this terrible fate would be okay, right? This sin was justified.

Think of all the ways they could have rationalized their sin:

“We’ll bow down but not actually worship the idol.”

“We won’t become idol worshippers, but we’ll do it just this one time and then ask God for forgiveness.”

“The king has absolute power and we must obey him. God will understand.”

“This is a foreign land, so God will excuse us for following the customs of this land.”

“We’re not hurting anybody. It’s just a small sin.”

“If we get ourselves killed, and some heathens take our high positions, they won’t be able to help our people in exile. Surely God doesn’t mean for us to DIE.”

All of these sound reasonable, don’t they? Though we may never have been in a death or sin situation, I can guess we’ve all used some variation of one of these as a means to excuse our own sin. But that’s the problem, isn’t it? When it comes down it, they are just excuses.

Each time we explain away our sin or attempt to give it just cause, we not only weaken our witness, we diminish the seriousness of sin. Sin is sin is sin no matter how we try to defend it, vindicate it, or even sanction it. And even if we may have legitimate (human) excuse for it, it does not change God’s call for us to live a life free from it. When we give into sin because we believe we have just cause to do so, it plants the tiniest seed of pride within our hearts that, if left unchecked, can grow into a weed that chokes out the peace of a soul in step with its Maker.

“Yes, I know God said not to do this, but I think just this once it’s okay.”

“God’s Word says this, but I believe He’d be fine with it in this instance.”

I think. I believe.

When we justify our sin with our own rationale, we attempt to take away God’s sovereignty and make ourselves gods in our own sight. And when you are your own god, who is to say what’s sin but yourself? While this thought might seem powerful initially, it is a dark, deep, scary hole from which it is almost impossible to escape.

“…each one is tempted when, by his own evil desire, he is dragged away and enticed. Then after desire is conceived, it gives birth to sin; and sin, when it is full-grown, gives birth to death” (James 1: 14-15).

Shadrach, Meshach, and Abednego understood this. While they had perfectly legitimate reasons to give into sin, they instead chose the opposite:

“If we are thrown into the blazing furnace, the God we serve is able to save us from it, and he will rescue us from your hand, O king. But even if he does not, we want you to know, O king, that we will not serve your gods or worship the image of gold you have set up” (Daniel 4: 17-18).

Even under threat of death, these three brave men refused to let sin enter their hearts or their lives. They had every reason to do it. Good reasons, if you looked at it from a merely human perspective. And yet they stood against temptation, against evil, and against culture. Because God’s commands, no matter how illogical or irrational they may seem at the time, are always for our good.

No, not just for our good.

For our best.

P.S. If you don’t know the end of the story of Shadrach, Meshach, and Abednego, I highly encourage you to read the rest of Daniel 4. Their steadfastness did NOT go unrewarded. Check it out.

Quoth the Raven: “Huh?”

On October 3, 1849, a reporter for the Baltimore Sun named Joseph W. Walker decided to head to Gunner Hall’s, which had been set up at polling station for the day’s election. Thinking he’d gauge the vibe or catch a whiff of public sentiment, he knew the public house would be a great place to find a lead for his next story.

And he was right. But not in the way he imagined.

Instead, upon arrived at Gunner’s Hall, he found a man lying in a gutter delirious, semi-conscious, and unable to move. As Walker bent to assist him, he was startled to discover the identity of the man was none other than Edgar Allan Poe. The famed poet was wearing clothes that didn’t seem to belong to him; they were shabby, cheap, and ill-fitting, a sharp departure from Poe’s usual well-tailored wool suits. In addition, he wore a straw hat atop his head, something the acclaimed writer would never have chosen for himself. Poe arose from his stupor long enough to pass along the name of a person he believed could help him–Joseph E. Snodgrass–before falling back into the depths of oblivion.

A letter was sent to Snodgrass, who was a magazine editor with some medical training, and Poe was taken to a local hospital. For four days, he drifted in and out of semi-consciousness, speaking incoherent sentences and experiencing visual hallucinations. However, he never regained enough of himself to tell doctors exactly what had happened. On the night of October 6, he uttered one more nonsensical word–“Reynolds”–before passing away the next day at the age of 40. A Baltimore newspaper reported he had died of “congestion of the brain.”

But what does that even mean? And how did it happen?

What is known for sure is that Poe left Richmond, Virginia on September 27 (a full week earlier) bound for Philadelphia. Once there, he was to edit a collection of poems for Mrs. St. Leon Loud. However, Poe never made it Philadelphia. From his departure on the 27 to the discovery of his dilapidated, barely conscious body outside Gunner’s Hall on October 4, no one saw Poe. No one spoke to him.

The world’s best horror novelist seemingly took a page out of his own book: missing for a week, discovered, then dead without cause.

Or was there?

Many believe Poe’s death was a result of complications from alcoholism. Snodgrass himself, who was the first medical professional to attend Poe at Gunner’s Hall, believed that Poe’s condition was a result of drunkenness and his subsequent illness alcohol withdrawal. Other witnesses came forward, saying they’d seen Poe around Baltimore in the days before his collapse going on a “drinking bender.” It’s entirely plausible, as he had been notorious in his inability to handle alcohol and had thus suffered from bouts of alcoholism throughout his life. However, in the months leading up to his death, Poe had joined a temperance movement, which sought to promote the consumption of alcohol. In addition, John Moran, the attending physician at the hospital, refuted Snodgrass’s claims, saying he did not believe Poe was drunk nor had he been drinking in the days leading up to his illness. He cited the length of his ailment as well as his slight improvement before ultimately dying as inconsistent with “death by drink.” Science lended weight to Moran’s opinion; low levels of lead were found in Poe’s hair after his death, indicating at least partial sobriety. This didn’t stop Snodgrass from using Poe’s death to further the temperance movement, of which he was also an active part. For several years afterwards, he gave lectures across the country, blaming Poe’s death on binge drinking and furthering the unsubstantiated theory of his demise.

But, if it wasn’t alcohol, what else could it have been?

Some believe Poe was beaten to death by ruffians, either during a robbery attempt or during a case of mistaken identity at the behest of an injured woman. Still others believe it may have been carbon monoxide poisoning as a result of the coal gas used for indoor lighting at the time. Others cite high levels of mercury in Poe’s system in the months leading up to his death and believe it was heavy metal poisoning. Still other, more common causes–diabetes, heart disease, epilepsy, tuberculosis, the flu, even rabies–have been put forth. All of these theories, though perhaps plausible, fail to account for all of the symptoms or circumstances surrounding Poe’s surmise.

More sinister speculation has also arisen. Some believe Poe was a victim of “cooping,” a method of voter fraud carried out by gangs in the late 19th century. During a coop, thugs would force an unsuspecting victim under threat of violence to vote for a particular candidate multiple times wearing various disguises. Proponents of this theory believe it was no coincidence Poe was discovered in his beleaguered state on Election Day outside a polling place known to be a hot spot for cooping. His ragged clothes and delirious state could have been a result of costume changes as well as the celebratory glass of alcohol given to voters upon casting; if Poe had been committed to temperance, months of abstaining (coupled with his natural inability to handle liquor) could explain his stupor.

There has also been conjecture that Poe may have been murdered by the brothers of his wealthy fiancee, Elmira Shelton. They believe his “disappearance” was actually a week of hiding after receiving threats during his time in Philadelphia. His second-hand clothes were an attempt at disguise before returning to marry his sweetheart–a marriage that was not to be as, supposedly, the brothers found him anyway and ended the engagement–and Poe’s life.

Each theory surrounding Poe’s death carries answers–and more questions. Although some are more believable than others, none of have sufficient weight to definitively close the case on just what transpired in the final days of Edgar Allan Poe. But perhaps it’s only fitting for the world’s most famous author of the macabre’s death to be shrouded in lurid uncertainty.

The Most Faithful Doubter In History

When we think of heroes of the faith, there are many names that come to mind.

Abraham, Noah, David, Peter, Paul.

But one man who doesn’t get enough credit is John. No, not John the disciple. I’m talking about the other John, the original John, the first John (okay, not, like, the first John ever but the first John in the story of Jesus):

John the Baptist.

The man was a rock star even before his conception. In Luke 1, an angel visited Zechariah, John’s soon-to-be father, and foretold the kind of man his son would be:

“…he will be great in the eyes of the Lord…he will be filled with the Holy Spirit even from birth. Many of the people of Israel will he bring back to the Lord their God. And he will go on before the Lord, in the spirit and power of Elijah, to turn the hearts of the fathers to their children and the disobedient to the wisdom of their righteous–to make ready a people prepared for the Lord.” (verses 15-17)

Even after his conception but before his birth, John was a faithful force to behold.

“When Elizabeth heard Mary’s greeting, the baby leaped in her womb…” (Luke 1:41a)

The first person to recognize the coming Messiah was a fetus inside his mother’s womb. John, still being knit together, and yet already rejoicing at the presence of the Lord.

Amazing, isn’t it?

Even after he was grown, we see John out in the wild, boldly fulfilling the role for which he was born. He calls for people to repent, rebukes the Pharisees and Sadducees, and even denies the Christhood for himself when others tried to pin it on him (something that may have been tempting for a man living off locusts and wearing clothes made of camel hair).

In Matthew 3, we see the worlds of John and Jesus finally collide, as John stood in the Jordan River baptizing his followers. It was then that Jesus approached him, asking to baptized as well.

“But John tried to deter him, saying ‘I need to be baptized by you, and do you come to me?’ Jesus replied, ‘Let is be so now; it is proper for us to do this to fulfill all righteousness.’ Then John consented. As soon as Jesus was baptized, he went up out of the water. At that moment heaven was opened, and he saw the Spirit of God descending like a dove and lighting on him. And a voice from heaven said, ‘This is my Son, whose I love; with him I am well pleased.'” (Matthew 3:14-17)

After a lifetime of faith, John is able to witness the miraculous unveiling of God’s Son. All his days had led up to this point, where he was finally able to pass the torch to the One he knew would change everything.

And change it did. But, at least in John’s case, not for the better.

Shortly afterward, John was thrown in prison by Herod at the behest of Herodias, his sister-in-law, with whom he had begun an affair. John boldly and bravely spoke truth over the matter, telling Herod the relationship was a sin, and he was punished for it.

The Messiah had come. Jesus now traveling the countryside, preaching His message and preforming miracles….all while John, the one who had paved the one for His ministry, sat in prison.

Although Scripture doesn’t say for sure, I can imagine John sitting in his prison cell, retracing his steps and playing the past over and over in his mind trying to make sense of his circumstances. He’d known his calling from birth, had been faithful to it, and had eagerly awaited–and witnessed–the beginning of His Messiah’s public ministry. He knew who Jesus was even before he was born and, through the Old Testament Scriptures, he knew the things the Messiah would achieve. And yet here he was, isolated, tortured, and discouraged.

Despite everything–the faithfulness he’d displayed even before his birth and the miracle he’d witnessed in the waters of the Jordan River–John the Baptist began to doubt.

He began to doubt so much, in fact, that when some of his disciples came to visit him in prison, he sent with them this message to pass along to Jesus:

“Are you the one who was to come, or should we expect someone else?” (Matthew 11:3b)

Questions such as this one are prone to creep in when Jesus fails to meet our expectations. Jesus proclaimed freedom, but John was a captive. The Messiah was to bring about judgment and a new kingdom, and yet the Romans remained firmly in control of the land. Jesus was supposed to be God Incarnate, all powerful and loving, but He had done nothing to help get John out of prison.

Haven’t we all been there? Perhaps not in prison at the behest of an evil ruler, but we’ve all had times in our lives where Jesus has not responded to our situations in the ways in which we think He should. And in those moments, if we’re being honest, I think most of us can admit that we’ve begun to doubt.

What’s most interesting about John’s story is the way Jesus responds to his doubts.

“Jesus replied, ‘Go back and report to John what you hear and see: The blind receive sight, the lame walk, those who have leprosy are cured, the deaf hear, the dead are raised, and the good news is preached to the poor.'” (Matthew 11:4-5)

Jesus doesn’t immediately come to John’s aid. Nor does He acquiesce to John’s expectations. Instead, Jesus pointed John back to Scripture. Using phrases from the prophet Isaiah, He described the work He had been doing, knowing John would recognize the reference and understand that yes, Jesus was indeed who He said He was.

At the end of the day, John was still stuck in prison. His challenging circumstances had not abated; in fact, he would never see freedom again. And yet, from Jesus’s words, John the Baptist found comfort. His mission and his calling had not been vain. Jesus truly was the Messiah, and His purpose would be fulfilled.

In our own challenging times, we too can find comfort in the truth of the Scriptures. We have the benefit of being able to look back over God’s faithfulness through the centuries, as well as remembering His steadfast love in our lives. When we find ourselves blinded by our doubts, we must remember that–like John–our perspective is limited. We look at the world through the standpoint of the here and now; God looks at things things through the framework of eternity. It’s easy to lose hope and feel our faith waiver when we look at the state of the world around us. It’s only by keeping our eyes on Scripture–and the promises both fulfilled and those yet to come–that we can remain hopeful in seasons of hopelessness.

No matter what your life looks like–how hard, how broken, how confused–remember this one simple truth: Jesus is Who He Says He is.

And He will do what He says He will do.

Period.

The Little Rock Nine

On June 7, 1892, Homer Plessy, a shoemaker and social activist, walked into the Press Street Depot in New Orleans, bought a first-class ticket to Covington, Louisiana, and boarded the East Louisiana Railroad’s Number 8 train–all with the full expectation of being forced off the train or arrested—or both. That’s because Plessy was a black man…and the first class car was a “white car.” Under Louisiana’s Separate Car Act of 1890, all railroads operating in the state were required to provide “equal but separate accommodations” for white and African American passengers. It also prohibited passengers from entering accommodations other than those to which they had been assigned. Which meant that while Plessy had paid for his ticket just like every other person in the car, legally he was not allowed to be there.

As the train pulled away from the station, the conductor asked Plessy if he was a “colored” man. Although as a light-skinned Creole, Plessy could have easily passed for white, he was determined not to deny his heritage in order to gain favor. Instead, Plessy said he was, and the conductor told him to move to the appropriate car, which Plessy refused to do. The conductor stopped the train, and Detective Christopher Cain boarded the car, arrested Plessy, and forcibly dragged him off the train with the help of a few other passengers. After a night in jail, Plessy appeared before the judge where he was found guilty of violating the law.

Plessy, however, wasn’t content to let dead dogs lie. He challenged the ruling, taking it all the way to the Supreme Court. In May 1896, the case Plessy v. Ferguson upheld the constitutionality of racial segregation under the “separate but equal” doctrine. Rejecting Plessy’s argument that his constitutional rights were violated, the Supreme Court ruled that a law that “implies merely a legal distinction” between white people and Black people was not unconstitutional. 

And things only got worse from there.

This ruling paved the way for an explosion of Jim Crow laws across the south, constitutionally sanctioning the barring of African Americans from sharing the same buses, schools and other public facilities as whites. The notion of “separate but equal” would stand for nearly six decades…until 1951, when a man named Oliver Brown filed a suit against the Board of Education of Topeka, Kansas, after his daughter, Linda, was denied entrance to one of Topeka’s all-white elementary schools. By 1952, Brown’s case–as well as four others–had been combined into a single case under the name Brown v. Board of Education of Topeka and was set to be heard before the United States Supreme Court.

This time, however, was different.

In the decision, issued on May 17, 1954, Chief Justice Earl Warren wrote that “in the field of public education the doctrine of ‘separate but equal’ has no place,” as segregated schools are “inherently unequal.” As a result, the Court ruled that the plaintiffs were being “deprived of the equal protection of the laws guaranteed by the 14th Amendment.”

Segregation was to be no longer.

Or, at least, it was supposed to have been.

In many places, resistance to the ruling was so widespread that the court was forced to issue a second decision in 1955, known as Brown II, ordering school districts to integrate “with all deliberate speed.” One such place was Little Rock, Arkansas. Due to pressure from the court as well as the local chapter of the NAACP, the local school board developed a plan for the integration of its schools. High schools, they decided, would be first, among these Little Rock Central High School.

But old prejudices die hard, and opposition groups grew in number and voice across the city. Among these was Governor Orval Faubus who, on September 2, 1957, announced that he would call in the Arkansas National Guard to prevent the African American students’ entry to Central High. He claimed it was for the students’ own protection. A federal judge, however, issued a ruling that desegregation would continue as planned the next day.

On September 4, 1957, a group of African-American students known as The Little Rock Nine–Minnijean Brown, Elizabeth Eckford, Ernest Green, Thelma Mothershed, Melba Patillo, Gloria Ray, Terrence Roberts, Jefferson Thomas and Carlotta Walls–arrived for the first day of school at Central High. All of them arrived together, save for Elizabeth Eckford who, owing to her lack of a telephone, was unaware of the carpool plans and arrived alone.

Despite the ruling by the federal judge, Governor Faubus kept his word: as news media looked on, under his orders, the Arkansas National Guard prevented any of the Little Rock Nine from entering the doors of Central High. Hoardes of angry white students swarmed the building, screaming, shouting, and even spitting on the nine as they attempted to enter the building. It wasn’t until September 23–over two weeks later–through intervention federal judge Ronald Davies and even president Eisenhower himself that the National Guard was finally removed and, under escort by the Little Rock Police Department, the students were finally allowed to enter the school. Unfortunately, they were removed a short time later after intense rioting broke out.

The following day, President Eisenhower sent in 1,200 members of the U.S. Army’s 101st Airborne Division from Fort Campbell, Kentucky, and placed them in charge of the 10,000 National Guardsmen on duty. Escorted by the troops, the Little Rock Nine attended their first full day of classes on September 25. Faubus and other groups continue to fight for re-segregation over the coming weeks and months; despite this, and the harassment and abuse they endured, the Little Rock Nine bravely remained pupils of Central High.

The fight for civil rights has been long, messy, and complicated. But the actions taken by these courageous teenagers over those few September days in 1957–and the ensuing school years–loom as example of boldness and valor in the face of horrendous social pressure. May their names and faces–rather than those who spewed hate and prejudice–be the ones we remember.

I Want To Be God’s Favorite

My daughter loves to pray.

There is no sweeter sound in the world to me than her small voice speaking to Jesus. What’s even sweeter is that she’s still learning to pray so much of her verbiage comes from words and phrases she’s heard others speak. She ends every prayer with “in Your Mighty and Holy Name, Amen” which, we learned, is how her teacher always finishes her prayers. She starts every prayer with “Thank you for this day,” which is how I start out my own prayers. But, lately, I’ve been hearing a new phrase repeated quite often:

“Dear God, I ask for your favor upon me.”

Knowing she had obviously heard the wording somewhere but wanting to make sure she actually understood it, I asked her what she thought it meant.

“That’s easy,” she replied. “I want to be His favorite.”

Although a precious sentiment, after my chuckles, I had to remind my child that God does not, in fact, have favorites. He loves all His children equally.

“Well then,” she asked stubbornly. “What does it mean then?”

And, honest to goodness, I didn’t have answer for her. Does His favor mean His blessings? His undivided attention? Only the best of what He has to offer?

None of those things seemed to quite sum it up, but I found myself unable to articulate the definition in any other way. So, naturally, I did what I always do: I turned to Scripture. And I found several examples within the pages of my Bible of those who were “favored” by God.

In Genesis 6:8, we read that Noah “found favor in the eyes of the Lord.”

In Exodus 33: 12, Moses speaks to God, reiterating what He had spoken over him: “…You have said, ‘I know you by name and you have found favor with me.'”

In Judges 6, an angel appears to Gideon and Gideon, not understanding or believing his words, asks for a sign that what he has said is true; however, he phrases his request by saying, “If now I have found favor in your eyes, give me a sign that it is really you talking to me” (verse 17).

Even in the New Testament, in one of the most famous stories of all, we find Mary, the mother of Jesus, confronted by the angel Gabriel. His greeting to her? “Greetings, you who are highly favored!” (Luke 1:28b).

All of these people, their names preserved for all eternity has having God’s favor. But does that mean they were His favorite? That they had a never-ending shower of blessings? The best of the best of life?

The interesting thing is….no.

In Genesis 6, right after we learn about Noah’s “favor in the eyes of the Lord,” God commands him to build an ark. He asks Moses to travel to Egypt and plead the Israelites case before Pharaoh. Gideon is called on to save Israel out of the hands of the Midianites–with only a few hundred men. And Mary? Mary was called to give birth to the Savior of the world, all while facing the scorn and ridicule that would inevitably accompany her assumed indiscretions.

None of these people described as “favored” by the Lord had easy lives. The designation of “favored” immediately accompanied a call to obedience in a difficult and seemingly impossible task. No, favored did not mean a place on a pedestal, far from the troubles of this world. Rather, it seemed a classification of those through whom God was going to accomplish great things.

Not because of who they were….but because of WHOSE they were.

If we return to Exodus 33, we find out exactly what made these people favored: “…Moses said to him, ‘If your presence does not go with us, do not send us up from here. How will anyone know that you are pleased with me and with your people unless you go with us? What else will distinguish me and your people from all the other people on the face of the earth?‘ And the Lord said to Moses, ‘I will do the very thing you have asked…'” (33: 15-17a, emphasis mine).

Moses recognized that what would set himself–and his people–apart and mark them as favored would be the presence of the Lord with them.

So it was with Gideon, so it was with Mary…and so it is with us. When we are asking for God’s favor in our lives, what we are really asking for is His presence. Because when His presence fills us, surrounds us, and leads us, it doesn’t matter to what difficult act of obedience He may call us or what challenging circumstance may rattle our day. The very God of the Universe–who created us, called us, LOVES us–is right there with us.

Having God’s favor doesn’t mean we won’t have problems. In fact, if we were to look at our Biblical examples, I would say the opposite might be true! But God’s favor means that He is with us every step of any work to which He directs us.

No, I may not be God’s favorite. But because of Christ, I do have His favor. And that, my friends, is something worth praying–and praising–about.

Computer Slow? Check for bugs!

In February 1945, with World War II dragging into its sixth year, the United States Navy entered a contract with a team of scientists at Harvard University to build a computer. Having been impressed by a demonstration of the Mark I, an electromechanical computer used to study implosions for the Manhattan Project, Navy higher-ups believed a similar device could assist in ballistic calculations.

Howard Aiken and Grace Hopper accepted the challenge.

Although similar in design, the Mark II (as it became known) used high-speed electromagnetic relays instead of the electro-mechanical counters used in the Mark I, making it much faster than its predecessor. It weighed 23 tons and occupied over 4,000 square feet of floor space. The computer was to be delivered to US Navy Proving Ground at Dahlgren, Virginia as soon as possible.

But just one week after Americans celebrated the signing of the instrument of surrender by Japan and representatives from nine Allied countries, officially ending World War II, the Mark II began presenting consistent errors. Frustrated, Aiken and Hopper’s team exhausted every avenue to try and find the source. They were still on a deadline, after all. World War II may have been over, but rumblings from the Soviets were already leaving military brass on edge; Mark II’s calculations were needed now more than ever.

Eventually, the team gave up and decided to open up the inner workings of the computer….only to discover a live moth trapped between relay points. The bug was disrupting communication between the various parts of the machine, resulting in the malfunction. After removing the insect, Hopper taped it inside the computer’s log book beside the words “Relay #30: Panel F (moth) in relay. First actual case of a bug being found.”

While the term “bug” had been in use in engineering for some time (even Edison used it as an expression of problems in a few of his invention), this discovery–and annotation by Hopper–led to wide-spread use among computer programmers and scientists to convey issues within their devices. And Hopper’s literal debugging of the Mark II also ushered in a completely new terminology to deal with these issues: “debugging.” 

Nowadays, “debugging” has become a full-time profession, with teams specializing in stopping and removing the thousands upon thousands of bugs, worms, viruses, and malware that threaten and plague computer users world-wide. But I can’t help but wonder if these modern day computer programmers secretly wish for the days when avoiding computer bugs was as simple as keeping the windows closed.

Happy Release Day to ‘Come Down Somewhere’!

Happy book birthday to my newest release, ‘Come Down Somewhere’!

For fans of WWII fiction comes a powerful novel by Jennifer L. Wright about two young women coming of age during the Trinity nuclear bomb test in 1945.

Sixteen-year-old Olive Alexander has lived on a ranch in the Jornada del Muerto region of southern New Mexico her entire life. But when World War II begins, the government seizes her family’s land for the construction of a new, top secret Army post.

While her mother remains behind, Olive is forced to live in nearby Alamogordo with her grandmother and find a place in a new school. When Jo Hawthorne crosses her path, Olive sees a chance for friendship―until she learns that Jo’s father is the Army sergeant who now occupies her beloved ranch. Already angry about her new reality, Olive pushes Jo away. But as she struggles to make sense of her grandmother’s lapses into the past and increasingly unsettling hints about what’s happening at the ranch, she slowly warms to Jo’s winsome faith and steady attempts at friendship . . . until one devastating day when the sky explodes around them and their lives are torn apart.

Seven years later, Jo returns to Alamogordo, still angry and wounded by the betrayals of that fateful day. Determined to put the past behind her once and for all, Jo hunts for answers and begins to realize the truth may be far more complicated than she believed, leading her on a desperate search to find her friend before it’s too late.

‘Come Down Somewhere’ is available from Tyndale House Publishers and can be found both in stores and online wherever books are sold.

Crazy4Fiction BookBash and Giveaway!

GIVEAWAY & Crazy4Fiction Book Bash stop #2!

Welcome to Oklahoma!

During this week’s Crazy4Fiction Summer Book Bash, I am taking a virtual visit to see sisters Kathryn and Melissa Baile from my historical fiction novel If It Rains. Reading offered an escape for Melissa and Kathryn, especially during the toughest years of the Dust Bowl. In particular, their mother’s tattered copy of The Wonderful Wizard of Oz allowed them to lose themselves, not only in the world of munchkins, winged monkeys, and magic slippers, but also to a time before drought, depression, and death became regular features in their landscape.

Although the Dust Bowl limited the Bailes to poverty, I know Kathryn and Melissa would have loved to host a lovely book bash with their friends if times were different. And I know you’d enjoy spending time with my heroines and getting to talk books with them. Since they can’t join us in-person, I’ve come up with some ways you could have a little book bash of your own, inspired by my book-loving heroines Melissa and Kathryn. 

Here’s a quick peek around Kansas where Kathryn and Melissa lived on the family farm before the Dust Bowl arrived and began to upend life as they had always known it. 

This is an example of a standard dugout, much like the one the Bailes lived in. With few trees to be harvested for lumber, settlers instead made shelters by digging them partially into the side of the hill. Although dark and often infested with insects, dugouts remained cool in the summer, warm in the winter, and protected year-round from the prairie’s relentless wind. Photo courtesy Oklahoma Historical SocietyThe Baile’s farm was located just outside Boise City, Oklahoma. It was founded in 1908 by a trio of swindlers who promised prospective lot buyers a well-developed town with rivers, paved streets, trees, and modern amenities. Instead, when settlers arrived, they found one building in the middle of a windswept prairie. Rather than cut their losses, however, most settlers remained and turned Boise City into a respectable city and, soon, the county seat of Cimarron County. Photo courtesy Oklahoma Historical SocietyJames Baile, Kathryn and Melissa’s father, was a tenant farmer. When settlers arrived in Oklahoma, they saw the miles of undeveloped grassland as a potential goldmine. Soon, thousands of acres of ground were plowed up for wheat. Money rolled in, just as the farmers suspected it would…until the rains stopped and the winds arrived. Photo courtesy Oklahoma Historical SocietyMelissa and Kathryn’s Summer Book Bash:

Prior to the Dust Bowl, the prairies of Oklahoma were lush and teaming with life. On a summer day before everything changed, Melissa and Kathryn could spend hours outside reading under the shade of a tall tree–one of few on the prairie–as a gentle wind drifted through (after their work on the farm was done, of course.) So finish your chores, invite your book group over (or cozy into a quiet afternoon on your own), and enjoy a book bash Melissa and Kathryn-style.

Theme: ‘There’s No Place Like Home’

Setting: Reading in the barn hayloft was always particularly cozy, but there’s nothing quite like the big oak tree in the far corner of the pasture, especially when a summer breeze comes through.

Food/drinks: Farm fresh is the way to go! Before drought paralyzed most homesteaders, farmers prided themselves on being mostly self-sufficient. What they couldn’t produce themselves, they traded for with neighbors. Melissa and Kathryn would have enjoyed fresh milk, cheese, and cream (perhaps served on homemade bread or as a dip for plump summer strawberries). Eggs were also plentiful and could be served poached or deviled (a Great Depression favorite!) The wheat harvest allowed for plenty of baking, including Kathryn’s favorite, cocoa cake (when sugar and cocoa could be found) or Melissa’s special strawberry rhubarb pie. Newly invented Kool-Aid was also a special treat.

Music: Melissa and Kathryn were partial to cheerful music from the late 1920’s and early 1930’s to remind them of happy times before the drought. Songs such as “Sunny Days” or “Smiling Skies” would have been particular favorites. Click here for a fun time period playlist!

Book Bash Giveaway!

To help you celebrate, Crazy4Fiction is giving away an ‘If It Rains’ prize pack that includes a signed copy of the book, a sand and succulent terrarium, a ‘Wizard of Oz’ bookmark, and a Crazy4Fiction tote bag! Giveaway is open from July 25 through July 31. Click on the photo below to enter!

And don’t forget to check out Crazy4Fiction’s site to be entered to win the grand prize, including a signed copy of each participating author’s latest book, a Kindle e-reader, and a Crazy4Fiction tote bag! The grand prize giveaway opens on July 29, at the end of the Book Bash tour.

In the meantime, be sure to check out all the stops along the way for unique and fun giveaways on each author’s blog!



Next Crazy4Fiction Summer Book Bash Stop: www.sandrabyrd.com/blog/summer-bash


P.S. My new historical novel  Come Down Somewhere is set in New Mexico and releases September 6! Preorder is now open for 20% off! 

Summer Hiatus!

Hello, dear readers!

My usual #historyfriday and #wellnesswednesday posts will be on hiatus this summer so I can spend some much-needed time with my family. They will return in September. Until then, stay tuned for news about my upcoming release, ‘Come Down Somewhere.’

Have a fantastic summer!