Who is Mrs. Senterfitt, anyway?

This question, just asked by my youngest daughter, about broke my heart.  How can a member of this family have no memory of one of the dearest women to share in our lives down here?  Ah, but now the older kids are asking about new friends who are special to us, whom they have never met.  Hannah is home for Christmas (yeah!) and is getting to meet some of the new names and faces around town.  Mike will be here on Friday, Lord willing, and then only Chris and Tim will be left in the dark.

Like I say, it seems tragic for our whole family to not share the same friends any more.  I guess that's just how it goes.

Back to Mrs. Senterfitt, though.  I was making a big batch of her famous Caramel Popcorn to take to the school Christmas program tomorrow, which is why Debbie asked about her.  On the recipe card is a reminder to always pray for Ann whenever I make her popcorn.

This Christmas Ann (Mrs. Senterfitt) needs extra prayer because this is her very first Christmas without her beloved husband, Don.  The Senterfitts left Mexico many years ago due to health concerns, including Don's cancer, which had settled in his liver even back then.  Miraculously, Don continued to cling to life for another nine years, enduring multiple sessions of chemotherapy, radiation, and I don't know what all.

Ann is a dear friend to me, one of the few older women who would not only mother me when I needed it, but would also confide in me and be my friend.  How well I remember the day she arrived on my doorstep in a funk, announcing that she was running away from home.  We all feel that from time to time, but how seldom do we admit that life is just not so fun?  That particular day, I put on my running shoes and ran away with Ann.  All we did was go for a long walk up and down the unpaved airstrip, acknowledging that sometimes husbands simply don't "get it" and therefore we need a friend.  Ann is that kind of friend to me.

When I was pregnant with Bekah, I was terrified of walking on the rough and rocky roads around here, for fear of falling and hurting the baby.  (The baby before Bekah had died five months into the pregnancy when I took a hard fall.)  The local doctor had a swimming pool on his property, and allowed me to go for a daily swim so that I would get the exercise I needed.  Who was there to swim with me every day?  Ann.  It doesn't sound like a big deal unless you realize that the pool had no ladder or steps to help me get in and out.  By the time I was closer to delivery date, it took Ann and Priscilla (another friend) both to get me out of that pool after our swim.  One would push and one would take my hands and pull until I was extricated from the pool.  We would laugh so hard I would nearly... never mind.  You ladies who have given birth know what I mean.  (Weak bladder)

Ann once kept all of my children overnight so Jim and I could have a rare anniversary date in the city.  She was the first person to come help when I was threatening miscarriage with Jonny.  She was often there for me when I needed her, but what endears Ann to me the most is the fact that she also called when she needed me.  I appreciate that.  Not many older women ever even pretended to need me.  I need to be needed.  I miss Ann being in Mexico for that reason.

Another thing about Ann is that she genuinely liked my children.  She made a point of getting to know them.  I remember how she invited them over for a craft time one December and helped them to make some poinsettia napkin rings that they could give me for Christmas.  She would also entertain the children of different native linguists who would be in town with their families during a translation workshop of some sort.  Don and Ann's house was always full one way or another.  Hospitality is her middle name.

One thing about friends on the mission field is that they come and go.  It is heart-wrenching to say goodbye to dear people like the Senterfitts, not knowing if we will ever see each other again this side of heaven, but it's also exciting to meet the new people God will send our way.

I'm not sure I'll ever become the "here, let me hold your baby for you" kind of a mama that Ann is, but hopefully my heart is open to welcome new friends to run away from home with me occasionally.

Please pray with me for Ann and so many others who are facing the holidays without a loved one who has preceded them to heaven.

Ann Senterfitt holding the child who doesn't remember her, 1998