Stories that don't make it

Here's what little I've discovered. She was born and reared in Minnesota, probably a Lutheran, Norwegian, I believe, by ethnic heritage. A strong Christian woman, she went to Biola College sometime in the Thirties, I believe. There, she married a man named Lauber and headed out to New Mexico to do mission work at a presbyterian mission on the Navajo Reservation.

There, somehow, she lost three children, two of them--twins--in childbirth. She also lost her husband.

She then returned to Biola and somehow determined to return, almost as if undeterred, to the Navajo mission field. With a homemade camper, she headed back to the reservation, set up camp on the far eastern edge of Arizona, and held forth, feeding the multitudes on Sunday. Normally, she got men to hold forth, but during the week she did all the evangelizing.

She lived with a Navajo woman, one of her interpreters, and she would often sit in the circle of Native-speaking people without being able to communicate; try as she might, she couldn't learn the language.

She never left. You can find her burial spot, all by itself, here on the reservation.

The church she founded still exists. It's not in good shape--at least by my perception. Those who loved her are still alive. I've heard them speak glowingly of her love for them and for God.

We live in an amazing world. If I'd write that book--if anyone would--probably no publisher would take it. They'd say, and I don't think they'd be wrong, that no one would buy it. Honestly, I don't know that I would.

All of that is true. The Bible says that this devoted woman already has her reward--and she does.

But there are things about life I just don't understand and likely never will.