Author: Kathryn Spurgeon

The delicate gold, crafted button looked stolen from a palace, jumping from the pages of a history book, worn by a princess centuries ago. Where did it come from, this one beautiful ornamental button lost among granny’s dull, colorless mundane tools, kept to replace lost shirt buttons and hold the back of dresses together?

Ten-year-old Saretha’s precocious mind wandered. How many times did she feel like that?  Lost among hundreds of people with no purpose, only beautiful to look at and admire.

Even granny would say, “My, my honey, look how pretty you’ve gotten. With those long blond curls and big blue eyes. You’re sure a sight for sore eyes.”

Saretha would grimace. She was more than outward beauty! Her mind escaped, racing to escapades and mysterious secret hiding places where no one else could see.

“That’s my favorite button.”  Granny broke into her reverie.

“Why?” Saretha asked startled.

“When I was a little girl, my grandma gave it to me. She brought it from London when she went on a visit.” 

“And you kept it all these years?” Saretha’s eyes widened. Older than her adored gray-haired grandma who looked nearly a hundred years old?

“Yes. It’s made of pearl, trimmed with gold, handcrafted, which makes it unique. A treasure among the many.”

“It’s lovely, granny, but not really good for anything like these others. It would look silly on the front of daddy’s shirt.”

Granny smiled. “You’re right, honey. It would look at mite ridiculous, but I’ve always imagined it belonged to a King’s daughter. She must have lost it on the road to the Canterbury Castle one day.”

“So why do you keep it?” Saretha asked.

“To remind me that beautiful things are important, too. Each button has its place and purpose. Some day, I’ll find just the right golden dress for it. A long, flowing one,  ornamental to match the button. I can see it in my mind’s eye. It’s okay to dream, child.” Granny gave Saretha a big hug, “God gives us beautiful things for a reason. Like He gave me you.  I needed a gorgeous little girl to bring me joy.”

“So that’s why God made me pretty?”

“Yes, honey. You make me happy, but that’s only one of your many gifts.” Granny handed Saretha the button. “Here, you can have it. God has a special use for this beautiful button some day. Keep it safe and hold it close.”

He has made everything beautiful in its time. He has also set eternity in the human heart… Ecclesiastes 3:11 

God used Aunt Blanche to prepare me to care for my dad. After all, by taking care of Blanche, I learned to deal with cranky people who revel in cuss words, stubbornness, and nasty attitudes. She taught me to ignore slights and idiocycrincies and to quickly change the subject when tempers threaten to jump overboard. Those lessons are essential with my father.

I must say, Dad, at 81 years old, has had it rough. His complaints about bad docs almost proved sound – once I took him to my family doctor. Bless my doc, he listened to Dad’s list of health issues, took a thyroid test and gave him a prescription. He also sent him to a podiatrist for the sore on the bottom of his foot, which didn’t look good, especially since he’s a diabetic. Sorry, Mis, I know you don’t like references to feet.  🙂  And no one seems to like the idea of taking Dad to a podiatrist for a foot massage.

We spent over an hour at the special shoe store trying to find something with ankle support, arch support, wide toes for his hammer toes, and won’t irritate his sores. Good luck. Dad’s down on orthotists at the moment. Says his wounds are their fault.

After doctoring Dad’s wound, the foot doc said she’d contact a home health agency for wound care. Took us four phone calls and a week later they showed up. Good thing it wasn’t life-threatening. Needless to say, Dad’s down on home health care at the moment. I was hoping it’d work out – for future needs. We’ll see.

Then we went to a rheumatologist for the arthritus and swelling in his hands and feet. Dad didn’t like the doc because he said Dad has osteoarthritus in almost every joint, and nothing can be down about  it except pain control. He also said Dad has osteoporis which Dad said was impossible since he drinks a glass of milk every morning. Why would he need more calcium? They took a blood test to check on gout and Vitamin D etc. Of course, the doc was a foreigner, so that didn’t help Dad’s opinion. PS. I liked the docs.

So you see, learning to deal with difficult people may help as you get older. You never know who might need your help, and it’s better to be prepared. Let go of the irritation, be patient, and learn to love one another – in spite of their weaknesses. And please learn this soon. I might be the next one needing help.

At the tender age of nineteen, I moved to Kunsan, South Korea – straight across the world’s circumference from Oklahoma. I couldn’t have found a colder spot any farther from home or a culture more foreign and opposite to my home life of slopping pigs, gathering eggs and eating deep fried chicken. No place on earth could have produced more homesickness than those bamboo huts, rice paddies, and old Buddha temples.

My family’s failure to produce written documents of encouragement, announcements, or any type of similar correspondence is notorious (with a few exceptions.) My mother being the worst corresponder. But a letter, any letter, would have been a great comfort.

It wasn’t that no one cared. All hundred and thirteen of my near relatives – grandparents, aunts, and uncles and more cousins than mosquitoes on Grandpa’s farm – knew my whereabouts and wished me luck in my travels before I left. It’s just that no one wrote. Long distance phone calls were never considered and the internet not invented. But, you’d think my own mother would write.

She didn’t. I tried to communicate with her by osmosis, repeating in my head, “Write. Someone’s thinking of you.” But, of course, it didn’t help. Unless it gave her that annoying emotion of guilt for which she never responded. And did I write to her? Of course not. The familial habit was too ingrained.

I remained apart from my family one year, stranded in a unfamiliar country, not knowing what events may be taking place in the lives of those I was intimately connected. The greatest revelation I had, still amazes me. I survived. I not only made it through that time without too much heartbreak, but I learned to relax and discovered I had the strength and the will to adapt and yes, to live. Deep down I stretched my capability beyond what I thought I could handle.

I never doubted my mother cared. She told me too many times as a girl while I grew up. But our family lives by the motto. “If a tragedy happens, they will find you.” Why be an annoyance? Letters are for lawyers, politicians, and the renown.

Communication, more important than we think, can lift us up, bring joy, and remind us that someone cares. But then, we are never really alone because God promises to always be with us. And perhaps He used it for good. I understand international students on American college campuses – their loneliness, need for family, and trying to adjust to a different culture.

By the way. Two weeks before leaving to go home from Korea, a letter arrived from my mother. I kissed it.