Hey, Hey Paula!

Last week, our friend Paula Lithander passed into the Lord's presence after a battle with cancer. I wrote the following for her family, but thought many of you might like to read it, as well.

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On October 6, 1962, Ray Hildebrand and Jill Jackson, two college students from Howard Payne College recorded a song in the basement studio of a local radio station in Fort Worth. A few months later, "Hey, Paula" was at the top of the charts in the U.S., Europe and Japan.

The way Paula Lithander sometimes grimaced when people sang that song made me think that she often wished Ray and Jill had stayed out of the studio! Still, one of the lines from the third verse came to mind as I thought of her during the past weeks. "True love means waiting and hoping that soon wishes we made will come true..." All of us are now going to be waiting and wishing for that day when we can be reunited with Paula.

Kirk and Paula (along with Debbie) came to work with us in La Paz, Bolivia, in the mid-eighties. Paula felt that she had been called in a very special way to minister in that Andean country. She might have felt called, but she probably was not prepared for all that she would encounter there.

A few experiences come to my mind from those early days in Bolivia.

I don't think Paula was prepared for the influence I would have on her husband. Kirk had been a solid, conservative Christian until he began to work with me. I am afraid that some of my "social heresies" shared during late night conversations may have created some tension for the new missionary couple when Kirk returned home. At the very least, she was fond of saying, "He was never like this until he met you!"

I still wonder what she meant by that statement.

I know that Paula probably had a hard time trusting my judgment regarding civil situations after going to a restaurant on Plaza Abaroa with Kirk, Susan and me early on in their time in Bolivia. While we ate some of the wonderful steaks the restaurant was known for, we all heard and felt an explosion. When I went to the restaurant door to look out, I could see smoke rising from the U.S. Ambassador's residence across the plaza. Now, from my perspective neither explosion, smoke nor civil chaos seemed worthy of interrupting a good meal. After closing and securing the door, I returned to the table. When Paula asked what had happened, I responded, "Not much" and continued to eat. When she found out the truth about that evening’s events, she was not a happy camper.

Thinking of eating, I will always remember Paula as an excellent and generous cook. She knew how to prepare wonderful food and how to open her table and home to others. In an age of fast food and faster lives, Paula knew the value of hospitality and of creating a sense of Christian community.

However, she did have some culinary mishaps in Bolivia. After all, cooking at 12,500 feet above sea level was not normal for a girl from Warrenville, Illinois. I will always remember the pressure cooker that became "clogged" while cooking some beans. When it blew, Kirk and Paula thought the stove’s gas tank had exploded. I don't think they ever managed to clean all the beans off the walls before they moved from that apartment!

Some of my favorite times with Paula involved singing. We sang together in our homes; we sang in our church; we sang in special presentations; and, we sang at funerals. I will never forget when Paula and I provided the music at a very “special” funeral. When his mother-in-law died, an acquaintance decided he would bury his mother-in-law's ashes in the driveway. He explained that he wanted to bury her there because she had always loved her house. I couldn't help but notice that he seemed to smile a bit too much when I pointed out that he would have to drive over "her" each day. Needless to say, both Paula and I found the burial site to be odd. While we sang a duet based on Psalm 91:1 ("He who dwells in the shelter of the Most High will abide in the shadow of the Almighty."), we looked each other in the eyes and began to giggle. Finally, Paula had to cover over our social faux pas by "coughing our way out of it."

When you serve together in a country like Bolivia you either become dear friends or tense co-workers. Kirk and Paula became dear friends. I am especially thankful for Paula's many personal acts of kindness. In the midst of a hectic season of ministry, Susan and I managed to carve out one night to get away to a hotel for our anniversary. The only problem was what we would do with our youngest daughter who was still nursing. Paula immediately understood the situation and offered to take care of her and bring her to Susan at the critical times. We didn't have to ask... Paula offered.

I remember Paula holding on to her own daughter during a special trip that we made with several other missionaries to a snow-capped mountain above La Paz. Several of us went up a steep slope to do some extreme sledding on plastic tarps. On my trip down, I developed a bit too much speed and found myself in mid-air shooting past the campsite. Paula looked at me with wide eyes as she tried to protect Debbie with her body. Both she and Debbie ended up in better shape than I did!

Somehow it seems appropriate to end these thoughts with a song since I began with one. Soon after Paula's home-going, I was listening to some music as I drove through the Central Valley in Costa Rica when a song came on my iPod with these words: "Her life wasn't easy, how hard she tried. You know she's an angle, Lord, so let her fly." I have to admit that while I might not agree with the doctrine of the song, I was moved to tears by the sentiment.

Hey, Paula, all the pain is over. Now you get to sing with a real choir! Let her fly, let her fly.