Coming home from bible study tonight, I was pleasantly reminded of the articles I used to write concerning my drive to work. I loved those drives with the sun peeping out of the cloud covers and the fat fellow changing into his sun-suit. The handiwork of God was all around and magnified by the presence of that cute little fat fellow playing in the heavens. Well, tonight his friend was there as big as life. The moon in all his full faced glory was lighting my way. Tremendous!
This full faced chubby friend is supposedly the smallest full moon this year. Smallest? He must have read the reports and decided to show the world that he was not the smallest... Absolutely beautiful and as playful as his early morning friend.
There were moments when he was right over my left shoulder as I headed south, and then he would draw back and be slightly behind my left shoulder as I headed south. At one point he was slightly in front of my shoulder and I was still heading south. I do believe he was trying to vie for attention just as that little fat fellow would do during my morning drives. It sure brought back some beautiful memories.
The light he shone on the earth this cool November night made some spots appear as snow and reminded me of a night long ago when I saw a field of red cabbage bathed in his light and how it too looked like a field of snow. The friends with whom I was driving could not get over how picturesque a field of cabbage could appear. I think this full faced fellow remembered that night as well because there was a smile that crossed his face...
The little full faced moon was better able to slide in various directions because of the darkness, and his movements could not be detected until he had slid into a new position. Once into Leander he slid quite a distance ahead and stayed there until I turned east. Here, he was visible through the windshield and he seemed to enjoy the full view. I lost him for just a moment as I turned onto my street, but as I pulled into the drive, there he was sitting right over my house... he had found his resting place and so had I. Thank you Lord for a beautiful night!
Wednesday, November 28, 2012
Saturday, September 15, 2012
Prayer, a Source of Comfort
Prayer, a Source of Comfort by Annette Tewell
Most of us can remember exactly where we were on 9-11. That day is so ingrained in our being that we are able to tell what we were doing and what we were wearing at the time we heard of that terrible moment in American history. My day was just beginning and I was walking up the stairs to my classroom where I would meet my first class of the day, second period English IV. The librarian called to me and began to stutter the words that changed my life, at least the peace of my life.Knowing what this could mean to my son who was at Ft. Bragg, I felt a chill deep in my chest. Oh God, will this mean war? No, no, no...
My son did not call me with any horrifying news until October that year, and my heart melted. Trying to sound calm and confident, we talked in abstracts and codes. He was to leave within the week. After hanging up, I crumbled in tears. I prayed and I cried for what seemed like hours, but I could not get a sense of peace. Lord, I pleaded, please, bring peace to my heart. I had to be strong for my other children. Mom could not fall apart!
I prayed and cried for days until I received another call to tell me that the mission had been scrapped. A dangerous leak had occurred and lives were definitely at stake. Jason sounded disappointed, but I was elated! I thanked God for His protection and, yes, for my son not going. I was not prepared to send my son into a combat zone.
The next call came soon after and, this time, there was no reprieve. He and his company, plus a few others, were headed to Afghanistan. I could not go to work. I prayed and cried and prayed some more for three days. At long last, I received the peace that only God could give. The peace that surpasses all understanding. I would awaken during the nights that he was deployed with feelings of dread, and I would pray for him and those with him and then begin singing, "How Great Thou Art" until I fell back to sleep. His peace remained. We were elated when Jason made it home for Christmas that year!
He was deployed three more times. The next being in March of 2003, when he and his brigade dropped into Iraq. Again, I hit my knees and stayed there for three days. Again, I could not work. Again, the Lord brought a peace that I could not explain, but something I knew was real. During this time I was able to share with other women how the Lord had heard my cries and brought peace and assure them He would do the same for them.
His last two deployments were to Afghanistan (2006-2007) and then Iraq (2008-2009). During these deployments, my time spent agonizing for his safety was reduced to a day. I was, finally, beginning to know and trust that God truly is involved in the affairs of his children. I still awoke during the nights and spent time in prayer before singing myself to sleep with "How Great Thou Art," but through it all, I learned that God is the Lord of all. I love sharing these times with others facing similar situations. God is great!
On 9-11-12 at 9:10 a.m. this American hero, a son who helped his mother learn the real meaning of leaning on the Lord, retired from active military service. The date is so appropriate. It is my prayer that he is blessed beyond measure for all he has done in service to this nation. Where those in government may fail him and others, may God be their source of all goodness. Well done Jason!!! And, welcome home!
Friday, June 29, 2012
Stella/6-29-12
I went to see Stella again this afternoon. She wasn't in her room and after waiting several minutes, I decided to leave her a note and return at another time. On the way out I saw her sitting in a chair in the front room, legs up on the ottoman, and drifting away. I went up to her and touched her arm and she opened her eyes and seemed genuinely pleased to see me. It has been nearly a month since my last visit. She definitely deserves better.
I knelt beside her chair so that I could hear and look into her eyes. Of course, she felt like that was a no-no, but I assured her I would be fine. As she began to talk, I was fully aware of the sadness in her eyes. She was telling me of the 'expiration' of three of her aquaintences from the nursing home. I found it interesting and a little disturbing that she said expired instead of died or any of the other many phrases we use. Do people really expire? Do we all have a date stamped on our packaging that says, "expiration date --/--/--," or "best used by --/--/--?"
Anyway, she was definitely saddened by their demise, and it was evident in her eyes. She then went on to say that she prays daily to be taken home: meaning her heavenly home. Tears sprang up into the eyes of this child of the most high God because I can not imagine life so bad or meaningless that one would not welcome a new day. But then, I don't "live" in a nursing home. I am not confined to a building where others decide for me what I will eat, who I will see, and what I can do. Individuals, like Stella, who are still capable of thinking rationally and seeing to their own personal needs do not need to be in a place like this. She mentioned again today of how she and her extended family would have gatherings and enjoyed so much together, and now there is no one, except that son of her's I would really like to see... Family was so important to her, earlier in her life, and now she is alone.
I wonder what would make her life more meaningful, other than the family that is not available? Is there a ministry, of sorts, she could become involved in?
There was another woman sitting in a wheel chair near the front door, and she, too, had dozed off. I have seen her before sitting in that same spot. Is she waiting for someone, longing for someone? Another "busy" son or perhaps a daughter.
While walking through the nursing home, I saw another woman sitting in a wheel chair holding a baby doll. This was no ordinary doll. It was the size of a child around 4 months old, was wearing baby clothes, and felt very real like. Yes, I did touch it!!! She was holding it so gently, stroking its face and talking with it. Broke my heart!
Please, take care of our aged citizens. Remind them often that they are not alone and are loved. Give them reason to live until the Lord calls them home. How often did they care for us at an earlier tme?
Remember Moses? He was 80 before he began his mission on this earth...
I knelt beside her chair so that I could hear and look into her eyes. Of course, she felt like that was a no-no, but I assured her I would be fine. As she began to talk, I was fully aware of the sadness in her eyes. She was telling me of the 'expiration' of three of her aquaintences from the nursing home. I found it interesting and a little disturbing that she said expired instead of died or any of the other many phrases we use. Do people really expire? Do we all have a date stamped on our packaging that says, "expiration date --/--/--," or "best used by --/--/--?"
Anyway, she was definitely saddened by their demise, and it was evident in her eyes. She then went on to say that she prays daily to be taken home: meaning her heavenly home. Tears sprang up into the eyes of this child of the most high God because I can not imagine life so bad or meaningless that one would not welcome a new day. But then, I don't "live" in a nursing home. I am not confined to a building where others decide for me what I will eat, who I will see, and what I can do. Individuals, like Stella, who are still capable of thinking rationally and seeing to their own personal needs do not need to be in a place like this. She mentioned again today of how she and her extended family would have gatherings and enjoyed so much together, and now there is no one, except that son of her's I would really like to see... Family was so important to her, earlier in her life, and now she is alone.
I wonder what would make her life more meaningful, other than the family that is not available? Is there a ministry, of sorts, she could become involved in?
There was another woman sitting in a wheel chair near the front door, and she, too, had dozed off. I have seen her before sitting in that same spot. Is she waiting for someone, longing for someone? Another "busy" son or perhaps a daughter.
While walking through the nursing home, I saw another woman sitting in a wheel chair holding a baby doll. This was no ordinary doll. It was the size of a child around 4 months old, was wearing baby clothes, and felt very real like. Yes, I did touch it!!! She was holding it so gently, stroking its face and talking with it. Broke my heart!
Please, take care of our aged citizens. Remind them often that they are not alone and are loved. Give them reason to live until the Lord calls them home. How often did they care for us at an earlier tme?
Remember Moses? He was 80 before he began his mission on this earth...
Sunday, June 10, 2012
Not Knowing What to Expect.
Hey, I did it! Guess I am truly in my second childhood...
The look in the eyes of both the father and son tell a story, and it is heart breaking. Far too many of our military families have told this same story. (And, our government mistreats these American Heroes, but that is another story.)
The child, far too young to understand the impact of deployment, definitely has a look in his eyes of "why is Momma crying?" A look of "Dad, what is wrong with Mom?" It seems to say, "Why are all the people so sad? Why are you holding us so tight? Dad...Dad???"
The dad, by the same token, is perplexed ..."What is going to happen? If I don't return, who will care for my son and wife? Who will teach him all he needs to learn? God, what lies ahead? Please, if possible, let this be a dream... I really don't want to leave the loves of my life. Please... please..."
How can some look at this picture and not be moved? How can some look at this picture and just pass it on in another forwarded email? THIS IS A REAL FAMILY!
I don't have a clue how old this picture might be, nor do I know the ending of this story... but how can we not "feel" when viewing the heartache in the eyes of this father and son. May God bless us with caring hearts and a willingness to stop and realize that some pictures are worth pondering far more than the seconds it takes to scan them. Let us realize there are lives represented.
Monday, May 28, 2012
Memorial Day Observance
Like so many of our holidays, Memorial Day has taken on a meaning that is far from its original intent. Far too many people, both young and old, do not know its origin, nor cherish its meaning. It has become another three day week end of gathering together for frolic and fun. A three day week end to start off the summer months. History is being forgotten, distorted, and trampled.
Originally called Decoration Day, the town of origin is not known. Perhaps it started simultaniously in towns through out the states involved in the Civil War. Memorial Day was officially proclaimed by General John Logan on May 5, 1868 and observed on May 30th, as flowers were laid on the graves of both Union and Confereate Soldiers at Arlington National Cemetary. Even though its actual beginning is not known, LBJ, in 1966, declared Waterloo, NY, as its birth place. (Didn't sit well with those in the south and probably still doesn't.)
The first state to officially recognize the holiday was New York and followed by all the northern states. However, the south refused to honor their dead on this day until after WWI, when the the holiday was changed to honor all who have died in all wars fought.
Remember the red poppies? Many of our nation do not even know the term, but the red poppy got its start when Moina Michael wrote a response to the poem "Flander's Field."
Originally called Decoration Day, the town of origin is not known. Perhaps it started simultaniously in towns through out the states involved in the Civil War. Memorial Day was officially proclaimed by General John Logan on May 5, 1868 and observed on May 30th, as flowers were laid on the graves of both Union and Confereate Soldiers at Arlington National Cemetary. Even though its actual beginning is not known, LBJ, in 1966, declared Waterloo, NY, as its birth place. (Didn't sit well with those in the south and probably still doesn't.)
The first state to officially recognize the holiday was New York and followed by all the northern states. However, the south refused to honor their dead on this day until after WWI, when the the holiday was changed to honor all who have died in all wars fought.
Remember the red poppies? Many of our nation do not even know the term, but the red poppy got its start when Moina Michael wrote a response to the poem "Flander's Field."
We cherish too, the Poppy red
That grows on fields where valor led
It seems to signal to the skies
That blood of heroes never dies.
Ms Michael then conceived the idea of the red poppies to be sold on Memorial Day in honor of those who died serving the nation during war. The money was given to charities supporting the veterans of these wars. I wonder if we could bring this tradition back?
In 1971, the Memorial was set as the last Monday of May by the National Holiday Act, and this began the three day week end. It also began the demise of the original intent: that of honoring those who gave the ultimate sacrifice for their country and its liberties.
There is nothing wrong with having family get togethers and fun on this day, but let us, please, take time to give honor where honor is due. Personally, I want to thank Issac Diaz and Justin Hebert's families for their sacrifice... These deaths in the WAR ON TERROR touched home. May God richly bless the families of our fallen and give them peace. May the God of all Glory protect and keep those serving today.
Saturday, May 26, 2012
Critters in MY Back Yard
Many days I am able to sit and look out through the doors that lead from the kitchen to the deck, and I am amazed at the variety of birds (nope, I don't know all the species) and large number of squirrels. I have feeders hanging from the tree just out from the door, so this certainly helps keep the "drama" before my eyes.
I love to see the cardinals, blue jays, mockingbirds and doves as they interact with all the others that I truly can not name. Of late, there has been an unusual romance taking place in front of my eyes. A dove and a blue jay seem to have hit it off. The dove usually shows up first with the blue jay close behind. If there are no squirrels at the feeders, they will sit on the flat feeder and eat, but if the squirrels are there, they will sit on the tree branch above. Now, I have to admit up front that I do not know the difference between the sexes of these particular birds, but these two seem quite smitten with one another. This is not normal...
Blue jays and mockingbirds are normally territorial, and they will chase off other birds, even other animals. Doves are quiet and gentle and will hang around the ground beneath the feeders when either of these two species are around. So, what is going on here? To be sure, I am not complaining, just curious. It is amusing to watch.
Most days the feeders are full of squirrels, so all of the birds eat from the ground. I have noticed that the doves will allow all other species to eat first and quietly wait their turn. The thought came to me today of the dove used in Genesis and then again with the baptism of Jesus. Their gentleness is certainly documented. I wonder what lesson we could learn from these beautiful creatures?
Squirrels are a totally different story! They are entertaining, but self-centered and messy. They have no respect for others and seem to have a me first mentality. They do not care about others of their same species, let alone those of another. They remind me of the occupy group that is trashing some of our major cities... Chattering and fighting for the right to take over and get all the free handouts, but won't lift a finger (or would that be a toe????) to assist another: just grab and take.
Strange how one can see animal traits in humans, but even stranger to see human traits in animals--like this dove and blue jay. Surely, there is a message here.
I love to see the cardinals, blue jays, mockingbirds and doves as they interact with all the others that I truly can not name. Of late, there has been an unusual romance taking place in front of my eyes. A dove and a blue jay seem to have hit it off. The dove usually shows up first with the blue jay close behind. If there are no squirrels at the feeders, they will sit on the flat feeder and eat, but if the squirrels are there, they will sit on the tree branch above. Now, I have to admit up front that I do not know the difference between the sexes of these particular birds, but these two seem quite smitten with one another. This is not normal...
Blue jays and mockingbirds are normally territorial, and they will chase off other birds, even other animals. Doves are quiet and gentle and will hang around the ground beneath the feeders when either of these two species are around. So, what is going on here? To be sure, I am not complaining, just curious. It is amusing to watch.
Most days the feeders are full of squirrels, so all of the birds eat from the ground. I have noticed that the doves will allow all other species to eat first and quietly wait their turn. The thought came to me today of the dove used in Genesis and then again with the baptism of Jesus. Their gentleness is certainly documented. I wonder what lesson we could learn from these beautiful creatures?
Squirrels are a totally different story! They are entertaining, but self-centered and messy. They have no respect for others and seem to have a me first mentality. They do not care about others of their same species, let alone those of another. They remind me of the occupy group that is trashing some of our major cities... Chattering and fighting for the right to take over and get all the free handouts, but won't lift a finger (or would that be a toe????) to assist another: just grab and take.
Strange how one can see animal traits in humans, but even stranger to see human traits in animals--like this dove and blue jay. Surely, there is a message here.
Sunday, May 20, 2012
Written during the summer of 1990: Strength from a Troubled Heart
Strength from a Troubled Heart
Annette Tewell
Sitting at the window, trying to
concentrate on the task as hand, my mind has been doing some really crazy
things. I keep darting back in time,
flitting from one thing to another: the
love I have felt, the difficult times, and the tragic memories of far too many
dreams smashed against the rocks. If a
person’s life truly flashes before them prior to death, I wonder if this is to
be my last day.
I feel reasonably sure that my
confrontation with Mr. Dee is the reason for my mixed emotions. The years I have spent, and the long hours I
have poured over books and papers seem to have been for naught. One more time my dreams and desires are in
the hands of a seemingly, uncaring
individual. One more time I am left to
pick up the pieces and try to find a place to start over. Is this another trial? Is the Lord trying me for a reason? What in my life is so unpolished that the
Lord finds need to chastise me over and over with one heart-rending trial after
another?
Mom is there, along with Richard, Tony,
and David. The ups and downs of my early
years flood in like the rolling tide in the midst of a storm. The day we left Pennsylvania, never to see
our family and friends again: David chose to stay, and one piece of my heart
was left to wiggle and wither in the dust of our home place. Our new home would become a jungle of terror
and confusion. The man mom had chosen to
marry became a tyrannical madman. His
crazed notions of what home life should be nearly drove all of us insane.
The memory of Tony boarding the bus in San
Antonio, to return to Pennsylvania because Bill could not accept him as a son,
still causes tears to spring to my eyes.
His last words as he boarded that bus, “Vaya con Dios,” still ring in my
ears. His teasing laughter gone from our
midst caused another piece of my heart to be ripped from my chest and thrown to
the tear-streaked ground. What with
David and Tony both gone, I became the oldest child at home, and life took on
some unexpected twists.
We were in Texas for about Two years, and
most of that time is a blur. Only short,
occasional memories float in and cascade through the rivulets of my mind. Like the time the road near our building was
re-tarred and, on a dare, I ran across it only to have to run back across it
with masses of warm sticky tar bulging from my feet. Walking across the lawn and drive way proved
to be a nightmare. All the grass, rocks, and burrs became part of
that oozing mass attached to my once bare feet.
With all the other army brats standing around jeering, I made my way to
the second floor landing and called to Mom.
It took nearly a week to get all of the tar and foreign objects off of
my feet! I was not only homebound and
humiliated; I was sentenced to sleeping on the bare floor to keep tar from
staining the furniture and sheets.
We moved to Louisiana when Bill was
transferred to Germany. We lived near my
step- grandfather until we were able to leave for Germany, too. Christmas that year proved to be an
exceptionally different one. At home, in
Pennsylvania, we had big wonderfully decorated trees. The Christmases spent in San Antonio were a
far cry from the beautiful white Christmases celebrated back home with huge
family gatherings that proved to be quite boisterous and fun-filled, but even
these toned down Christmases did not prepare us for the one in Louisiana. To begin with, we were to leave for Germany
the following January, so most of our belongings had already been packed and
picked up by the government movers. As
near as I can remember, we had just enough dishes, sheets, towels, etc. to make
do. As Christmas day approached, Richard
and I began to trouble Mom for a tree.
Her explanation of no decorations did not squelch our desire for the
traditions of Christmas. About two or
three days before the big day, we stepped out into the yard and broke a big
berry-studded holly branch from a tree.
Singing and joking we carried it into the big room that served as both
bedroom and living room. Standing it in
a milk bottle, we stood back to admire our Christmas tree. It definitely needed some decorations. For the next few days, Richard and I made
foil bells out of foil milk jug caps, and we made a multi-colored paper chain
to wrap around our tree, while Mom made cookies and sang Christmas carols.
Finally, Christmas Eve! That night, as Richard and I lay in bed, I
recall trying to convince my baby brother that there really was a Santa
Claus. In my heart I knew that a big
part of the joy of Christmas ended when the greatest myth in the world was no
longer believed. The fire in the fireplace
and lights from the kitchen reflected on the foil bells, cookie aromas hung in
the air, and we were happy. Sometime
during the night, Santa did make his appearance. That was the last merry Christmas for many
years to come.
I enjoyed living on the various bases in
Germany because military people away from home are like a close knit
family. There were no hateful
prejudices, and everyone was accepted. I
was able to visit old castles, the Guttenberg Bible Museum, walk through
forests, climb up mountains and stroll through quaint little villages. School was great, and I made many lasting
friendships. Home life was hell. Bill’s
drinking and rages became daily events.
School and friends became my oasis, and these are memories I welcome: playing
and chasing our fox Rex, learning to ballroom dance, playing baseball, learning
to play the accordion, playing Betsy Ross in a play at school, buying Mom
yellow roses for Mother’s Day, and riding the bike day in and day out.
I have sat here for hours allowing my mind
to take me on one journey after another.
It was good to be involved with Mom and the boys again, but reality is
Mom and David are gone and Tony and Richard are far away living their own
lives, and I have got to get on with mine.
I, too, have family to support and, if Mr. Dee feels that I am too soft
spoken to do the job he wants done, wait until I get through letting him hear
what I have to say to him come Monday. I am quite capable of handling anything
that comes my way. The Lord and I make a
majority, and Mr. Dee is going to find this out!
Saturday, May 12, 2012
Unpacked Boxes
Strange how things happen. I was on my out through the garage Wednesday afternoon to do some yard work. I wanted to snip the growth on my crepe myrtles before it became unmanageable, when I noticed the boxes I had yet to unpack. (They have been sitting there for six years.) Most of them are books and I have no place to put them because I do not have a bookcase large enough to hold them, so I have left them packed. But, Wednesday I stopped and looked at the boxes and thought, "Why not." So, I began to open the first box.
As expected the box was full of books for the most part. Not ordinary books though, this box was filled with bibles that had, at one time, been used by my children, a close friend, and me. As I took them out to examine them, memories and tears began to flood. My mom's bible that Claudette used after her grandma died was the first. Mom, how I miss you... Aren't you glad you went to church with me that long ago Sunday morning? I was so surprised that morning. As we were dressing I noticed you were dressing too, and I asked you what you were doing. You told me that you thought you would go with me and the kids. I nearly danced a jig!!! How many times before had you said no when I asked if you wanted to go? I finally told you that I would not bother you any more about going but that when you got ready, just let me know and you would be more than welcome to go with us. I didn't stop praying though mom... I am going to give Claudette the bible when I see her next. I think she will enjoy having it.
I also found Chrystal's and Booger's bibles. More memories and more tears. I will keep Booger's for awhile; maybe, one day I will give it to David, if he wants it. I gave Chrystal hers on Thursday, during lunch. It put a smile on her face... so many memories tied up in their childhood bibles.
I found one of mine that I had used for years. It is probably thirty-four or thirty-five years old. There is a poem tucked into its pages entitled "God's Loan." It starts off with "I'll lend you for a little time this child of mine, he said, For you to have the while he lives and mourn for when he's dead..." The poem was given to my sister-in-law to give to me after the death of Johnny.
Another paper tucked into those pages was something I had written years ago about two of my sons. About them standing with the wind running its fingers through their blond hair. Man, am I the biggest cry baby or what? Old memories are so very precious, but they certainly have a way of brimming the eyes with tears...
With in that box I also found a pair of tennis shoes that Booger and David wore when they were very small. It is hard to believe that they were once very small. At least at that age I was able to protect them from some of the pain and troubles of this old world. It would be nice if that were possible again.
Along with the shoes I found a bootee that I had crocheted for Booger while he was in the hospital trying to grow enough to come home. It is so very, very tiny! Those who knew him would not believe how small he once was... I miss you boys so much! Are you giving grandma a run for her money? She never knew you this side of heaven, but I know she would have recognized you immediately.
The next box was filled with old year books: so many books and so many memories. Memories of my children and their friends locked into the pages of these reminders of a different time. I don't know what I will do with these books. I couldn't bring myself to look into them, but I will at another time because tucked into one end of that box were two folders and a booklet that needed examination first.
One folder contained cards and notes that had been given to me from the members of one of my psychology classes and work Booger and David had done in elementary school. Yep, more tears...
These really cute pieces of work brought a chuckle too. One was a poem David wrote about a pig!
One folder contained John's journal from Mr. Pope's English class. He hated journal writing and probably would not have been pleased to know that his mother would one day use the same technique with her students. Some of his entries were similar to ones I have seen many times: "Why do we have to write these dumb journals? No one likes to write them. Doesn't Mr. Pope have anything better to do than to make us write these?..." But, then there were the ones that nearly stopped my heart. One in particular asked the question, "If I died, would anyone remember me?" Oh, Johnny, if you only knew how often you are remembered and by how many. You have not been forgotten son, not by a long shot. In another he wrote of how he wanted to join the army but felt that they would not take him because of the surgery he had had to mend his intestines when they were ruptured. I never knew this about you John... Another was his descriptions of his brothers' and sisters' personalities. That was cute and right on!!!
I didn't open the booklet Booger made in first or second grade. I just did not think my heart could take it. So many sweet, sweet memories mixed with the pain of separation. Nope, that booklet will have to wait for another day.
I never made it to the crepe myrtle and then the rain started. Perhaps tomorrow, if it does not rain.
As expected the box was full of books for the most part. Not ordinary books though, this box was filled with bibles that had, at one time, been used by my children, a close friend, and me. As I took them out to examine them, memories and tears began to flood. My mom's bible that Claudette used after her grandma died was the first. Mom, how I miss you... Aren't you glad you went to church with me that long ago Sunday morning? I was so surprised that morning. As we were dressing I noticed you were dressing too, and I asked you what you were doing. You told me that you thought you would go with me and the kids. I nearly danced a jig!!! How many times before had you said no when I asked if you wanted to go? I finally told you that I would not bother you any more about going but that when you got ready, just let me know and you would be more than welcome to go with us. I didn't stop praying though mom... I am going to give Claudette the bible when I see her next. I think she will enjoy having it.
I also found Chrystal's and Booger's bibles. More memories and more tears. I will keep Booger's for awhile; maybe, one day I will give it to David, if he wants it. I gave Chrystal hers on Thursday, during lunch. It put a smile on her face... so many memories tied up in their childhood bibles.
I found one of mine that I had used for years. It is probably thirty-four or thirty-five years old. There is a poem tucked into its pages entitled "God's Loan." It starts off with "I'll lend you for a little time this child of mine, he said, For you to have the while he lives and mourn for when he's dead..." The poem was given to my sister-in-law to give to me after the death of Johnny.
Another paper tucked into those pages was something I had written years ago about two of my sons. About them standing with the wind running its fingers through their blond hair. Man, am I the biggest cry baby or what? Old memories are so very precious, but they certainly have a way of brimming the eyes with tears...
With in that box I also found a pair of tennis shoes that Booger and David wore when they were very small. It is hard to believe that they were once very small. At least at that age I was able to protect them from some of the pain and troubles of this old world. It would be nice if that were possible again.
Along with the shoes I found a bootee that I had crocheted for Booger while he was in the hospital trying to grow enough to come home. It is so very, very tiny! Those who knew him would not believe how small he once was... I miss you boys so much! Are you giving grandma a run for her money? She never knew you this side of heaven, but I know she would have recognized you immediately.
The next box was filled with old year books: so many books and so many memories. Memories of my children and their friends locked into the pages of these reminders of a different time. I don't know what I will do with these books. I couldn't bring myself to look into them, but I will at another time because tucked into one end of that box were two folders and a booklet that needed examination first.
One folder contained cards and notes that had been given to me from the members of one of my psychology classes and work Booger and David had done in elementary school. Yep, more tears...
These really cute pieces of work brought a chuckle too. One was a poem David wrote about a pig!
One folder contained John's journal from Mr. Pope's English class. He hated journal writing and probably would not have been pleased to know that his mother would one day use the same technique with her students. Some of his entries were similar to ones I have seen many times: "Why do we have to write these dumb journals? No one likes to write them. Doesn't Mr. Pope have anything better to do than to make us write these?..." But, then there were the ones that nearly stopped my heart. One in particular asked the question, "If I died, would anyone remember me?" Oh, Johnny, if you only knew how often you are remembered and by how many. You have not been forgotten son, not by a long shot. In another he wrote of how he wanted to join the army but felt that they would not take him because of the surgery he had had to mend his intestines when they were ruptured. I never knew this about you John... Another was his descriptions of his brothers' and sisters' personalities. That was cute and right on!!!
I didn't open the booklet Booger made in first or second grade. I just did not think my heart could take it. So many sweet, sweet memories mixed with the pain of separation. Nope, that booklet will have to wait for another day.
I never made it to the crepe myrtle and then the rain started. Perhaps tomorrow, if it does not rain.
Monday, May 7, 2012
Fathers and Their Influence
Last week I received notice of a writing contest, of sorts, being offered by Focus on the Family. They were calling for stories on the importance of a father in the home. There is nothing I would love more than to be able to write about the influence my father had on my brothers and me. But, there is nothing I can say. I didn't know him. I remember seeing him one time, and his lie to me of, "I'll be here when you get back," is probably the basis of many of my quirks.
This evening I was watching a Dec.16, 2008, rerun of NCIS entitled Silent Night in-which a father and daughter were reunited after seventeen years. A truly happy ending... I cry at happy endings as much as I cry during sad ones. But, it made me think once again of my dad and the pain of not having him in my life. Why? So very many questions that have been unanswered over the years, and the pain is still very, very real.
Wouldn't it be great if I were the only one to ever hurt because of an absentee father? I mean if I were the only one to have ever walked through life not knowing where her dad was day in and day out, wouldn't that be great? There are far too many of us out here; far too many women still longing to hear a father's voice encouraging them, feel his arms protecting them, and way, way too many young girls looking for this love in all the wrong places. Fathers are needed!!!
Some of the things a loving father in the home can give to his children are confidence, encouragement, pride, and a strong sense of belonging. Those of us on the other end of this spectrum feel rejected, unworthy, shameful, and have no sense of belonging. Add to this the impact of possible failed relationships due to this baggage, and you can have a lifetime of pain. I don't believe this is what fathers are wanting to do... Not years ago and not now.
The influence a father has on his children reaches far beyond the developmental years. It spans an entire lifetime...
My oldest brother went to live with an aunt and uncle when he was around fourteen, but prior to that he spent every weekend and summer with them. I hardly knew him, and did not see him again until he moved to Rio Hondo, after returning from his military service, when I was about fifteen. My older brother was sent to live with another family member about a year later. I was twelve when I saw him again. The pain they experienced can not be measured. Their insecurities and alcoholism caused them much grief.
My younger brother and I were raised, in part and briefly, by a step-father who grew more abusive toward my mother with each passing day. That nightmare ended when a doctor told my mother to get me out of that stressful relationship, or I would end up in the hospital. She left him and continued to raise us on her own. But, once again, my brother and I lost a father figure--albeit a dangerous one.
The influence of a father reaches far beyond childhood...
Being married to an abusive husband was not easy, but I did not want my children to grow up without a father. I did not want my daughters to go through life feeling they were less than perfect. Girls definitely need their dad!!!
When the divorce did occur, my two youngest sons were the ones most hurt. I was past feeling, but they still needed to know dad cared. The happiest scenario would have been them spending weekends and every other holiday with him, but they didn't...
One son left this world and went to the arms of a real loving Father and the youngest fell into the only comfort he could find... drugs. To be sure, the influence of a dad goes well into adulthood.
Friends, over the years, have told me to allow Christ to be my father, and I have, for the most part. But, I would be lying if I said I never feel the need to have a hug from a real human being. I know that most of us who grew up without a dad in our lives feel this way. I have forgiven my father, step-father, and ex, and I truly hope they found happiness; I could not hang on to the anger I felt. However, the pain of rejection and shame still haunts this old lady and causes me to want to shield the younger ones who are experiencing the same thing. The influence of a dad reaches ... and reaches...
If you are a father, whether in the home or out, please, please, find the time to hug your children close and SHOW them that you love them. Allow the influence of a dad to reach directly into the heart and give your children a strong sense of confidence, pride, and belonging. They will have no trouble believing they are also loved by a heavenly Father! The influence of a father is that important.
This evening I was watching a Dec.16, 2008, rerun of NCIS entitled Silent Night in-which a father and daughter were reunited after seventeen years. A truly happy ending... I cry at happy endings as much as I cry during sad ones. But, it made me think once again of my dad and the pain of not having him in my life. Why? So very many questions that have been unanswered over the years, and the pain is still very, very real.
Wouldn't it be great if I were the only one to ever hurt because of an absentee father? I mean if I were the only one to have ever walked through life not knowing where her dad was day in and day out, wouldn't that be great? There are far too many of us out here; far too many women still longing to hear a father's voice encouraging them, feel his arms protecting them, and way, way too many young girls looking for this love in all the wrong places. Fathers are needed!!!
Some of the things a loving father in the home can give to his children are confidence, encouragement, pride, and a strong sense of belonging. Those of us on the other end of this spectrum feel rejected, unworthy, shameful, and have no sense of belonging. Add to this the impact of possible failed relationships due to this baggage, and you can have a lifetime of pain. I don't believe this is what fathers are wanting to do... Not years ago and not now.
The influence a father has on his children reaches far beyond the developmental years. It spans an entire lifetime...
My oldest brother went to live with an aunt and uncle when he was around fourteen, but prior to that he spent every weekend and summer with them. I hardly knew him, and did not see him again until he moved to Rio Hondo, after returning from his military service, when I was about fifteen. My older brother was sent to live with another family member about a year later. I was twelve when I saw him again. The pain they experienced can not be measured. Their insecurities and alcoholism caused them much grief.
My younger brother and I were raised, in part and briefly, by a step-father who grew more abusive toward my mother with each passing day. That nightmare ended when a doctor told my mother to get me out of that stressful relationship, or I would end up in the hospital. She left him and continued to raise us on her own. But, once again, my brother and I lost a father figure--albeit a dangerous one.
The influence of a father reaches far beyond childhood...
Being married to an abusive husband was not easy, but I did not want my children to grow up without a father. I did not want my daughters to go through life feeling they were less than perfect. Girls definitely need their dad!!!
When the divorce did occur, my two youngest sons were the ones most hurt. I was past feeling, but they still needed to know dad cared. The happiest scenario would have been them spending weekends and every other holiday with him, but they didn't...
One son left this world and went to the arms of a real loving Father and the youngest fell into the only comfort he could find... drugs. To be sure, the influence of a dad goes well into adulthood.
Friends, over the years, have told me to allow Christ to be my father, and I have, for the most part. But, I would be lying if I said I never feel the need to have a hug from a real human being. I know that most of us who grew up without a dad in our lives feel this way. I have forgiven my father, step-father, and ex, and I truly hope they found happiness; I could not hang on to the anger I felt. However, the pain of rejection and shame still haunts this old lady and causes me to want to shield the younger ones who are experiencing the same thing. The influence of a dad reaches ... and reaches...
If you are a father, whether in the home or out, please, please, find the time to hug your children close and SHOW them that you love them. Allow the influence of a dad to reach directly into the heart and give your children a strong sense of confidence, pride, and belonging. They will have no trouble believing they are also loved by a heavenly Father! The influence of a father is that important.
Sunday, March 11, 2012
Christmas time 2007
Wednesday, December 19, 2007 12:19:41 PM
Today has been interesting to say the least. My students, except for one
so far on the high school level, have decided to take an early release.
LOL I realize that most kids and some teachers too do not see the need to
be here... I mean, good grief, we are getting out for Christmas Break
today!!! Anyway, I have been able to get a few cards written and mailed
some packages during my break earlier, so I won't complain.
My drive this morning was truly beautiful. I was expecting fog because
the news caster was warning of a dense fog until 9 a.m. especially in the
hill country. Guess what... he was wrong... no fog except right over
the lake. The sun was just peeking out from beneath his pink covers this
morning when I tried to let Babi out, but he was really stretching by the
time I headed south on Bagdad. He was still hiding beneath his cloud
cover, but I could tell he had already put his gold sun suit on. Just
think, this same playful orb that lights our way, was there over Bethlehem
when our Lord was born. I wonder if he tried to hide beneath a cloud
cover then.
The hills look so beautiful in their dark winter greens! There are many
different shades and with the sun shining from his cloud cover the greens
are even darker. The lights from the houses were visible this
morning----because I left the house earlier than normal---and they look so
inviting. My prayers were for my kiddoes and friends this morning. May
we all realize the Love the LORD has for us and do all we can to exhibit
HIS love to this hurting world. Sometimes those who are the most
difficult to love need it the most.
My favorite little clearing by the creek was so peaceful this morning.
There is a log cabin towards the back of the property and the hill
surrounds the property line --- the rock and tree contrast is fantastic.
The naked trees in front give it a real Norman Rockwell feel. GOD is such
a wonderful landscape artist!!!!
Looking out over the lake, I could see the billowing cloud that was
resting on the water. How neat is that!!!
The sun would jump from hill to hill behind me and blind me through the
mirrors as I drove. He was his normal playful self this morning. His
glowing on the hillsides set that tall grass afire with his brilliant
glare.
Jonestown is all lit up with Christmas lights and the cross at the edge of
town was still lit as I passed by, and on the hill top up from the cross
was the star and it too was lit. So appropriate for this time of year.
The star that signaled HIS arrival and the cross that signaled HIS
departure... HE has promised in Jeremiah
to show us great and mighty things if we call out to HIM... the star and
cross were great and mighty... HIS people were calling out to HIM. Today
we need to call out to HIM... We need to see HIM for who HE is and
worship HIM as the KING of kings and LORD of lords. Our world is hurting,
and we know the one who can stop the hurt... it is our duty to ask...
I love this time of year and pray that you do too. It is not the getting
and giving that make it beautiful. It is the turning from ourselves and
reaching out to others in love that make this time of year so special.
The ringing of Merry Christmas as we celebrate HIM... May God bless all
of you this Christmas with a lasting love for those HE has placed in your
path. Don't forget our troops who are far from home and the families who
await them. Pray for our country and its leaders. He still hears and
answers prayers.
Merry Christmas and may you have a prosperous new year.
Love you, mom
Today has been interesting to say the least. My students, except for one
so far on the high school level, have decided to take an early release.
LOL I realize that most kids and some teachers too do not see the need to
be here... I mean, good grief, we are getting out for Christmas Break
today!!! Anyway, I have been able to get a few cards written and mailed
some packages during my break earlier, so I won't complain.
My drive this morning was truly beautiful. I was expecting fog because
the news caster was warning of a dense fog until 9 a.m. especially in the
hill country. Guess what... he was wrong... no fog except right over
the lake. The sun was just peeking out from beneath his pink covers this
morning when I tried to let Babi out, but he was really stretching by the
time I headed south on Bagdad. He was still hiding beneath his cloud
cover, but I could tell he had already put his gold sun suit on. Just
think, this same playful orb that lights our way, was there over Bethlehem
when our Lord was born. I wonder if he tried to hide beneath a cloud
cover then.
The hills look so beautiful in their dark winter greens! There are many
different shades and with the sun shining from his cloud cover the greens
are even darker. The lights from the houses were visible this
morning----because I left the house earlier than normal---and they look so
inviting. My prayers were for my kiddoes and friends this morning. May
we all realize the Love the LORD has for us and do all we can to exhibit
HIS love to this hurting world. Sometimes those who are the most
difficult to love need it the most.
My favorite little clearing by the creek was so peaceful this morning.
There is a log cabin towards the back of the property and the hill
surrounds the property line --- the rock and tree contrast is fantastic.
The naked trees in front give it a real Norman Rockwell feel. GOD is such
a wonderful landscape artist!!!!
Looking out over the lake, I could see the billowing cloud that was
resting on the water. How neat is that!!!
The sun would jump from hill to hill behind me and blind me through the
mirrors as I drove. He was his normal playful self this morning. His
glowing on the hillsides set that tall grass afire with his brilliant
glare.
Jonestown is all lit up with Christmas lights and the cross at the edge of
town was still lit as I passed by, and on the hill top up from the cross
was the star and it too was lit. So appropriate for this time of year.
The star that signaled HIS arrival and the cross that signaled HIS
departure... HE has promised in Jeremiah
to show us great and mighty things if we call out to HIM... the star and
cross were great and mighty... HIS people were calling out to HIM. Today
we need to call out to HIM... We need to see HIM for who HE is and
worship HIM as the KING of kings and LORD of lords. Our world is hurting,
and we know the one who can stop the hurt... it is our duty to ask...
I love this time of year and pray that you do too. It is not the getting
and giving that make it beautiful. It is the turning from ourselves and
reaching out to others in love that make this time of year so special.
The ringing of Merry Christmas as we celebrate HIM... May God bless all
of you this Christmas with a lasting love for those HE has placed in your
path. Don't forget our troops who are far from home and the families who
await them. Pray for our country and its leaders. He still hears and
answers prayers.
Merry Christmas and may you have a prosperous new year.
Love you, mom
Much has changed in my life since this was written, but reading it again this afternoon, reminded me that we are to thoroughly enjoy every season of life.
February 23, 2012
Since early November I have been praying for snow. I did see some during the Christmas holidays in the Dallas area, but I truly wanted some here in Cedar Park. Today the Lord answered that prayer.
The students were so excited and many of the adults were too. :-) Finally, around 10a.m. we received word that we would dismiss at 12:30... yeaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaa
I truly am sorry that so many people see only the harshness of winter. There is a time for every season and winter is meant to be enjoyed just as one might enjoy spring. In fact, some might enjoy spring more so after experiencing a real winter.
Saturday, March 10, 2012
The Blessing of Flowers
I have just recently finished a study on the book of James, and part of the homework for the lesson about two weeks ago dealt with sharing the things we have or hoard. I definitely would not be considered a hoarder, unless someone would consider my books an excess. I do have many books, but what English major doesn't? So, to complete this homework, my mind was filtering through the things I possess, and stopped on the number of vases I have. I have been blessed in recent years to have been on the receiving end of flower arrangements sent for various occasions, and I have a multitude of vases of various colors and shapes. What can I do with vases? Who would want vases? These were the questions going through my mind when I talked with Chrys about my plight. We discussed several options when she said, "Or, you could take flowers to people in the nursing home in them." Wow! What a fabulous idea from the youngest of my very creative daughters.
There is a nursing home that I used to pass on my way to work. The mornings when the first responder vehicles were parked at the entrance door were heart wrenching. I called the home and spoke with the activity director and told her of my desire. She asked me to come in and fill our some volunteer paper work the next day. The next day while talking with her she told me that she got chills when she was talking with me on the phone because one of the residents had been looking for flowers that she just knew her son had sent. (there were no flowers) She just wandered around looking to see if they had been left somewhere. I asked the name of the lady and told her I would bring some for her later that day. I also told her I would bring some each Saturday, so she gave me a list of names that could use some cheering. List in hand, I headed home ...
When I returned later that day, I left the flowers with a nurse and told her the name of the lady to receive the flowers. "Don't tell her where they came from even if she asks. Just allow her to believe anything she wants to about the origin of the flowers, I admonished." Hopefully, she believes she received them from her son.
Today, I put together a pretty bouquet of white daisies and yellow roses and dressed the container in yellow before heading to the home. My recipient this dreary, rainy day would be a lady named Stella. Don't you just love that old fashioned name? I was told she was a little on the lonely side and spent a lot of time in her room, and she does not have a room mate. Walking into her room I noticed a nurse or nurses aide writing on a computerized chart near the door. She sure looked grumpy! Stella was standing with her back slightly toward me, and I called her name so as not to startle her. Turning around, her eyes were locked on the flowers and then she looked at me and smiled the biggest smile. The flowers are so beautiful she said. I let her know they were hers, and her eyes filled with tears. She sat onto her walker and said, "Today has been one of the lowest days of my life. I couldn't even get out of bed until a few minutes ago and, now, here you are brightening my day." Tears were in her eyes and mine. I gave her a hug and asked where I could set the flowers. "Put them right here on the dresser so that everyone can enjoy them," she said.
We talked for awhile and I learned that she has been in that home for two years, and she misses her home in Colorado. Her son brought her to Cedar Park because he did not want her to be alone and then after awhile he put her in the home. He visits her for about 15 minutes four mornings a week on his way to work. The rest of the time she sees no one because all of her friends are in Colorado. She is no longer able to talk on the phone because her hearing is so bad. If she said it once, she said it a dozen times, "I know God will not put upon me more than I can bear, but I am so lonely." I would like to see that son of hers!
Her favorite colors to wear are black and white; although, she loves spring colors and especially yellow. (thank you Lord for leading me in that direction) Roses are her favorite of all flowers, but she enjoys them all. I wonder if her son knows this about her?
We talked awhile longer and as I started to leave, I promised her I would return. She is 89 years young and except for a frail body, she is in full control of her faculties. No wonder at all why she feels so lonely.
I left that place with a few more hugs and being called an angel (be sure I am not) knowing that I had gone in there to try to bless a person who may have been forgotten, and I left there feeling like I had received the biggest blessing of all. There is no greater feeling in the world than to know that for a short period of time you have been used by God to bring a smile and hope to another individual. This day certainly proved to me again that we can not out give God, the One from whom all blessings flow.
There is a nursing home that I used to pass on my way to work. The mornings when the first responder vehicles were parked at the entrance door were heart wrenching. I called the home and spoke with the activity director and told her of my desire. She asked me to come in and fill our some volunteer paper work the next day. The next day while talking with her she told me that she got chills when she was talking with me on the phone because one of the residents had been looking for flowers that she just knew her son had sent. (there were no flowers) She just wandered around looking to see if they had been left somewhere. I asked the name of the lady and told her I would bring some for her later that day. I also told her I would bring some each Saturday, so she gave me a list of names that could use some cheering. List in hand, I headed home ...
When I returned later that day, I left the flowers with a nurse and told her the name of the lady to receive the flowers. "Don't tell her where they came from even if she asks. Just allow her to believe anything she wants to about the origin of the flowers, I admonished." Hopefully, she believes she received them from her son.
Today, I put together a pretty bouquet of white daisies and yellow roses and dressed the container in yellow before heading to the home. My recipient this dreary, rainy day would be a lady named Stella. Don't you just love that old fashioned name? I was told she was a little on the lonely side and spent a lot of time in her room, and she does not have a room mate. Walking into her room I noticed a nurse or nurses aide writing on a computerized chart near the door. She sure looked grumpy! Stella was standing with her back slightly toward me, and I called her name so as not to startle her. Turning around, her eyes were locked on the flowers and then she looked at me and smiled the biggest smile. The flowers are so beautiful she said. I let her know they were hers, and her eyes filled with tears. She sat onto her walker and said, "Today has been one of the lowest days of my life. I couldn't even get out of bed until a few minutes ago and, now, here you are brightening my day." Tears were in her eyes and mine. I gave her a hug and asked where I could set the flowers. "Put them right here on the dresser so that everyone can enjoy them," she said.
We talked for awhile and I learned that she has been in that home for two years, and she misses her home in Colorado. Her son brought her to Cedar Park because he did not want her to be alone and then after awhile he put her in the home. He visits her for about 15 minutes four mornings a week on his way to work. The rest of the time she sees no one because all of her friends are in Colorado. She is no longer able to talk on the phone because her hearing is so bad. If she said it once, she said it a dozen times, "I know God will not put upon me more than I can bear, but I am so lonely." I would like to see that son of hers!
Her favorite colors to wear are black and white; although, she loves spring colors and especially yellow. (thank you Lord for leading me in that direction) Roses are her favorite of all flowers, but she enjoys them all. I wonder if her son knows this about her?
We talked awhile longer and as I started to leave, I promised her I would return. She is 89 years young and except for a frail body, she is in full control of her faculties. No wonder at all why she feels so lonely.
I left that place with a few more hugs and being called an angel (be sure I am not) knowing that I had gone in there to try to bless a person who may have been forgotten, and I left there feeling like I had received the biggest blessing of all. There is no greater feeling in the world than to know that for a short period of time you have been used by God to bring a smile and hope to another individual. This day certainly proved to me again that we can not out give God, the One from whom all blessings flow.
Act of Valor
I went to see the movie Act of Valor yesterday with strict orders to write a critique. A friend of mine is hoping to see this awesome movie at some point, but I really think she might be a little scared of its content. She has nothing to fear!
I do not appreciate foul language at any time (really hated to hear it in my classroom), but I do know that when men of most sorts get together, there is language flowing that could be cleaned up. So, that being said, the language in the film lost its sting because of the action on the screen. Would I have not said something similar if I had been in the same situation?
Another of her possible fears might be the violence depicted in the movie. Yes, there is violence. BUT, those men on both the receiving and giving end of it are AMERICAN NAVY SEALS. God alone knows what these men have seen and dealt with throughout their careers. I am so squeamish that I jump and hide my eyes when anything unexpected happens on the screen. However, except for two places in the movie last night, my eyes were glued to the screen. I could never shake the thought that these men on the screen were OUR DEFENDERS. One could have reached through the screen and grabbed my coffee, and I would have asked if he wanted a burger to go with it. We do not do enough for our men of valor.
I loved the way the SEALS were introduced during the first few minutes. My heart went out to them and their families. God knows the sacrifices these and others make for this country. It brought home the danger they face daily. Makes our daily problems with traffic and boredom seem so petty.
I cried several times, but the memorial at the end brought the most tears. So many young men have willingly given their lives that we might enjoy ours. The list of names makes the heart melt.
The directors Mike McCoy and Scott Waugh have said this is only the beginning of what they hope to bring to the screen showing the courage and strength of character our military exhibits. I say bring it on!
It must be understood that I am patriotic through and through. I am definitely biased! I love this country with a passion, and I am deeply grateful to the men and women who defend it. I grew up a military brat, so maybe that is why my heart beats the way it does. Military is in the blood and I am certainly proud of it. To my dad and step dad, my three brothers, two uncles, son, grandson, and former students who have served and are serving, thank you from the bottom of my heart. May God bless you each and every one, and may GOD truly BLESS AMERICA!
That being said, go see the movie...
I do not appreciate foul language at any time (really hated to hear it in my classroom), but I do know that when men of most sorts get together, there is language flowing that could be cleaned up. So, that being said, the language in the film lost its sting because of the action on the screen. Would I have not said something similar if I had been in the same situation?
Another of her possible fears might be the violence depicted in the movie. Yes, there is violence. BUT, those men on both the receiving and giving end of it are AMERICAN NAVY SEALS. God alone knows what these men have seen and dealt with throughout their careers. I am so squeamish that I jump and hide my eyes when anything unexpected happens on the screen. However, except for two places in the movie last night, my eyes were glued to the screen. I could never shake the thought that these men on the screen were OUR DEFENDERS. One could have reached through the screen and grabbed my coffee, and I would have asked if he wanted a burger to go with it. We do not do enough for our men of valor.
I loved the way the SEALS were introduced during the first few minutes. My heart went out to them and their families. God knows the sacrifices these and others make for this country. It brought home the danger they face daily. Makes our daily problems with traffic and boredom seem so petty.
I cried several times, but the memorial at the end brought the most tears. So many young men have willingly given their lives that we might enjoy ours. The list of names makes the heart melt.
The directors Mike McCoy and Scott Waugh have said this is only the beginning of what they hope to bring to the screen showing the courage and strength of character our military exhibits. I say bring it on!
It must be understood that I am patriotic through and through. I am definitely biased! I love this country with a passion, and I am deeply grateful to the men and women who defend it. I grew up a military brat, so maybe that is why my heart beats the way it does. Military is in the blood and I am certainly proud of it. To my dad and step dad, my three brothers, two uncles, son, grandson, and former students who have served and are serving, thank you from the bottom of my heart. May God bless you each and every one, and may GOD truly BLESS AMERICA!
That being said, go see the movie...
Monday, February 13, 2012
The Lord's Provision
The Lord’s Provision
Mathew 6:33 But seek ye first the kingdom of God, and his righteousness;
And all these things shall be added unto you.
Some years back, my family and I lived in an area known as Beaumont Place at the eastern edge of Houston. It was a turbulent, yet amazing time of my life. As a young Christian I learned to Trust God and witness His provision.
It was a Thursday, the day before payday, and I had one can of green beans in the cupboard for dinner and one dollar to my name. With a husband and five children to feed, I had to be creative. I sent John, our oldest son, to Romar’s, the small meat market near the house to pick up some bologna—sliced thin. I would heat the bologna in left over barbecue sauce and cook the beans with onion and butter. Yep, that would work.
It seemed to be taking Johnny longer than usual, but I did not worry. He was a wonderful son who was mature beyond his twelve years. When he walked into the house he looked scared and had tears in his eyes. My heart raced, what could be troubling him? “I lost it Mom,” he stammered. “I looked and looked but I couldn’t find it. I came all the way home and went back again, but it’s gone. I can’t find it.” He had dropped the dollar somewhere between home and Romar’s. Seeing his anguish, my heart went out to him. Hugging him I said, “Let’s pray that the money was found by someone who needs it more than we do and that God will provide something for dinner.” So, we prayed. That time spent in prayer was so very sweet, and we arose from our knees in peace.
I sent Johnny out to play and headed for the kitchen. “How can I stretch that can of beans?” I wondered half aloud. As I was standing in front of the cupboard with my mind racing, yet in more peace than a woman with a family to feed in about two hours time had a right to feel, I heard a knock on the front door. “Now, who could that be,” I mused as I headed for the door. “Coming,” I called walking through the living room. Opening the front door, I looked into the faces of two very close friends. “The Lord told me you might need these,” Carrie spoke hurriedly as she and Diane walked through the house and placed several bags of groceries on the kitchen table. I was speechless and tears fell. I told them they had no idea of how the Lord had just used them in an answer to prayer. As I explained, shouts of joy and praises rang out in that small kitchen. We hugged and cried together and they were off to prepare their own meals for waiting families.
Unloading the bags I discovered that there was enough in those bags to feed and army!
I began frying chicken, making mashed potatoes and gravy, green beans, and a dessert. The Lord had provided abundantly more than I had asked.
This was a lesson that neither Johnny nor I would forget, and to God be all the glory! The blessing before that meal was especially thankful and given from at least two very grateful hearts.
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Some years later, I was attending college in Brownsville, about forty-five minutes from the house. I had gone back to school to earn a degree so that I could become certified to teach. That in itself is a miracle, but not the one I will relate at this time.
My car was over heating and my husband had not had time to find the problem and repair it. I took a gallon of water with me every time I drove. On this particular day in late spring, I had filled my radiator from the gallon jug before leaving the parking lot at TSC. Heading home, about five miles from the college, the warning light came on! Now what would I do? I was on the freeway and had just passed the last exit for several miles, and I had no water for the radiator. I wish I could say I was calm and relaxed, but that was definitely not the case. I pulled off the road and turned the key. I became totally frustrated and began hitting the steering wheel as I cried out, “Oh God, why now? How will I get home? How can I get water?” I dropped my head to the wheel and sighed, “Now what?”
As I raised my head, I glanced into the rear view mirror and saw a sight I could not believe. Coming up behind me was a truck—a water truck! Water spewed from a large tube as it stopped next to the palm tree a slight distance behind me. “Oh, thank you Lord,” my mind screamed as I fumbled for the door. Scrambling to get out of the car, I was shocked to see the truck drive by. “No, no,” I wanted to scream, but no sound came from my throat. Feeling limp and dejected, I reached to open the door and caught a glimpse of this massive truck backing up near to my car. The driver jumped out to see if he could help. He filled my radiator and the gallon jug—full! I needed a gallon and the Lord had sent a truck load!
Sunday, February 12, 2012
Snow
This has been a winter to go down in history. Why? Because until today, we haven't really had a winter. It has been like spring since November. I have had flowers, bushes, and trees bloom that should have been dormant. I was pretty consistent with my moaning and groaning about no winter.
Well, today the Lord of Glory answered the cry of my heart and sent snow!.. The child in the old lady was beside herself. I wanted to cry for joy. I sent text messages to everyone I could think of that might be as excited as I! I called my brother twice!!! I love winter and all that goes with it: snow, ice, heavy coats, boots, sleds; yep, I love it all. I long for it all summer, and since moving to central Texas I expect it. I stood outside for some time just enjoying the falling snow; the neighbors and my dogs thought I had lost my mind!
I won't bemoan the terribly hot summer we have had and the horrific drought we have been experiencing, but suffice it to say that WINTER has eased this troubled heart. It means so much to know that God hears and answers prayer, and HE will give us the desires of our hearts---in HIS timing. This snow gives me added hope that God is listening and answering my prayers. And, if HE took time to send me some snow, HE will most definitely meet my needs. And, you know LORD, that prince charming I am hoping to meet....... Enjoy the day the Lord has made. Rejoice and be glad in it!
Well, today the Lord of Glory answered the cry of my heart and sent snow!.. The child in the old lady was beside herself. I wanted to cry for joy. I sent text messages to everyone I could think of that might be as excited as I! I called my brother twice!!! I love winter and all that goes with it: snow, ice, heavy coats, boots, sleds; yep, I love it all. I long for it all summer, and since moving to central Texas I expect it. I stood outside for some time just enjoying the falling snow; the neighbors and my dogs thought I had lost my mind!
I won't bemoan the terribly hot summer we have had and the horrific drought we have been experiencing, but suffice it to say that WINTER has eased this troubled heart. It means so much to know that God hears and answers prayer, and HE will give us the desires of our hearts---in HIS timing. This snow gives me added hope that God is listening and answering my prayers. And, if HE took time to send me some snow, HE will most definitely meet my needs. And, you know LORD, that prince charming I am hoping to meet....... Enjoy the day the Lord has made. Rejoice and be glad in it!
Wednesday, January 25, 2012
Hide 'n' Seek
My youngest granddaughter, Madison, loves to play hide ‘n’ seek. This is the top game on her list and one normally played after dinner. You can see the excitement and anticipation on her little face as she says, “Come on gramma, let’s play hide “n” seek! I’ll hide!” And, off she scampers with her little three year old legs moving as fast as they can, as she makes the turn into the hallway. Me? I’m left standing there counting in a loud voice, “One, two, three,… nine, ten. Here I come!” Now, to be sure, when we first started playing this game, she would give herself away, either with giggles or jumping up as I drew near. However, she is several weeks older and wiser now and has this game down. A real pro!
One night last week, we started our game. I looked in all the usual places and no Madison. I looked in some unusual places and no Madison. I even stooped so low as to ask her eighteen month old brother where she was hiding, but he just kept looking in the usual places, so I bit the bullet, so to speak, and went to question her mother. “Try looking under the comforter and stuff on the bed; she loves hiding there.” I did and she was there! Her giggles were delightful!
Thinking of this special game and my earnestly seeking Madison, I am reminded of those in scripture who have also hidden themselves: Adam and Eve, and Saul. Adam and Eve hid from God due to sin in their lives, and Saul hid from those who wanted to crown him king over Israel. I Samuel 10:22 tells us, “He had hid himself among the stuff.” I contend that Saul hid himself out of fear and humility. He did not see himself as the Lord saw him, and he did not believe he could do what was being asked of him. Who was he in the sight of other more prominent men? After all he was from the tribe of Benjamin, the least of all tribes. Yet, to be sure, the Lord God had chosen him to reign as the first king over Israel.
How many times do we hide ourselves among the stuff: work, family, pleasure, problems? None of these things is bad in and of itself, but if we fail to respond to His calling on our lives, what have we truly gained? Fear is to be conquered and humility protected. Saul began humble but, somehow, lost his way. Possibly, he began to believe that he truly was head and shoulders above all others. Being used of God for any purpose does not make us better than another; it should simply make us humble servants. Our rise and fall depend totally on the Lord.
Many are called but few are chosen- Matthew22:14 tells us that there will be those who the Lord calls but, for lack of response, were not chosen to do the work of the Lord. He who has ears to hear, let him hear… Matthew 11:5 again makes us realize that there will be those who do not respond to the call of the Lord. Both of these scriptures remind us that far too many hide among the stuff. God, may I not be one of them is my plea.
Let us walk in the certainty of our higher calling and leave the playing of hide “n” seek to our children.
Tuesday, January 24, 2012
Vaya con Dios Mr. Hartzog
The community of Rio Hondo has lost a gentleman. Mr. James Hartzog left this world on January 19th and in his wake he left many hearts longing for one more day. I first met Mr. Hartzog when my family moved to Rio Hondo many, many years ago. He was working at that time with his father and brother in the little wood frame store: Hartzog's Grocery. We, my family and I, had moved into a small house owned by the Hartzog's on the same block where James, Henry, and their father each had a home. So, Richard and I had several Hartzogs watching over us.
Over the years there were many times that I had occasion to speak to Mr. Hartzog, and he was always the same: so very friendly and always asking about my brother. Once I began teaching, he let me know how proud he was of me, and I felt as if a family member had patted me on the back. That was the type of man he was. If you did good, he rejoiced with you, and if you didn't, he wept with you. He might even scold you if he deemed it necessary. It was all done in a spirit of love.
I was privileged to see Mr. and Mrs. Hartzog at the all school reunion the last of September. Of course there were the hugs and conversation, and both were their same jovial selves. I will be forever grateful that we met that one last time.
Seeing the various email and facebook posts, many people have fond memories of James. But, that is the way it is in Rio Hondo. Family... We may not share the same last name, but we definitely are family. I will not say good bye, sir, just vaya con Dios, until we meet again.
Over the years there were many times that I had occasion to speak to Mr. Hartzog, and he was always the same: so very friendly and always asking about my brother. Once I began teaching, he let me know how proud he was of me, and I felt as if a family member had patted me on the back. That was the type of man he was. If you did good, he rejoiced with you, and if you didn't, he wept with you. He might even scold you if he deemed it necessary. It was all done in a spirit of love.
I was privileged to see Mr. and Mrs. Hartzog at the all school reunion the last of September. Of course there were the hugs and conversation, and both were their same jovial selves. I will be forever grateful that we met that one last time.
Seeing the various email and facebook posts, many people have fond memories of James. But, that is the way it is in Rio Hondo. Family... We may not share the same last name, but we definitely are family. I will not say good bye, sir, just vaya con Dios, until we meet again.
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