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.
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