Posts Tagged ‘writing’

REFLECTIONS ON TIME AND HOW THERE’S NEVER ENOUGH OF IT

September 18, 2025

September 18, 2025

Today would have been my sister-in-law Roxanne’s 75th birthday. Sadly, Roxanne died two days ago. We knew Roxanne was in failing health and we desperately wanted to be with her one more time, but events in the mission hospital where we work in northeastern Ghana precluded our leaving, and time caught up with us. We comfort ourselves with the fact that my husband Bob called his sister every night, asking about her day, praying for her, and exchanging corny jokes from old TV programs. Roxanne’s death underscores a point: We can never spend too much time with those we love, for one day time runs out and we are left to mourn by ourselves.

We first left America for Ghana in 1988. Through the years, we have lost parents, step-parents, and siblings. We were blessed to be in the U.S. and spend time with my two brothers-in-law before they died. On the other hand, we left America in November 2021, knowing that my beloved brother Russell was dying with COVID pneumonia. If that statement sounds harsh, you must realize that Christmas was approaching and at Christmas time our small hospital is one of the few facilities along the Eastern Corridor of Ghana where people can get emergency operations. While others celebrate, my colleagues and I work long hours under less-than-optimal conditions. (Recently, when we ran short of knife blades, we were making skin incisions with the tips of hypodermic needles.)

Even living in the same town with friends has not prevented us from taking them for granted until it was too late. Charles Talan was one of the finest theater (OR) nurses with whom I have ever worked-an absolute genius and a wizard linguist who spoke perhaps twelve tribal languages fluently. Sadly, Charles battled several health problems during his last few years, and when he collapsed at home one morning, all I could do was to pronounce him dead from a brain hemorrhage once he had been rushed to the hospital. Joshua Beso was one of Charles’ contemporaries, a hard-working man who headed our public health program for years. Again, Joshua suffered a heart attack and died while we were out of town.

I could go on to mention many others. Live long enough and your deposits in heaven far outweigh the number of friends and relatives you have left on earth. What is my point?

I’ve told the story many times, but it’s still worth a re-telling. My small home town in northwestern Illinois is graced by two sets of railroad tracks that have served the major rail network for more than a century. At one point, the sensor for one of the crossing gates developed a problem, resulting in several fatal accidents as unsuspecting motorists attempted to cross in the paths of speeding trains. One morning, it was raining when an elderly farmer living southeast of town tromped into the kitchen, leaving muddy tracks on his wife’s freshly mopped floor. Fuming, the wife fussed at her husband and he gave some smart aleck reply and then left for town. Sadly, that exchange was the last time that lady saw her beloved spouse of more than fifty years. As the husband was crossing the tracks, a speeding train totaled his vehicle, killing him instantly.

After hearing that story, my husband and I have made it a practice to tell each other “I love you” and kiss whenever we are parting for any reason. I’m sure we entertain the staff on the Kids Ward at our hospital, for my husband brings biscuits (cookies) to the kids in the mornings and then kisses me good-bye before returning to the house.

My late mother always said that it was a waste to send flowers to a funeral and that she would rather have people send her the flowers while she was alive to appreciate them. I heartily agree! Write that letter! Send that e-mail or text message or WhatsApp! Make that phone call! My husband called his sister every night, and now he wishes for just one more conversation, one more opportunity to tell her he loves her. The Ashantis say “Nkwa hia,” life is precious. Appreciate those around you while you have them and tell them you love them, tell them they are valuable people whom God loves.

If you are so blessed as to be able to spend birthdays or holidays with loved ones, do it! One of the hardest things we must face is all the family celebrations we have missed because of our work in Ghana. The unfortunate result is that even when we are back in America, family members forget to invite us to events because we have dropped off their radar.

When you spend time with people, you are investing in them. Turn off your cell phone or leave it somewhere and concentrate on the people around you. Don’t lie to yourself that Facetiming is the same thing as being physically present with someone; it’s not. People need physical contact-touching, patting, hugging-and no electronic media can offer that.

This Adinkra symbol is the Sankofa bird, a symbol of forgiveness and also the idea that you can go back to right a wrong or to find something you have lost. Sadly, when someone dies, the idea of Sankofa no longer applies. Death means it’s too late to repair that relationship or to say those loving words or to give that gift.

In closing, I would also like to encourage those of you with relatives serving overseas for any reason to keep those relatives in the loop. Missionaries go because God orders them to, not because they hate their families. Those serving in the military are equally under orders and must obey. We have not left you because we hate you but because we are under assignment from a higher power. Remember us, for we remember you and long to be with you. And treasure those around you, for one day, you will look but they will be gone.

Nkwa hia!

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IN HONOR OF MARILYN ERICKSON WILLITS-MAY 18, 1948-February 3, 2025

February 5, 2025

Before our ancestors immigrated from Sweden, they lived in dahls, or valleys. Each dahl had its own peculiar accent, clothing styles, etc. Once these people came to the Middle West and settled on farms, the farming communities became substitute dahls. In a time when a 3-mile drive into town was considered a once a week for church affair, much of the social life in rural Illinois centered around one-room school houses. Illinois is part of the old Northwest Territory, in which roads were laid out in mile square grids. The land was divided into sections, a section being a piece of land 1 mile by 1 mile, with one lot out of every 16 being reserved for a school house. Attending school in these one-room school houses bonded many people together for life. In addition, neighbors would band together to make hay, harvest crops, fight house and barn fires, and take care of other neighborhood problems.

My dad, Lowell Bjorling, grew up southeast of the small town of Altona, Illinois. As a boy, Dad walked to the local school house along with other neighborhood children. Dad’s family eventually relocated to a farm northeast of Altona; however, Dad graduated from Walnut Grove Township High School in Altona along with his friends from grade school. One of the other families in the neighborhood was the Ab Erickson family, and Ab’s son Emory went to school with Dad. Later, Emory farmed in the area where he had grown up and had children who attended school with me.  

Emory’s daughter Marilyn and I met in Mrs. Kathryn Stuckey’s first grade class. By that time, the ROVA Consolidated School System #208 had been formed and the former high schools in the respective towns were now the local grade schools. (ROVA was an acronym representing the first letters of the four small towns-Rio, Oneida, Victoria, and Altona. Later, the Wataga school system would also be added, changing the name to ROWVA.) In those days, three bus routes fed children into the Altona Grade School, and Marilyn rode the bus from her neighborhood while I rode a different bus.

From the time we first met, I always found Marilyn to be bright, cheerful, and positive. Frankly, I don’t remember Marilyn ever complaining or having a bad word for anybody. Marilyn was a good student with nice hand writing. It’s no surprise that she later earned a Master’s degree in Education and worked as a substitute teacher. Coming from a farm, Marilyn certainly would have helped her dad with chores and other tasks such as building fence on the weekends. That’s what all of us did in those days before factory farms with automated set-ups. Marilyn had a great sense of humor, and we would sometimes share stories of farm work, school, and our reactions. We were also both members of the Altona Girls 4-H Club, cooking and sewing and pursuing other projects. Eventually, we also graduated from ROVA High School together.

As adults, Marilyn and I saw each other only sporadically, rather like a trapeze act. I remember meeting Marilyn in Bishop Hill for some event and chatting with Marilyn at class reunions. Once we became Facebook friends, it was easier to keep up, and we did so.

We were horrified when Marilyn’s beloved husband Steve suffered a brain injury after falling off a ladder while making repairs on his farm. Steve lingered in the hospital for several months, and we were praying for healing, but he eventually died. We liked Steve enormously, although we didn’t get much opportunity to interact with him during our visits to the U.S.

We last saw Marilyn in late August or early September 2024. My husband and I were speaking about our mission work at Immanuel Lutheran Church in Altona, and Marilyn traveled 40 or more miles from her farm home near New Boston, IL, to hear us speak. Somehow, I learned that Marilyn had cancer; however, I had no idea that the cancer had recurred and was spreading throughout her body.

My friend died on a sunny February 3, 2025, in her lovely home surrounded by her family. Marilyn was a strong Christian, a long-time member of Seaton Presbyterian Church, and I have no doubt that Steve and she have now been reunited in heaven.

It’s been said that old age is not for sissies, and while part of the aging process is dealing with a failing body, losing long-time friends is another painful aspect of that process. On Marilyn’s tribute page from the funeral home, I wrote that in a world of flashy roses, Marilyn was a pansy. Unfortunately, the term “pansy” has come to refer to someone who is weak and a pushover; however, that idea fails to accurately describe pansies as flowers. Roses are showy and sometimes have an overpowering fragrance; yet, they can be disappointing for they may have little or no scent while they also have thorns. Roses are very picky about the soil, watering, etc. Pansies are sturdy flowers that withstand rigorous changes in climate and continue to bloom wherever you plant them. Unassuming, pansies will continue to give great pleasure without disappointment.  

Marilyn Erickson Willits lived a life of quiet grace, raising two sons and blessing the community where she lived. Marilyn was a faithful church member and touched many lives through her work there as well.

Proverbs 10:7 says that “the memory of the righteous is a blessing.” For Marilyn’s family and friends, I say that Marilyn’s memory is a great blessing. I am proud and glad and privileged to have called her my friend.

Jean Bjorling Young, ROVA ‘66

Saboba, Northern Region, Ghana

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