My Second Gift

Ten years ago today we were in a panic to start a quick unexpected move from Nicholasville, KY to Atlanta, Georgia.  Just a few weeks before we felt led by the Lord for Mike to finally submit his resume to a company in Atlanta.  They had been inquiring about his interest in a job with them for the past year, but we were just not interested in moving further south.  Then God suddenly and simultaneously changed our hearts on the matter.  It only took a few weeks for him to apply be interviewed and granted the job.  Suddenly I was uprooting my Pampered Chef business again and trying to find a home and a teaching job in the suburbs of Atlanta.

In the previous few months God has also been working on changing our hearts on another matter:  children.  Lainey had unexpectedly come along just a year into a our marriage.  I had worried before marriage that it would not be easy for me to have children, just as it had been for my mother.  God proved me wrong by blessing us with pregnancy just three months later.  We were surprised, but thrilled.  About six months after her birth we talked about trying to have another child.  Mike really wanted to have a boy since he is the only male Pfister in about four or five generations.  We had decided to let the number of children be up to God, so we were not exactly not trying anyway.  Unfortunately, that decision was tested when we could not seem to get pregnant.  After a couple of years we investigated using fertility treatments, but God woke us up when the McCaughey septuplets were born.  They were using the same treatment that our doctor had recommended.  We decided to be happy with one child.   Well, that is what we decided and said, but it was not what was in our hearts.  We both pined for another child.  It took four more years for God to truly convince us to let it be up to Him. 

In the spring of 2000 I finally gave it up.  To symbolize my surrender, I held a garage sale.  I sold everything, but a few mementos.  I made about $350.  I gave a few things away also.  I thought Mike was there with me, but it took him a few more months.  In the mean time we moved to Suwanee, Georgia a suburb of Atlanta.  Lainey was in first grade at a Christian school where I taught in the afternoons.  I also taught at a preschool three days a week in the mornings.  I had taken a sabbatical with Pampered Chef, but my time was almost up.  I was so busy that I could not bear the thought of adding one more thing, so we decided to not restart the business.  It was about that time that Mike told me of his struggle with our not being able to have more children.  God had been dealing with him on the issue and he had finally given it over in to the Lord's hands with his heart.


I have finally reached my point.  Just a few weeks later, while trying to get ready for work, I felt nauseous.  I remembered the feeling, but was sure that it could not be.  Oh, but it was.  The week of Thanksgiving we found out that we were to have a child.  We were astonished.  God had chosen to bless us again.  Moriah Elise Pfister arrived into our arms nine years ago today, July 29, 2001.  We could not imagine the joy she has brought into our lives. 

We chose to name her Moriah after my mother Mary and after the Temple Mount in Jerusalem.  It means the Lord is my teacher and the Lord is my provider.  We chose Elise because it is my sister's middle name and means dedicated to God.  A few years ago we discovered that according to the Hebrew calendar Moriah was born on the 9th of Av which is a very significant day.  Both the First Temple and the Second Temple were destroyed on that day (a few hundred years apart).  God planned this a bit of significance into her birth, because only He could do it, just like only He could bless us with her life. 

Happy 9th Birthday, Moriah!

The 4th

Growing up we had some traditions about the Fourth of July.  It always involved family or friends, lots of food and fireworks.  Usually we went to Rice Field to see the fireworks display followed by a long traffic jam to get home.  I guess most Americans have some sort of similar traditions. 

Since marriage we have moved so much that we have rarely seen a fireworks display at the same location on two consecutive years.  Even though we have now been in the same house in Alabama for five years, we have yet to watch the fireworks at the same location as any of the other five years.  Our first year we drove to Dublin Park in the City of Madison (Huntsville's "St. Paul") along with Mike's family who had come to visit.  In 2007, just the four of us, drove all the way (30+ miles) to Point Mallard in Decatur, AL.  The next year we decided to stay a little closer, so we attended the display at the Bridge Street shopping complex.  We ran into several friends there. 

Last year in 2009 we drove the farthest (to not see any fireworks at all).  We went on our first and only family vacation (that did not consist of only visiting relatives).  We spent the 1st and 2nd of July in our country's capital, Washington, D. C. and the 3rd and 4th touring Gettysburg, PA, in a search for the place where Mike's great great grandfather fought.  Because the 4th fell on a Saturday, and we and our hosts (who live in a suburb of Baltimore) wanted to attend church in the morning before we headed back to Alabama, we decided not to travel into Baltimore or D.C. for the fireworks.  Our host wisely informed us that because of the traffic we would probably not arrive home until three o'clock in the morning.  Part of me regrets not going, but I would probably make the same decision again.  We barely made it home that Sunday night as it was.  It was an exhausting trip.

This year we had to make a decision as to where to go.  With Lainey being gone on a mission trip to NYC, there were just the three of us.  On Friday I bought a rack of spare ribs for my first try at cooking them, but as of Sunday after lunch, we still had not made a decision as to where to go.  As I was preparing to get them in the oven, we got a call from friends to join them.  So we packed up around 5:00pm and headed to Scottsboro, AL.  We met our friends, three of their five daughters, and two other girls who were friends of the two older daughters (their youngest is a friend of Moriah's) at a place called Goose Pond Colony.   While the name sounds scary, the place was actually a very nice marina/recreational complex on a peninsula into Lake Guntersville, a huge lake created by the TVA on the Tennessee River.

We do not usually pay any attention to the musical acts at the venues we attend, unless they have a big band or choir presenting patriotic tunes.  Neither of us care for secular rock or country music acts.  My main concern is finding the best place to take photos.  This turned out to be at the top of a cement amphitheater in full view of the bands who were setting up.  I was concerned about this, so I made sure we were in the far corner and not in direct line with the speakers.  Mike and Moriah are very sensitive to really loud noises.  It all turned out very well though.  The first band played folk music which we enjoyed.  The second was far enough away that it did not assault our ears too much.  We could not understand most of what they said because of poor sound quality.  The best part was when the band (from England) played Sweet Home Alabama.  I never thought I would hear that song done with an English accent.

An interesting thing happened.  When we chose our location, there was no one at all on the far corner of the amphitheater, but soon after we set up our five camping chairs, two large coolers and two large blankets for the girls, a large group of immigrants showed up trying to crowd in the corner behind us.  Mind you there wasn't any room for chairs and there was little room to stand.  There was plenty of other open spaces in the stands and on the grassy areas around the area.  I did my best to not listen to their conversations, so as not to ease drop and soon left to take photos of the two youngest girls down by the shore.  While I was gone, Mike stayed to keep an eye on things.  With nothing else to do he overheard several rude comments being made in their language, but did not react to it.  As I was returning, I had to ask some of the group to allow me to pass.  I made sure to do so very politely, but in their language, using my best pronuciation (I have been mistaken for a native speaker in the past).  Moments after I returned, the group disappeared for the rest of the evening.  Moral of the story:  NEVER assume that those around you cannot understand what you are saying.  Our words should always be carefully considered in all situations.

Our location did prove to be an excellent location for taking photos.  The amphitheater faced west over the lake.  A large flotilla of pleasure boats congregated on the waters between us and the mountain range beyond the lake.  The sight was simply gorgeous.  A family sat in front of us that included a father who was among the very first marines deployed on 9/11.  He is currently a national asset forest fire fighter.  We expressed our appreciation for his service to our country.  I was able to included their family in some of my fireworks photos.  He is wearing the cowboy hat.

To wrap this up, we thoroughly enjoyed our evening, even the one and a half hour wait for the line of the cars to even start moving after the fireworks (the folk band played more music, so we just stayed and listened until the cars started moving).  We did not get home until after midnight, but it was worth the trip.  I do not know how much longer any of us will be celebrating our freedom, but I was grateful to do it one more time.