Betty May Zirkle Hague

FLETCHER - Betty M. Hague, 84, of Fletcher, passed away in her residence at 11:13 a.m. Friday, Jan. 14, 2011.

Betty was born Jan. 16, 1926, in Miami County, a daughter of the late John R. and Elsie May (Martin) Zirkle.

She married Ernest Hague on Jan. 18, 1946, and he survives.

Together they raised two sons, Keith (Maxine) Hague of Cedarville and Richard Hague of Fletcher. She is survived by six grandchildren, Keith, Samuel, Caleb, Joseph, Seth and Grace Hague; and four great-grandchildren; a sister, Jean Zirkle of Richmond, Ind., also survives.

In addition to her parents, she was preceded in death by three brothers, Charlie, Carl and Tillman Zirkle; and a sister, Ann Johnston.

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"Preach to yourself' by D. Martyn Lloyd-Jones

"Have you realized that most ofyour unhappiness in life is due to the fact

that you are listening to yourself instead oftalking to yourself? Take those thoughts that come to you the moment you wake up in the morning. You have not originated them, but they start talking to you, they bring back the problems ofyesterday, etc.

Somebody is talking. Who is talking? Your self is talking to you. Now this

man's (the writer ofPsalm 42) treatment was this; instead of allowing this selfto talk to him, he starts talking to himself. 'Why art thou cast down, 0 my soul?' he asks. His soul had been depressing him, crushing him. So he stands up and says: 'Self, listen for a moment, I will speak to you.' ...

The main art in the matter of spiritual living is to know how to handle yourself. You have to take yourself in hand, you have to address yourself, preach to yourself, question yourself. You must say to your soul: 'Why art thou cast down' -what business have you to be disquieted?

You must tum on yourself, upbraid yourself, condemn yourself, exhort yourself, and say to yourself: 'Hope thou in God' -instead of muttering in this depressed, unhappy way. And then you must go on to remind yourself of God, Who God is, and what God is and what God has done, and what God has pledged Himself to do.

Then having done that, end on this great note: defy yourself, and defy other people, and defy the devil and the whole world, and say with this man: 'I shall yet praise Him for the help of His countenance, who is also the health of my countenance and my God.'"

-D. Martyn lloyd-Jones,

Dahab

A bit of travel was in order. We had spent ourselves, slaving over finals and then campus responsibilities that we had barely left campus: stuck inside the confines of our our gates and bars, as it were. The hub-bub and excitement of the vacation-potential buried us in a general kind of apprehension as we planned to take a trip to Dahab, Egypt. Dahab is a coastal city half way down the eastern coast of the Sinai peninsula. Planning was delayed and delayed and it wasn't until the Eilat bus tickets were purchased that I found myself wanting to sit this “vacation” out. I have never really spent much time thinking about what vacations are or aren't because I had not spent a lot of time vacationing. In any case there was too little time to back out. These are my musings on our 6 day trip to Egypt.

Before we left I had to make sure the campus was ready for the Wright's return (our directors went to America for Christmas) and that my bag was packed. I had far too much to do and ran out of time. I was throwing things into my bag as we exited campus, hopeful that we would have everything we needed once we found shelter on the shore of the Sinai.

Our bus to the Jerusalem station was especially nice, a quick 10 minute ride early Christmas-eve morning, Emily and I usually walk. The bus to Eilat was on time and boarding was a breeze. The ride was a little hard on our stomachs due to lack of sleep and food e.g. Emily's sudden need for a trash can. Four and a half hours later we were in Eilat. We took a cab from the Eilat bus station to the boarder and then after crossing into Egypt, we took a bus southwards to Dahab without too much hassle (the Israeli taxi driver's musings on the modern shark crisis and the Taba Hilton bombing were a bit ironic, but so it was).

Rachel's dad had a booking for us in a Hilton and the resort was elegant and beautiful: the grass thick and the service friendly. After the exertion of a bit of dramatic energy, we settled and went for a walk on the shore of the gulf of Aqaba. The views were striking and impressive. Our entire horizon played on the juxtaposition of mountain and shoreline. The rise of the Saudi Arabian ranges sat behind the wash of strange blues and greens coloring the surface of the deep. The gulf of Aqaba carries a Bedouin history and one that has bearing on Israel's own movement through the Sinai. Would they have seen a sight like this? Would it have been as impressive? Was there opportunity here for them?

After a little hike we decided to find dinner. We took a taxi into Assalah and found ourselves questioning the sanitary conditions of the Bedouins here. It seemed prudent to walk back toward the more familiar and start with the known before venturing too far into the land of the unknowns. We found the board walk. It was gimmicky for sure, though there was an aura of brightness and color to the whole feel. Every vendor took us as a potential customer. The appearance of kindness was at least fun. We played with them and realized that we could talk our way into a relatively good thing. After having walked halfway down we gave in to the pleads of “come into my restaurant, give me just this one chance to serve you.” The meal came with a free appetizer, desert, shisha and a 30 percent discount. We had heard things in Dahab were more toward our pathetic budgets, but we didn't think it would be this easy. The dinner was spot-on. We decided to watch a movie to celebrate Christmas eve, so we fell asleep to Baby Mama on my laptop. Perhaps we really just needed a distraction. Christmas isn't the same alone.

The next morning, Christmas morning, we knew that we had until noon to get things organized and check out. We went for a morning swim in the Red Sea and then got ready for brunch. After an amazing brunch at the Hilton we made our way into Mashraba, a district of Dahab on the shore. After a bit of discussion with Hawash on the current shark news and the general Egyptian thought about Israel, we found a place to stay that cost each of us around 10 Egyptian pounds or $2.50 American a night. Assama, at the Auski camp, treated us really well offering us towels, more blankets and pillows. The pretense of security was a little unsettling: the latch of the door was pinned with a couple of nails which we could lock shut with a miniature pad-lock. We were more cautious the first day and then realized things were pretty laid back.

We met up for a walk once our things were put away and tried our limited Arabic with marketers and vendors as we passed. We settled on a place for dinner and celebrated Christmas as we ate. We read the Christmas story back at the dorm and then went to bed. I laid awake thinking about our own Christmas traditions: Dad's reading, sibling tension and family drama's all that contribute to the tastes and smells of Christmas for me. It's all very endearing.

The next morning we decided to go for a walk southward toward what is called the Three Islands, a coral reef south of Mashraba. It is important to remember your snorkel gear if you plan a trip to Dahab. The enticing rift table will eventually lure any tourist courageous enough to try.

We walked a bit past the reef and found a spot on the beach. I had some homework I tried to get through. I listened to a lecture under the drape of my blowing Kafia (Arab head-dress) while Emily laid in the sun. Todd and Rachel were the first to venture out into the water to snorkel. They introduced it to me. I mean, I knew the basics but I had only played around with some shotty gear in our above ground 24X4 pool. Honestly, I have a general aversion to water, especially big bodies of it. Its like I cannot get the ideal of “big fish, little guy” out of my head. So I passed on the first day of snorkeling though Todd and Rachel came back with some fantastic stories about the fish and all.

The next day I asked Todd to take me out and he walked me through the basics. Our gear wasn't of the greatest quality but we managed alright. Timid and a bit nervous I bellied in for a swim out to Island one. At first the water was quite shallow and I felt rather vulnerable. The what ifs, though irrational, came flooding to mind mind like a nightmare. I could see weeds and black worms: unnerving, that's all. It always gets worse before it gets better, doesn't it? The ground below us seemed to grow more porous and more creatures came into view. The strange mix of fear and awe triggered an adrenaline rush in me. The drone of my heavy breathing and sudden movements apparently worried Todd a bit. Here and there I would scream through my snorkel shocked by the kinds and colors of fish and coral. The reefs holes turned into vertical caves and then... nothing: small dots in the distance disguised by this eerie unending blue - the reef drop-off (that's what they call it in Nemo). My palms would have been sweating had I not been submerged and my heart raced as I edged toward the precipice. Its like having the opportunity to float out over the edge of the Grand Canyon at dusk in the Jurrasic period (big birds). Would you do it? The whole experience was filled with powerful images full of natural splendor pent up with creative force. The further around the Island we went the more we could see. It was literally breathtaking.

The days went by quickly after Christmas and we found different ways to keep ourselves preoccupied so that we wouldn't think too desperately long about how much we wished we were with family for the holidays. We had a little ice-cream party two nights later, the night we watched Finding Nemo. One of the last days, Emily and I went for a walk and found a little pasta place that served a nice local Egyptian dish for 5 pounds. It was really nice: three pasta, bean and spices. What more could you ask for?

The last night I had planned to take Emily out on a date to an Indian place on the shore. On our way to the restaurant, the skies opened and ruined (or fixed... to not) our plans to sit under the stars in Dahab's one-rain-a-year-rain (Cedarville ought to be known for its strange and peculiar weather patterns and I miss the the sudden summer rains. It reminded me of home). We walked in the down pour for a little bit and stumbled into a nice, hole-in-the-wall place flooded with people. We found a cozy spot in the corner next to the fire and had a nice meal.

We made our way back to the Auski camp only to find the entire floor pooling with rain water. Funny how the unexpected can make or break a mood. The ceilings were dripping with it and the beds were soaking it in. We separated our wet and dry belongings and tried to make sense out of how we were going to get some sleep. We rearranged our stuff and the beds so that the major dripping would fall onto the floor. Then we flipped the mattresses and tried to get so sleep.

We had made plans to wake up early and snorkel, which apparently were foiled by the drama of the unexpected. We managed to run out to the beach for one last dive and look at the reef before we needed to leave. After a warm shower and some last minute packing we found ourselves on a bus headed for Israel.

With the trip over, we began to feel like Egypt had followed us back to Israel. We had purchased falafals for breakfast and lunch (12 of them - 3 each), taking them with us on our buses, naturally. The bus trip back was pleasant and relatively stress free. By afternoon the next day, we knew that the paradigm “feel awful” for falafal was at least believable. We were stricken with a kind of diarrhea that only left us with enough strength to get to the bathroom and back. Indigestion and cramping worsened before it cycled out.

In spite of all this, the trip turned out to be a nice break from our duties: refreshing and good. The time away gave me time to think about how I use my time and how important it is to redeem it. Too little is left in life and so goes the drama of living.