Bread

"Does anyone know the words of the song, Bread and Gravy? I want my mom to play it on the guitar and sing it, but she doesn't remember the words," my niece wrote on Facebook.  Her mom, my sister who is 84, used to sing the song with our oldest sister when they were little girls. It was a depression era ditty that I remembered Daddy singing to entertain us kids.

Of course, I knew the words, or at least most of them, but I saw my brother had already answered her question.  I added my memory to his, and came up with what I remembered of the song:

"On Monday we had bread and gravy; on Tuesday we had gravy and bread; on Wednesday and Thursday we had gravy on toast, but that's only gravy and bread.

"On Friday, I talked to the landlord; said won't you please give us something instead?  On Saturday morning, by way of a change, we had gravy without any bread."

That's one of the reasons I love using Facebook.  A whole bunch of family can relive old  memories, share stories, laugh, cry or kid each other as if we were all there in person.

My early childhood didn't include toast, since that meant a trip to town for "light bread," as it was called then, but there were always Mama's biscuits.  They tasted wonderful with her creamy, milk gravy made with bacon drippings, or as peanut butter/apple butter filled biscuits we carried to our country school in our tin pails.

I must say I envied the lunches some of the other kids brought, store-bought white-bread sandwiches cut on the diagonal and filled with bologna.  Lying beside their bag lunch waiting to be eaten might be a school-bus-yellow banana.  (We usually got the kind covered with brown spots.)

One day in first grade (all the grades were in one room)  my beloved teacher came to my desk and said, "I love biscuits, but I never have time to make them. Would you trade me one of your biscuits for this?" as she offered me her lovely, white-bread sandwich.  Would I! I was a happy camper as I chowed down on the treat!

My husband has a story he  tells from a 3rd grade experience.  One day he asked his teacher if he could sing a song for the class.  He had brought an old banjo and when she agreed, he began to belt out, "How many biscuits did you eat this morning..." twanging frantically on the banjo strings, to continue, "How many biscuits can you eat tonight?" repeating the verse of what was really a Martha White Flour radio commercial performed by the likes of Lester Flatt with his banjo.  He said he didn't think the teacher would ever quit laughing.

Bread has always been essential to man. Everyone is familiar with the loaves and fishes story in the Bible when Jesus multiplied the food to feed the multitude.  In John 6:35, He says, "I am the bread of life: he that cometh to me shall never hunger; and he that believeth on me shall never thirst."

Our parents provided bread for our nourishment growing up in this life. In verse 51 of John 6, Jesus says, "I am the living bread which came down from heaven: if any man eat of this bread he shall live forever: and the bread that I give is my flesh, which I will give for the life of the world."  My godly mother would say, "Amen!"

The Selfie-Stick

We were happy to have our pastor in the pulpit after a three-week absence for a missionary trip to Thailand, but we couldn't help wondering about the odd device he carried, a long stick with something on the end which he held at arm's length as if taking a picture of himself.  He explained it was a "Selfie Stick," something all the rage in Thailand. I have since read that they are very popular in Europe.  They will  probably take off here, too, with the obsession of "selfies" on Facebook.

I can understand the convenience of the novelty for say, vacation photos or shots in historic places.  It's always nice to have a person in a scenic shot, if for nothing else than to give the picture scale and human interest.  And it saves having a stranger take your photo. But some go to extreme, with a new selfie  almost every time you look on Facebook! 

Narcissism is to be expected to a degree in teenagers.  After all, they are fascinated with their looks as they bloom into young adults and are often insecure and uncertain.  They need the compliments and assurances of their peers that they look awesome or gorgeous.  But it seems a little excessive for adults, who hopefully are a little more serious minded.

Fads come and go.  I remember when I worked at a drugstore soda fountain as a teenager.  Hoola Hoops had just come out, and the demand was more than the supply with kids all over town requesting them.  Our enterprising boss figured out a way to cash in on the boom by buying garden hoses, cutting them into lengths and stapling them into hoops!  He had a regular manufacturing operation going on, putting his pharmacy trade in the shade until the phase was over.

That was back when we went to a small church and where everyone felt like family, especially those with teenagers in our youth group.  I went to the memorial service viewing of one of the moms on Sunday.  She had survived for 96 years, and would be turning 97 on Valentine's Day. The reunion with her children who were there brought lots of memories, stories and much catching up.  It was also a reminder of the brevity of life, even for the aged.  

That same day we received news from our daughter in Georgia of the disappearance of a couple from their church.  The tragic ending is now known.  Thankfully these people were faithful Christians, as was our departed friend.  Happenings like these make us consider our own mortality and remember what is important in life: A relationship with Jesus Christ. The acronym JOY says it clearly: Jesus first, Others second, You last.  That is a picture that is not a selfie!

Clean Sweep

We have the cutest new gadget!  It's like the little, round robot machines that vacuum carpets by themselves, except ours dusts the bare floor! I was a little skeptical at first, thinking it would run over the edges of the rugs, but the slightest ridge makes it change directions. I had fun with it yesterday, but not as much fun as the little dog at our house that barked at it, nosed it suspiciously and tried to keep up with  it.

Our son's family has the vacuuming robot.  I saw the little round device blinking in the corner of the bedroom where we slept while at their house.  I had wondered how they kept their entirely carpeted upstairs so clean, but they just turn the little monster loose to busily do the  work of keeping the almost-white carpet pristine fresh.

Somehow this made me think of what scientists have discovered recently about the brain.  How it has a function that acts as a little vacuum cleaner to sweep away plaque and debris while you are asleep. Apparently this is activated by dream activity.  There is some evidence that dreaming helps prevent Alzheimer's disease in this way.  Of course, to dream, you have to be asleep, which is one reason sleep is so important to our health.

(I once heard a Bible teacher say that the scripture in Proverbs 29:18, "Where there is no vision the people perish," could be applied to dreaming, which keeps us healthy.)

I was also reminded of the ever-vigilant Holy Spirit in Christians.  If we are sensitive  to the Spirit's guidance, we will recognize the nudge of conviction when we have done something wrong, repent of it, and have a clean conscience.

Jesus  said in John 16:7-8, "Nevertheless I tell you the truth, It is expedient that I go away: for if I go not away, the Comforter will not come unto you; but if I depart, I will send him unto you. (8) And when he is come, he will reprove the world of sin, and of righteousness, and of judgment."

We need eight hours of sleep to be healthy, and we had to plug in our little appliance for eight hours of charging to use it.  But He is constant.  Jesus said, "I am with you always." It is we who have to stay plugged in to the Holy Spirit. He helps us keep our house clean!

Love in a Box

"How many times have I told my children that I had given them a box of love? Which in actuality is a pretend box of nothing--air--representing love.  After receiving a wonderful package in the mail recently, I was reminded of this box.

"It was not my birthday, not a holiday or any special day.  It was a box full of thoughtfulness packed with care, full of things I could probably use...because someone thought of me. To me, it was a box of love.

"Yup, I think this world needs more boxes mailed.  Just a little effort is a great deed. (Thanks, box-sender.)"

This sweet bit of prose was written by my daughter and shared on Facebook.  It reminded me of boxes my grandmother sent to my mother when I was a little girl.  How exciting it was to dig through the considerably large cartons filled with mysterious things from far away Texas!  My grandmother, with a large family herself, knew that anything she sent would be put to good use.

There were dresses, coats, pants, and all manner of things, most of which would not fit anybody, but Mama was an expert at "making over" clothes.  After all, some of our young uncles and aunts were not much older than Mama's eldest children.  Mama's treadle Singer sewing machine was kept busy clothing nine of us kids during those WWII years.  What she didn't redesign into proper-fitting garments, our resourceful mother cut woolen garments into squares and pieced together warm quilts for our several beds.

I don't remember whether the boxes came by US Mail or were shipped some other way.  I know the postage for mailing would have been prohibitive at today's rates!  Usually a letter accompanied the box, and my 5-year-old fingers would trace the penciled letters of Grandma's handwriting.   Just think, I would ponder, Grandma's hand formed these very words!  (I didn't remember ever having seen my grandmother, and I endowed her with all kinds of virtues and qualities.)

Grandma often enclosed pictures of her large family, romanticized in my mind as the ideal household.   They seemed always to be receiving some award, commendation or diploma.  The dashingly handsome and beautiful figures in the studio portraits sang solos, wore sharp military uniforms, or sported corsages, things foreign to our back-woods, hill-country lives.

When I grew up, I realized that Mama's family, of which she was the eldest child (whose own mother had died in Mama's infancy) was just an ordinary family, having hailed from the hills of Tennessee and were simple, hard-working folk like anyone else.  According to my mother, Grandma did like to put on airs a bit, but that didn't matter when we received those wonderful boxes of love, love that would stretch from generation to generation.

Sustenance

"Does anyone need a handout sheet?" The leader of our Bible study was asking.  There had been enough at our table for all, but when another person sat down, she didn't have one.  I had given mine to her, thinking I would just look on with my husband, so I didn't raise my hand.

"Over here," the lady sitting next to me motioned, pointing to me.  The teacher came back with a few of the lesson leaflets and handed one to  me.

"I don't have to have one, if you're short," I said, to which he said, taking me off guard, "No, I've always been this height."  I couldn't help laughing at his quick wit. We had been enjoying this study on prayer with the video and discussion following with much class participation.

After class, Howard went up and spoke to the leader.  We had heard he had a restaurant, and we wanted to find out where it was.  He gave us a card with the internet info on it, and after church we looked it up on the computer.  It is a restaurant specializing in organic foods  from farm-fresh ingredients.  We were happy to see they get their produce (and I think beef, too), from the heritage farm where we enjoyed buying fresh milk last summer.

We were thinking about that restaurant the other evening when we ate at a steak-house in a neighboring town, using one of our Christmas gift cards. We had a marvelous steak, but I must have over-did it a bit with the rich, delicious treat, because I came down with stomach pains the next day, and still felt off this morning.  Lying around bored and lonely, I tried to call my two daughters, but neither of them answered.

Feeling sorry for myself and missing my family, I was in a funk with a case of the blues.  After a pity party for myself, I forced myself up to get dressed.  Just as I came out of the bathroom, the phone rang. It was one of my dear daughters returning my call, and after a good visit, the other daughter called.  I was ashamed of my reaction earlier, cheered up and had a great day attending our 9-year-old granddaughter's basket ball tournament,  which her team won as champions!

Then tonight a sweet teen granddaughter from Georgia called me with a question about a scripture. After I gave her my best advice, we talked about her job and how proud we are of her.  She said, "I can always count on you, Mimi," which warmed my heart.   I told her I was sorry we couldn't live close to them like we did when she was little.  It warmed my heart even more when her soft voice over the phone assured me, "I'll never forget you, Mimi."

I think God was looking down on me in my dismal state of despondency, and granted me a good day and phone calls from loved ones! Maybe we'll even go to the church member's restaurant soon! Food from God's green earth nourishes the body like hearing from children nourishes the soul! 

Storage Wars

Nothing says get organized like January! Ever since Christmas, stores have been displaying all kinds of storage containers, from tubs to huge cartons to small boxes. "Oh, look!" I said to my husband the other day, "I could use some of those cute boxes!" They were sturdy, strong, and covered with bright, graphic designs.

I wasn't really sure what to put in them, but when I got home, I realized they were perfect to hold pictures overflowing from tattered shoe boxes. I had put them there years ago after removing the photos from old, yellowing, photo albums. Unwrapping the clear, outer covering from a colorful box and opening the lid, I saw a tag that said, "Picture box." Duh! There were even little slots on the ends for labels identifying the contents.

One box easily held all the photos, leaving the other free for mementos. I am a saver, I admit. Besides birthday and Mother's Day cards and such with sweet sentiments, there was a small manila envelope with my name on it in my late mother-in-law's graceful script. All kinds of treasures were inside, from another small envelope labeled, "Howard's curls," to fragile, brittle drawings from his and his brothers' school days.

I recognized an envelope we had discovered in her things at her passing, addressed to her in her maiden name with a 3 cent stamp on it. It was from my future father-in-law, pressing his sweetheart for a decision on the all important question a young man proposes to his intended. She was a saver, too.

The soft, brown curls neatly tied with 75-year-old thread that spilled from the envelope reminded me of when our red-haired son was little. I had let his beautiful hair grow long, finally giving him his first haircut at 2 or 3 years old. I said, "Let's save your curls and send them to Grandma." My mother had red hair, and I knew she would love them. This must have made an impression on him, because once when he was probably six, watching me sweep up his red curls from a haircut, Trevor said, "Aren't you sending my hair to Grandma?"

With the advent of Facebook, I don't get many physical photos from my children any more, just the fleeting, electronic visual images that appear on the screen of my phone, computer or iPad. While I am grateful for those, which I faithfully "save," they don't make it into my scrapbook.

Scrapbooking pictures with artistic embellishment was my passion for several recent years, for which I have a dozen bulging albums. Now that, too, seems to have been replaced by Shutter-fly, a book of bound pages produced on the computer and professionally printed with magazine-style photos and script. A wonderful improvement and a treasured gift when I receive them, but I would like pictures to hold in my hand, and take out of a box, studying them for storage in my memory.

Golden Rule

"I think I will go to the place Joe told me about," my husband said as we drove around on some errands. "He said they have things like a lug wrench there," Howard went on. He had been keeping his eye out for a bargain in a lug wrench to keep in his truck, since we already had one for the car. My thrifty spouse was unwilling to pay a high price for the tool. His handyman friend, Joe, knew all the second-hand and junk shops in town.

"Oh, look!" I said, "There's Joe now." We were going past a mission for the poor and disadvantaged, and there he was, lifting his bike from a truck. I asked Howard what he was going to do with it, and he said Joe was placing it somewhere for safekeeping while he went in to breakfast.

When we had completed our errands and had stopped for a bite of lunch, Howard decided to go to the aforementioned store. "Oh, there's Joe again!" I said, at seeing him get on his bike and leave the shop where we were going. He didn't see us with his head down, so we went on into the store.

"Do you happen to have a lug wrench?" Howard asked the proprietor.

"I had one, but I just sold it!" he replied. Immediately I surmised what had happened.

"Did you sell it to an Indian guy?" I asked, "The man that just left the store?" He had, and I knew that Joe had bought it for Howard! Sure enough, we got a call shortly from Joe, saying he had bought the wrench and put it in the back of the truck at our house.

How thoughtful! We had been picking Joe up at a shelter and taking him to church, even getting him a burger afterward. I know he appreciated it, and this was his way of showing gratitude, even by spending some of his scarce resources.

Although there was no real comparison, it made me think of the widow's mite in the Bible or the alabaster box of precious ointment that was broken and poured out for Jesus.

Several times we have shared food with Joe, especially when he has been over here working at some odd job we needed done. When he helped Howard clean the basement recently, I noticed a comforter I had forgotten about stacked with some things they had brought up. I took it and put it on the washer, but Joe asked where it went. He said Howard had given it to him, because he only had one thin blanket at the shelter. Of course, I was glad for him to have it.

Jesus said as recorded in Matthew 25:40, "In as much as ye have done it unto one of the least of these my brethren, ye have done it unto me." I believe Joe was practicing the instructions of Jesus when he said to do unto others as you would have others do to you, in Matthew 7:12 and Luke 6:31. (I also noticed that verse 30 of Matthew says, "Give to every man that asketh of thee; and of him that taketh away thy goods ask them not again.") I won't be asking for my comforter back!