The story of Eugene Allen, a long-time butler in the White House, was portrayed in a recent movie we saw. In a dinner table conversation with our daughter, I remarked at how the man's gentle demeanor and respectful manner set him in good stead with his famous employers. "I guess it really paid off for him," I said, referring to his quiet, polite way of speaking, since he served under eight presidents.
"You know, that's true. It does, Mom," Amy said. "The other day I was talking to a woman at work and said, 'You always seem so calm. I don't think I have ever heard you raise your voice.'
Then the lady said, 'Let me tell you something. I worked for a woman for many years, helping her raise her son. I never raised my voice to him, and after he grew up and went to college, his mother told me how she appreciated that. Every Christmas for many years now, she has sent me a check for $600, and $300 on my birthday.'"
Proverbs 21:36 says of the virtuous wife and homemaker, "She openeth her mouth with wisdom, and in her tongue is the law of kindness." That is a virtue I have always aspired to, but one which is often elusive for me. In today's world where old-fashioned femininity is largely out of style, it is almost the norm for girls and women to speak in strident, assertive voices to prove their equality with males.
The other day I saw part of a reality show on television involving a mother and daughter conversation, and I remarked to my husband how much alike they sounded. I had noticed the girl's soft, almost slow, way of speaking and her well-modulated words, then when I heard her mother, I realized the daughter sounded just like her!
The Bible says in Proverbs 16:24 that pleasant words are like a honeycomb, sweet to the soul and health to the bones. And again in Proverbs 13:3, "He that keepeth his mouth keepeth his life: but he that openeth wide his lips shall have destruction."
Both the aforementioned butler and the caretaker of the child saw the benefits of these attributes in their employment and success in life. As children imitate parents or unconsciously take on their characteristics, may be imitate our heavenly Father and let Him be seen (and heard!) in us.
Monday, September 30, 2013
Sunday, September 29, 2013
Deja vu
While out shopping on a visit to my daughter Amy's home in Georgia last week, I bought some very life-like, beautiful long-stemmed roses (complete with thorns) and was pondering about a vase for them. That night, from somewhere in the back of my mind came the nebulous memory of a very large vase I used to have.
"Rachel," I said to my 14-year-old granddaughter the next day, "Did I give that vase in the foyer to your mom?" When I saw it on a tall stand in the grandeur of a beautiful arrangement, it took on the shape of the vase of my memory.
"No, Mimi," Rachel replied, "Someone gave that to Mom when we first moved here." I mentioned that to Amy, and she told me that I had indeed given her the vase. She reminded me that I had bought it at Sam's Club several years ago and that I'd also given one to my daughter, Julie, for her birthday!
Still, I distinctly remembered having one like that and filling it with flowers. Finally my recollection cleared up and I recalled buying one for the church where my husband was pastor at the time. As church secretary, I varied the arrangements in the distinctive vase with the molded wire design following the curves in a basket-like frame.
A visit to Julie's home in Tennessee followed, and the first thing I noticed when I walked into their church was her vase! The lovely, tall urn stood empty, and immediately I knew why I had bought the flowers with the extra-long stems! "I have some roses that would look beautiful in that vase," I told her. I went to the car and got them and they do look gorgeous!
I knew I didn't have a vase that big, but the flowers, discount-priced from $8 at the fancy store to $4.49 each, were being sold for 90% off, so I got them for 45 cents apiece! How rewarding to fill the unusual vase with flowers and to know again they would be enjoyed by church-goers. Either it was a lesson in stewardship, or maybe God enjoys sharing a bargain with me!
"Rachel," I said to my 14-year-old granddaughter the next day, "Did I give that vase in the foyer to your mom?" When I saw it on a tall stand in the grandeur of a beautiful arrangement, it took on the shape of the vase of my memory.
"No, Mimi," Rachel replied, "Someone gave that to Mom when we first moved here." I mentioned that to Amy, and she told me that I had indeed given her the vase. She reminded me that I had bought it at Sam's Club several years ago and that I'd also given one to my daughter, Julie, for her birthday!
Still, I distinctly remembered having one like that and filling it with flowers. Finally my recollection cleared up and I recalled buying one for the church where my husband was pastor at the time. As church secretary, I varied the arrangements in the distinctive vase with the molded wire design following the curves in a basket-like frame.
A visit to Julie's home in Tennessee followed, and the first thing I noticed when I walked into their church was her vase! The lovely, tall urn stood empty, and immediately I knew why I had bought the flowers with the extra-long stems! "I have some roses that would look beautiful in that vase," I told her. I went to the car and got them and they do look gorgeous!
I knew I didn't have a vase that big, but the flowers, discount-priced from $8 at the fancy store to $4.49 each, were being sold for 90% off, so I got them for 45 cents apiece! How rewarding to fill the unusual vase with flowers and to know again they would be enjoyed by church-goers. Either it was a lesson in stewardship, or maybe God enjoys sharing a bargain with me!
Wednesday, September 18, 2013
Making a Memory
"The girls really liked you helping them make strawberry shortcake yesterday," our son said. Kate, his eight-year-old, had told me before how much she liked my strawberry shortcake, so her mom suggested I teach them to make it. They brought over the ingredients, so Monday after school instead of the kids watching television, we had our own cooking show in the kitchen!
"Who wants to cut up the strawberries and who wants to mix the batter?" I asked, after we washed the berries in a colander and she and six-year-old Beth had removed the caps. Kate felt confident enough with a knife to slice the berries on the cutting board, but Beth wanted to mix the batter.
I just use baking mix, nothing special, to which Beth enjoyed adding the carefully measured tablespoons of sugar, melted butter, and a third cup milk. It was rather stiff and difficult for her to stir, so we added more milk until it was just right for plopping big scoops of it onto a cookie sheet.
"Is this enough?" Kate asked after she had quartered half a carton of the beautiful, fresh berries. It looked like plenty for the three individual cakes we made, so we sweetened them to get juicy while the shortcakes baked.
Then the fun began! The golden brown cakes came out so large that we cut them in two, making six portions. Berries, dripping luscious juice, had to be sprinkled on, and large dollops of whipped cream dispensed generously to decorate the tops. Mmm! They were good! There's nothing like homemade. We had enough for Dad, Grandpa, and Mimi, too!
"They'll always remember that," my husband volunteered as we chatted with their dad yesterday. "Like the story of the man who took his son on a fishing trip and thought of it as a waste of time away from work." Then he told how many years later, the father found an old school paper belonging to the son, describing the day his dad took him fishing as the best day of his life.
We never know what will stick in kids' memories. My own children have brought up things I did that affected them or that they learned from me that I don't even remember. I do remember though, one hot summer day when they persuaded me to take them to a lake for an afternoon of swimming. Normally, I wouldn't set out on such a venture without their dad, but for some reason I did, even though I'm sure I would have rather stayed home and taken a nap or something. My daughter brings that memory up from time to time and still remembers it as a special day.
I have heard my oldest son, a minister, tell in a sermon of the time I led him to the Lord in a salvation experience. To be honest, I can't recall if that was at church or at home. I have a vague recollection of accompanying him to the altar one night when he was 13. Although that was over 40 years ago, it still remains in his mind as the most important decision of his life. Thankfully, I was there to share it, even if I'm a little fuzzy on the details. The Bible says even if a mother forgets her child, He will not forget us. He has us inscribed on the palms of His hand. Psalm 49:15,16.
"Who wants to cut up the strawberries and who wants to mix the batter?" I asked, after we washed the berries in a colander and she and six-year-old Beth had removed the caps. Kate felt confident enough with a knife to slice the berries on the cutting board, but Beth wanted to mix the batter.
I just use baking mix, nothing special, to which Beth enjoyed adding the carefully measured tablespoons of sugar, melted butter, and a third cup milk. It was rather stiff and difficult for her to stir, so we added more milk until it was just right for plopping big scoops of it onto a cookie sheet.
"Is this enough?" Kate asked after she had quartered half a carton of the beautiful, fresh berries. It looked like plenty for the three individual cakes we made, so we sweetened them to get juicy while the shortcakes baked.
Then the fun began! The golden brown cakes came out so large that we cut them in two, making six portions. Berries, dripping luscious juice, had to be sprinkled on, and large dollops of whipped cream dispensed generously to decorate the tops. Mmm! They were good! There's nothing like homemade. We had enough for Dad, Grandpa, and Mimi, too!
"They'll always remember that," my husband volunteered as we chatted with their dad yesterday. "Like the story of the man who took his son on a fishing trip and thought of it as a waste of time away from work." Then he told how many years later, the father found an old school paper belonging to the son, describing the day his dad took him fishing as the best day of his life.
We never know what will stick in kids' memories. My own children have brought up things I did that affected them or that they learned from me that I don't even remember. I do remember though, one hot summer day when they persuaded me to take them to a lake for an afternoon of swimming. Normally, I wouldn't set out on such a venture without their dad, but for some reason I did, even though I'm sure I would have rather stayed home and taken a nap or something. My daughter brings that memory up from time to time and still remembers it as a special day.
I have heard my oldest son, a minister, tell in a sermon of the time I led him to the Lord in a salvation experience. To be honest, I can't recall if that was at church or at home. I have a vague recollection of accompanying him to the altar one night when he was 13. Although that was over 40 years ago, it still remains in his mind as the most important decision of his life. Thankfully, I was there to share it, even if I'm a little fuzzy on the details. The Bible says even if a mother forgets her child, He will not forget us. He has us inscribed on the palms of His hand. Psalm 49:15,16.
Tuesday, September 17, 2013
Bucket List
"We've got to find the papers for my grandfather's farm!" my husband said as he pulled out folders from the file cabinet. "I'm looking for a purple plastic folder!" he exclaimed. Our son had just offered to take us to look up the historic homestead, and Howard was searching for computer data our daughter-in-law had researched and given to us several years ago.
When his hunt was unsuccessful, I remembered some makeshift files of my own. The leather volumes I was thinking of were boxed in a storage closet, which I didn't want to go through, but in looking through some keepsake papers in a flimsy pocket file, I caught a glimpse of the words, "United States Census, 1900 for George F. Summers," at the top of something official looking. Other pages included a historic map and location of the townships in a county west of here. Howard's eyes grew wide as I nonchalantly pushed the papers in front of his face while he was on the computer.
"Since it's rainy, do you think Greg will really want to go?" I mumbled sleepily to my groggy husband this morning, to which he responded, "Oh, yes, we are going," getting out of bed and checking the weather. Sure enough, our son was here at 8:00 a.m., despite my misgivings. Shortly we were on the road for our big adventure. Ever since we moved back to Oklahoma 6 years ago, Howard has had a fixation with re-visiting the land where his grandfather had staked his claim in the Cherokee Strip Land Run in 1893.
True, our maps showed the area and the different sections of land, one marked with the words, G.F. Summers, but it didn't show the names of the roads to get there. We had to stop at the courthouse for that. After going a few miles in the wrong direction, we got on the right path and found the roads marked on the courthouse map.
"What do you expect to see?" I asked my determined spouse. "A vacant field?" After all, after having been in the family 50 years, the property had been sold in 1943. His grandparents had raised 10 children there, and Grandpa George had lived there as a widower from 1917 until the time he made his home with his youngest son's family, Howard's parents.
I got my answer when we did indeed stand in a plowed field and Howard breathed deep and said, "I feel like I'm finally home!" A lump came in my throat, because I remembered feeling the same way when, in a genealogy search, a picture popped up of an old cemetery in Tennessee where my mother's ancestors were buried. I'd never been there, but seeing the terrain and hills of Mama's roots filled me with a sense of familiarity, and a poignancy I couldn't explain.
Our journey today ended in a cemetery, too, when we searched for the graves of his grandparents. We had no idea where to start looking, but as Greg and I wandered along a path, Howard suddenly cried out triumphantly from several rows over, "I found them!"
Suddenly the sun came out, and a beautiful day shone through the parted clouds, just in time to illuminate words on another tombstone: Cherokee Strip Land Run of 1893.
"That should be on your grandpa's headstone, too!" I said. Howard didn't seem to hear me. He was still back on the prairie a hundred years ago, visualizing a young couple pioneering a home in a tent, then cutting down trees on the property to make a log home, clearing the land and enduring hardships and losses to live out the dream of a plucky young man brave enough to ride hard in a race and claim a future for his family.
And I am a part of that future! I have been blessed with a husband who grew up with the same strong work ethic, sense of responsibility and integrity that has been carried on to our own children. God is faithful from generation to generation! He is the Road Map by which we chart our course. And when we have finished our race, we won't have to build a log cabin in glory land, because Jesus has gone before us to prepare us a dwelling, "that where I am, there you may be also," John 14:3. Then we'll be finally home!
When his hunt was unsuccessful, I remembered some makeshift files of my own. The leather volumes I was thinking of were boxed in a storage closet, which I didn't want to go through, but in looking through some keepsake papers in a flimsy pocket file, I caught a glimpse of the words, "United States Census, 1900 for George F. Summers," at the top of something official looking. Other pages included a historic map and location of the townships in a county west of here. Howard's eyes grew wide as I nonchalantly pushed the papers in front of his face while he was on the computer.
"Since it's rainy, do you think Greg will really want to go?" I mumbled sleepily to my groggy husband this morning, to which he responded, "Oh, yes, we are going," getting out of bed and checking the weather. Sure enough, our son was here at 8:00 a.m., despite my misgivings. Shortly we were on the road for our big adventure. Ever since we moved back to Oklahoma 6 years ago, Howard has had a fixation with re-visiting the land where his grandfather had staked his claim in the Cherokee Strip Land Run in 1893.
True, our maps showed the area and the different sections of land, one marked with the words, G.F. Summers, but it didn't show the names of the roads to get there. We had to stop at the courthouse for that. After going a few miles in the wrong direction, we got on the right path and found the roads marked on the courthouse map.
"What do you expect to see?" I asked my determined spouse. "A vacant field?" After all, after having been in the family 50 years, the property had been sold in 1943. His grandparents had raised 10 children there, and Grandpa George had lived there as a widower from 1917 until the time he made his home with his youngest son's family, Howard's parents.
I got my answer when we did indeed stand in a plowed field and Howard breathed deep and said, "I feel like I'm finally home!" A lump came in my throat, because I remembered feeling the same way when, in a genealogy search, a picture popped up of an old cemetery in Tennessee where my mother's ancestors were buried. I'd never been there, but seeing the terrain and hills of Mama's roots filled me with a sense of familiarity, and a poignancy I couldn't explain.
Our journey today ended in a cemetery, too, when we searched for the graves of his grandparents. We had no idea where to start looking, but as Greg and I wandered along a path, Howard suddenly cried out triumphantly from several rows over, "I found them!"
Suddenly the sun came out, and a beautiful day shone through the parted clouds, just in time to illuminate words on another tombstone: Cherokee Strip Land Run of 1893.
"That should be on your grandpa's headstone, too!" I said. Howard didn't seem to hear me. He was still back on the prairie a hundred years ago, visualizing a young couple pioneering a home in a tent, then cutting down trees on the property to make a log home, clearing the land and enduring hardships and losses to live out the dream of a plucky young man brave enough to ride hard in a race and claim a future for his family.
And I am a part of that future! I have been blessed with a husband who grew up with the same strong work ethic, sense of responsibility and integrity that has been carried on to our own children. God is faithful from generation to generation! He is the Road Map by which we chart our course. And when we have finished our race, we won't have to build a log cabin in glory land, because Jesus has gone before us to prepare us a dwelling, "that where I am, there you may be also," John 14:3. Then we'll be finally home!
Sunday, September 15, 2013
It Happened One Sunday
What's this? I wondered, as I sat down at a table in Sunday School class and the teacher's husband placed a small paper bag in front of me. A donut? I guessed at the content of the white, folded down sack.
"Is it going to jump out at me?" I teased, then opened the bag to see it was full of miniature tomatoes! Of course! Our teacher is a gardener and has shared produce with us before. "Did you raise these cherry tomatoes?" I marveled, to which she said, "Those were all volunteer."
"Do you have a knife?" my husband, who loves summer tomatoes, joked. We had some of them in a salad for lunch, and they were delicious.
In the morning service the pastor reminded us that instead of our Sunday evening prayer time, we would be participating in a prayer walk for the schools late that afternoon. A long oval walkway in the park would be marked at intervals with the name of one of our local schools for prayer emphasis. Due to trouble with my knee, I wouldn't be walking, but Howard did.
Just as he got home, our phone rang. It was our son, whose family had been walking, too, but evidently behind him and they didn't see each other. He invited us out to their farm to visit, since there was still plenty of daylight left. It was beautiful out there, owing to a lot of mowing done the day before, and as we sat in the yard I remarked that we should have a watermelon to eat outside. Howard and I offered to run into town and get one.
We went to the discount store where we can always count on a bargain in produce, but their melons were small and a little expensive today. We were pushing our empty cart back to the cart stall when we noticed an elderly woman standing uncertainly beside a heavily loaded cart. Howard nudged me and said, "That lady needs help."
"Ma'am, do you need some help with that cart?" we asked, and she smiled and protested a little, but she was frail and with a cane, so we helped her out the door. Howard began to unload her groceries and place them in her trunk. Besides several full bags and two gallons of milk, there were flats of canned chicken and dumplings, spam, Vienna sausages, evaporated milk, and other canned ready-to-eat products.
I commented that she must be buying for a school or something. She said no, but she did feed several people--two families, she said. She mentioned several grandchildren and told us she had recently taken in a homeless granddaughter from Tulsa. "It would've really done me in to load all that," she said in thanking us.
Just everyday events reflecting care and love for each other as Christians. The pastor preached this morning that it's not the big events that churches do nor special highlights in our lives, but what we do in between times in our everyday living that counts. I think I know what he meant. And even though we found the melons we wanted at another store, I think God had us go to the first store for a reason. And the watermelon was particularly delicious!
"Is it going to jump out at me?" I teased, then opened the bag to see it was full of miniature tomatoes! Of course! Our teacher is a gardener and has shared produce with us before. "Did you raise these cherry tomatoes?" I marveled, to which she said, "Those were all volunteer."
"Do you have a knife?" my husband, who loves summer tomatoes, joked. We had some of them in a salad for lunch, and they were delicious.
In the morning service the pastor reminded us that instead of our Sunday evening prayer time, we would be participating in a prayer walk for the schools late that afternoon. A long oval walkway in the park would be marked at intervals with the name of one of our local schools for prayer emphasis. Due to trouble with my knee, I wouldn't be walking, but Howard did.
Just as he got home, our phone rang. It was our son, whose family had been walking, too, but evidently behind him and they didn't see each other. He invited us out to their farm to visit, since there was still plenty of daylight left. It was beautiful out there, owing to a lot of mowing done the day before, and as we sat in the yard I remarked that we should have a watermelon to eat outside. Howard and I offered to run into town and get one.
We went to the discount store where we can always count on a bargain in produce, but their melons were small and a little expensive today. We were pushing our empty cart back to the cart stall when we noticed an elderly woman standing uncertainly beside a heavily loaded cart. Howard nudged me and said, "That lady needs help."
"Ma'am, do you need some help with that cart?" we asked, and she smiled and protested a little, but she was frail and with a cane, so we helped her out the door. Howard began to unload her groceries and place them in her trunk. Besides several full bags and two gallons of milk, there were flats of canned chicken and dumplings, spam, Vienna sausages, evaporated milk, and other canned ready-to-eat products.
I commented that she must be buying for a school or something. She said no, but she did feed several people--two families, she said. She mentioned several grandchildren and told us she had recently taken in a homeless granddaughter from Tulsa. "It would've really done me in to load all that," she said in thanking us.
Just everyday events reflecting care and love for each other as Christians. The pastor preached this morning that it's not the big events that churches do nor special highlights in our lives, but what we do in between times in our everyday living that counts. I think I know what he meant. And even though we found the melons we wanted at another store, I think God had us go to the first store for a reason. And the watermelon was particularly delicious!
Saturday, September 14, 2013
Fair Weather
"Do you think we'll see anyone we know at the fair?" I asked Howard as we set out to Blackwell, 15 miles away on this fall-feeling September evening. Our granddaughter, Allison, who had gone with her family last night, had posted a picture on Facebook of the Ferris Wheel lit up in all its grandeur against the night sky, drawing me like a magnet to go and experience the fair for myself.
Immediately on entering the fairgrounds, a man spoke and tipped his hat to us. "Who was that?" I asked my husband. It was the owner of a hardware store in our town. After a cursory glance around at the throngs of people and varied vendors, we sat down for a bite to eat at our customary church stand.
As soon as we finished and walked toward the midway, we met our former pastor from home! Next, I recognized a beautiful young woman as my hairdresser! Then we bumped into two of our neighbors, one living across the street from our house, and one in back of us. On the way to the exhibit buildings, we glimpsed a couple through the crowd that we used to know from church.
"Look, they have popcorn," I said as we came to a snack bar in a Homemaker's craft building. They also had tea for 50 cents, and we bought a small homemade pound cake loaf for $1. Browsing further, past a Tupperware dealer's counter, my eyes fell upon a lovely stoneware casserole dish displayed with other attractive pieces.
I inquired about it and found it was for sale, and at a reduced price, too! I loved it! A creamy, covered pot with a hand-painted bird design on the front, with pink flowers and edged in brown. It was beautiful. I showed it to my husband, and he said we might stop on our way back after we'd seen the animals.
There were only a few left at the petting zoo, but the small ponies were darling with their long lashes, blinking as children stroked them, and two little pigs were replicas of Wilbur in Charlotte's Web. A couple of llamas and an immaculately groomed cow, plus some frolicking young goats, made up the remainder of the animal exhibits.
We decided to go back to the Homemaker's building to check on the dish. Going in, I saw a familiar-looking face and couldn't believe my eyes when I realized it was a friend from childhood whom I hadn't seen in a couple of years when we'd re-connected at a Bible Study! She invited me to come to the current Bible Study formed after the other one closed, and I might just do that!
Turns out the woman selling the serving pieces was a cousin of hers, and we had a delightful time unraveling threads to other cousins and relatives of theirs that we had known! What a small world! We have felt a bit like we've been set down in a strange land since we moved back here a few years ago after an absence of nearly 40 years. But we are finding we have been surrounded by (or at least the descendants of) many people from our past!
The smooth, gleaming surface of the stoneware pot that now looks perfectly at home in front of a platter on my dining room hutch feels like a touchstone to the past, a little of which I found tonight at the county fair.
Immediately on entering the fairgrounds, a man spoke and tipped his hat to us. "Who was that?" I asked my husband. It was the owner of a hardware store in our town. After a cursory glance around at the throngs of people and varied vendors, we sat down for a bite to eat at our customary church stand.
As soon as we finished and walked toward the midway, we met our former pastor from home! Next, I recognized a beautiful young woman as my hairdresser! Then we bumped into two of our neighbors, one living across the street from our house, and one in back of us. On the way to the exhibit buildings, we glimpsed a couple through the crowd that we used to know from church.
"Look, they have popcorn," I said as we came to a snack bar in a Homemaker's craft building. They also had tea for 50 cents, and we bought a small homemade pound cake loaf for $1. Browsing further, past a Tupperware dealer's counter, my eyes fell upon a lovely stoneware casserole dish displayed with other attractive pieces.
I inquired about it and found it was for sale, and at a reduced price, too! I loved it! A creamy, covered pot with a hand-painted bird design on the front, with pink flowers and edged in brown. It was beautiful. I showed it to my husband, and he said we might stop on our way back after we'd seen the animals.
There were only a few left at the petting zoo, but the small ponies were darling with their long lashes, blinking as children stroked them, and two little pigs were replicas of Wilbur in Charlotte's Web. A couple of llamas and an immaculately groomed cow, plus some frolicking young goats, made up the remainder of the animal exhibits.
We decided to go back to the Homemaker's building to check on the dish. Going in, I saw a familiar-looking face and couldn't believe my eyes when I realized it was a friend from childhood whom I hadn't seen in a couple of years when we'd re-connected at a Bible Study! She invited me to come to the current Bible Study formed after the other one closed, and I might just do that!
Turns out the woman selling the serving pieces was a cousin of hers, and we had a delightful time unraveling threads to other cousins and relatives of theirs that we had known! What a small world! We have felt a bit like we've been set down in a strange land since we moved back here a few years ago after an absence of nearly 40 years. But we are finding we have been surrounded by (or at least the descendants of) many people from our past!
The smooth, gleaming surface of the stoneware pot that now looks perfectly at home in front of a platter on my dining room hutch feels like a touchstone to the past, a little of which I found tonight at the county fair.
Thursday, September 12, 2013
Our Heritage
"Look at all the flags!" I exclaimed to my husband as we passed through a small town yesterday on the way to a doctor's appointment. The main street was lined on both sides with the stars and stripes of our country, turned into fiery red banners by the morning sun behind them. Then I remembered it was 9/11, a day of both remembrance and honor for the victims and heroes of the attack. It was a patriotic day, and the sight of Old Glory waving faithfully in the breeze loosed a wellspring of pride and thankfulness within me.
I saw another symbol of thankfulness walking across the highway as we were going to church last evening. A soldier bearing a flag? No, it was a wild turkey crossing the road! The cooler weather brings thoughts of Thanksgiving, when golden-brown versions of their domestic counterparts will grace many a holiday table. The last time I saw turkeys in the wild was in Tennessee a few years ago, where cars had to stop while whole flocks ambled across country roads, safe in their protected status.
Last night was Family Night at church, and my heart was warmed by the swarm of children in attendance. They enthusiastically participated in the games played by some of the adults as well: Sliding an Oreo cookie from forehead to mouth; catching as many balls as possible tossed by a partner into a container held high; picking certain catch words in a story told by the pastor and repeating them in unison; and passing out mystery stickers relating to the story-sermon.
One of the games, a brain teaser, was for the adults. A chart on the wall screen displayed the puzzle squares, with words like "man overboard" hinted at by "man" written over a line and "board" underneath. There were 20 squares, and I got most of them right. The one that gave me most trouble had the words, "Knee," and "Lights," with "Knee" on top. I thought and thought, only coming up with knee-high and low lights, but the right answer was "knee on lights," or "Neon Lights." Pretty clever.
Faith, Family and Patriotism were the components that made up our day, and they make up what is important in our country. The children are our future; it is up to us to teach them our values!
I saw another symbol of thankfulness walking across the highway as we were going to church last evening. A soldier bearing a flag? No, it was a wild turkey crossing the road! The cooler weather brings thoughts of Thanksgiving, when golden-brown versions of their domestic counterparts will grace many a holiday table. The last time I saw turkeys in the wild was in Tennessee a few years ago, where cars had to stop while whole flocks ambled across country roads, safe in their protected status.
Last night was Family Night at church, and my heart was warmed by the swarm of children in attendance. They enthusiastically participated in the games played by some of the adults as well: Sliding an Oreo cookie from forehead to mouth; catching as many balls as possible tossed by a partner into a container held high; picking certain catch words in a story told by the pastor and repeating them in unison; and passing out mystery stickers relating to the story-sermon.
One of the games, a brain teaser, was for the adults. A chart on the wall screen displayed the puzzle squares, with words like "man overboard" hinted at by "man" written over a line and "board" underneath. There were 20 squares, and I got most of them right. The one that gave me most trouble had the words, "Knee," and "Lights," with "Knee" on top. I thought and thought, only coming up with knee-high and low lights, but the right answer was "knee on lights," or "Neon Lights." Pretty clever.
Faith, Family and Patriotism were the components that made up our day, and they make up what is important in our country. The children are our future; it is up to us to teach them our values!
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