One of my favorite Christmas presents is a Shutterfly book filled with 42 pages of photos, mostly of our two young granddaughters, Maddie and Anne-Marie. Their father is a photographer, and they are his favorite subjects. The delightful presentation was full of summer-through-fall activities, showing them sight-seeing, running through parks, splashing in the Gulf, wearing home-school emblazoned tees, mugging for the camera or just looking beautiful.
In the lull after the storm of Christmas activity, I took a few moments to dwell leisurely on the pictures this morning. One puzzled me a little--a monument in front of the Texas state capitol in Austin on which names were engraved, with 6-year-old Anne-Marie pointing one out. "Does that name say 'Summers' or something?" I asked Jamie when I called him about it today. It obviously had some significance, but I couldn't read it.
"Yes! Don't you have your glasses on?" he answered. I did, but they didn't help make out the carved-in-stone letters. It did indeed say "Summers," which I read clearly with a magnifying glass after I hung up. I figured it was a list of Alamo heroes, because I had seen that name on a list when visiting there a few years ago.
Looking up information on line, I found it was the name of one of the defenders of the Alamo, William E. Summers. He was born in Tennessee in 1812, moved to Gonzales, Texas in 1836 where he was mustered into The Gonzales Ranging Company of Mounted Volunteers on February 3 of that year, effectively becoming a Texas Ranger.
Private William E. Summers, marksman, rode with this group on March 1, 1836, to relieve the beleagered fighters at the Alamo. Just 24 years old, he was killed in the massacre on March 5, only five days later. He is included in a list as one of the "Immortal 32," men of valor who showed uncommon bravery when they doubtless knew their chances of survival were practically non-existent.
Since this hero was a single man, there is no chance that our Summers clan could be descendants of William E. Summers. However, my father-in-law's middle name was "Willmon," maybe a distant relative of the family? In one of the geneolgies I read, a grandfather of his was a preacher. That fits...my husband is a preacher, his brother was a preacher, and we have two preacher sons!
This American patriot was on the muster roll of Colonel W.B. Travis. We may admire his bravery and share his name, but our duty is to see that our name is on the heavenly roll, and that we share the name of Christ as Christians! Now that is a family affair!
Monday, December 31, 2012
Auld Lang Syne
"It is sad to see our old friend, 2012, leaving us so soon," wrote my friend on Facebook, but as I scanned his post, I didn't see the 2012 and thought that someone had died. Well, now someone has. We got the call about an hour ago and we haven't been back to sleep. My husband has been asked to do the graveside rites for his old friend, so he is in the other room looking up scriptures.
"Look at the first thing I opened to!" he exclaimed a little while ago. It was Romans 8:18, which says, "For I reckon that the sufferings of this present time are not worthy to be compared with the glory which shall be revealed in us." I suggested he mark it to use in the services.
Our friend's wife called last evening, fearing that his time was short. We spent an hour or so with her as nurses and aides ministered to her husband. He had been in the nursing home for several years. In fact, it is doubtful that he, an Alzheimer patient, ever knew who we were over the last couple of years that we visited him. Still, Howard was hopeful as he played the guitar and sang to him on every visit, always coming away with the impression that he saw improvement.
We had known this couple way back in the 60's and hadn't seen them since 1970 when they visited us in New Orleans where we had moved. Then one day at one of my book signings, I was called to the phone. Unbeknownst to us, this couple had relocated to the same town we had returned to a few years ago. She had seen my name on the bookstore marquee, called and asked me if my husband's name was Howard. That's when we found out about her husband's condition.
Talk turned last night to those early years. We had gone to the same church, and Howard and his friend had shared a love of music. They played guitars together, even then. Waiting beside his sickbed, his wife reminisced of how they met, at ages 15 and 17, marrying a few months later. "I knew when I saw his blue eyes that that was the one I would marry," she said. "And he went home and told his mother he'd found the girl he would marry." I think she said they had been married 67 years.
So as the old year passes, a bright new year awaits us tomorrow. Our friend is already in his bright tomorrow, experiencing freedom from earthly bondage "into the glorious liberty of the children of God." Romans 8:21
"Look at the first thing I opened to!" he exclaimed a little while ago. It was Romans 8:18, which says, "For I reckon that the sufferings of this present time are not worthy to be compared with the glory which shall be revealed in us." I suggested he mark it to use in the services.
Our friend's wife called last evening, fearing that his time was short. We spent an hour or so with her as nurses and aides ministered to her husband. He had been in the nursing home for several years. In fact, it is doubtful that he, an Alzheimer patient, ever knew who we were over the last couple of years that we visited him. Still, Howard was hopeful as he played the guitar and sang to him on every visit, always coming away with the impression that he saw improvement.
We had known this couple way back in the 60's and hadn't seen them since 1970 when they visited us in New Orleans where we had moved. Then one day at one of my book signings, I was called to the phone. Unbeknownst to us, this couple had relocated to the same town we had returned to a few years ago. She had seen my name on the bookstore marquee, called and asked me if my husband's name was Howard. That's when we found out about her husband's condition.
Talk turned last night to those early years. We had gone to the same church, and Howard and his friend had shared a love of music. They played guitars together, even then. Waiting beside his sickbed, his wife reminisced of how they met, at ages 15 and 17, marrying a few months later. "I knew when I saw his blue eyes that that was the one I would marry," she said. "And he went home and told his mother he'd found the girl he would marry." I think she said they had been married 67 years.
So as the old year passes, a bright new year awaits us tomorrow. Our friend is already in his bright tomorrow, experiencing freedom from earthly bondage "into the glorious liberty of the children of God." Romans 8:21
Saturday, December 29, 2012
Not a Creature was Stirring...
"Mom, you know the reason those people bought our old house?" our son, Trevor, said at the breakfast table on the last morning of his family's Christmas visit to us from Texas. We had been reminiscing about our days in Mississippi, and he had recently visited the current owners of the house he grew up in. When I asked why, he said, "Because of that old stove! The lady said when she saw it, she knew she had to have the house!"
The old Magic Chef range! It had stood in the "mother-in-law" apartment attached to the house Howard and I had bought in 1975 when we were expecting our sixth child. I used it now and again between tenants, especially for holiday turkeys when I needed an extra oven. Then when the power was out during the several hurricanes that we experienced in those 20 years, we survived by cooking on the gas range.
"That thing sure was heavy!" my husband exclaimed. I knew it had been moved! I distinctly remember that after our daughter and her husband bought the house and we moved to Kansas, she had put her laundry facilities in that kitchen (but she says it didn't happen). I had to tell the funny story about the gap around the pipe left in the floor when the range was reconnected. By this time, we were the occupants of the apartment, come back from Kansas to help out with babysitting when Amy was about to deliver her second child.
One night as we were preparing for bed, I saw a shadow dart across the floor. "Eek!" I cried, "A mouse!" My husband was standing there and bent to look for it. Suddenly it appeared with two others trailing it, and they ran up the leg of Howard's pants! What a hysterical moment that was! They must have gotten in through the pipe opening of the raised floor house!
Trevor chuckled at the scenario, then, in a mellow mood from Mom's big breakfast, launched into a story of his own. "You wouldn't believe what I saw through the bus window in Dallas once!" he began. (After driving to the edge of the city from his neighboring small town, Trevor takes a work shuttle to his downtown office.)
"I saw this man sitting on a bench at the bus stop leisurely reading the newspaper," he went on. "Then suddenly a big--I mean a big--rat appeared and began to sniff at the sole of the man's shoe. He was engrossed in the paper, and the rat stuck its head under the hem of his pants. The man absently flicked at his trouser leg, and went on reading the paper," Trevor continued dramatically.
"I couldn't belive my eyes, as I watched, helplessly, from the window!" he exclaimed. "Then I saw that rat run up inside the leg of his pants! Boy, did that man do a jig then! He jumped up, began stomping his foot, yelling and flailing his paper!" Trevor slapped his leg and wiped his eyes at the memory of it while we all laughed incredulously. Talk about a snapshot in time!
Other funny stories and memories flowed around the table that morning, but it was soon time for them to go. They were the last of our family to arrive this week; the others had left yesterday. Despite the bitter temps we had experienced, and the un-white Christmas after all, we'd had a wonderful time with all our sons' families. (We had seen our daughters at Thanksgiving.) The warmth of their laughter and presence lingered all day, and on our phone call to check their road progress, they said it snowed heavily on them for a long way just south of us! Another Christmas memory!
The old Magic Chef range! It had stood in the "mother-in-law" apartment attached to the house Howard and I had bought in 1975 when we were expecting our sixth child. I used it now and again between tenants, especially for holiday turkeys when I needed an extra oven. Then when the power was out during the several hurricanes that we experienced in those 20 years, we survived by cooking on the gas range.
"That thing sure was heavy!" my husband exclaimed. I knew it had been moved! I distinctly remember that after our daughter and her husband bought the house and we moved to Kansas, she had put her laundry facilities in that kitchen (but she says it didn't happen). I had to tell the funny story about the gap around the pipe left in the floor when the range was reconnected. By this time, we were the occupants of the apartment, come back from Kansas to help out with babysitting when Amy was about to deliver her second child.
One night as we were preparing for bed, I saw a shadow dart across the floor. "Eek!" I cried, "A mouse!" My husband was standing there and bent to look for it. Suddenly it appeared with two others trailing it, and they ran up the leg of Howard's pants! What a hysterical moment that was! They must have gotten in through the pipe opening of the raised floor house!
Trevor chuckled at the scenario, then, in a mellow mood from Mom's big breakfast, launched into a story of his own. "You wouldn't believe what I saw through the bus window in Dallas once!" he began. (After driving to the edge of the city from his neighboring small town, Trevor takes a work shuttle to his downtown office.)
"I saw this man sitting on a bench at the bus stop leisurely reading the newspaper," he went on. "Then suddenly a big--I mean a big--rat appeared and began to sniff at the sole of the man's shoe. He was engrossed in the paper, and the rat stuck its head under the hem of his pants. The man absently flicked at his trouser leg, and went on reading the paper," Trevor continued dramatically.
"I couldn't belive my eyes, as I watched, helplessly, from the window!" he exclaimed. "Then I saw that rat run up inside the leg of his pants! Boy, did that man do a jig then! He jumped up, began stomping his foot, yelling and flailing his paper!" Trevor slapped his leg and wiped his eyes at the memory of it while we all laughed incredulously. Talk about a snapshot in time!
Other funny stories and memories flowed around the table that morning, but it was soon time for them to go. They were the last of our family to arrive this week; the others had left yesterday. Despite the bitter temps we had experienced, and the un-white Christmas after all, we'd had a wonderful time with all our sons' families. (We had seen our daughters at Thanksgiving.) The warmth of their laughter and presence lingered all day, and on our phone call to check their road progress, they said it snowed heavily on them for a long way just south of us! Another Christmas memory!
Sunday, December 23, 2012
Partridge in a Pear Tree
"Mom, you have a gift over here from Mark and Rhonda," our son, Greg, spoke over the phone. "If you want to come over and eat, you can pick it up," he suggested. Oh, how nice! I thought. We were expecting our older son and his wife the day after Christmas, but maybe they wanted to be sure the gift got here before then, I concluded. Since we were already eating supper, we told Greg we would get it the next day.
Today we went by their house to deliver some Christmas presents, and they showed me the box on the coffee table. In fact, there were two identical boxes marked Harry & David, Royal Riviera Pears from the Fruit of the Month Club, one of which was addressed to them. Oh. Pears! I remembered last year that they had sent some to our son, Jamie, who was hosting a family gathering in Houston.
I opened the box, exclaimed over the beautiful pears, then noticed a card that was slipping onto the coffee table. I picked it up and saw that it had a gift card to a restaurant inside it. "Olive Garden!" I squealed. "Oh, they shouldn't have done that, too!" Then, noticing the generous amount of the gift, I said magnanimously, "This is big enough that we can take you guys with us!"
"What is the amount?" Greg asked quizzically. When I told him, he said, "I'm afraid that is Joanna's (his wife's) card."
"Oh, you mean they got you one, too?" was my clueless response. Turns out I had taken the lid from their box of pears that they had previously opened, and they had laid the unrelated gift card in there for safe-keeping!
We laughed, and I recalled what happened when Mark had sent Jamie pears last year. Ever the wit, Jamie texted his big brother with something like, "Mark, I got a gift from you, but someone had stolen the contents and replaced it with pears!" Mark didn't read the whole text but called me and asked me if Jamie's house had been broken into, saying he'd gotten a message about something being stolen! It took awhile to straighten everything out, when we all had a good laugh.
Probably no other gift-giving occasion is fraught with such a comedy of errors as is Christmas. Little children scream in terror as they are thrust on Santa's lap, to their parents' sympathetic amusement. Gifts of wearables are often the wrong size, color or style; re-gifting can be disastrous, and guessing someone's taste can be iffy. I've even seen games and surveys on "The strangest gift I have ever received." (My kids used to come up with strange, but earnest gifts to me, ranging from Tarn-X and dishcloths in my stocking to a gift-wrapped industrial-size box of Tide from my teen-ager! With six kids, they knew I did a lot of dishes and laundry!)
The only Perfect Gift was on the first Christmas when Jesus was born. For all our well-meaning efforts, our gift giving can only be a pale comparison to the expression of Love the Father gave us. Nevertheless, in our clumsy, human way and adding a little mirth and merriment to our memories, we continue to give gifts, ever looking to our Example who gives the gift of eternal life.
Today we went by their house to deliver some Christmas presents, and they showed me the box on the coffee table. In fact, there were two identical boxes marked Harry & David, Royal Riviera Pears from the Fruit of the Month Club, one of which was addressed to them. Oh. Pears! I remembered last year that they had sent some to our son, Jamie, who was hosting a family gathering in Houston.
I opened the box, exclaimed over the beautiful pears, then noticed a card that was slipping onto the coffee table. I picked it up and saw that it had a gift card to a restaurant inside it. "Olive Garden!" I squealed. "Oh, they shouldn't have done that, too!" Then, noticing the generous amount of the gift, I said magnanimously, "This is big enough that we can take you guys with us!"
"What is the amount?" Greg asked quizzically. When I told him, he said, "I'm afraid that is Joanna's (his wife's) card."
"Oh, you mean they got you one, too?" was my clueless response. Turns out I had taken the lid from their box of pears that they had previously opened, and they had laid the unrelated gift card in there for safe-keeping!
We laughed, and I recalled what happened when Mark had sent Jamie pears last year. Ever the wit, Jamie texted his big brother with something like, "Mark, I got a gift from you, but someone had stolen the contents and replaced it with pears!" Mark didn't read the whole text but called me and asked me if Jamie's house had been broken into, saying he'd gotten a message about something being stolen! It took awhile to straighten everything out, when we all had a good laugh.
Probably no other gift-giving occasion is fraught with such a comedy of errors as is Christmas. Little children scream in terror as they are thrust on Santa's lap, to their parents' sympathetic amusement. Gifts of wearables are often the wrong size, color or style; re-gifting can be disastrous, and guessing someone's taste can be iffy. I've even seen games and surveys on "The strangest gift I have ever received." (My kids used to come up with strange, but earnest gifts to me, ranging from Tarn-X and dishcloths in my stocking to a gift-wrapped industrial-size box of Tide from my teen-ager! With six kids, they knew I did a lot of dishes and laundry!)
The only Perfect Gift was on the first Christmas when Jesus was born. For all our well-meaning efforts, our gift giving can only be a pale comparison to the expression of Love the Father gave us. Nevertheless, in our clumsy, human way and adding a little mirth and merriment to our memories, we continue to give gifts, ever looking to our Example who gives the gift of eternal life.
Friday, December 21, 2012
Christmas Outing
What a great day! Howard took me shopping to pick out my own Christmas presents! In true Christmas fashion, I got what I wanted (pajamas), and a surprise as well (a sharp new coat!). The festive stores and beautiful merchandise were so spirit lifting, with friendly clerks and many wishes of "Merry Christmas" given.
Acknowleging his patience to me, I didn't mind stopping at the store of his choice--a farm supply store. Instead of being dull and utilitarian, it was warm and cheering, the rustic atmosphere being brightened by prominent displays of foodstuffs dominating the entrance.
Sparkling jars of canned peaches, spiced or vanilla, took our eyes; gift jars of pickles, jellies and preserves glowed emerald, amethyst and ruby in their rows, and colorful shelves of Arkansas-canned vegetables stood in modest array. Why didn't I think of giving food as gifts? Nothing would have been more perfect!
Candies, Christmas treats, nuts by the gallon and other goodies tempted us, but I was content with picking up chocolate Santa morsels for the littlest among us. My husband's real interest was at the back of the store, where he perused the bags of poultry feed, chicken coop kits ("Environmental Solutions," complete with sloped, treaded walkway entrance). Who knew? The bales of fragrant prairie hay reminded me of the Christmas manger, the reason for the season.
No trip to this town would be complete without a stop at the close-out retail chain store where we stocked up on paper products, baking mixes and a few irrresistible dainties. We were really filling time before we took in a movie I had been wanting to see. (This seemed to be my day!)
Lincoln turned out to be a great movie, in my estimation. The main character was portrayed as humble, unassuming and with a homespun wit that was entertaining and endearing. The fascinating, period background, though drab by today's standards, lent authenticity to the momentous, historic happenings that would change society then and in the future.
A scene near the end of the movie, after the Civil War had ended and the 13th Amendment had been passed, showed President Lincoln and his wife, Mary, riding in a carriage in a relaxed moment. They were talking of travel plans, Lincoln voicing his heartfelt desire to visit Israel and experience for himself the land of the Bible. His untimely death kept that from happening, but it revealed the heart of one of our greatest presidents.
The stars sparkled brightly in a brittle December sky, and we were thoughtful on the ride home, prayerful for our country and thankful for the season of warmth, family and God's goodness in the midst of uncertain times. It will soon be Christmas.
Acknowleging his patience to me, I didn't mind stopping at the store of his choice--a farm supply store. Instead of being dull and utilitarian, it was warm and cheering, the rustic atmosphere being brightened by prominent displays of foodstuffs dominating the entrance.
Sparkling jars of canned peaches, spiced or vanilla, took our eyes; gift jars of pickles, jellies and preserves glowed emerald, amethyst and ruby in their rows, and colorful shelves of Arkansas-canned vegetables stood in modest array. Why didn't I think of giving food as gifts? Nothing would have been more perfect!
Candies, Christmas treats, nuts by the gallon and other goodies tempted us, but I was content with picking up chocolate Santa morsels for the littlest among us. My husband's real interest was at the back of the store, where he perused the bags of poultry feed, chicken coop kits ("Environmental Solutions," complete with sloped, treaded walkway entrance). Who knew? The bales of fragrant prairie hay reminded me of the Christmas manger, the reason for the season.
No trip to this town would be complete without a stop at the close-out retail chain store where we stocked up on paper products, baking mixes and a few irrresistible dainties. We were really filling time before we took in a movie I had been wanting to see. (This seemed to be my day!)
Lincoln turned out to be a great movie, in my estimation. The main character was portrayed as humble, unassuming and with a homespun wit that was entertaining and endearing. The fascinating, period background, though drab by today's standards, lent authenticity to the momentous, historic happenings that would change society then and in the future.
A scene near the end of the movie, after the Civil War had ended and the 13th Amendment had been passed, showed President Lincoln and his wife, Mary, riding in a carriage in a relaxed moment. They were talking of travel plans, Lincoln voicing his heartfelt desire to visit Israel and experience for himself the land of the Bible. His untimely death kept that from happening, but it revealed the heart of one of our greatest presidents.
The stars sparkled brightly in a brittle December sky, and we were thoughtful on the ride home, prayerful for our country and thankful for the season of warmth, family and God's goodness in the midst of uncertain times. It will soon be Christmas.
Tuesday, December 18, 2012
Nutcracker Sweets
"Can we go out into the backyard?" our 6-and-7-year old granddaughters were asking. I had made Sunday dinner at our house, and now the adults were settled in uninteresting after-dinner comfort in the living room. I was browsing the paper, my husband was nodding off and their father was looking up something on the internet.
"Yes," I said, handing them a small wicker basket. "You can go gather some of the black walnuts out of the backyard for me." I had been thinking about cracking them and using them in holiday goodies, even though I knew it would be hard to remove the nutmeats. The girls' eyes brightened and they headed eagerly outside. Soon they were back with several walnuts in the basket.
"Good!" I encouraged them, "Go get some more!" This time they were gone a little longer but brought back a full basket. There was also something white in the basket. Two grungy hen eggs! "Where did you get those eggs?" I demanded.
"In those cages in the backyard," they explained innocently. What? We had moved our chickens from there two months ago! Those eggs had to be rotten! "Can we crack them?" they asked. I told them to carefully go put them in the garbage can in the alley. Hopefully, they didn't break, but I'm not going out to see!
The basket of walnuts now sits waiting on my coffee table, but we don't have a nut cracker. Howard could crack them with a hammer, but I still need a pick to dislodge the kernels from their torturous chambers. We made a note to pick up a nutcracker set when we went to town.
Nobody had any! Every store we tried said they were out of them. One clerk said there had been a bumper crop of pecans this year, so I guess they are in demand. I found one nut/seafood cracker at Walmart, but they were out of the picks. The hardware store is suppposed to get some in with a shipment on Thursday, so I'm to check back then.
I remember when the nutcracker sets with the little rustic bowls were a common item for Christmas presents, but I don't see them any more. I bought chopped walnuts and put them in Christmas fudge today. I also dipped pretzels in almond bark and added sprinkles for a colorful touch.
A few years ago, our son, Jamie and his wife, Tammy, as a surprise Christmas present to the whole family they were hosting that year, took us to see the Nutcracker Ballet in Houston. It was a great experience, and memories of the Candy Castle, The Sugar Plum Fairy, the Gingerbread House and the plethora of sweets puts me in a Christmas mood to stock up on holiday treats before our out-of-town children's families arrive next week! Maybe by then I'll have my own nutcracker!
"Yes," I said, handing them a small wicker basket. "You can go gather some of the black walnuts out of the backyard for me." I had been thinking about cracking them and using them in holiday goodies, even though I knew it would be hard to remove the nutmeats. The girls' eyes brightened and they headed eagerly outside. Soon they were back with several walnuts in the basket.
"Good!" I encouraged them, "Go get some more!" This time they were gone a little longer but brought back a full basket. There was also something white in the basket. Two grungy hen eggs! "Where did you get those eggs?" I demanded.
"In those cages in the backyard," they explained innocently. What? We had moved our chickens from there two months ago! Those eggs had to be rotten! "Can we crack them?" they asked. I told them to carefully go put them in the garbage can in the alley. Hopefully, they didn't break, but I'm not going out to see!
The basket of walnuts now sits waiting on my coffee table, but we don't have a nut cracker. Howard could crack them with a hammer, but I still need a pick to dislodge the kernels from their torturous chambers. We made a note to pick up a nutcracker set when we went to town.
Nobody had any! Every store we tried said they were out of them. One clerk said there had been a bumper crop of pecans this year, so I guess they are in demand. I found one nut/seafood cracker at Walmart, but they were out of the picks. The hardware store is suppposed to get some in with a shipment on Thursday, so I'm to check back then.
I remember when the nutcracker sets with the little rustic bowls were a common item for Christmas presents, but I don't see them any more. I bought chopped walnuts and put them in Christmas fudge today. I also dipped pretzels in almond bark and added sprinkles for a colorful touch.
A few years ago, our son, Jamie and his wife, Tammy, as a surprise Christmas present to the whole family they were hosting that year, took us to see the Nutcracker Ballet in Houston. It was a great experience, and memories of the Candy Castle, The Sugar Plum Fairy, the Gingerbread House and the plethora of sweets puts me in a Christmas mood to stock up on holiday treats before our out-of-town children's families arrive next week! Maybe by then I'll have my own nutcracker!
Saturday, December 15, 2012
A Balm in Gilead
I can relate to the families who will have to face Christmas without their dear children, although losing a child at any time is unbearable. I remember when my parents lost my younger brother just a few days after Christmas when I was 13 years old. Roy was nine when the accident occured that will be forever emblazoned on my memory. It was Christmas vacation from school and most of us were gathered around our new Christmas-present television set, a rarity in the early fifties.
Suddenly someone screamed as we caught sight of Roy Wayne running past the window with blazing garments. Pandemonium broke out as Daddy struggled to get the front door open, finally dashing to the back door where he caught my brother, throwing his heavy coat over him to smother out the flames. It wasn't until later at the hospital that it was discovered how badly Daddy's hands were burned.
Somehow in the panic and confusion we learned that the smaller boys had built a fire in the backyard, found some gasoline and the unimaginable had happened when the fumes ignited and engulfed little Roy. Although he was rushed the several miles to the hospital, his burns proved fatal and he died that night. Heartbreakingly, it was told he had said, "I don't want to die." I thought of that when one of the surviving children in yesterday's tragedy was reported as saying while hiding with his teacher, "I don't want to die! I just want to have Christmas at home."
We were consumed in sadness and grief. I remember a well-intentioned but misguided gesture I made when we heard our parents were coming home from the hospital without Roy. Hoping to comfort her, I put the paper-plate Christmas gift my little brother made where my mother could see it when she walked in the door. Instead, she collapsed with grief and someone hastily put it away. His cowboy guns and other Christmas toys were put away along with a partially-burned little boy shoe, kept in their things until their deaths a lifetime later.
Thankfully, a pastor reached out to our unchurched family. There we found God's comfort, and warmth and friendship that helped us get through our ordeal, although our family was changed from then on. My older brothers went away to the military, we moved, and I met a special boy at church I would marry several years later.
I still can't bear to dwell on these memories, but when I heard the tragic news yesterday the same grief surfaced that I had felt so long ago. As a mother, grandmother and great-grandmother now, I have a heart for children. Especially at Christmas.
Suddenly someone screamed as we caught sight of Roy Wayne running past the window with blazing garments. Pandemonium broke out as Daddy struggled to get the front door open, finally dashing to the back door where he caught my brother, throwing his heavy coat over him to smother out the flames. It wasn't until later at the hospital that it was discovered how badly Daddy's hands were burned.
Somehow in the panic and confusion we learned that the smaller boys had built a fire in the backyard, found some gasoline and the unimaginable had happened when the fumes ignited and engulfed little Roy. Although he was rushed the several miles to the hospital, his burns proved fatal and he died that night. Heartbreakingly, it was told he had said, "I don't want to die." I thought of that when one of the surviving children in yesterday's tragedy was reported as saying while hiding with his teacher, "I don't want to die! I just want to have Christmas at home."
We were consumed in sadness and grief. I remember a well-intentioned but misguided gesture I made when we heard our parents were coming home from the hospital without Roy. Hoping to comfort her, I put the paper-plate Christmas gift my little brother made where my mother could see it when she walked in the door. Instead, she collapsed with grief and someone hastily put it away. His cowboy guns and other Christmas toys were put away along with a partially-burned little boy shoe, kept in their things until their deaths a lifetime later.
Thankfully, a pastor reached out to our unchurched family. There we found God's comfort, and warmth and friendship that helped us get through our ordeal, although our family was changed from then on. My older brothers went away to the military, we moved, and I met a special boy at church I would marry several years later.
I still can't bear to dwell on these memories, but when I heard the tragic news yesterday the same grief surfaced that I had felt so long ago. As a mother, grandmother and great-grandmother now, I have a heart for children. Especially at Christmas.
Little is Much
"God is my everything, my all in all; God is my everything, both great and small," the pastor led in a chorus last Sunday. I thought about that yesterday as we saw God in the small things. We had set out on some errands, first praying that God would help us in our efforts to wrap up some Christmas details.
"Daily He loads us with benefits," my husband said confidently, quoting from his favorite Bible verse. Knowing we had a lot to do that day and wanting to be efficient with time, I named three stores where we could possibly find what we were looking for.
"The first two will be expensive, but will likely have something, and the other one has bargains, but might not have it. So where do you want to go first?" I asked Howard. Naturally, he chose the latter.
"There it is!" I exclaimed the minute we entered the store! Just what we wanted, and at the right price! Thank you, Lord! We rushed home to include the items in a Christmas package to go out before 2:00 o'clock. We hated to stand in long lines, so we would go to the P.O. in the supermarket where hopefully, they wouldn't be busy that early.
"Go to the basement and look for a box," I said, as I wrapped the gifts. My husband came back with a too-large one he found in the garage. I knew we had an assortment of boxes in the basement from moving, so I went down myself and came back with something a little smaller. Praise God, everything fit, if a little snugly.
There were only two people ahead of us in the mailing line. Another benefit!
By this time, we were hungry and headed to our favorite place for a bowl of chili. The waitress included a frosty malt at no charge! Stopping for a gallon of milk on the way home, I got some free decorated bags that would hold some bulky items in my closet and still fit with my craft-paper wrapping decor!
Our next chore was to feed the chickens in the country. Yesterday we were thrilled to gather half a dozen eggs after days of eggless-ness. There were only two today, but that would replace the ones we ate this morning! God's favor!
We got back in plenty of time to pick up our grandchildren from school at 3:00 o'clock. "Can we have noodles?" they asked eagerly, awaiting their favorite snacks. A small murmur of "thank yous" chorused sweetly as I set the warm bowls before them. Greg said they had been working on their manners, and I noticed! Little things mean a lot!
While they were here, Howard and I avoided any talk of the horrendous news on television of the tragedy in Connecticut. Hopefully they won't hear about it, and by the time they go back to school on Monday it may have faded somewhat. I pray that the suffering parents and families find God as their everything in the agonizing days ahead, as a million small things remind them of their loss. May they be grateful for the great blessings their children were to them and find solace in Him, the God of all comfort.
"Daily He loads us with benefits," my husband said confidently, quoting from his favorite Bible verse. Knowing we had a lot to do that day and wanting to be efficient with time, I named three stores where we could possibly find what we were looking for.
"The first two will be expensive, but will likely have something, and the other one has bargains, but might not have it. So where do you want to go first?" I asked Howard. Naturally, he chose the latter.
"There it is!" I exclaimed the minute we entered the store! Just what we wanted, and at the right price! Thank you, Lord! We rushed home to include the items in a Christmas package to go out before 2:00 o'clock. We hated to stand in long lines, so we would go to the P.O. in the supermarket where hopefully, they wouldn't be busy that early.
"Go to the basement and look for a box," I said, as I wrapped the gifts. My husband came back with a too-large one he found in the garage. I knew we had an assortment of boxes in the basement from moving, so I went down myself and came back with something a little smaller. Praise God, everything fit, if a little snugly.
There were only two people ahead of us in the mailing line. Another benefit!
By this time, we were hungry and headed to our favorite place for a bowl of chili. The waitress included a frosty malt at no charge! Stopping for a gallon of milk on the way home, I got some free decorated bags that would hold some bulky items in my closet and still fit with my craft-paper wrapping decor!
Our next chore was to feed the chickens in the country. Yesterday we were thrilled to gather half a dozen eggs after days of eggless-ness. There were only two today, but that would replace the ones we ate this morning! God's favor!
We got back in plenty of time to pick up our grandchildren from school at 3:00 o'clock. "Can we have noodles?" they asked eagerly, awaiting their favorite snacks. A small murmur of "thank yous" chorused sweetly as I set the warm bowls before them. Greg said they had been working on their manners, and I noticed! Little things mean a lot!
While they were here, Howard and I avoided any talk of the horrendous news on television of the tragedy in Connecticut. Hopefully they won't hear about it, and by the time they go back to school on Monday it may have faded somewhat. I pray that the suffering parents and families find God as their everything in the agonizing days ahead, as a million small things remind them of their loss. May they be grateful for the great blessings their children were to them and find solace in Him, the God of all comfort.
Friday, December 14, 2012
Beyond the Blue
"Where are the ducks?" Howard asked as he peered toward the pond. I pointed until he saw them beyond the trees. There were more scattered farther along the edge of the water. Suddenly I saw something else! Bigger birds with long necks!
"Those are geese!" I exclaimed in excitement. Sure enough, maybe 15 or 20 beautiful, graceful geese were floating on the pond. It was the first time we'd seen them there! Mirrored on the shimmering water, they presented a gorgeous sight in nature! We watched in fascination as they glided along majestically in single file with heads held high like visiting royalty.
Suddenly, with tremendous flapping and the noise of slapping wings, they rose in an arresting display of strength and grandeur. Soon they were taking almost military formation in the sky at the unseen command of their leader. It wasn't as if we'd never seen geese before, but the wooded scene, the grey, chill, December day, and the fact that we were "up close and personal" added to our appreciation and wonder at these wild, feathered members of God's creation.
As we drove away, still marveling at our good fortunate at seeing the geese, a news bulletin came on the car radio. It sounded like they were saying something about the second-worst school shooting in U.S. history! As the details became clear, my heart broke with disbelief, sorrow and horror. A classroom full of little kids and their teacher! I had never heard of anything so diabolical! I couldn't hold back the tears as I grieved for the innocents and prayed for their families.
It reminded me of the verse in the Bible that says, "In Rama was there a voice heard, lamentation, and weeping, and great mourning, Rachel weeping for her children, and would not be comforted, because they are not," Matthew 2:18. It was from the prophet, Jeremiah, speaking of the slaughter of the innocents as wicked Herod sought to kill the baby Jesus. How ironic that this tragedy should happen at Christmas time, when we are getting ready to celebrate the birth of Jesus!
Even as the geese were winging their way heavenward, we had no idea these babes were being carried on angels' wings to the breast of their loving, heavenly Father, the God of all comfort, to romp and play in fields of untold beauty and unending joy and love, never again to be bothered by the fear and pain of this earth, in a land where every day is Christmas.
"Those are geese!" I exclaimed in excitement. Sure enough, maybe 15 or 20 beautiful, graceful geese were floating on the pond. It was the first time we'd seen them there! Mirrored on the shimmering water, they presented a gorgeous sight in nature! We watched in fascination as they glided along majestically in single file with heads held high like visiting royalty.
Suddenly, with tremendous flapping and the noise of slapping wings, they rose in an arresting display of strength and grandeur. Soon they were taking almost military formation in the sky at the unseen command of their leader. It wasn't as if we'd never seen geese before, but the wooded scene, the grey, chill, December day, and the fact that we were "up close and personal" added to our appreciation and wonder at these wild, feathered members of God's creation.
As we drove away, still marveling at our good fortunate at seeing the geese, a news bulletin came on the car radio. It sounded like they were saying something about the second-worst school shooting in U.S. history! As the details became clear, my heart broke with disbelief, sorrow and horror. A classroom full of little kids and their teacher! I had never heard of anything so diabolical! I couldn't hold back the tears as I grieved for the innocents and prayed for their families.
It reminded me of the verse in the Bible that says, "In Rama was there a voice heard, lamentation, and weeping, and great mourning, Rachel weeping for her children, and would not be comforted, because they are not," Matthew 2:18. It was from the prophet, Jeremiah, speaking of the slaughter of the innocents as wicked Herod sought to kill the baby Jesus. How ironic that this tragedy should happen at Christmas time, when we are getting ready to celebrate the birth of Jesus!
Even as the geese were winging their way heavenward, we had no idea these babes were being carried on angels' wings to the breast of their loving, heavenly Father, the God of all comfort, to romp and play in fields of untold beauty and unending joy and love, never again to be bothered by the fear and pain of this earth, in a land where every day is Christmas.
'Tis the Season to be Jolly
Who could that be? I wondered as the cell phone in my purse rang. We were exploring a new store in Stillwater yesterday that I had thought wouldn't open until January, but the clerk said it had been open since Labor Day! "Are you going to go to the Sectional Ministers' Christmas banquet tonight?" our pastor was asking. "I meant to ask you last night at church, but I forgot," he finished.
Oh, we hadn't gotten the info on it, or I had overlooked it on e-mail or something, I realized. I was surprised that Howard wanted to go on such short notice, but we were up for it, especially since we had missed two other Christmas events due to illness. But first, we had to finish our shopping. I found what I was looking for at this store, then we were off to Belk's for their big sale I had read about in a brochure that came in the mail.
Oh, my! That new store must be some competition for them, for they had marked a lot of things down drastically, equal to 80% off! Not much worked for me, but I did find some nice black pants and a sweater. "You saved $95.25," the clerk said as she handed me the receipt! And I had spent less than $15! Thank you, Lord! We had prayed before we left home that God would help us in our gift selections and guide our purchases, and He had!
I had just enough time at home to hem the pants so I could wear them last night with a black sweater. Howard said my outfit looked nice with my red, ruffled shawl my grandson gave me recently as an early Christmas present. I know it felt Christmasy! It was good to see old friends, meet new people, enjoy the food and laugh at a "church signs" video clip for our entertainment. (The funniest was a sign with the name that had blurred into "Meth Church." ) A thoughtful word of encouragement was brought by a young minister who spoke after the meal, and a beautiful Christmas chorus from church youth had begun the evening.
It was a fun evening, but nothing compared to our own church party, held in the private dining room of a restaurant, which turned out to be largely a "roast' of our pastor! He seemed to enjoy it as much as anybody when he was ribbed for long sermons, being a perfectionist, and insisting things be done "his way." All this was put in a song, punctuated by his favorite interjections and warbled to him by one of the braver members of the congregation, much to everyone's mock horror and delight. Outlandish games involving those drafted from among us contributed to side-splitting laughter and good natured fun.
A tender moment came in bidding goodbye to a favorite member who was being transferrred. Someone suggested he lead in a worship chorus he had sung in church on Sunday, and we were soon wiping our eyes in the sweet sorrow of parting, but joyful in the knowledge of the Lord's presence and His keeping power. We left for the nearly hour ride home with full hearts and refreshed spirits. "A merry heart does good like a medicine," the Bible says. A welcome change from bottles of pills from doctors recently!
Oh, we hadn't gotten the info on it, or I had overlooked it on e-mail or something, I realized. I was surprised that Howard wanted to go on such short notice, but we were up for it, especially since we had missed two other Christmas events due to illness. But first, we had to finish our shopping. I found what I was looking for at this store, then we were off to Belk's for their big sale I had read about in a brochure that came in the mail.
Oh, my! That new store must be some competition for them, for they had marked a lot of things down drastically, equal to 80% off! Not much worked for me, but I did find some nice black pants and a sweater. "You saved $95.25," the clerk said as she handed me the receipt! And I had spent less than $15! Thank you, Lord! We had prayed before we left home that God would help us in our gift selections and guide our purchases, and He had!
I had just enough time at home to hem the pants so I could wear them last night with a black sweater. Howard said my outfit looked nice with my red, ruffled shawl my grandson gave me recently as an early Christmas present. I know it felt Christmasy! It was good to see old friends, meet new people, enjoy the food and laugh at a "church signs" video clip for our entertainment. (The funniest was a sign with the name that had blurred into "Meth Church." ) A thoughtful word of encouragement was brought by a young minister who spoke after the meal, and a beautiful Christmas chorus from church youth had begun the evening.
It was a fun evening, but nothing compared to our own church party, held in the private dining room of a restaurant, which turned out to be largely a "roast' of our pastor! He seemed to enjoy it as much as anybody when he was ribbed for long sermons, being a perfectionist, and insisting things be done "his way." All this was put in a song, punctuated by his favorite interjections and warbled to him by one of the braver members of the congregation, much to everyone's mock horror and delight. Outlandish games involving those drafted from among us contributed to side-splitting laughter and good natured fun.
A tender moment came in bidding goodbye to a favorite member who was being transferrred. Someone suggested he lead in a worship chorus he had sung in church on Sunday, and we were soon wiping our eyes in the sweet sorrow of parting, but joyful in the knowledge of the Lord's presence and His keeping power. We left for the nearly hour ride home with full hearts and refreshed spirits. "A merry heart does good like a medicine," the Bible says. A welcome change from bottles of pills from doctors recently!
Tuesday, December 11, 2012
Proof of Purchase
I realized as soon as we checked out that the item I had bought for a Christmas present was the wrong size, but I didn't want to take time to go to the service desk for a refund. I would exchange it later. "Let me have the receipt," I said to my husband when we got in the car. I put it in my purse for safekeeping (LOL), and didn't think about it for a couple of days.
Wrapping the gifts, I saw that another selection was wrong, too, so I would return both items and shop somewere else. The receipt wasn't in my purse! Well, I had changed purses for Sunday, so I looked in the one I carried that day. No receipt. A search of my brown purse revealed nothing. I needed the refund to go to another store! One item I could exchange, but not the other. I checked the waste basket in that room, then all the others in the house.
Then there was nothing for it but to go through the kitchen trash. Ugh! It probably wasn't there either, since the bag had been replaced by then. On the slim chance, I excavated layers of our history of the last 24 hours. Mail, banana peels, egg shells, tea bags, paper towels, leftovers and floor sweepings. No success. I looked and there was a black bag on the back porch that hadn't been deposited in the alley. Worse junk, but no receipt.
"Howard!" I fretted, "I can't find that receipt anywhere!" Then, double-checking a waste basket at his desk, I saw one I had missed under a table. There it was with the clean trash of his waste basket! I'm sure I didn't put it in there! It had to be Mr. Neat who disposes of anything immediately (including my prescription drug side-effects information before I have read it--he knows it will discourage my taking the medicine!).
After getting the refund, I hurried to store of my choice only to find they didn't stock what I wanted! It will be two days before we can go to Stillwater to finish our shopping, and time is growing short to get things in the mail. My husband assures me there will be plenty of time, but he never worries about anything. He just waits for Christmas to "happen."
And it will. Like the Dr. Seuss story when Christmas came without ribbons, boxes, tags, packages, or bags, the real spirit of Christmas has little to do with material things. And that is what I am looking forward to most--the presence of loved ones, shared good times and the real meaning of Christmas: Jesus birth, whose life, death and resurrection purchased our salvation. Even though a couple of weeks of being under the weather around here has slowed us down, there is still time to freshen the house, tie up the details, and plan the food and festivities! Even if a little help from me does go into making it happen!
Wrapping the gifts, I saw that another selection was wrong, too, so I would return both items and shop somewere else. The receipt wasn't in my purse! Well, I had changed purses for Sunday, so I looked in the one I carried that day. No receipt. A search of my brown purse revealed nothing. I needed the refund to go to another store! One item I could exchange, but not the other. I checked the waste basket in that room, then all the others in the house.
Then there was nothing for it but to go through the kitchen trash. Ugh! It probably wasn't there either, since the bag had been replaced by then. On the slim chance, I excavated layers of our history of the last 24 hours. Mail, banana peels, egg shells, tea bags, paper towels, leftovers and floor sweepings. No success. I looked and there was a black bag on the back porch that hadn't been deposited in the alley. Worse junk, but no receipt.
"Howard!" I fretted, "I can't find that receipt anywhere!" Then, double-checking a waste basket at his desk, I saw one I had missed under a table. There it was with the clean trash of his waste basket! I'm sure I didn't put it in there! It had to be Mr. Neat who disposes of anything immediately (including my prescription drug side-effects information before I have read it--he knows it will discourage my taking the medicine!).
After getting the refund, I hurried to store of my choice only to find they didn't stock what I wanted! It will be two days before we can go to Stillwater to finish our shopping, and time is growing short to get things in the mail. My husband assures me there will be plenty of time, but he never worries about anything. He just waits for Christmas to "happen."
And it will. Like the Dr. Seuss story when Christmas came without ribbons, boxes, tags, packages, or bags, the real spirit of Christmas has little to do with material things. And that is what I am looking forward to most--the presence of loved ones, shared good times and the real meaning of Christmas: Jesus birth, whose life, death and resurrection purchased our salvation. Even though a couple of weeks of being under the weather around here has slowed us down, there is still time to freshen the house, tie up the details, and plan the food and festivities! Even if a little help from me does go into making it happen!
Saturday, December 8, 2012
In Due Season
The colder weather, disagreeable as it is with the grey, damp chill, at least is seasonal and more Christmas like than the warm temperatures we've been having lately. The carols pouring from the radio are suddenly more appealing, the Christmas lights glow more warmly, and the increased hustle and bustle add new energy to the step. Something is in the air. You can taste it in great, moist intakes of air. A sense of expectancy.
These components were present 2,000-plus years ago when a census caused a rustle and stir among the people of Judea. A young woman of Nazareth had been preparing for the birth of her first child. Tiny garments had been stitched and laid away in a chest. Her house had been cleaned within an inch of its life. Foods had been gathered and stored in bowls, baskets, clay jars and pots. She had made the most of her waiting time, and now all was in readiness. She would be able to concentrate most of her energy on the new life that would soon make its debut.
Suddenly she had to pack swiftly; she couldn't let Joseph go alone to Bethlehem. Taking only the bare essentials, and especially necessities and supplies for what could be a birth away from home, she was giddy with excitement. The Lord would be with them! She convinced Joseph that she wasn't afraid with him by her side.
Not many days hence, heavenly music would fill the skies where hillside shepherds were watching their flocks. Many strangers were in Bethlehem that night, filling every room and lodging place. She was grateful that Joseph had found a quiet place where she could rest between the hard spasms of labor that were bearing down upon her. The animals were unquestioning in their solemn gaze; their stolid bodies filling the stable with their warmth and breathing.
Now strange men, shepherds, were asking to see the baby that Joseph had laid in a manger full of straw, softened by the cloths and shawls Mary had brought. What an amazing night, the young mother thought. Through the haze of her pain she had seen his tiny form being lifted from her. Now the pain was vanquished in her joy and exhilaration. A beautiful star lit the night with its brilliance. The shepherds said angels had sent them there to worship the newborn, a Saviour, Christ the Lord. Such knowledge was too much for her just now. She was still in awe herself at what had just transpired.
After the pilgrims had departed Bethlehem, Joseph was able to find a small house for her recovery before heading home. But more strangers appeared, with gifts for the baby they called a king. They were men who studied the stars and were very wise. Mary and Joseph knew that God had sent this baby, but others were confirming what they knew to be true. There was that matter of the prophetess Anna in the temple when they had taken him to be presented to the Lord. And Simeon, who had been assured he would not die until he had seen the Consolation of Israel. And now these learned men being guided by the star.
Shortly Joseph would awake her from sleep, and she must hurriedly pack again. Off to Egypt to flee those who meant harm to the Child. She could not doubt that he had been warned by an angel. It was an angel that had appeared to her with the news that would change and shape her life, indeed, change and shape the whole world. Once again, she was filled with expectancy.
These components were present 2,000-plus years ago when a census caused a rustle and stir among the people of Judea. A young woman of Nazareth had been preparing for the birth of her first child. Tiny garments had been stitched and laid away in a chest. Her house had been cleaned within an inch of its life. Foods had been gathered and stored in bowls, baskets, clay jars and pots. She had made the most of her waiting time, and now all was in readiness. She would be able to concentrate most of her energy on the new life that would soon make its debut.
Suddenly she had to pack swiftly; she couldn't let Joseph go alone to Bethlehem. Taking only the bare essentials, and especially necessities and supplies for what could be a birth away from home, she was giddy with excitement. The Lord would be with them! She convinced Joseph that she wasn't afraid with him by her side.
Not many days hence, heavenly music would fill the skies where hillside shepherds were watching their flocks. Many strangers were in Bethlehem that night, filling every room and lodging place. She was grateful that Joseph had found a quiet place where she could rest between the hard spasms of labor that were bearing down upon her. The animals were unquestioning in their solemn gaze; their stolid bodies filling the stable with their warmth and breathing.
Now strange men, shepherds, were asking to see the baby that Joseph had laid in a manger full of straw, softened by the cloths and shawls Mary had brought. What an amazing night, the young mother thought. Through the haze of her pain she had seen his tiny form being lifted from her. Now the pain was vanquished in her joy and exhilaration. A beautiful star lit the night with its brilliance. The shepherds said angels had sent them there to worship the newborn, a Saviour, Christ the Lord. Such knowledge was too much for her just now. She was still in awe herself at what had just transpired.
After the pilgrims had departed Bethlehem, Joseph was able to find a small house for her recovery before heading home. But more strangers appeared, with gifts for the baby they called a king. They were men who studied the stars and were very wise. Mary and Joseph knew that God had sent this baby, but others were confirming what they knew to be true. There was that matter of the prophetess Anna in the temple when they had taken him to be presented to the Lord. And Simeon, who had been assured he would not die until he had seen the Consolation of Israel. And now these learned men being guided by the star.
Shortly Joseph would awake her from sleep, and she must hurriedly pack again. Off to Egypt to flee those who meant harm to the Child. She could not doubt that he had been warned by an angel. It was an angel that had appeared to her with the news that would change and shape her life, indeed, change and shape the whole world. Once again, she was filled with expectancy.
Friday, December 7, 2012
Out of the Loop
You know you're sick when Calliou is all you feel like watching on television, followed by Ozzie and Harriet. That's about as much as my brain will wrap itself around. I spoke too soon on Monday when a church friend called and asked how we were doing. "Howard's still not feeling well, but I am fine!" I assured her. He had come home from Georgia with whatever they were getting over there when we left. I thought I had gotten off scot free, but Monday night I was aching in every joint.
Painkilllers, decongestant, and nasal spray keep me comfortable and instill a false sense of wellness until the Tylenol wears off, which is usually late afternoon or night. Yesterday I convinced my husband I felt well enough for an outing to Stillwater for lunch and a bit of Christmas browsing. "Let's stop and see if the new TJMaxx is open!" I suggested on seeing it on the way in. He said we would stop on the way out, but I was worn out by then and forgot about it. We had to stop at a service station on the way home for a packet of Tylenol.
I have been using these wellness plateaus to make a stab at wrapping gifts, after which I am exhausted and fairly useless. I really must get back into the habit of cooking, but we have no appetite. Howard was sick for a week, refusing ordinary food but requesting far-fetched delicacies, then only picking at them when he got them.
I did make a simple supper last night, which he nibbled at even though he hadn't wanted anything. Today he bought a couple of boxes of macaroni and cheese, which I prevailed upon him to make for supper. He told me he didn't know how, which I believed after I saw he had poured the noodles into maybe a cup of water in a tiny saucepan. He defended himself saying I shouldn't have put that chore on him, and I yelled (my pain talking), that even a 5-year-old can make macaroni and cheese. It turned out okay after he transferred it to another pan with more water.
At the end of the day, I was feeling guardedly well enough to ride in the car with him when he went to feed the chickens. The weather was cold, grey, and misting a little, making it seem Christmasey, at least. I stayed in the car and saw his excitement at finding 5 eggs in the nests. The chickens have been on strike with the shorter days and a change of feed. We started their regular egg-laying regimen again and they are rewarding us with these little gems, worth $5 apiece, easily.
Tonight makes the second Christmas party we have missed this week. Even though we had looked forward to going, we had to stay home. The annual city Christmas parade was held tonight, also, and it reminded me of the excitement around our house when the kids were young. A hurried supper, riding to town and standing with friends in the shivering, jostling crowds was invigorating and not to be missed in those days. Once our 14-year-old daughter even rode her horse the three miles to town and joined in the parade right behind Santa Claus. Maybe she is taking in a parade with her grandchildren and her own young daughter in Tennessee tonight. Her father and I have been temporarily sidelined.
Painkilllers, decongestant, and nasal spray keep me comfortable and instill a false sense of wellness until the Tylenol wears off, which is usually late afternoon or night. Yesterday I convinced my husband I felt well enough for an outing to Stillwater for lunch and a bit of Christmas browsing. "Let's stop and see if the new TJMaxx is open!" I suggested on seeing it on the way in. He said we would stop on the way out, but I was worn out by then and forgot about it. We had to stop at a service station on the way home for a packet of Tylenol.
I have been using these wellness plateaus to make a stab at wrapping gifts, after which I am exhausted and fairly useless. I really must get back into the habit of cooking, but we have no appetite. Howard was sick for a week, refusing ordinary food but requesting far-fetched delicacies, then only picking at them when he got them.
I did make a simple supper last night, which he nibbled at even though he hadn't wanted anything. Today he bought a couple of boxes of macaroni and cheese, which I prevailed upon him to make for supper. He told me he didn't know how, which I believed after I saw he had poured the noodles into maybe a cup of water in a tiny saucepan. He defended himself saying I shouldn't have put that chore on him, and I yelled (my pain talking), that even a 5-year-old can make macaroni and cheese. It turned out okay after he transferred it to another pan with more water.
At the end of the day, I was feeling guardedly well enough to ride in the car with him when he went to feed the chickens. The weather was cold, grey, and misting a little, making it seem Christmasey, at least. I stayed in the car and saw his excitement at finding 5 eggs in the nests. The chickens have been on strike with the shorter days and a change of feed. We started their regular egg-laying regimen again and they are rewarding us with these little gems, worth $5 apiece, easily.
Tonight makes the second Christmas party we have missed this week. Even though we had looked forward to going, we had to stay home. The annual city Christmas parade was held tonight, also, and it reminded me of the excitement around our house when the kids were young. A hurried supper, riding to town and standing with friends in the shivering, jostling crowds was invigorating and not to be missed in those days. Once our 14-year-old daughter even rode her horse the three miles to town and joined in the parade right behind Santa Claus. Maybe she is taking in a parade with her grandchildren and her own young daughter in Tennessee tonight. Her father and I have been temporarily sidelined.
Wednesday, December 5, 2012
Revelation
I love life's little surprises! Today my glance fell on the hand-painted crockery pitcher bought several years ago at an estate sale. I always kept it turned to the side with the red barn showing, because the bright spot of color reflected other red accents in my white kitchen. For some reason, this morning I turned it around to the other side. As I stared at the blue farmhouse depicted by the artist, I had a de ja' vu moment. It could have been our house in Missisisippi where we'd raised our family!
Why hadn't I noticed it before? The view was from the front, a flower bed gracing the middle of the yard, with a large, white birdhouse on a tall pole. We'd had a martin house there forever! And a flower bed in the front! We had the house covered with siding in the same shade of blue more than 30 years ago! The peak of the roof was facing the road, with a railing on the porch leading to the front door. The same as ours!
"Look, Howard," I said to my husband as he came in to breakfast. "This is our house in Mississippi!" He laughed and marveled and said, "See, there is the light pole!" Sure enough, it reminded us of the colonial-style lamp post which stood at the edge of our driveway. A tree in the side yard looked like our old tree and the placement was the same. A fence inside a row of shrubbery bordered the scene, just as ours had.
I will keep the farmhouse-side of the pitcher visible from now on! Howard reminisced about our former home and mentioned how we had helped start a church when we first moved there. And the church is still thriving today, 35 years later! I felt like George Bailey of "It's a Wonderful Life" when I thought about those times. The last of our six children was born in that small Mississippi town, and we didn't move until he had gone away to college.
The Lord worked it out that my husband would enter the ministry after a career in business while living there. From that home we launched young adults who would become ministers, a pastor's wife, an R.N., as well as one with the Department of Education and another with a major oil company.
Five of our children would marry while we lived in that house. During those years we had a butler's tray coffee table we had bought unassembled. As Howard put it together, he noticed it was short a couple of screws for the brace underneath. He always meant to replace them, because the brace would turn easily when a foot was propped on it. But we got used to the quirky loose board, held in place with only one screw at each end.
We called it the courting bench. It became a family joke when, over time, first one, then another of our children would sit on the sofa with their sweetheart, unconsciously twirling the brace with their feet, and with downcast eyes and flushed faces announce their engagement to us. "Look, they are spinning the board," a sibling would nudge me. That's when we knew it was serious.
I got a job at a newspaper while living in the blue house (white, then), and though family duties took precedence over my would-be career, it did awaken in me a desire for writing. For a year or so after I worked there, they ran my column. I've been writing ever since, and wonder of wonders, I have published four books! I love life's little surprises! It is a wonderful life!
Why hadn't I noticed it before? The view was from the front, a flower bed gracing the middle of the yard, with a large, white birdhouse on a tall pole. We'd had a martin house there forever! And a flower bed in the front! We had the house covered with siding in the same shade of blue more than 30 years ago! The peak of the roof was facing the road, with a railing on the porch leading to the front door. The same as ours!
"Look, Howard," I said to my husband as he came in to breakfast. "This is our house in Mississippi!" He laughed and marveled and said, "See, there is the light pole!" Sure enough, it reminded us of the colonial-style lamp post which stood at the edge of our driveway. A tree in the side yard looked like our old tree and the placement was the same. A fence inside a row of shrubbery bordered the scene, just as ours had.
I will keep the farmhouse-side of the pitcher visible from now on! Howard reminisced about our former home and mentioned how we had helped start a church when we first moved there. And the church is still thriving today, 35 years later! I felt like George Bailey of "It's a Wonderful Life" when I thought about those times. The last of our six children was born in that small Mississippi town, and we didn't move until he had gone away to college.
The Lord worked it out that my husband would enter the ministry after a career in business while living there. From that home we launched young adults who would become ministers, a pastor's wife, an R.N., as well as one with the Department of Education and another with a major oil company.
Five of our children would marry while we lived in that house. During those years we had a butler's tray coffee table we had bought unassembled. As Howard put it together, he noticed it was short a couple of screws for the brace underneath. He always meant to replace them, because the brace would turn easily when a foot was propped on it. But we got used to the quirky loose board, held in place with only one screw at each end.
We called it the courting bench. It became a family joke when, over time, first one, then another of our children would sit on the sofa with their sweetheart, unconsciously twirling the brace with their feet, and with downcast eyes and flushed faces announce their engagement to us. "Look, they are spinning the board," a sibling would nudge me. That's when we knew it was serious.
I got a job at a newspaper while living in the blue house (white, then), and though family duties took precedence over my would-be career, it did awaken in me a desire for writing. For a year or so after I worked there, they ran my column. I've been writing ever since, and wonder of wonders, I have published four books! I love life's little surprises! It is a wonderful life!
Monday, December 3, 2012
Walden's Pond
"Where are the hens?" my husband and I asked each other as we drove down the hill to the chicken yard to feed them yesterday. The gate to their pen was standing open, yet we could only see one chicken enjoying its freedom over in the house yard. Our son must have let them "free range" when he left last evening after a late visit to the farm.
When they heard the car door, one by one our feathered friends emerged through the little door of their coop, hopping down rather gingerly and diffidently. We counted, and they were all there, so when the stray hurried toward us, we fastened their gate. Maybe something had scared them into keeping close quarters, we thought. Or else they didn't like the high winds blowing like a gale.
As is our habit, we drove through the pasture to watch the ducks gathered in picturesque panorama on the pond. Howard particularly found the peaceful scene relaxing and therapeutic. "Look at that!" I exclaimed at the flap of huge wings that made the ducks seem small in comparison. "A heron!" I cried, as the beautiful bird landed on a limb of a dead tree across the lake. There was always something new to see here!
I called our son, Greg, and told him about the sighting. He was pleasantly surprised, and remarked wryly that maybe that's what was getting our fish. He and his father had had less than stellar results fishing on Saturday. He mentioned that he had been out to feed the dog during his lunch hour and had let our chickens out. Good! I thought. At least the gate hadn't been open all night.
Suddenly a streak that was almost a blur caught my attention across the lake. Something was running like the wind! Was it two dogs? I heard the sudden barking of dogs, but I realized it was from dogs in a pen startled by what was flying past. Too large for foxes, I realized the darkly silhouetted forms had a cat-like shape, smooth and curved with long tails. "Howard, those are bobcats!" I exclaimed. Soon they were gone from sight, obviously heading for a thicket across the highway. Wow! I would hate to be out here alone, with that kind of wildlife about. Is that why the chickens were staying so close to home?
We are always trying to identify animal prints along the water's edge, recognizing canine (we thought), pawprints, the crisply defined toe-prints of a racoon, or cloven hoof tracks that could be deer. Now we had another imprint to watch out for! Ferocious or benign, from deer, ducks, birds, raccoons or bobcats, every species leaves its "footprints" as evidence of its presence, even the fish's skeletal remains. In their fascinating existence, these amazing creatures all have one thing in common: They bear the fingerprints of God!
When they heard the car door, one by one our feathered friends emerged through the little door of their coop, hopping down rather gingerly and diffidently. We counted, and they were all there, so when the stray hurried toward us, we fastened their gate. Maybe something had scared them into keeping close quarters, we thought. Or else they didn't like the high winds blowing like a gale.
As is our habit, we drove through the pasture to watch the ducks gathered in picturesque panorama on the pond. Howard particularly found the peaceful scene relaxing and therapeutic. "Look at that!" I exclaimed at the flap of huge wings that made the ducks seem small in comparison. "A heron!" I cried, as the beautiful bird landed on a limb of a dead tree across the lake. There was always something new to see here!
I called our son, Greg, and told him about the sighting. He was pleasantly surprised, and remarked wryly that maybe that's what was getting our fish. He and his father had had less than stellar results fishing on Saturday. He mentioned that he had been out to feed the dog during his lunch hour and had let our chickens out. Good! I thought. At least the gate hadn't been open all night.
Suddenly a streak that was almost a blur caught my attention across the lake. Something was running like the wind! Was it two dogs? I heard the sudden barking of dogs, but I realized it was from dogs in a pen startled by what was flying past. Too large for foxes, I realized the darkly silhouetted forms had a cat-like shape, smooth and curved with long tails. "Howard, those are bobcats!" I exclaimed. Soon they were gone from sight, obviously heading for a thicket across the highway. Wow! I would hate to be out here alone, with that kind of wildlife about. Is that why the chickens were staying so close to home?
We are always trying to identify animal prints along the water's edge, recognizing canine (we thought), pawprints, the crisply defined toe-prints of a racoon, or cloven hoof tracks that could be deer. Now we had another imprint to watch out for! Ferocious or benign, from deer, ducks, birds, raccoons or bobcats, every species leaves its "footprints" as evidence of its presence, even the fish's skeletal remains. In their fascinating existence, these amazing creatures all have one thing in common: They bear the fingerprints of God!
Mission Accomplished
Just as I had hoped, when my mind was relaxed during the night I thought about where the Christmas stockings I made so long ago might be. I recalled a flat, marble-designed cardboard box with a lift-up lid where I always kept the special, satin brocade ornaments and lovely, tasseled stocking with the wide satin band that my daughter, Amy, had made for me several years ago. Married with her own family by that time, she had fashioned them from her highschool prom dress, salvaging pieces of the once-beautiful, but stained gown she had stored away.
Of course! That's where the other stockings would be stored, too, I realized. But I hadn't seen the box, so it must have been packed in a larger container, I reasoned, and was resigned to make yet another trip to the basement to delve into more storage cartons. But first, I had to do some housework. All my decor just looked like clutter until I dusted, waxed and polished things.
In my housecleaning flurry, I pulled the sheets from my bed and went to the linen closet for another set. The shelves are very deep, and a few days ago I had stored a large, styrofoam, decorative pumpkin at the top. I dislodged something getting the sheets, and the pumpkin tumbled down. Putting it back, I saw something behind a stack of blankets. The marbled box! Now I remembered it clearly!
Sure enough, the cross stitched stockings were there lying neatly beneath the satin one. Not only that, there were the two red felt stockings I had made more than 45 years ago for my oldest son and daughter. I had stitched their names in rick-rack. MARK was printed in large block letters, but "Julie" was gracefully scrolled in longhand. I had made them from my red felt Poodle Skirt from my highschool days.
A couple of patchwork stockings I had made once, and a quilted "Magi" stocking, plus one of red plush with furry trim were there, too. I decided the cross stitched stockings were too nice for the porch, after all. But where could I hang them? The fireplace mantel was already full. Maybe I could stretch a line somewhere and fasten them with clothespins, I thought. Then, going through a crafts drawer I saw a ribbon strung with beads interspersed with tiny, craft clothespins. Maybe I could hang them on that. It worked! There is a metal damper knob on the fireplace that held the string of stockings beautifully, like a colorful catch of fish! I loved it!
I have a graceful, curved, wicker chest with wrought iron feet and clasp that was just begging to hold the satin ornaments and stocking. A chocolate satin sheet over a plumped pillow made a perfect backdrop for the rich, ribbon-looped, ivory satin keepsakes. I found places around the house for the other stockings, and now my decorating is done! The stockings are hung by the chimney with care, not needing to be filled, for they are already full of memories!
Of course! That's where the other stockings would be stored, too, I realized. But I hadn't seen the box, so it must have been packed in a larger container, I reasoned, and was resigned to make yet another trip to the basement to delve into more storage cartons. But first, I had to do some housework. All my decor just looked like clutter until I dusted, waxed and polished things.
In my housecleaning flurry, I pulled the sheets from my bed and went to the linen closet for another set. The shelves are very deep, and a few days ago I had stored a large, styrofoam, decorative pumpkin at the top. I dislodged something getting the sheets, and the pumpkin tumbled down. Putting it back, I saw something behind a stack of blankets. The marbled box! Now I remembered it clearly!
Sure enough, the cross stitched stockings were there lying neatly beneath the satin one. Not only that, there were the two red felt stockings I had made more than 45 years ago for my oldest son and daughter. I had stitched their names in rick-rack. MARK was printed in large block letters, but "Julie" was gracefully scrolled in longhand. I had made them from my red felt Poodle Skirt from my highschool days.
A couple of patchwork stockings I had made once, and a quilted "Magi" stocking, plus one of red plush with furry trim were there, too. I decided the cross stitched stockings were too nice for the porch, after all. But where could I hang them? The fireplace mantel was already full. Maybe I could stretch a line somewhere and fasten them with clothespins, I thought. Then, going through a crafts drawer I saw a ribbon strung with beads interspersed with tiny, craft clothespins. Maybe I could hang them on that. It worked! There is a metal damper knob on the fireplace that held the string of stockings beautifully, like a colorful catch of fish! I loved it!
I have a graceful, curved, wicker chest with wrought iron feet and clasp that was just begging to hold the satin ornaments and stocking. A chocolate satin sheet over a plumped pillow made a perfect backdrop for the rich, ribbon-looped, ivory satin keepsakes. I found places around the house for the other stockings, and now my decorating is done! The stockings are hung by the chimney with care, not needing to be filled, for they are already full of memories!
Sunday, December 2, 2012
Deck the Halls
Ever since I put up my little pre-lit tree a few days ago, I have been searching for the small, velvet tree skirt that goes with it. I have prowled through every Christmas box, closet, and drawer where I might have stored it. It was driving me crazy, because that was one of the last finishing touches I wanted to do with my decorating (the other is finding the six Christmas stockings that I made for my kids some 35 years ago).
I was mulling the tree-skirt mystery over in my mind in bed last night, and I mentally went over again the fact that I remembered temporarily stuffing it into a small basket when I took down the tree last year. Now the basket sits in the bathroom holding towels, so I knew it wasn't there. Then it came to me that I had also put a small stuffed horse pull-toy in the basket, and I knew where the horse was! In the trunk! Sure enough, something red caught my eye when I opened the trunk, and I pulled out the skirt! Now the little horse sits on it in its place under the tree!
If only I could get the association technique to work with finding the stockings! I hadn't put them out in a while, but I saw them in a snapshot from a Christmas a few years ago and thought how pretty they would look. (I was looking at the pictures to refresh my memory of how I had decorated the porch wagon. I saw I had duplicated it pretty well with greenery, pinecones and red berries.) I needed more on the porch, though, and thought the stockings would be nice arranged along a bench.
The idea for the burlap stockings had come from a women's magazine showing them cross-stitched with yarn in simple designs. It was my habit back then to make a new craft from a magazine project every Christmas. (One year I rolled dough and cut out a large Noah's Ark with animals and baked it. It was a good 12 inches high and quite impressive propped on a high shelf of the built-in bookcase!)
I had lined the stockings with green fabric and used the off-beat colors of yarn I had on hand, which were purple, light and dark green, pink and orange. The stitching went quickly, covering the burlap with designs of holly, ribbons, a wreath, a Christmas tree, stripes, and the words Merry Christmas, and Joy. They were charming in a rustic sort of way and hardy enough for use on my screened-porch.
While I didn't find the stockings, I did take on old violin from the trunk, and propped on an antique cabinet it looks quite Christmasey. I had already nabbed my husband's small, wooden banjo uke that was sitting atop the trunk. It is leaning on an easel next to the little wooden sleigh. Maybe the whereabouts of the stockings will come to me tonight, and once that mystery is laid to rest, I will get a little rest of my own!
I was mulling the tree-skirt mystery over in my mind in bed last night, and I mentally went over again the fact that I remembered temporarily stuffing it into a small basket when I took down the tree last year. Now the basket sits in the bathroom holding towels, so I knew it wasn't there. Then it came to me that I had also put a small stuffed horse pull-toy in the basket, and I knew where the horse was! In the trunk! Sure enough, something red caught my eye when I opened the trunk, and I pulled out the skirt! Now the little horse sits on it in its place under the tree!
If only I could get the association technique to work with finding the stockings! I hadn't put them out in a while, but I saw them in a snapshot from a Christmas a few years ago and thought how pretty they would look. (I was looking at the pictures to refresh my memory of how I had decorated the porch wagon. I saw I had duplicated it pretty well with greenery, pinecones and red berries.) I needed more on the porch, though, and thought the stockings would be nice arranged along a bench.
The idea for the burlap stockings had come from a women's magazine showing them cross-stitched with yarn in simple designs. It was my habit back then to make a new craft from a magazine project every Christmas. (One year I rolled dough and cut out a large Noah's Ark with animals and baked it. It was a good 12 inches high and quite impressive propped on a high shelf of the built-in bookcase!)
I had lined the stockings with green fabric and used the off-beat colors of yarn I had on hand, which were purple, light and dark green, pink and orange. The stitching went quickly, covering the burlap with designs of holly, ribbons, a wreath, a Christmas tree, stripes, and the words Merry Christmas, and Joy. They were charming in a rustic sort of way and hardy enough for use on my screened-porch.
While I didn't find the stockings, I did take on old violin from the trunk, and propped on an antique cabinet it looks quite Christmasey. I had already nabbed my husband's small, wooden banjo uke that was sitting atop the trunk. It is leaning on an easel next to the little wooden sleigh. Maybe the whereabouts of the stockings will come to me tonight, and once that mystery is laid to rest, I will get a little rest of my own!
Friday, November 30, 2012
News-reel
"Mom, did you see the link to the video I put on your e-mail?" my son, Jamie, asked when my phone rang last night. I hadn't, but when I checked it wasn't there. He attempted to send it again without success, so finally he took remote control of my computer and put the link on facebook. He really wanted me to see this! He said it was of 6-year-old Anne-Marie's reading comprehension skills.
I was enjoying the antics of my granddaughters as they bounced on the bed saying something, but my volume wouldn't come on, so I didn't hear a word of what they said. I called Jamie back, and he adjusted my volume. It seemed their mother, Tammy, was holding a white board off camera with a sentence printed on it for Anne-Marie to read. The kindergartner peered at the words doubtfully, sounding out the letters, finally saying, "That doesn't make sense!"
By bits and pieces, I understood it was a message about Maddie, the three-year-old, being the big sister. Anne-Marie didn't get it, and neither did I for a minute. "How did you get to be the big sister?" Mommy asked Anne-Marie, to which she responded, "I was born first." "How would Maddie get to be the big sister?" She was clueless, but by this time I was yelling the news to Howard.
"I would have to have a baby, or adopt, right?" her mother coached her, "so what would I do?"
"Adopt?" Anne-Marie answered.
"No! I'm going to have a baby!" Tammy said. Their firstborn's eyes grew wide with incredulity, then she exploded into screaming, laughing and jumping on the bed.
"Maddie, did you hear me? We're going to get a little baby!" Tammy told "the baby." Maddie shook her head, and exclaimed, "No!" burying her face against her mother. She was held tight and comforted while they all laughed.
What a dramatic announcement! Leave it to Jamie for a witty way to let me know their news. When Maddie was expected, I found out by a picture he sent of Anne-Marie wearing a t-shirt with the words, Big Sister, across the front. Whose big sister?, I remember thinking, before I let out a cry of realization!
Monday is Jamie's birthday. I sent him a card yesterday, but nothing I could send could compare with his birthday news! I congratulated him and said I hoped it would be a boy. "You deserve a boy," I said. He assured me he knew raising a boy would be different, because he'd been around his friend's sons a lot. "No! You haven't raised a "Jamie!" I teased. "You have to know what I went through!"
Well, whether it's a little Jamie or another wonderful daughter, I am blessed to still be getting not only great-grandchildren, but grandchildren! "The blessings of the Lord, it maketh rich, and he addeth no sorrow with it," Proverbs 10:22.
I was enjoying the antics of my granddaughters as they bounced on the bed saying something, but my volume wouldn't come on, so I didn't hear a word of what they said. I called Jamie back, and he adjusted my volume. It seemed their mother, Tammy, was holding a white board off camera with a sentence printed on it for Anne-Marie to read. The kindergartner peered at the words doubtfully, sounding out the letters, finally saying, "That doesn't make sense!"
By bits and pieces, I understood it was a message about Maddie, the three-year-old, being the big sister. Anne-Marie didn't get it, and neither did I for a minute. "How did you get to be the big sister?" Mommy asked Anne-Marie, to which she responded, "I was born first." "How would Maddie get to be the big sister?" She was clueless, but by this time I was yelling the news to Howard.
"I would have to have a baby, or adopt, right?" her mother coached her, "so what would I do?"
"Adopt?" Anne-Marie answered.
"No! I'm going to have a baby!" Tammy said. Their firstborn's eyes grew wide with incredulity, then she exploded into screaming, laughing and jumping on the bed.
"Maddie, did you hear me? We're going to get a little baby!" Tammy told "the baby." Maddie shook her head, and exclaimed, "No!" burying her face against her mother. She was held tight and comforted while they all laughed.
What a dramatic announcement! Leave it to Jamie for a witty way to let me know their news. When Maddie was expected, I found out by a picture he sent of Anne-Marie wearing a t-shirt with the words, Big Sister, across the front. Whose big sister?, I remember thinking, before I let out a cry of realization!
Monday is Jamie's birthday. I sent him a card yesterday, but nothing I could send could compare with his birthday news! I congratulated him and said I hoped it would be a boy. "You deserve a boy," I said. He assured me he knew raising a boy would be different, because he'd been around his friend's sons a lot. "No! You haven't raised a "Jamie!" I teased. "You have to know what I went through!"
Well, whether it's a little Jamie or another wonderful daughter, I am blessed to still be getting not only great-grandchildren, but grandchildren! "The blessings of the Lord, it maketh rich, and he addeth no sorrow with it," Proverbs 10:22.
Thursday, November 29, 2012
Preparations
I've been opening presents all day! Early Christmas? No, just digging into decorations and finding treasures I'd forgotten about or misplaced since our move last year. I plan to keep my decorating to a minimum, but I had to do the fireplace mantel, so I was delighted when I opened the right box containing the red felt scalloped mantel cover with the ball fringe trim. The words, Tis the Season, are embroidered in white satin in large, graceful letters across the front.
That was the perfect backdrop for my favorite nativity set. What a humble feeling I had unwrapping the lowly cow and mended donkey. Not for the animals' sake, but for the humble beginning our Lord chose for His birth. The figurines of the young parents, awed wisemen, and the shepherd boy carrying a lamb were all representative of the Christmas story. They needed illumination, though, and rather than dig through more boxes, I picked up a couple of strings of lights at the dollar store, along with some greenery to put around the mirror. The tiny white lights give just the right glow and highlight the faces of the delicate figures.
A big red bow over the mirror matches the one on my china cabinet. I held my breath climbing on a stepstool to affix things out of my reach. My husband is under the weather, so aside from helping me bring things from the basement, he left me on my own. It isn't perfect, but I think the overall effect is charming.
In another box, I discovered my decorative wooden sleigh with the metal runners and curved handle. The graceful lines are reminiscent of workmanship of bygone days. I filled it with a beribboned ornament covered in angels, and three glittery, puffed, mesh bags with drawstring ribbons, hinting of Santa's bounty. It sits upon a red chenille throw draped on the corner of a tall pub-style table with massive legs.
I put my skinny, pre-lit Christmas tree in the dining room this year. It doesn't require further decoration, but I found a string of cranberry-colored beads that look pretty on it, as well a roll of gold mesh ribbon that encircles it now. Miniature-wreath picture frames unearthed today holding long ago family photos hung on the tree complete the look I wanted. Balancing the size of the small tree is a copper tub filled with gorgeous poinsettia and holly placed on a small, rustic table beside it.
A homespun wall hanging on the back door, a quilted angel hooked over a cabinet knob, and a calico-and- plaid Santa with a yarn beard in decoupage-style paper-bag art adorns my vegetable bin. Tomorrow I will tackle the porch. I love to fill the garden wagon with giant pinecones, greenery, and red Christmas ribbon. Then I will be able to think about buying Christmas gifts in preparation for the celebration of the greatest Gift of all, the swaddled Baby laid in a rude manger, who would give, that we might live.
That was the perfect backdrop for my favorite nativity set. What a humble feeling I had unwrapping the lowly cow and mended donkey. Not for the animals' sake, but for the humble beginning our Lord chose for His birth. The figurines of the young parents, awed wisemen, and the shepherd boy carrying a lamb were all representative of the Christmas story. They needed illumination, though, and rather than dig through more boxes, I picked up a couple of strings of lights at the dollar store, along with some greenery to put around the mirror. The tiny white lights give just the right glow and highlight the faces of the delicate figures.
A big red bow over the mirror matches the one on my china cabinet. I held my breath climbing on a stepstool to affix things out of my reach. My husband is under the weather, so aside from helping me bring things from the basement, he left me on my own. It isn't perfect, but I think the overall effect is charming.
In another box, I discovered my decorative wooden sleigh with the metal runners and curved handle. The graceful lines are reminiscent of workmanship of bygone days. I filled it with a beribboned ornament covered in angels, and three glittery, puffed, mesh bags with drawstring ribbons, hinting of Santa's bounty. It sits upon a red chenille throw draped on the corner of a tall pub-style table with massive legs.
I put my skinny, pre-lit Christmas tree in the dining room this year. It doesn't require further decoration, but I found a string of cranberry-colored beads that look pretty on it, as well a roll of gold mesh ribbon that encircles it now. Miniature-wreath picture frames unearthed today holding long ago family photos hung on the tree complete the look I wanted. Balancing the size of the small tree is a copper tub filled with gorgeous poinsettia and holly placed on a small, rustic table beside it.
A homespun wall hanging on the back door, a quilted angel hooked over a cabinet knob, and a calico-and- plaid Santa with a yarn beard in decoupage-style paper-bag art adorns my vegetable bin. Tomorrow I will tackle the porch. I love to fill the garden wagon with giant pinecones, greenery, and red Christmas ribbon. Then I will be able to think about buying Christmas gifts in preparation for the celebration of the greatest Gift of all, the swaddled Baby laid in a rude manger, who would give, that we might live.
Wednesday, November 28, 2012
Outdoor World
The ducks were beautiful landing on Greg's pond today when we went to feed our chickens. I was concentrating on the ones floating and bobbing like little Mallard decoys when a great V of them swept in with wings stretched high as they touched down on the sparkling water. They were followed by a second wave of ducks, the first scattering out of sight to the far reaches of the pond.
Howard walked down the hill to the edge of the water for a better view, but I was content to watch through the car windows on this bright, chilly afternoon. Climbing back up the grassy slope, when he got to the car my husband remarked, "I think I found a good place where we could sit and fish." We had heard the large pond/small lake was plentifully stocked with bass. I can see fishing equipment is in our future!
The rustic, autumnal view was pulling me out of the car's confines. "Let's walk over to the rocks," I suggested. There were slabs and ledges of rocks behind a weathered old shed that formed a slight cliff tumbled with other boulders below. It reminded me of "The Big Rocks," an area behind our house where I played as a child with my siblings in eastern Oklahoma. Jutting out of the mountain and verdant with a carpet of moss, the rocks made a perfect playhouse, lookout tower, or dreaming spot for our childish fantasies.
"This is therapeutic for me," Howard said, gesturing expansively at the peaceful scene below. We watched a burro chasing a goat on the neighbor's property at the far side of the pond, the bucolic sounds of braying and baa-ing wafting across the water. A lazy wisp of smoke curled from the ashes of fallen trees and branches burned in an ongoing clean-up project by our son's family.
I was noticing the many small cedars and evergreens that were revealed by the seasonal thinning of leaves and undergrowth. Snuggled next to a tree trunk, growing at the edge of an old shed, or rooted firmly in the cracks of a rock, they were Christmas trees in the making. Since my sense of smell has gone south, I had Howard pinch a lacy, green frond to release the pungent spiciness I knew was there. He said it smelled like Christmas.
The blue of a jay flashed through the bare limbs of a giant oak, a Christmas ornament in the near-December wood. We pulled our jackets closer and headed back to town, refreshed by nature and the non-commercial, unmaterialistic world that God gives us free of charge if we just take the time to notice.
Howard walked down the hill to the edge of the water for a better view, but I was content to watch through the car windows on this bright, chilly afternoon. Climbing back up the grassy slope, when he got to the car my husband remarked, "I think I found a good place where we could sit and fish." We had heard the large pond/small lake was plentifully stocked with bass. I can see fishing equipment is in our future!
The rustic, autumnal view was pulling me out of the car's confines. "Let's walk over to the rocks," I suggested. There were slabs and ledges of rocks behind a weathered old shed that formed a slight cliff tumbled with other boulders below. It reminded me of "The Big Rocks," an area behind our house where I played as a child with my siblings in eastern Oklahoma. Jutting out of the mountain and verdant with a carpet of moss, the rocks made a perfect playhouse, lookout tower, or dreaming spot for our childish fantasies.
"This is therapeutic for me," Howard said, gesturing expansively at the peaceful scene below. We watched a burro chasing a goat on the neighbor's property at the far side of the pond, the bucolic sounds of braying and baa-ing wafting across the water. A lazy wisp of smoke curled from the ashes of fallen trees and branches burned in an ongoing clean-up project by our son's family.
I was noticing the many small cedars and evergreens that were revealed by the seasonal thinning of leaves and undergrowth. Snuggled next to a tree trunk, growing at the edge of an old shed, or rooted firmly in the cracks of a rock, they were Christmas trees in the making. Since my sense of smell has gone south, I had Howard pinch a lacy, green frond to release the pungent spiciness I knew was there. He said it smelled like Christmas.
The blue of a jay flashed through the bare limbs of a giant oak, a Christmas ornament in the near-December wood. We pulled our jackets closer and headed back to town, refreshed by nature and the non-commercial, unmaterialistic world that God gives us free of charge if we just take the time to notice.
Tuesday, November 27, 2012
Geri-A-Tricks
"Wow! We made it!" I said, as we congratulated ourselves and thanked God as our plane landed after our trip to Georgia. We had successfully maneuvered our way through the Atlanta airport, security, lightning-speed tram/trains and a longer-than-expected flight ("Headwinds," the attendant explained).
We picked up our luggage and glanced around. I saw a sign that said something about a shuttle, but Howard said we would catch it outside. The north wind hit us like a sharp knife when we emerged from the revolving airport door. I was glad for my leather coat, which was too much when we boarded in the milder temperatures of the south. We bravely headed for the shuttle shelter across the traffic lane.
We approached one bus, but it was for hotel guests. Then Howard motioned me to follow him to a Park and Ride shuttle. The driver helped us on, then seeing the parking ticket we had, told us it was for the south parking lot. Puzzled, we struck out to find our car. The ticket said it was in 1244, but where was that? The sea of cars seemed unfamiliar. Finally we saw the numbers 11-12 at the end of a row of automobiles.
"Can you tell me where 1244 is?" my husband asked a man near a car. He shook his head and said this was Thrifty Car Rental, and pointed us toward the distant end of the next lot. Pulling our luggage and braving the icy winds, we wandered in and out the rows. I yelled at Howard to try the key pad signal, but he yelled back that he had been doing that. He tried again, and we heard the welcome electronic beep!
He was calling something else from several feet behind me, and I realized with alarm that he was saying he lost the parking ticket! "The wind must have blown it out of my hand!" he shouted. It was useless to search for it in this gale. At the exit, he explained, but the attendant was adamant that it would cost $15 per day for a lost ticket, and we had been gone a week! We expected to pay only $6! At our (my) strong protests and Howard's diplomacy, she agreed to check with her boss and left her booth to confer with someone in the booth on the other side of us.
Reviewing our plane ticket receipts and recalculating the charges, she came up with $9 for each of the 8 days we had been gone (our departure was at 11:00 a.m., and it was now 5 p.m., costing an extra day). Relieved, but still upset, I asked, "Why wouldn't they let us ride the shuttle?"
"Because that's for Park and Ride! It's only six dollars!" she said. "You are in Long Term Parking!" O-oh! We thought that was where we had parked! It had been a couple of years since we used the Wichita airport and we had parked in the wrong lot!
We arrived home safely at last, and I was able to laugh about it when I told my daughter over the phone, "We are not to be trusted!" She agreed and said she worries about us. All I could think of was, "Headwinds."
We picked up our luggage and glanced around. I saw a sign that said something about a shuttle, but Howard said we would catch it outside. The north wind hit us like a sharp knife when we emerged from the revolving airport door. I was glad for my leather coat, which was too much when we boarded in the milder temperatures of the south. We bravely headed for the shuttle shelter across the traffic lane.
We approached one bus, but it was for hotel guests. Then Howard motioned me to follow him to a Park and Ride shuttle. The driver helped us on, then seeing the parking ticket we had, told us it was for the south parking lot. Puzzled, we struck out to find our car. The ticket said it was in 1244, but where was that? The sea of cars seemed unfamiliar. Finally we saw the numbers 11-12 at the end of a row of automobiles.
"Can you tell me where 1244 is?" my husband asked a man near a car. He shook his head and said this was Thrifty Car Rental, and pointed us toward the distant end of the next lot. Pulling our luggage and braving the icy winds, we wandered in and out the rows. I yelled at Howard to try the key pad signal, but he yelled back that he had been doing that. He tried again, and we heard the welcome electronic beep!
He was calling something else from several feet behind me, and I realized with alarm that he was saying he lost the parking ticket! "The wind must have blown it out of my hand!" he shouted. It was useless to search for it in this gale. At the exit, he explained, but the attendant was adamant that it would cost $15 per day for a lost ticket, and we had been gone a week! We expected to pay only $6! At our (my) strong protests and Howard's diplomacy, she agreed to check with her boss and left her booth to confer with someone in the booth on the other side of us.
Reviewing our plane ticket receipts and recalculating the charges, she came up with $9 for each of the 8 days we had been gone (our departure was at 11:00 a.m., and it was now 5 p.m., costing an extra day). Relieved, but still upset, I asked, "Why wouldn't they let us ride the shuttle?"
"Because that's for Park and Ride! It's only six dollars!" she said. "You are in Long Term Parking!" O-oh! We thought that was where we had parked! It had been a couple of years since we used the Wichita airport and we had parked in the wrong lot!
We arrived home safely at last, and I was able to laugh about it when I told my daughter over the phone, "We are not to be trusted!" She agreed and said she worries about us. All I could think of was, "Headwinds."
Sunday, November 25, 2012
The Take-Away
"There's a Cracker Barrel!" I exclaimed to my daughter after church this morning. She thought we would have to wait until we got closer to her home to eat there, but here was one right off the interstate near her church in Marietta. It was busy, though, and a little smaller than most of these old country store restaurants. We didn't mind at all, since we were in no hurry and spent the waiting time browsing the Christmas items in the store.
This was so festive! Since we had flown on this visit, we missed the restaurants along the road, and this one was perfect with its massive fireplace and welcoming, roaring fire. "Look at these, Mom," Amy said, pointing to a rack of capes, sweaters, and fur-trimmed jackets.
"This is gorgeous!" I exclaimed, pulling a red sweater-wrap from the rack. I tried it on, loved it, then reluctantly put it back. Everything was so tempting! From irresistible things for new great-grandbabies and toys for toddlers to fleecy, plaid Christmas robes for teens. It's a good thing they called us to eat when they did.
"Let's go wait in the car," Amy said after we had eaten, steering me to the door while my husband waited in the line at the register. I figured she was tired, so we went out into the brisk air and settled into our seats. Pretty soon, Howard emerged, followed by our grandson Reid, who was carrying a large gift bag. "I think Reid has something for you and Dad," Amy smiled. Right in the top of the bag was the red sweater!
"Merry Christmas, Mimi and Pa-Pa," Reid (who had just gotten a new job), said as Howard pulled out a coffee mug for him and a jar of country apple butter. "It's a little early, but I just wanted to give it to you while you were here," he grinned. We were so surpised and pleased at our thoughtful grandson! We hadn't seen him much this week, since he'd been so busy working during the Thanksgiving holiday.
We will be going home in the morning, so we have this afternoon to rest and reflect on an amazing week. Not only had our kids from North Carolina and our grandson from Tulsa joined us, but our daughter from Tennessee along with her little girl, 9-year-old Mackenzie, and our new-mommy granddaughter, Bethany, with baby Jaxon, almost 3 months. Accompanying them was 19-year-old grandson Zach, a reassuring presence on the four-hour drive.
We had a wonderful time the last night of their visit watching a Thanksgiving video of our family, made 15 years ago. Several of the grandchildren hadn't even been born then, and everyone was trim and young with firm jaw lines. What great memories!
Black Friday bargains lured several of the adventurous among us out at midnight on Thursday, and Friday we all piled in vehicles for a long ride into the country to explore some of the 26,000 acres of Berry College, the largest campus in the world, with its grist mill and 45 foot water wheel, plenteous deer, and stone cathedrals.
I guess I'm ready for a short nap with pleasant dreams on the flight home, but first I have to figure how to get two jars of muscadine jelly that Amy made, and a jar of apple butter on the plane tomorrow!
This was so festive! Since we had flown on this visit, we missed the restaurants along the road, and this one was perfect with its massive fireplace and welcoming, roaring fire. "Look at these, Mom," Amy said, pointing to a rack of capes, sweaters, and fur-trimmed jackets.
"This is gorgeous!" I exclaimed, pulling a red sweater-wrap from the rack. I tried it on, loved it, then reluctantly put it back. Everything was so tempting! From irresistible things for new great-grandbabies and toys for toddlers to fleecy, plaid Christmas robes for teens. It's a good thing they called us to eat when they did.
"Let's go wait in the car," Amy said after we had eaten, steering me to the door while my husband waited in the line at the register. I figured she was tired, so we went out into the brisk air and settled into our seats. Pretty soon, Howard emerged, followed by our grandson Reid, who was carrying a large gift bag. "I think Reid has something for you and Dad," Amy smiled. Right in the top of the bag was the red sweater!
"Merry Christmas, Mimi and Pa-Pa," Reid (who had just gotten a new job), said as Howard pulled out a coffee mug for him and a jar of country apple butter. "It's a little early, but I just wanted to give it to you while you were here," he grinned. We were so surpised and pleased at our thoughtful grandson! We hadn't seen him much this week, since he'd been so busy working during the Thanksgiving holiday.
We will be going home in the morning, so we have this afternoon to rest and reflect on an amazing week. Not only had our kids from North Carolina and our grandson from Tulsa joined us, but our daughter from Tennessee along with her little girl, 9-year-old Mackenzie, and our new-mommy granddaughter, Bethany, with baby Jaxon, almost 3 months. Accompanying them was 19-year-old grandson Zach, a reassuring presence on the four-hour drive.
We had a wonderful time the last night of their visit watching a Thanksgiving video of our family, made 15 years ago. Several of the grandchildren hadn't even been born then, and everyone was trim and young with firm jaw lines. What great memories!
Black Friday bargains lured several of the adventurous among us out at midnight on Thursday, and Friday we all piled in vehicles for a long ride into the country to explore some of the 26,000 acres of Berry College, the largest campus in the world, with its grist mill and 45 foot water wheel, plenteous deer, and stone cathedrals.
I guess I'm ready for a short nap with pleasant dreams on the flight home, but first I have to figure how to get two jars of muscadine jelly that Amy made, and a jar of apple butter on the plane tomorrow!
Friday, November 23, 2012
Gratitude
"Let's go to the covered bridge!" I suggested. We were relaxing after a long breakfast and warm conversation, then the mixing, chopping and stirring of Thanksgiving dinner preparations. Everything was in readiness now, and the gorgeous November day was beckoning us outside. We needed to sharpen our appetites for the feast ahead and for the roasting turkey that was filling the air with its delicious aroma.
"Great! I'll be right down," our son Mark said as he hurried upstairs for his shoes. This was their first trip to his sister's house in Georgia, and we were eager to show them around. Soon most of us were piled into two vehicles for the short ride down to the river; we rode with Mark and our daughter-in-law, Rhonda, while the younger set followed in the pickup being driven by our 18-year-old grandson, Reid.
The rustic, hand-pegged bridge built over a hundred years ago was the perfect foil for the scenic display before us: the recreated village, the country store, and the meandering road through the woods. "This is gorgeous!" Rhonda exclaimed as we entered the bridge's dimmed interior with the shafts of sunlight coming through. Looking down through the wide spaces in the bridge floor, she suddenly wailed, "My sunglasses!" as they slipped off her head into the swirling water below. How unexpected! We felt bad, but she laughingly said she had lost lots of sunglasses.
Getting thirsty, we decided to drive into town, since the little store was closed where one could usually sit and enjoy a bottle of pop. Our guests wanted to see Cartersville, anyway, so we chatted and drove behind the kids ahead of us. Suddenly we heard gasps and exclamations from the front seat and peered to see a pickup truck turn straight into the path of our grandchildren! They had swerved just in time! All in a split second the unexpected had happened and the unthinkable narrowly averted!
"What just happened?" I exclaimed when I reached them on the phone. They said a girl coming from the opposite direction had made a left turn right in front of them. Our older grandson, Chase, told his mother when I handed the phone to her that, thanks to Reid's skillful driving, the accident had been avoided. Thank You, Lord!
We went on to walk around a little of the old town district, got our drink and headed home. As we gathered around our Thanksgiving table, we had much to thank God for, as our minister son voiced in his heartfelt prayer of thanks and blessing. More than the bridge was covered, we realized, acknowledging the safety of God's hand.
"Great! I'll be right down," our son Mark said as he hurried upstairs for his shoes. This was their first trip to his sister's house in Georgia, and we were eager to show them around. Soon most of us were piled into two vehicles for the short ride down to the river; we rode with Mark and our daughter-in-law, Rhonda, while the younger set followed in the pickup being driven by our 18-year-old grandson, Reid.
The rustic, hand-pegged bridge built over a hundred years ago was the perfect foil for the scenic display before us: the recreated village, the country store, and the meandering road through the woods. "This is gorgeous!" Rhonda exclaimed as we entered the bridge's dimmed interior with the shafts of sunlight coming through. Looking down through the wide spaces in the bridge floor, she suddenly wailed, "My sunglasses!" as they slipped off her head into the swirling water below. How unexpected! We felt bad, but she laughingly said she had lost lots of sunglasses.
Getting thirsty, we decided to drive into town, since the little store was closed where one could usually sit and enjoy a bottle of pop. Our guests wanted to see Cartersville, anyway, so we chatted and drove behind the kids ahead of us. Suddenly we heard gasps and exclamations from the front seat and peered to see a pickup truck turn straight into the path of our grandchildren! They had swerved just in time! All in a split second the unexpected had happened and the unthinkable narrowly averted!
"What just happened?" I exclaimed when I reached them on the phone. They said a girl coming from the opposite direction had made a left turn right in front of them. Our older grandson, Chase, told his mother when I handed the phone to her that, thanks to Reid's skillful driving, the accident had been avoided. Thank You, Lord!
We went on to walk around a little of the old town district, got our drink and headed home. As we gathered around our Thanksgiving table, we had much to thank God for, as our minister son voiced in his heartfelt prayer of thanks and blessing. More than the bridge was covered, we realized, acknowledging the safety of God's hand.
Tuesday, November 20, 2012
Safe Landing
"I'm over there! I'm over there!" I noticed a blonde girl gesturing from a seat across the aisle. My husband and I had just located our airline seats, and I realized I was in "F," his seat instead of mine, "E," and I was trying to switch places with him in the narrow space. I really would have preferred the window seat, but I hated for him to be squeezed in the middle. It's a good thing, too, because the girl had seat "D" and was soon seated next to me.
"Is this your first flight?" I asked her, after she pointed to the tray on the back of the seat and said, "What's that?" At least in her late teens, since she was on the way to New Orleans to see her boyfriend, the girl was nervous and full of questions, since it was indeed her first flight.
"What does it feel like when we take off?" she asked. I knew how she felt, remembering the first time I flew on a jet. She wanted to know how we would know when we were in the air, and I told her when we were going faster than she had ever gone on land before, we would become airborne. I remembered the sensation of being pulled back against the seat on take-off and told her about it.
"Before you know it, we'll be in the clouds," I remarked, to which she exclaimed, "Oh, we get to see the clouds?" She didn't see them much, though, since she donned sunglasses and said she didn't want to look out the window. She said she would try to sleep, confiding she was on anxiety medicine as she pulled the bottle from her purse.
Just then, Howard nudged me, saying "Read this! Read this!" He had been absorbed in a book of scriptures called, "God's Promises," and pointed out Jude 24, 25, where I read, "Now unto him that is able to keep you from falling, and to present you faultless before the presence of his glory with exceeding joy, To the only wise God our Saviour, be glory and majesty, dominion and power, both now and forever. Amen." I took the book and read the verses to the uneasy passenger.
"See, it says God will keep us from falling!" I said to her. She smiled tentatively and said wistfully, "I have a Bible with me, too, but it's in my suitcase. I'm taking it to my boyfriend." Before long, my seatmate wanted to know how it would feel when we landed, and I told her it usually was pretty smooth, but when the plane touched down she yelled, "Ow! You didn't tell me it would be so rough!"
"Well, every landing is different," I replied, although we'd actually had a smooth one, it was just that the initial bump caught her by surprise. As we were getting off, my husband handed her one of the little cards he'd had printed with the heading KEEP THIS, and in small print below: "Suitable for Pocket or Purse, when the pressure gets on today, pull it out and READ IT!"
It was from Deuteronomy 31:6 and says, "Be strong and of good courage, fear not, nor be afraid of them; for the Lord thy God, He it is that does go with you. He will not fail thee nor forsake thee." I trust the young girl will find comfort from the scripture that could guide her in finding life's Safe Landing.
"Is this your first flight?" I asked her, after she pointed to the tray on the back of the seat and said, "What's that?" At least in her late teens, since she was on the way to New Orleans to see her boyfriend, the girl was nervous and full of questions, since it was indeed her first flight.
"What does it feel like when we take off?" she asked. I knew how she felt, remembering the first time I flew on a jet. She wanted to know how we would know when we were in the air, and I told her when we were going faster than she had ever gone on land before, we would become airborne. I remembered the sensation of being pulled back against the seat on take-off and told her about it.
"Before you know it, we'll be in the clouds," I remarked, to which she exclaimed, "Oh, we get to see the clouds?" She didn't see them much, though, since she donned sunglasses and said she didn't want to look out the window. She said she would try to sleep, confiding she was on anxiety medicine as she pulled the bottle from her purse.
Just then, Howard nudged me, saying "Read this! Read this!" He had been absorbed in a book of scriptures called, "God's Promises," and pointed out Jude 24, 25, where I read, "Now unto him that is able to keep you from falling, and to present you faultless before the presence of his glory with exceeding joy, To the only wise God our Saviour, be glory and majesty, dominion and power, both now and forever. Amen." I took the book and read the verses to the uneasy passenger.
"See, it says God will keep us from falling!" I said to her. She smiled tentatively and said wistfully, "I have a Bible with me, too, but it's in my suitcase. I'm taking it to my boyfriend." Before long, my seatmate wanted to know how it would feel when we landed, and I told her it usually was pretty smooth, but when the plane touched down she yelled, "Ow! You didn't tell me it would be so rough!"
"Well, every landing is different," I replied, although we'd actually had a smooth one, it was just that the initial bump caught her by surprise. As we were getting off, my husband handed her one of the little cards he'd had printed with the heading KEEP THIS, and in small print below: "Suitable for Pocket or Purse, when the pressure gets on today, pull it out and READ IT!"
It was from Deuteronomy 31:6 and says, "Be strong and of good courage, fear not, nor be afraid of them; for the Lord thy God, He it is that does go with you. He will not fail thee nor forsake thee." I trust the young girl will find comfort from the scripture that could guide her in finding life's Safe Landing.
Saturday, November 17, 2012
Trip Trip-ups
This luggage thing was driving me crazy! We wanted to take only one suitcase on our trip to avoid paying for a second bag, since we could take two carry-ons free. We had returned our son's big suitcase recently so they could have it for a trip to Branson. I asked to borrow it again because it was larger than our suitcase. "Sure, Mom, I'll bring it over for you," Greg said.
The one I found sitting on my doorstep was not the big one, but I packed and repacked it anyway, trying to fit in the bare essentials for a week's visit to our daughter in Georgia. We decided to buy two new carry-ons, but most of the ones in the store exceeded the dimensions I remembered reading in online information. We finally selected two "pilot" carry-ons, although they seemed kind of dinky. I put as many of our extra clothes in there as possible, leaving little room for toiletries and other essentials. This would never do.
When I saw my daughter-in-law Joanna yesterday, I mentioned packing for the trip. "Did Greg bring you the suitcase?" she asked. When I told her yes, but it wasn't the big one, she said, "Oh, I know where it is. I'll get it for you." Since my husband was going by there today anyway, I asked him to see if they'd located it.
"Did you see this?" Howard called from the porch door when he came home, and I answered, "Oh, you got it," seeing a suitcase beside him. "Look at it! It's a new set of luggage!" he exclaimed. I couldn't believe my eyes! "Six Piece Luggage Set," the label read. Our kids had bought it for us! "They said they were going to give it to us for Christmas, but since we needed it now, it would be an early Christmas present!", my husband explained.
Wow! That meant we now had eight new pieces of luggage! The new set included both a large and medium suitcase, a carry-on and a wheeled duffel, not to mention a travel kit and laundry bag! The carry-ons were still bigger than the dimensions I'd read, though, so we debated on using the smaller ones we'd bought. Then I looked up the info again and found I'd made a mistake! The measurements were for personal items, such as a purse!
I quickly unpacked the small cases and transferred the contents to the roomy new pieces. I still had the receipt and tags, so tomorrow we're going to return the ones we purchased. My big purse fits the size requirements for personal items, so it looks like we're all set! Now I just have to make sure our liquids are in 3 oz. bottles encased in a quart-size, zip-loc bag, unless we put them in our checked luggage!
Despite the stress and inconveniences of travel, the destination will be worth it. We are looking forward to a blessed Thanksgiving with distant loved ones. And God has been faithful to see us through all our hindrances and send us help along the way. Kind of like our eternal goal, isn't it?
The one I found sitting on my doorstep was not the big one, but I packed and repacked it anyway, trying to fit in the bare essentials for a week's visit to our daughter in Georgia. We decided to buy two new carry-ons, but most of the ones in the store exceeded the dimensions I remembered reading in online information. We finally selected two "pilot" carry-ons, although they seemed kind of dinky. I put as many of our extra clothes in there as possible, leaving little room for toiletries and other essentials. This would never do.
When I saw my daughter-in-law Joanna yesterday, I mentioned packing for the trip. "Did Greg bring you the suitcase?" she asked. When I told her yes, but it wasn't the big one, she said, "Oh, I know where it is. I'll get it for you." Since my husband was going by there today anyway, I asked him to see if they'd located it.
"Did you see this?" Howard called from the porch door when he came home, and I answered, "Oh, you got it," seeing a suitcase beside him. "Look at it! It's a new set of luggage!" he exclaimed. I couldn't believe my eyes! "Six Piece Luggage Set," the label read. Our kids had bought it for us! "They said they were going to give it to us for Christmas, but since we needed it now, it would be an early Christmas present!", my husband explained.
Wow! That meant we now had eight new pieces of luggage! The new set included both a large and medium suitcase, a carry-on and a wheeled duffel, not to mention a travel kit and laundry bag! The carry-ons were still bigger than the dimensions I'd read, though, so we debated on using the smaller ones we'd bought. Then I looked up the info again and found I'd made a mistake! The measurements were for personal items, such as a purse!
I quickly unpacked the small cases and transferred the contents to the roomy new pieces. I still had the receipt and tags, so tomorrow we're going to return the ones we purchased. My big purse fits the size requirements for personal items, so it looks like we're all set! Now I just have to make sure our liquids are in 3 oz. bottles encased in a quart-size, zip-loc bag, unless we put them in our checked luggage!
Despite the stress and inconveniences of travel, the destination will be worth it. We are looking forward to a blessed Thanksgiving with distant loved ones. And God has been faithful to see us through all our hindrances and send us help along the way. Kind of like our eternal goal, isn't it?
Time Out
And to think I almost didn't go! I had plenty to do at home on Friday to get ready for our trip, but my conscience smote me at the thought of missing this opportunity to share the kindergartners' Thanksgiving party. My daughter-in-law, Joanna, had asked if I wanted to go with her and help as she made crafts with her daughter Beth's class and brought her contribution of a turkey to their Thanksgiving feast held in their room.
As Beth passed out the turkey craft, I followed along with a card and envelope for each child. How sweet the little faces were, looking up so innocently with many small "thank you's" voiced as they received the material. They needed plenty of help when it was time to peel and stick the tail feathers of the turkey they were constructing on the cards. I had forgotten how hard it is for little hands to do what seems so simple to a grown-up. Many turkeys had crooked tails, but that only made their efforts more endearing.
After folding their cards and attaching the colorful turkey, they were to write their names inside and a small message if they wanted to. Most of the children managed their names, and the words, "Happy Thanksgiving," were written on the board for them to copy. But one little boy asked me, "How do you spell 'his'?" Not understanding him, I asked him to repeat it. "His!" he stated firmly. When I told him, he quickly wrote, "Joel loves his Mom," at the top of his card.
I noticed one little girl looking distressed as she wriggled and peered at the board. I looked at her paper and saw H-A-P-P-Y T-H-A in wobbly letters and realized she couldn't see the rest of the word that was obscured by children signing their names on the board. "Do you know how to make an "n?" I asked her. She didn't, but after the letter "k," she abandoned her efforts anyway, smiling up at me as she scurried off to write her name with the other children.
My husband had come with me and was enjoying watching the children from the sidelines. One little boy, finishing his card, turned to Howard and asked "Do you have a wife?" Howard pointed to me, and the child offered me the card he had made. Such thoughtfulness in one so young! I suggested he give it to his mother, though.
"When your cards are fiinished, you may go put them in your cubbys," the teacher announced. I was amazed to see a dark-haired little girl in a wheelchair that I hadn't noticed before wheel cheerfully and expertly past us, her eyes bright with excitement and achievement.
Other moms had brought sides of vegetables and trimmings to demonstrate a typical Thanksgiving feast for the kids. I could see right away that I could be useful in helping fill and serve the twenty-odd plates. I got in line with the other helpers and filled the turkey-decorated paper plates with miniscule servings of corn, sweet potatoes, cranberry sauce and pumpkin pie before adding a slice of the turkey Joanna was carving.
"Just try a little of everything," the picky eaters were encouraged, amid cries of "Ooh, what's that?" and "That's sour!" of cranberry sauce. Most of them were eating the whipped topping off the pumpkin pie with no encouragement, however.
We left with warm feelings and a widened perspective after this hour of volunteering. The humility, dependence, and innocence of these little ones stirred new appreciation and awareness of teachers who are entrusted with their care and education on a daily basis. From the little girl trying to copy the word, "Thanksgiving," and the can-do attitude of the brave child in the wheel chair, I learned in kindergarten attributes worthy of copying myself.
As Beth passed out the turkey craft, I followed along with a card and envelope for each child. How sweet the little faces were, looking up so innocently with many small "thank you's" voiced as they received the material. They needed plenty of help when it was time to peel and stick the tail feathers of the turkey they were constructing on the cards. I had forgotten how hard it is for little hands to do what seems so simple to a grown-up. Many turkeys had crooked tails, but that only made their efforts more endearing.
After folding their cards and attaching the colorful turkey, they were to write their names inside and a small message if they wanted to. Most of the children managed their names, and the words, "Happy Thanksgiving," were written on the board for them to copy. But one little boy asked me, "How do you spell 'his'?" Not understanding him, I asked him to repeat it. "His!" he stated firmly. When I told him, he quickly wrote, "Joel loves his Mom," at the top of his card.
I noticed one little girl looking distressed as she wriggled and peered at the board. I looked at her paper and saw H-A-P-P-Y T-H-A in wobbly letters and realized she couldn't see the rest of the word that was obscured by children signing their names on the board. "Do you know how to make an "n?" I asked her. She didn't, but after the letter "k," she abandoned her efforts anyway, smiling up at me as she scurried off to write her name with the other children.
My husband had come with me and was enjoying watching the children from the sidelines. One little boy, finishing his card, turned to Howard and asked "Do you have a wife?" Howard pointed to me, and the child offered me the card he had made. Such thoughtfulness in one so young! I suggested he give it to his mother, though.
"When your cards are fiinished, you may go put them in your cubbys," the teacher announced. I was amazed to see a dark-haired little girl in a wheelchair that I hadn't noticed before wheel cheerfully and expertly past us, her eyes bright with excitement and achievement.
Other moms had brought sides of vegetables and trimmings to demonstrate a typical Thanksgiving feast for the kids. I could see right away that I could be useful in helping fill and serve the twenty-odd plates. I got in line with the other helpers and filled the turkey-decorated paper plates with miniscule servings of corn, sweet potatoes, cranberry sauce and pumpkin pie before adding a slice of the turkey Joanna was carving.
"Just try a little of everything," the picky eaters were encouraged, amid cries of "Ooh, what's that?" and "That's sour!" of cranberry sauce. Most of them were eating the whipped topping off the pumpkin pie with no encouragement, however.
We left with warm feelings and a widened perspective after this hour of volunteering. The humility, dependence, and innocence of these little ones stirred new appreciation and awareness of teachers who are entrusted with their care and education on a daily basis. From the little girl trying to copy the word, "Thanksgiving," and the can-do attitude of the brave child in the wheel chair, I learned in kindergarten attributes worthy of copying myself.
Thursday, November 15, 2012
Invitation
I just received my granddaughter's birthday party invitation! It is a superhero party, and the soon-to-be-six-year-old is shown "leaping over tall buildings in a single bound!" dressed as Super Girl in a red costume with a gold "S" emblazoned across the front and wearing gold-trimmed red boots. "How did she get that pose?" I asked her father. She looked for all the world like she was flying past a metropolis of skyscrapers. He answered in a word: Photoshop. He said she was really lying on the floor!
At any rate, Anne-Marie looked adorable with the big, floppy hairbows on each side holding twin blonde "dog ears" in place as she flew. Although I can't go to her party, I can't wait to see her at Christmas! Oh yes, her little sister posed as a flying exclamation point on the photo card in her smaller superhero outfit. I can't wait to see her, too!
But first, Thanksgiving! We are set to fly to Georgia next week to be with our daughter's family for the celebration. Their kids are teenagers, now, but as sweet as when they were "my" babies as I took care of them while their mother worked as a nurse. Also, there is a possibility we will get to see our newest great-grandbaby if plans work out that they can meet us there!
I have been trying to figure out how to get clothes for my husband and me into one suitcase to avoid extra luggage fees. I looked at the airline information online, and read that bag size is limited to 50 pounds and 62" linear inches, including height, width, and length. Anything bigger will cost extra.
Those words jumped out at me last night as we read scripture verses in church concerning God's love for us. "That Christ may dwell in your hearts by faith; that ye, being rooted and grounded in in love, May be able to comprehend with all saints what is the breadth, and length, and depth, and height; And to know the love of Christ, which passeth knowledge, that ye might be filled with all the fulness of God." Ephesians 3:17-19.
One notation I read said that being rooted meant like a tree, and grounded is like a building on a strong foundation. When we lived in New Orleans, it was common to hear the clank and thud of pilings being driven into the ground as deep foundations for the tall buildings there. Due to the soil structure, there were no real skyscrapers, but I heard that pilings had to be driven as far down as the building was high for greatest stability.
Parental love is deep, as is love for grandchildren, but it cannot be compared to the depths of God's love, which goes beyond our understanding. That goes deeper and higher than Anne-Marie's skyscrapers and describes the love of our real Super Hero, Jesus!
At any rate, Anne-Marie looked adorable with the big, floppy hairbows on each side holding twin blonde "dog ears" in place as she flew. Although I can't go to her party, I can't wait to see her at Christmas! Oh yes, her little sister posed as a flying exclamation point on the photo card in her smaller superhero outfit. I can't wait to see her, too!
But first, Thanksgiving! We are set to fly to Georgia next week to be with our daughter's family for the celebration. Their kids are teenagers, now, but as sweet as when they were "my" babies as I took care of them while their mother worked as a nurse. Also, there is a possibility we will get to see our newest great-grandbaby if plans work out that they can meet us there!
I have been trying to figure out how to get clothes for my husband and me into one suitcase to avoid extra luggage fees. I looked at the airline information online, and read that bag size is limited to 50 pounds and 62" linear inches, including height, width, and length. Anything bigger will cost extra.
Those words jumped out at me last night as we read scripture verses in church concerning God's love for us. "That Christ may dwell in your hearts by faith; that ye, being rooted and grounded in in love, May be able to comprehend with all saints what is the breadth, and length, and depth, and height; And to know the love of Christ, which passeth knowledge, that ye might be filled with all the fulness of God." Ephesians 3:17-19.
One notation I read said that being rooted meant like a tree, and grounded is like a building on a strong foundation. When we lived in New Orleans, it was common to hear the clank and thud of pilings being driven into the ground as deep foundations for the tall buildings there. Due to the soil structure, there were no real skyscrapers, but I heard that pilings had to be driven as far down as the building was high for greatest stability.
Parental love is deep, as is love for grandchildren, but it cannot be compared to the depths of God's love, which goes beyond our understanding. That goes deeper and higher than Anne-Marie's skyscrapers and describes the love of our real Super Hero, Jesus!
Wednesday, November 14, 2012
Pecking Order
"One of those hens is giving the guinea a bad time," my husband observed as he fed his flock. "I saw it pecking at it when it was trying to get a drink." Just because it was different! We had removed the rooster because he made a target out of the little bird (besides which he dominated the hens, scattering their feathers and leaving bare places on their wings).
Feeling sorry for the rooster after he had caged him elsewhere, Howard let him out to fend for himself. We arrived to feed one day and found the dog had the rooster by the throat! The dog had escaped his pen, was secured, and the rooster put back in his cage to recuperate from a considerable mauling. Then the chanticleer went missing after he was freed by his soft-hearted master once again.
"Did you let the rooster out?" our son asked the other day. I told him yes, but now we couldn't find him. "We found it dead down by the pond," he informed me. "Looked like something had gotten hold of it. There wasn't much left." Oh! We knew it wasn't the dog, because he was still enclosed. Evidently some predator. I had seen a hawk circling once, and no doubt there is other wild life around.
The animal world is so primitive and vicious. The survival of the fittest is the rule in nature, and not much different in civilization where there is jealousy, one upmanship and competition in everything from politics to relationships. Churches aren't exempt, either. My theology-student son (well, I have two), pointed out recently that it isn't enough to be in relationship with God, but also in relationship "...with those God has put out there for us, including pastors, prophets, teachers, evangelists or even brothers and sisters in the Lord."
He went on to say that when we refuse to receive from a particular minister, we are diminishing God's blessings on our lives. That struck home to me, because sometimes my spirit wants to resist what someone says just because their personality does not resonate with me. If I think they are talking down to me, when it may just be their way of over-simplifying everything, or when I disagree with their method of presentation or time-consuming explanations, I am probably blocking valuable input. I have begun to pray that God will remove this hindrance in me, and I have found that He has! I invariably end up learning something valuable or spiritually enlightening if I just let down my defenses! I have had to examine my feelings to find if there is intolerance lurking, or maybe even jealousy!
I like word games, and playing Words With Friends is a pleasant diversion for me, except when I get frustrated at the letters I get. Awhile ago, every great word I wanted to make was discarded for lack of one essential letter! I clicked off that particular on-going game and went to one with another opponent. Wow! On this board, everything fell into place! It just depended on the letters given to me! It occured to me that that is like life, or our Christian walk. We all have our particular abilities or gifts from God, and it doesn't pay to be dissatisifed and envy or resent what someone else has! Let's not be like the animals in their food chain or the fowls in their pecking order! After all, if the little guinea, who is gifted in flight, can rise above it to the highest roost, why can't we?
Feeling sorry for the rooster after he had caged him elsewhere, Howard let him out to fend for himself. We arrived to feed one day and found the dog had the rooster by the throat! The dog had escaped his pen, was secured, and the rooster put back in his cage to recuperate from a considerable mauling. Then the chanticleer went missing after he was freed by his soft-hearted master once again.
"Did you let the rooster out?" our son asked the other day. I told him yes, but now we couldn't find him. "We found it dead down by the pond," he informed me. "Looked like something had gotten hold of it. There wasn't much left." Oh! We knew it wasn't the dog, because he was still enclosed. Evidently some predator. I had seen a hawk circling once, and no doubt there is other wild life around.
The animal world is so primitive and vicious. The survival of the fittest is the rule in nature, and not much different in civilization where there is jealousy, one upmanship and competition in everything from politics to relationships. Churches aren't exempt, either. My theology-student son (well, I have two), pointed out recently that it isn't enough to be in relationship with God, but also in relationship "...with those God has put out there for us, including pastors, prophets, teachers, evangelists or even brothers and sisters in the Lord."
He went on to say that when we refuse to receive from a particular minister, we are diminishing God's blessings on our lives. That struck home to me, because sometimes my spirit wants to resist what someone says just because their personality does not resonate with me. If I think they are talking down to me, when it may just be their way of over-simplifying everything, or when I disagree with their method of presentation or time-consuming explanations, I am probably blocking valuable input. I have begun to pray that God will remove this hindrance in me, and I have found that He has! I invariably end up learning something valuable or spiritually enlightening if I just let down my defenses! I have had to examine my feelings to find if there is intolerance lurking, or maybe even jealousy!
I like word games, and playing Words With Friends is a pleasant diversion for me, except when I get frustrated at the letters I get. Awhile ago, every great word I wanted to make was discarded for lack of one essential letter! I clicked off that particular on-going game and went to one with another opponent. Wow! On this board, everything fell into place! It just depended on the letters given to me! It occured to me that that is like life, or our Christian walk. We all have our particular abilities or gifts from God, and it doesn't pay to be dissatisifed and envy or resent what someone else has! Let's not be like the animals in their food chain or the fowls in their pecking order! After all, if the little guinea, who is gifted in flight, can rise above it to the highest roost, why can't we?
Tuesday, November 13, 2012
Politically Correct
"How do you like this cold weather?" I asked my 90-year-young friend as I sat down in church Sunday morning.
"Are you wearing boots?" she responded, peering at my feet, then stuck out her foot to show me she was wearing them, too. Then she scooted closer to me to tell me something.
"My great-granddaughter is getting married," she confided. "And you should see the shoes she and her mother are wearing!" Measuring about 3 inches with her thumb and forefinger, she exclaimed, "They are this high!" I was properly impressed, and she explained, "I asked my granddaughter, 'How do you walk in them?' and she had me put my hand inside, and the soles were this thick!" Platforms! I have not bought any yet, but I did try on a pair one day, and they are surprisingly comfortable!
When my savvy friend mentioned wedding shoes, I thought she was going to say her granddaughter was planning to wear tennis shoes down the aisle (as in the movie, Father of the Bride). That made me think of my daughter wearing "Jellies," a novelty in the '80s, beneath her wedding gown!
Women's shoe styles are always changing. From torturous high heels of ancient times, to the high-button shoes of the 1800s to today's toning shoes, flip-flops, or leg-strap sandals, it seems we are always presented with ways to make our feet fashionable, if sometimes uncomfortable.
Shoes for men, on the other hand, have always been sensible and serviceable, not to mention comfortable. In recent years, sandals for men have become commonplace. My husband put on a pair with socks yesterday, even though it is November!
Footwear in ancient times was often sandals, at least in biblical settings. Jesus wore sandals. John the Baptist, in prophecying of Jesus, said in the gospels that he was unworthy to loose the strap of the sandal of the One coming after him. Dusty roads and sandy soil made the practice of offering a basin of water to visitors a courtesy that they could refresh and cleanse their feet upon entering a residence. Not to do so was an insult, as Jesus indicated in Luke 7:44:
"And he turned to the woman, and said unto Simon, Seest thou this woman? I entered into thine house, thou gavest me no water for my feet: but she hath washed my feet with tears, and wiped them with the hairs of her head."
The purpose of high heels is to elevate, to set off, and to make the wearer more noticeable and seen in a flattering light. The word, platform, is descriptive of the position given the wearer of platform shoes. She is suddenly endowed with importance. Jesus's "platform" was the lowly sandal. From it, he changed the world. May His platform be our platform today!
"Are you wearing boots?" she responded, peering at my feet, then stuck out her foot to show me she was wearing them, too. Then she scooted closer to me to tell me something.
"My great-granddaughter is getting married," she confided. "And you should see the shoes she and her mother are wearing!" Measuring about 3 inches with her thumb and forefinger, she exclaimed, "They are this high!" I was properly impressed, and she explained, "I asked my granddaughter, 'How do you walk in them?' and she had me put my hand inside, and the soles were this thick!" Platforms! I have not bought any yet, but I did try on a pair one day, and they are surprisingly comfortable!
When my savvy friend mentioned wedding shoes, I thought she was going to say her granddaughter was planning to wear tennis shoes down the aisle (as in the movie, Father of the Bride). That made me think of my daughter wearing "Jellies," a novelty in the '80s, beneath her wedding gown!
Women's shoe styles are always changing. From torturous high heels of ancient times, to the high-button shoes of the 1800s to today's toning shoes, flip-flops, or leg-strap sandals, it seems we are always presented with ways to make our feet fashionable, if sometimes uncomfortable.
Shoes for men, on the other hand, have always been sensible and serviceable, not to mention comfortable. In recent years, sandals for men have become commonplace. My husband put on a pair with socks yesterday, even though it is November!
Footwear in ancient times was often sandals, at least in biblical settings. Jesus wore sandals. John the Baptist, in prophecying of Jesus, said in the gospels that he was unworthy to loose the strap of the sandal of the One coming after him. Dusty roads and sandy soil made the practice of offering a basin of water to visitors a courtesy that they could refresh and cleanse their feet upon entering a residence. Not to do so was an insult, as Jesus indicated in Luke 7:44:
"And he turned to the woman, and said unto Simon, Seest thou this woman? I entered into thine house, thou gavest me no water for my feet: but she hath washed my feet with tears, and wiped them with the hairs of her head."
The purpose of high heels is to elevate, to set off, and to make the wearer more noticeable and seen in a flattering light. The word, platform, is descriptive of the position given the wearer of platform shoes. She is suddenly endowed with importance. Jesus's "platform" was the lowly sandal. From it, he changed the world. May His platform be our platform today!
Monday, November 12, 2012
You Are Not Invisible
"Where is the safety patrol man?" I questioned, when we didn't see him sitting in his lawn chair on the corner. Then we saw him across the street sitting in his truck facing the school. (It was quite cold today, so I couldn't blame him, though on our way back we saw that he had gotten out of the truck to help the children.) I guess he saw us coming in his rear view mirror, because he stuck out his arm in his customary elbow-jointed wave as we made our after-school jaunt to pick up our grandkids.
It was an everyday event that he would somberly raise his arm like a wooden-figure-on-a-string toy to wave to us. I'm sure he recognized us by the novelty license plate on our front bumper that proclaims, "GOD IS GREATER THAN ANY PROBLEM I HAVE," that we bought a few years ago in Tennessee. Even viewing it backwards in a mirror, he knew what it said.
For the first few months of school, I walked up to collect the girls from the lines formed behind their teachers as they waited for us. Later my routine progressed to my walking halfway up, when I would see Kate tug her teacher's sweater and point to me, and the teacher would nod and release her. Kate would grab her sister's hand from the kindergarten line and race past me to the car.
Now, before we even park, the teachers recognize our car (the tag?) and the children come running before I can even open the car door. I forget about the tag, then when someone treats us with easy familiarity I remember why.
During the summer we often went to Sonic, and once after a couple weeks absence, one of the carhops came up and said, "Where have you guys been? We missed you!" They were all unusually friendly, even though I felt anonymous. Obviously, they noticed us, or at least our license plate! One girl said, "Two junior deluxe burgers, one substitute mustard for mayo, two senior teas, one sweet and one unsweet?", reciting our usual menu!
Today while we were having lunch at Wendy's, I saw an older couple come in and noticed the backs of their jackets were embroidered with something like "Pickers and Grinners, Fiddle and Guitar Music," obviously a group they belonged to. When Howard went up to order something extra, he struck up a conversation with them as they stood in line.
"Are they musicians?" I asked when he came back to the table. They were, evidently having a lot in common with my husband. They spoke to us when we were leaving, iniviting us to the Senior Center where they have a regular Tuesday night jam session. Before long, we realized we knew some of the same people and were soon conversing like long-lost friends!
Many things identify us, including slogans, statements, and affiliations we embrace. But our most important identification observable to others is our lifestyle. "Even a child is known by his doings," the Bible says in Proverbs 20:11. There is an old saying, "Reputation is what others think about you, but character is who you really are." Another way of saying it is, "People may date you for your personality, but they marry you for your character." Paul says in II Corinthians 3:2 that believers are epistles known and read by all men. If our identification is in Christ, people will know it by our actions and we won't need a sign!
It was an everyday event that he would somberly raise his arm like a wooden-figure-on-a-string toy to wave to us. I'm sure he recognized us by the novelty license plate on our front bumper that proclaims, "GOD IS GREATER THAN ANY PROBLEM I HAVE," that we bought a few years ago in Tennessee. Even viewing it backwards in a mirror, he knew what it said.
For the first few months of school, I walked up to collect the girls from the lines formed behind their teachers as they waited for us. Later my routine progressed to my walking halfway up, when I would see Kate tug her teacher's sweater and point to me, and the teacher would nod and release her. Kate would grab her sister's hand from the kindergarten line and race past me to the car.
Now, before we even park, the teachers recognize our car (the tag?) and the children come running before I can even open the car door. I forget about the tag, then when someone treats us with easy familiarity I remember why.
During the summer we often went to Sonic, and once after a couple weeks absence, one of the carhops came up and said, "Where have you guys been? We missed you!" They were all unusually friendly, even though I felt anonymous. Obviously, they noticed us, or at least our license plate! One girl said, "Two junior deluxe burgers, one substitute mustard for mayo, two senior teas, one sweet and one unsweet?", reciting our usual menu!
Today while we were having lunch at Wendy's, I saw an older couple come in and noticed the backs of their jackets were embroidered with something like "Pickers and Grinners, Fiddle and Guitar Music," obviously a group they belonged to. When Howard went up to order something extra, he struck up a conversation with them as they stood in line.
"Are they musicians?" I asked when he came back to the table. They were, evidently having a lot in common with my husband. They spoke to us when we were leaving, iniviting us to the Senior Center where they have a regular Tuesday night jam session. Before long, we realized we knew some of the same people and were soon conversing like long-lost friends!
Many things identify us, including slogans, statements, and affiliations we embrace. But our most important identification observable to others is our lifestyle. "Even a child is known by his doings," the Bible says in Proverbs 20:11. There is an old saying, "Reputation is what others think about you, but character is who you really are." Another way of saying it is, "People may date you for your personality, but they marry you for your character." Paul says in II Corinthians 3:2 that believers are epistles known and read by all men. If our identification is in Christ, people will know it by our actions and we won't need a sign!
Saturday, November 10, 2012
Warm Fuzzies
"SEASON'S GREETINGS," the large, shimmering sign at the park read. It couldn't be! Thanksgiving is still almost two weeks away! And with today's warm temperatures, the display looked particularly out of place, unless this were Christmas in Florida or Hawaii. The fluffy, plastic fronds outlining the letters in red glowed almost orange in the sun, giving the greeting a garish, Halloween look. I suppose the city decorating committee wants to make sure everything is up by Thanksgiving, though, and is getting an early start.
I confess I haven't given much thought to Christmas shopping yet, especially since most of our grandchildren have advanced out of my gift-giving range, older teens with jobs or young marrieds with families of their own. But there are still a few under ten and young teens. Truthfully, though, with kids' expensive tastes and preferences, it's more fun just to shop for the pre-schoolers.I'm sure I will get in the holiday spirit when we leave for our Thanksgiving trip to Atlanta in just 10 days! All that new shopping territory to explore is bound to jump-start my gift-giving genes!
I did get the November birthday package mailed to our turning-six granddaughter today. Hopefully, she will like her princess pajamas. Still on their hanger, they had hung on a rack brightening my room for nearly a week before I sent them, and I was surprised when I felt a pang of absence when the cheery little garments were gone. I miss the warm feeling I got just by looking at them. That will be nothing compared to what I will feel hugging the warm little body wearing them when they are here for Christmas!
Plans by her father for a glitzy, hotel-reunion-Christmas in Dallas were scrapped when I painted a picture of a homey, simple Christmas in Oklahoma. "If it snows, we can let the kids go sledding at Greg's farm," I persuaded, "there are lots of slopes and hilly areas there." I talked about bonfires, the big, cast iron woodburning stove in their fireplace, and the geese that are said to gather on the sizeable pond. I forgot to mention the shooting range in the pasture that his brother has arranged. Talk of homecooked feasts and cozy board games may have helped win him over, too.
I can't wait!! Maybe it's not too soon for Season's Greetings at the park after all!
I confess I haven't given much thought to Christmas shopping yet, especially since most of our grandchildren have advanced out of my gift-giving range, older teens with jobs or young marrieds with families of their own. But there are still a few under ten and young teens. Truthfully, though, with kids' expensive tastes and preferences, it's more fun just to shop for the pre-schoolers.I'm sure I will get in the holiday spirit when we leave for our Thanksgiving trip to Atlanta in just 10 days! All that new shopping territory to explore is bound to jump-start my gift-giving genes!
I did get the November birthday package mailed to our turning-six granddaughter today. Hopefully, she will like her princess pajamas. Still on their hanger, they had hung on a rack brightening my room for nearly a week before I sent them, and I was surprised when I felt a pang of absence when the cheery little garments were gone. I miss the warm feeling I got just by looking at them. That will be nothing compared to what I will feel hugging the warm little body wearing them when they are here for Christmas!
Plans by her father for a glitzy, hotel-reunion-Christmas in Dallas were scrapped when I painted a picture of a homey, simple Christmas in Oklahoma. "If it snows, we can let the kids go sledding at Greg's farm," I persuaded, "there are lots of slopes and hilly areas there." I talked about bonfires, the big, cast iron woodburning stove in their fireplace, and the geese that are said to gather on the sizeable pond. I forgot to mention the shooting range in the pasture that his brother has arranged. Talk of homecooked feasts and cozy board games may have helped win him over, too.
I can't wait!! Maybe it's not too soon for Season's Greetings at the park after all!
Friday, November 9, 2012
Double-Header
I am amazed at how God works things out, even the smallest things. I had impulsively invited our pastors over for supper the other night, and I was busily getting ready for them this morning when I happened to see a voice mail I had missed on the phone. "Aunt Thelma, I was wondering if you could meet me and my dad for lunch today," my niece's voice asked, calling from Wichita. We had tried to meet last week, but her dad had had an emergency hospital stay ending with his getting a heart stent. He must be doing well! I checked with my husband, and he said we could make it.
It would take them at least and hour and a half to get here, and it was now going on eleven. We would meet them at the restaurant at 12:30. That would still give us plenty of time to get back and complete my dinner preparations. Hurriedly finishing in the kitchen, I put a frozen pie in to bake for the 45 minutes it would take. I had just started to get dressed to go out, when the phone rang. "Patty wants to come, too, so we will leave when she gets to my house," my niece, Judy said of her sister.
Good, I thought, I think I can get the casserole made in the extra time. I had just finished and gotten dressed when I asked Howard to call them and check on their progress. They were still a good half hour away. "I guess I can't go to the country and feed the chickens," my husband mused. Well, I could set the table, and that would be out of the way. I removed the centerpiece, made room for it on the sideboard by moving the candle-holder to a bookcase, and put on the tablecloth.
Suddenly I said, "We could go feed the chickens now if you want, and still have time to meet them at the restaurant," voicing the thought that had just occurred to me. He said okay, so, thinking of our impromptu guests' first impression if they came back to the house, I yanked off the cloth and replaced the fall centerpiece. Halfway to the farm, we realized we'd forgotten the cell phone. "I'm not going out there now," Howard said as he turned the car around. Just then our party called saying they were just crossing the Oklahoma line, about 40 minutes away.
Howard headed toward the house, saying we had to move the truck for our dinner guests to have a parking place tonight. "But you're going to have to help me start the truck, because the battery's down," he instructed me. As he hooked up the jumper cables, I crawled into the driver's seat, my foot getting tangled in something on the floor. What was a pair of his underwear doing there! My unpredictable husband assured me they were the oldest ones in his drawer that he'd grabbed as a rag to clean the dust from his shoes that he would incur at the farm!
We got the to the restaurant first, and after a short wait our guests arrived. What a great time we had visiting with them! We were amazed at how good our (former) brother-in-law looked for 86 years old! It had been nearly 50 years since we had seen him. "Do you want to take us and show us the farm, or go to your house, or show us Cann Gardens?" my niece smiled winsomely when we were through. We took them on a quick tour of the farm (and fed the chickens), then came back to the house. Thankfully, it was company ready.
Catching up by showing them family pictures and visiting, I noticed that the clock was going around. At four, I put the casserole in. Our pastors would be here at five. I began to set the table, and my talkative husband kept the guests lingering at the door. I sprang into action when they left, with everything in readiness. Pastor's wife called and said they would be a little late, her husband had gotten tied up with counselling.
The dinner was a great success and, winding up a good evening of conversation in the living room, we bade our pastors good night about 8:00 o'clock. Thank you, Lord, I thought as I embraced my pillow not long after. I fell asleep reflecting on God's faithfulness and our lovely day!
It would take them at least and hour and a half to get here, and it was now going on eleven. We would meet them at the restaurant at 12:30. That would still give us plenty of time to get back and complete my dinner preparations. Hurriedly finishing in the kitchen, I put a frozen pie in to bake for the 45 minutes it would take. I had just started to get dressed to go out, when the phone rang. "Patty wants to come, too, so we will leave when she gets to my house," my niece, Judy said of her sister.
Good, I thought, I think I can get the casserole made in the extra time. I had just finished and gotten dressed when I asked Howard to call them and check on their progress. They were still a good half hour away. "I guess I can't go to the country and feed the chickens," my husband mused. Well, I could set the table, and that would be out of the way. I removed the centerpiece, made room for it on the sideboard by moving the candle-holder to a bookcase, and put on the tablecloth.
Suddenly I said, "We could go feed the chickens now if you want, and still have time to meet them at the restaurant," voicing the thought that had just occurred to me. He said okay, so, thinking of our impromptu guests' first impression if they came back to the house, I yanked off the cloth and replaced the fall centerpiece. Halfway to the farm, we realized we'd forgotten the cell phone. "I'm not going out there now," Howard said as he turned the car around. Just then our party called saying they were just crossing the Oklahoma line, about 40 minutes away.
Howard headed toward the house, saying we had to move the truck for our dinner guests to have a parking place tonight. "But you're going to have to help me start the truck, because the battery's down," he instructed me. As he hooked up the jumper cables, I crawled into the driver's seat, my foot getting tangled in something on the floor. What was a pair of his underwear doing there! My unpredictable husband assured me they were the oldest ones in his drawer that he'd grabbed as a rag to clean the dust from his shoes that he would incur at the farm!
We got the to the restaurant first, and after a short wait our guests arrived. What a great time we had visiting with them! We were amazed at how good our (former) brother-in-law looked for 86 years old! It had been nearly 50 years since we had seen him. "Do you want to take us and show us the farm, or go to your house, or show us Cann Gardens?" my niece smiled winsomely when we were through. We took them on a quick tour of the farm (and fed the chickens), then came back to the house. Thankfully, it was company ready.
Catching up by showing them family pictures and visiting, I noticed that the clock was going around. At four, I put the casserole in. Our pastors would be here at five. I began to set the table, and my talkative husband kept the guests lingering at the door. I sprang into action when they left, with everything in readiness. Pastor's wife called and said they would be a little late, her husband had gotten tied up with counselling.
The dinner was a great success and, winding up a good evening of conversation in the living room, we bade our pastors good night about 8:00 o'clock. Thank you, Lord, I thought as I embraced my pillow not long after. I fell asleep reflecting on God's faithfulness and our lovely day!
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