What became of that Mamma V lady that used to blog?
I recently reconnected with an acquaintance from days gone by, we have writing as a common interest. I was gob-smacked to realize I have not posted since the twins were born. The girls are now 17 months old and developing well. They have had their share of childhood maladies but have come through each one well, by God’s grace.
Another personal update: I am back to school and happily invested in my internship. After a break in my Master of Social Work studies to process my husband’s death and covid in general, I’m back at the books. My alma mater, Lancaster Bible College has started an MSW program and I am thrilled to return there for my studies. I can not recommend it highly enough.
I will complete two internships or field projects. My current one is through HVMI aka HandiVangelism or HandiCamp. I have worked at camps and Bible clubs with this awesome ministry and they are now hosting my project titled Building Successful Support Networks.
I am including a description of the project here and would like the questionnaire distributed widely, so please copy and share. The more input I get, the more useful the summary writing will be for everyone.
He was a man that loved numbers, my husband David. He remembered the dates of births deaths and events almost in a creepy way. As a young wife, I recall feeling jealous when he would mention that it was the birthday of some long-ago female co-worker. On any given day of the year, he could tell you how many days until Christmas. He never met my sister Kathleen that died when I was 12, but he always remembered her birthdate and death date. It was simply how his mind worked.
On the one-year anniversary, we set David’s gravestone into place. God had bigger plans in store.
On the one-year anniversary of my husband’s sudden death, we set the gravestone into place. God had bigger plans for that date. My daughter Heather lives about 45 minutes from the cemetery so I flew in and stayed with her. She was expecting twins and was at 28 weeks of her pregnancy. She and her family planned to attend the stone setting at 8:00 on Saturday morning, but at 3:30 am labor started and the entire house was mobilized. We summoned a friend to stay with the little boys (ages 2 and 1) and headed for the midwife’s birthing center.
This is in the deep woods of North Central Michigan, in the Amish communities. As a conservative Mennonite, I do drive a car but my Amish daughter does not. Having raised my children in that culture, I understood how things work; try the lowest impact solution first before reaching outside the community for help. And so we were off to the Amish midwife to try to stop the labor, and the contractions did indeed slow down. So I went to the cemetery as planned and left Heather at the birthing clinic. As we finished at the gravesite, my phone rang and it was the midwife (Amish midwives have phones in their birthing centers). The contractions returned and were intensifying, a two-hour trip to the nearest NICU was in order, would I take them?
Maybe it was the culture, or the remote location, or divine intervention, but we never considered an ambulance; there was not time to spare. I rushed back to the midwife’s and collected an actively laboring daughter and her husband. I drove with my lights flashing and horn honking, completely willing to catch the attention of a police officer. Not one did we see! I went over one hundred miles an hour several times and all this in a rental car! We arrived in an hour and a half powered by prayer, gas fumes, and God’s goodness.
Just like in the movies I squealed into the emergency OB triage in Grand Rapids. The midwife had called ahead with all the information and these people were READY for us. My daughter was fully dilated, there was no turning back. The babies were born by c-section within 10 minutes of our arrival. I was probably just arriving at the gas station!
BABIES!
It was a long walk for me from the parking garage to the front of the hospital, there was only one open entrance due to Covid. In that half-hour, I wondered if this date would also mark the death of my two grandbabies. Sad irony. Had they been born in my rental car they certainly could not have survived. The security guard looked up my daughter’s name and read ” Baby 1 and Baby 2″. At that moment I knew the Lord had given a sweet turn to a sad anniversary date. But it got even better.
Once Heather was awake and coherent, they gave the girls names. The firstborn at 2 lbs and 12 oz. was to be named after me, Elizabeth Heather. thirty seconds later, Edith Mary was born weighing 2 lbs. 10 oz.. Both girls breathed on their own and continue to grow and thrive,
I expected some closure on my husband’s sudden death that day, but I never could have asked or imagined how He would take that date and turn it into a sweet miracle of future life. What a fitting tribute to David, what an example of God’s mercy and provision!
At last, she returns with a blog from the fog. In 2020 I was stubbornly determined not to write about the pandemic. The same pandemic in which I became a widow. The pandemic I participated in personally right after David’s funeral. One could call it all a breathtaking experience, wreaking havoc with my asthma for several months. My new and potent pulmonary meds made my brain thick with migraine-like fog resulting in my dropping out of graduate school. Even my dog got killed by a hit and run in 2020. Stinkin’ year, that! Still, none of these things moved me to write, I mention them only so my subscribers can feel caught up.
Something I will add that may help the reader map out this leg of my journey is a partial list of the people I have loved and grieved, most young and unexpectedly: My sister Kathleen (she was 18, I was 12); a friend in high school, Diane (abduction and murder); Audrey age 22 (car crash); my parents (ages 69& 71); my brother in law 27 (car crash); my brother Mike 50 (heart attack); my father in law 67 (heart attack); Jethro& Leander ages 7&9 (drowning); Caleb age 14 (accident); David 61 (heart attack). Okay, so you get the idea. With the exception of my parents, these were all sudden deaths, I did not list the friends and loved ones gone after cancer battles and illness or old age. My point is, I have seen a lot of sudden death.
SOMEONE DIED JUST OUTSIDE OF MY CHURCH
Part of the grieving process, or at least for me, is a macabre obsession with death. The length of the phase varies, but I recently had a sort of relapse. It started with the stench of death just outside our urban church building.
If you have lost a loved one, you know the phase; for me, it occurs usually on an overcast day and everything I see or think of follows a trail to the topic of death. The closer the loved one the stronger the suction is into the trap. Everything from sights, songs, to smells kick it off. The most recent episode for me gave me a new conviction to reach out to people about Christ.
As I was coming out of my fog from David’s death and my Covid troubles I was walking into church when I smelled an accident. Around the corner a crowd was gathered and a mangled motorbike was being hauled away. I did not have to wonder what happened, I could smell it. Sparing the details it is a smell any emergency personnel can identify, hot concreate + blood+ flesh. It is the smell of death on the road but it mimics the smell of a mausoleum, only worse. And the smell was right at the doorstep of my church. As I entered the building with the thought of ‘somebody just died out there’ I was soberly hit by notion of all the spiritual death just outside that door.
My pleasant, healing church walls felt miles away from the death going on outside. I was moved to consider what a mission field we were placed in. We get a few people through our doors that are right off the streets, seeking and we try to serve them. That night, however, I was overwhelmed by the strong scent of death just outside our doors and asked God not to take away the burden that the smell caused me. Our churches are in war zones, we can’t always see it, or smell it, but we are there. Lord help us to see, hear, and smell the dying that is going on all around us, let us be disturbed into action.
In our personal journey here on this earth, we are currently in the phase of scaling things down. Trying to live more with less and allowing roots to develop within a community, we are undergoing a grafting of sorts, reclaiming a heritage lost. The original tour guide on this expedition was the Holy Spirit, leading us into a fuller, radical service of the Lord. What has resulted is a confirmation of our idea that bigger is not better. And so it goes with death. In our current plain setting, we have found a simpler, gentler, more sensible way to handle the issues surrounding death. The emphasis, as with most aspects of life for our people, is on the spiritual.. As a result, the course of events when there is a death is somewhat different. The end result is dramatically different.
Reducing the involvement of previously unknown people at the time of death is, in our opinion, a good thing to do. Even the most sincere funeral director can only offer an “I’m sorry”; he is quite limited in providing real support to the family, lacking the essential depth gained only by previous knowledge of us personally. In reality, sorry can be the wrong word, when our loved one has won the race and knows no more tears or pain.
In our close-knit Amish community, we know the right word, because we know the circumstances and thus are more apt to know what to say and how to handle things. This is one reason why we favor the practice of first notifying immediate neighbors who know us, know our loved ones, know our context-who just know. This silent understanding is so sweet when death has touched a family.
These neighbors then contact other family members, car for the body, and procure a coffin (a handmade, homemade, pine box) and an undertaker. Before the undertaker arrives, most decisions and contacts have been made. His role is minimal due to his lack of a personal relationship. He will assist in the legalities, and physically treat the body. Those closer to the situation will arrange for burial in the neighborhood graveyard.
Women folk will clean and prepare the house, cook and arrange meals for several days, and simply sit quietly with the bereaved. The men take over chores, take turns digging the grave and assign four pallbearers as per the family’s request. They will plan the funeral, the wheres and whens, and round up the bench wagons (filled with church benches needed for the services).
The bereaved sit still, they pray for comfort and healing of their broken hearts. They meditate on the Word of God, of which the scriptures speak, recalling the memorized Bible verses of their lifetime, promises of great comfort. Such tender meditation and sober contemplation is best done at home. Thus, they stay home, tended by brethren who understand exactly what is happening.
For us this method has great advantage over grieving in a strange place, moving about stiffly as if in a hotel lobby. We view our loved ones at home where we have wept together before and will weep together again. When death in in community is a community event, things are stable and an unspoken layer of glue is added to our brotherly bond, having weathered yet another life experience together.
Home is a fitting place for a funeral, too, when we want to bring things back to human proportions. Plain funerals are generally well attended. Neighborhood women bring enough food to give lunch to all who attend, and there are many people because it is a community event. In general, those who are acquainted with the deceased or the immediate family will go to the home to offer comfort. There are no calling hours per se, but courtesy avoids meal times and late nights. A community can arrive in a constant flow, because attendance is quite high. Those closer by will be at hand more than once in the two day period prior to the funeral. All who are able in the community will attend the funeral, another liberty for those who work at home. Often school is dismissed in the local one-room schoolhouse.
It is a community passage. All are affected. We feel it a gentler, more common way to handle the touch of death.
The simplest such service we ever attended was the graveside service for a stillborn girl. The mother was unable to attend due to the difficult nature of the birth. Grandpa made a pine coffin, his sons dug the small grave. Quietly the family walked carrying the little box to the graveyard over the hill, where they met the ministers. A reading was read, a song was sung. Slowly, the brothers of the mother put dirt on the coffin. Shovelful by shovelful they showed their quiet, intimate care for their sister’s trial. It was extremely touching. We have come to appreciate this serene handling of death.
The serenity however does not occur because of the way things are done. So often people mistake the plane lifestyle as a peace giving thing in and of itself. The roots run much deeper than that. The plain people’s way of handling death is but a byproduct of a peace which passes understanding . A confidence. Our lively hope is actually the soothing salve which helps us cope with death. We are all agreed on our faith dash we are all quite sure of its soundness. It is part of our fiber. In fact, death is at the very core of our faith, and many facets of our life hinges on our view of death.
The largely post Christian western world may see our view as morbid, because we are actually living to die rather than dying to live, in a physical sense. Death is our beginning, not our end; It is the beginning of our eternity. Truly the day of death is better than the day of one’s birth. (Ec. 7:1)
This is our perspective as a people, from life to death and everywhere in between: we had all been strangers, afar off from God (Ro. 6:23). We prayed for help. We received peace, pardon, and the promise of life through the atoning blood of Christ Jesus (1 Jo. 17) . We became new, shedding our old cells and putting on a new creature with joy and praise in our hearts. When we die, many, many more of his promises will be fulfilled.
These tender things we will share at home. It is a sacred fellowship not given to be ushered in at a funeral parlor.
Do you know the piece of which we are speaking? We ask you, kind reader, to consider your latter end. Are you at home here in this world dash do you have steadfast confidence in your eternal destiny?
There is but one step between us and death, and each day we are given a merciful chance to consider these things, to open our eyes, soften our hearts, experience remorse, believe, and live. “ For God so loved the world that he sent his only begotten son that whosoever believeth in Him, should not perish but have everlasting life” (Jn. 3:16).
I have long considered posting my old writings from when I was Amish. One publication I wrote for was called plain, published by a Conservative Quaker man that LOATHED all technology and did not want his periodical posted or discussed online. The magazine is long defunct. But I still held back. Then today I saw a question about Amish Funerals by Tammy Tuttle-Graham and decided to publish this one. Sorry Scott Savage, wherever you are.
One thing that has greatly changed since this writing is the attention span of the average reader. So this will come in two parts.
That We Might Consider the Latter End – Part 1 1996
It is but one step away– Something has been bothering our family lately, and it’s happened before. We found ourselves looking back at my Mom’s funeral seven months ago, and in hindsight some of what seemed fine at the moment now strikes us rather peculiar. This also happened when Dad dies a few years before, but we forgot until the whole routine played out again.
Our troubling thought is this: Why did we have to hire strangers to handle such a personal situation as Mom’s passing into eternity? What did that place or those people actually have to do with Mom? She never knew them; was never even in that building to our knowledge. We wonder now if we weren’t partakers in the institutionalization of the grieving process?
We are led to consider what contemporary American culture has done with other life passages. Birth has been hospitalized, early childhood increasingly takes the form of day care, the period of youth is publicly educated, old age and illness have been taken over by the medical establishment, likewise, alms giving by government assistance, and even church supposedly can be gained by just turning on the television.
Why, then, are we even surprised that even the tender stage of death is likewise made to fit into a tidy social pattern?And how “social” is it, really? It felt very businesslike at Mom’s services. This is not to say that the people at the funeral home were less than kind; they are sincerely compassionate people — but why must this personal moment take place in a strange location among strange people?
In our family, the answer has come to this: our societal sense of community has gotten so large, diffuse, and detached from real community that we need ‘professionals’ to make us feel bound to one another on a human level. Television offers a remarkable example of this process, as the morning news programs attempt to tie the whole great big U>S> weather map into a folksy “I know how your day looks” kind of false empathy, appropriating even our ability to converse with one another about the most ordinary of topics.
As a society, it seems we have grown too big for our britches. As our social depth of field grows, the particulars must fade into the background. Particulars such as the spiritual considerations of death.
AMISH FUNERALS INVOLVE THE ENTIRE COMMUNITY
We approach death from two angles, physical and spiritual. To make business out of of the spiritual issues would be sacrilegious, so our society tries instead to ‘assist’ on the physical level. The mortician comes in and is willing to totally relieve the family of responsibility, decisions, and unpleasantness. Clergy are called in to handle the spiritual aspects, and the undertaker takes care of the flesh. Thus, we humans are already severing the body and soul, a right that belongs only to the Creator of both.
To pit ourselves in this place where we can gloss over the eternal ramifications of death seems presumptuous. But we let it pass. During the time of grief we are not in the mood to dwell on inconsistencies. We have been trained to deal with life on a mass level, and are now quite ready to go with the flow. At the time of the actual event we are glad for relief–it is a very weak moment, after all. Even when we expect the death of a loved one, when it happens we feel dazed; nothing looks, feels, or seems normal. It feels so nice when the kind undertaker takes you by the hand and leads you through this strange place. In the sober light of dawn, months later, it may hit, as it did us, “Why must we hire people to fulfill these roles in the intimate experience of death?”
Unless the Day of the Lord comes fairly soon, death is certain. It is no respecter of persons, wicked and righteous alike, and it is very final. “For there is no work, no device, no knowledge, nor wisdom in the grave where thou goest” (Ec.9:10). This universal factor ties us all together. Are you ready? Because there is only one step between us and death.
Even now we are more vividly reminded of this fact. This morning we received the news of a sudden and tragic death in our immediate family. We have no reason to beleive he had even vaguely considered it a real possibility that, at age 27, his life might end. There is not one more chance to turn to the Lord. It is finished.
The embodied self- what we would call ‘the flesh’ – is repelled by death, and so those who live for the flesh see death as an enemy. But there are some who call out, “O death, where is thy sting? O grave, where is thy victory?” (1 Co. 15:55). as Christians, we are in a strait betwixt dying and living. This experience sheds an entirely different light on the contemporary view of death. Where death is counted as a loss, we count it a great gain! For one, the thought brings panic, but the servant of the Lord Jesus wallows in peace at the mere notion. Two totally different concepts, two totally different plans. The joy and grace of salvation; the torment and fear of eternal death. To worldly wisdom, firefighting the many aspects of funeral preparation to a professional would seem like a good idea. But for us, the picture has changed. Things are a bit too tender, too personal, too intimate to allow heavy involvement of strangers. END PART 1 of 2
In my dictionary, there are seven definitions for the word. Likewise, it means different things to different people. One of the foremost reasons for a support team is to create clear communication during a difficult situation. A good start would be for all involved to define what the word support means to them and what it means in their particular situation. These ideas need to be brought into agreement.
I have seen well-meaning support teams make a situation worse, I have seen well-functioning support teams have an individual walk away from them, the church and even from a godly lifestyle. An important factor for all to keep in mind is that the situation that has called for a team is likely an unsolved puzzle. In fact, it is like a puzzle one gets at a second-hand store or garage sale, you are never quite sure all the pieces are actually in the box (even if it says so on the tag). And like a puzzle, there are times when we think a piece fits someplace, only to find we are mistaken when we find the correct piece or place. And then to add to the challenge, you have several different people viewing the picture from differing angles. Sometimes that means they see something helpful, sometimes it means they are seeing amiss because of their current perspective.
So how can we build teams that are upbuilding and retain the
dignity of those involved? Our churches have a level of accountability that is
part of our community. The world admires the plain people for our sense of
community and mutual aid, and it is a precious part of our heritage we do well
to maintain. However, there are few outside our culture that will tolerate the transparency
and accountability that is required for this type of community.
If the Apostle Paul had to die to self daily (1 Co. 15:31)
then how much more do we need to? And giving up for the good of those around us
is a supernatural even that overrides a very natural self-involvement.
And then discernment comes in, how much of me do I give up
for another? How much of my uniqueness does the Lord want me to use for the benefit
of His church and for His glory?
So, I am throwing out these thoughts to my readers, I would like to gather some input on what support team experience and observation you have had. In the book Holding Out Hope by Byler, Stauffer, and Byler there is a chapter on support teams that gives the input gained at Green Pasture and Philhaven. I would like to do supplemental writing on the topic for our churches and need the views of those who have been involved in support teams in any capacity. I am particularly burdened for those living with mental illness.
I am asking for some input and discussion here. I need help understanding a double standard that I see in the church. I admit that I do tend to side with the underdog in many issues. But in the context of “What would Jesus do?” , I offer these vignettes to my readers. Something is not adding up and I am trying to figure it out.
Allen is sixteen-years-old, his twin brother Aaron is in the 10th grade and plays trombone in the high school band. Allen goes instead to a day program where his autism is better understood and accommodated for. His frequent seizures and vocal outbursts make a traditional classroom a poor option. He has sensory issues that complicate things when he is in a group setting. Even at church he has a special ‘chill spot’ to go to and unwind if he gets overstimulated. His crossed eyes and stiff movements make it more obvious that he has some special needs. His brain clearly functions differently than Aaron’s. To expect Allen to play the trombone like his brother seems unrealistic.
Cassie is in the hospital again, the voices told her to plant cans of soup in the garden. She was certain it was what she was supposed to do. She had to hide them from her brother-in-law Sam, because she knew he was watching her every move again. Living next door to your younger sister can be a pain- they are always watching and whispering. And now Cassie’s sister comes along and says she has to go to the hospital. Cassie wonders why she has to listen to her 22-year-old sister anyhow! Cassie is 26 and does not need a boss! So, Cassie ran down the street to get away from Sam and Esta when they wanted to take her to the hospital. Then that car almost hit her when she ran through the store parking lot; so people called the police. It just isn’t fair.
Five brains, two of which are not functioning in the usual way. Most people in plain churches would find it inappropriate to hold Allen accountable for his seizures and vocal outbursts. His brain is clearly working on a completely different level. But some would think that Cassie needs to show more submission to her brother in law and to take her medication faithfully. When she fails in these areas the church withholds communion from her. This only feeds into her belief that people are watching her constantly and whispering strange things. And in reality, some probably really are, so how is she to distinguish which voices are real and which are not?
Why do Christians shoot their wounded? Why is one brain malfunction treated more respectfully than another? Please comment!
Last evening I was not able to blog because I was away with one of my residents, Brother Larry. He gave his testimony to a youth group, as is his calling, about living with quadriplegia for 48 years and how the Lord has used it for good. The title of his program is Choices Have Consequences.
Larry reads his Bible by the hour not by the chapter. A Challenge that is good for me when I get apathetic about the power of personal devotions.
Larry is the second-longest living quadriplegic as far as we know, Joni Eareckson Tada being the longest at 52 years. Both have used their circumstances for God’s kingdom, coincidence or providence? Not even Superman (Christopher Reeves) with all his money, fame, and connections could pull such a thing off. Mr. Reeves focused on finding a cure for spinal cord injury and tried to keep himself physically ready for the day when his could be repaired. He passed away in 2004 of sepsis, a total system infection and shut down. Larry and Joni took another route- they both chose to use their wheelchairs as chariots of glory to God (I can’t resist this one… ‘Chariots Afire’). Larry’s disability is the result of a traumatic brain injury from oxygen loss when he ran his car into a tree at age 17. So his speech and limitations are more like that of Cerebral Palsey. But it doesn’t slow him down much. He wants young people to see that they are not free from consequences and can choose their destiny by how they live presently.
Larry gives his presentation to youth groups, churches, rehab groups and anywhere he can in our area of PA. If you would like to have him you can email him at lrdeck@gmail.com. If you want to know about Joni’s journey and ministry then check out https://www.joniandfriends.org/.
It has been an honor and a privilege to serve next to these soldiers of Christ. How blessed can I be? I get to wash Jesus’s feet every day!
Our congregation was given a large, old, beautiful church building in the city of Reading. The only request the previous group had was that we continue the monthly meal program that they had established. They had gained a reputation for caring for the local community people in need. We were glad for the opportunity to serve.
The other day was the first cold day of the year and a chilly wind had a bite to it. I needed to drop off some things at our inner city church.
A man was leaning over a four foot parking post behind our church. He was trying to sleep and would teeter and sway, then catch himself. He may have been high, or drunk, or just off kilter, but he had come to our church for a rest stop. Eventually he must have fallen into a deep sleep because he fell to the ground finally, waking up and walking away.
In the doorway was another man trying to find shelter from the cold wind, he was curled up on the step. He looked properly clothed, but he was seeking shelter. Seeing both of these people at midday seeking a rest at our church really struck me with gratitude.
For a nice change of pace, I saw them through Jesus’s eyes instead of my own. I felt so honored and privileged that they came to our church for a rest. They were beautiful, and honest about their need.
In that moment they represented all of us in a way; stumbling around looking for relief. My heart thrilled to see that they came to a church for a break in their crazy, stressful, confusing, unsafe world. They came to our church!
We see folks in all sorts of situations, some with psychiatric challenges, addictions, medical struggles, broke, some needy, others greedy. Just like the rest of us. What a comfort to know that when in distress these people think of showing up at our church. It may not be a Billy Graham alter call, but it’s encouraging that they even think of us as able to help.
One reason this event was so refreshing to me was because it is easy to cop a bad attitude when working with the unchurched that come with all sorts of baggage. I know in my head they are precious souls but the rough spots often obscure the fact that they bear God’s image under all those earthly cares. But these two guys melted my heart. I go into that building all needy and weary too. My needs are more spiritual than physical, only because I am currently blessed with health, work, food, and shelter. Maybe these folks will also think of seeking a church when they consider their spiritual needs…maybe…someday.
Brilliant observation # 267: THERE ARE TWO WAYS TO USE AN EXCUSE- AS A STOP SIGN OR AS FUEL TO OVERCOME A CHALLENGE.
Most of us are harnessed with an excuse of some sort. The problem starts when that obstacle is declared unsurmountable or off limits to change. I speak as an expert in the area, excuses where my fence of safety for more than half my life. And I still have to consciously battle it. If I thought that this was unique or unusual, I wouldn’t bother writing about it. This is a very common condition, a symptom of our sinful, carnal nature. I come across it most frequently in myself, but see it in other people too.
People tend to seek me out for empathy when life gets messy and bewildering. Likely because I have a bit of a reputation for having been through the proverbial wringer a time or two. With my history of being a medical train wreck, a cultural switch hitter, a shattered dream survivor, a special needs advocate, and a vessel of amazing grace, I do attract needy people.
I have learned that there are people with problems and there are problem people. My husband used to call me a ‘freak magnet’ because all kinds of strays seemed to show up everywhere I went. I took it as a compliment; Jesus was a freak magnet too, so there has to be some good in it. Although mine would be more of a case in which birds of a feather flock together. Either way, I often meet up with folks that have a long list of why they are stuck in a hopeless situation.
An example is when someone wants to become a writer and the answer is: write and don’t quit. If you keep at it, you will eventually improve but if you give up, you face a 100% chance of failure. It sounds basic but it is true. Those who give up when they face an obstacle are the ones who view them as a dead-end instead of a launching pad for a new direction.
What I have noticed about the successful individuals I know of is that they plowed past their inner excuses. Instead of being defined by their problem or obstacle, the pushed through and became part of the solution.
Shortly after I was born again, I took on the no excuses policy and plunged into Matthew5-7. That is when I finally started to make some progress in my spiritual life. If you are wondering how it finally turned out, you will have to ask around at my funeral because I’m still being worked on by the Great Redeemer.
