Happy Birthday Baby Girl

Musings : Relaxing Sunday

Musings : Relaxing Sunday:      I have been sitting here at the kitchen table with the back door open and watching a squirrel as it eats from the bird feeder sitting o...

Relaxing Sunday

     I have been sitting here at the kitchen table with the back door open and watching a squirrel as it eats from the bird feeder sitting on the small table on the deck.  I have almost laughed out loud as he stands upright and places one tiny  hand/paw on the back of the feeder, as he surveys his surroundings.  The feeder resembles a porch swing but, due to the ropes breaking last fall, it is sitting flat on the table.  I know John Dove would not approve and neither would Wes Griffin but, next to doves, these critters are my favorites.

     As it raises up to survey the goings on around him, it resembles an older man standing on his front porch watching as neighbors interact with one another, looking in one direction and then another.  This reminds me of time spent in Rio Hondo as a kid.  Summer would find us kids out goofing off and unaware that there were adults keeping an eye on us,  especially Richard, Robert, Larry, John, Finley, and a few others!  Notice I did not mention any girls' names.  We were usually inside helping momma!  LOL  I remember one evening when we lived on the corner of Catherine and Williams Rd.  We were playing Red Rover in front of  Jimmy Monroe's house.   Funny how these memories pop up.  We were just a bunch of silly, alright crazy kids enjoying life.  Little did we realize that there were adults watching over us.

    This brings to mind another gentleman that definitely watched over us.  He was the constable, Mr. Mills.  He and his wife were both great people!  Richard loves telling the story of his senior year, when he had his old red Studebaker.  He would be heading into town, speeding of course, and as he crossed the railroad track, Mr. Mills would pull out of his "hiding place" on the side of Brotzman's,  and pull in behind that speeding Studebaker.  Richard would keep going, never slowing, until he reached Rachel's.  He would run inside and order two cups of coffee.  When Mr. Mills entered he would sit down, take one of the cups and say, "One of these days, Richard, I'm going to catch you."
He told my mother during my senior year, that I had become a beautiful young lady.  His words meant a  lot to this quiet and hurting senior.

     I used to love skating.  I went every chance I got, which usually meant every Wednesday, Friday, and Saturday night.  Sometimes Ruby Dell and I would ride the bus to San Benito, and other times Mr. Parker would drive us.  When my older brothers moved to Rio Hondo, one of them would drive us.  I loved skating and became quite good at it.  Maybe it was because on the rink, I was able to "fly" and leave the pain of school behind.  On the rink, I was my own person and did not care what others thought...

     Mom used to work for Ma Jones as a cook in her café.  She was a great cook.  Prior to that she worked at the Round Up Café, across the tracks, as a waitress.  She told me the story of a man who had come in for a cup of coffee.  He was a regular and folks called him blacky. He was a dark Hispanic and thought nothing of the nickname given him.  Anyway, on this day he left without paying his 10 cents, but no one thought anything about it.  They would catch him next time.  Well, about three hours later he returned to pay the dime. He had walked several miles home, near Heath's Corner, before he realized he had not paid for his coffee, so he walked back to do so.  People were definitely more responsible back then.

    There are so many flashes of those days going through my mind.  Like the day my brother David rolled Tony's black Mercury convertible on the big curve outside of town. When the news hit town, Benny Mac took Tony to the scene, and he picked the car up, so David could crawl out. (our family super man)  David was not seriously injured, but definitely shaken up.  This was before seat belts!  Tony was viewed as a hero.  Life in a small town, gotta love it!!!

     Just think, all these musings began with this old lady watching a squirrel eating from a bird feeder.
These little critters can not be all bad.  Right John?????

What Are We Doing

   While seeing the film, “Paul, the Apostle,” I began to pray and ask the Lord what he wanted me to do.  I was so heart broken by the events of his life and the lives of the Christians during the time of Nero, that I questioned in my own mind “What are we doing?”  Today, what are we Christians doing?  As I stopped at the restroom, while leaving the theatre, I spoke to a very nice woman, as we were washing and drying our hands, and asked her the same question, “What are we, today’s Christians, doing?  Are we willing to risk everything, including our lives, to live out our faith?” She appeared to be as concerned as I.  As it turned out, she and her husband are in ministry to those in a nursing home.  I later met him, too. 

     What I have noticed in our world today is a lot of back-biting, criticizing, and watered-down messages, in far too many of our churches.  Who cares what the numbers are or how magnificent the building, if the message preached waters down the gospel and the Bible becomes a ‘nice book to have around?’  Are we teaching the full text, or do we stop at Jesus loves you?  What happens when troubles come?  Persecution?  Do we teach so that members can search scripture to answer questions that inevitably come?  Do we allow others to find the Lord and cling to Him in a way not like our own?  How do we stack up against the early Christians?   

     Sitting here trying to get my thoughts in order, I am amazed that the Lord loves me at all.  I have failed Him so often.  I am so very grateful that each time He brings me up short, He shows me mercy.  I, too, lay claim to be the greatest sinner of all time.  How often I have failed and sinned against the One who saved me by His grace, only to be allowed, once more, to come into His presence.  So, again the question, “What am I doing?”  How do I repay this magnificent gift?  How do I share with others all that He means to me?  Witness?  Exactly what is witnessing?  Be salt and light?  What does this mean, specifically?  How do I help hurting people, like those in Syria, and Christians in the middle east?  How do I help hurting people here in this country?  This state?  This county?  This city?  My family?  My church family?  How do I show Christ to this hurting world? 

     I bulk at “going out witnessing.”  Not sure why this troubles me, exactly.  Does knocking on doors and sharing the gospel constitute witnessing?  Does approaching strangers on the street or in a mall constitute witnessing?  Is this what the Lord did?  Did He not draw men to Himself?  How did He do that?  Doing good? 

     What about being the salt and light?  How can we be sprinkled out and shown abroad?  How do we make things tastier and brighter?  Don’t we have to ‘dig in’ and mix with those around us and allow Christ to shine through us?  Now, that sounds good, right?  But, exactly how is this done?  If I recall correctly, our Christ was often seen with sinners, and I do not recall Him ever condemning them. 

     A thought/a memory just emerged.  I searched for years, nearly thirty, before I came face to face, so to speak, with our risen Lord.  I searched many churches but did not find Him.  And, then one day, a knock sounded on my door.  My children were invited to ride a bus to Sunday School, and I agreed.  My children were the ones who invited me to join them, eventually.  Is this how the Lord drew me to Himself?

     I had visited several different churches over the 30 years of my life, not knowing for what I was looking, but knew I was not finding it.  I never felt welcomed.  Never!  When my first son was born and died within the first 12 hours, I knew beyond a shadow of a doubt that I could not ask a Catholic priest to do his service because they believed he was not going into the presence of God.  I knew he was.  I still had not had a personal experience with the living God, but I knew He was loving.  How did I know this?  Why was I so sure of His love for my son?  Where did I get that strong belief?  I didn’t even know how to pray.  All I had for myself were yearnings for this God that I knew existed.

     Another memory:  I attended my friend Wanda’s baptism, at her request, after graduation.  As the minister was baptizing her, I saw a bright light… I was drawn to near tears.  After talking with her, she had not seen the light.  Was I seeing things?

     I have been reading the book “The Way Back” by Paul Cooke and Jonathan Bock.  There is a statement in the book that has me asking more questions.  “To surrender is our heart admitting our weakness.  To accept is our ego demanding the illusion of still being in charge.”  Their premise is to accept the Lord is similar to signing for a FedEx package, whereas, to surrender to the living Lord is to devote ourselves to His cause.  Surrender is an all-encompassing word.  Do we (I) fully surrender our lives to Him?  If so, Does He have full control?  Are we holding something back?  How do we know when we are fully surrendered?  Have modern Christians watered down the gospel?  Are baby Christians suffering because of this possibility?  Are they left lacking knowledge?  What part do we play in bringing the needy to Jesus?  How do we do this?  Are we really, truly involved in this great commission? How do we partake?  What is my part?  Your part?

     When we are shut within the walls of our church, are we really reaching the world?  As we sit in the chairs or pews and listen as our minister teaches, are we reaching out?  I cannot help but remember the years I spent looking for a “place” to fit in, and the silence from members I received.  Names are important!  A hand shake is nice, but names are important.  Two or three minutes of “turn around and find someone you don’t know” does not allow for learning names.  Looking into the eyes of an individual and truly welcoming him or her is vital.  How often do we see someone in the foyer or hallway and, in passing, say “How are You?” never stopping to hear the answer.  Are we sincere?  Did our Lord ever meet someone in “passing” and continue without connecting?  What are we doing?  Why do we live life in such a rush?

     How many times have we heard, “People do not care about what you know, until they know how much you care?”  What are we teaching those coming into the ‘fold’ when we separate into groups:  the haves, the have nots; young people and old people; new Christians and seasoned Christians; minister’s inner circle, those on the outside?  Are

we not all in the body of Christ? 

     Earlier today I heard an excerpt of the message the minister of the Royal Wedding gave.  A message heard by millions!    “Love is the answer for all that ails our world: poverty, hunger, homelessness, anger, war, misunderstandings…”  So, are we, the church, loving as Christ loved.  Do we fill our hearts, days, actions, and thoughts with love, both individually and as the body of Christ?

     Because we are human, we are prone to messing up, but do we too often use the “I’m only human” excuse to brush over our lack of love and involvement?   Or, is it our busyness that might keep us from loving and ministry?

     I will never forget my first pastor, Brother Samuelson.  He was the most loving and giving pastor I have ever had.  The year my mother was ill with terminal cancer, he and his family did not take their usual Christmas trip.  I later discovered he did not want to be out of town should I need him.  That is really what one might say is the love of Christ expressed.  How many of us, today, would love like this?  That was over forty years ago, and I have not seen nor heard of another like him.

     In 1986, when my oldest living son died when he lost control of the jeep he was driving, and it rolled over on him, my pastor at that time stood on my front porch and told me he did not believe Johnny would be in heaven because Johnny had left his church to attend another.  Now, that was despicable!  So was my answer to him, “Brother Tanner, if Johnny did not make heaven, neither you nor I stand a snowball’s chance in hell.”  Was that loving as Christ loved?  Again, what are we doing? 

     Again, in 1997, when my eighteen old son Booger was killed in an automobile accident, I called the church I was attending, and at which I volunteered, and never received a call back.  I was not the only member of my family to call for the pastor, but we never received a call.  I had to ask the pastor of a church in our small community if we might use his church for Booger’s service.  He was so kind and allowed my request.  I called a Pastor friend from Houston and asked him to preach Booger’s service.  But, again, what are we doing?  In either of these painful situations, where was the love of Christ?  To be honest, my family and I saw it in the lives of those within our community.  They loved on us and walked with us through our grief.  That was where we saw the love of Christ on display… not in those of our church family.   Why are we Christians failing in our expression of HIS love?

     I have been idle for many days.  That is definitely my fault.  The very loving and giving minister of my hometown, has been relocated to heaven.  It came as quite a shock to everyone who knew him.  A year or so ago, he was asked to leave the church in my hometown.  Many felt he was too old and didn’t teach as he once did.  He left and began another in a community, not too far away.  He was welcomed with opened arms and continued preaching until the Lord called him home.  So, was his dismissal done in love?  Need?

     A beautiful young mother has been relieved of her position at the church I am attending, presently.  The reason given was she is not qualified to do all that was asked of her.  But, as we have found out recently, she is more than qualified.  She does have the certificates needed.   So, why the dismissal?  Where in this was love exhibited?

Was Christ glorified in this?  Does He appreciate seeing family members leaving the family?  Is division the answer?  What are we doing?  Why are we doing it?  Is Christ being glorified in our actions?

     A few days ago, my brother officiated the wedding of his beautiful granddaughter.  Now, Richard is not a minister, he is a deacon.  He took the time to become licensed because the minister and friend the groom had asked told him he would be glad to perform the service for $500.00.  WHAT?  Where is the love of God in that response?  What are Christians doing in this world today?  Is our heavenly Father pleased with all the ungodly trash filtering into our churches?   Do we even come close to what our God wants of us?  What are we doing?  How do we find our way back?

     I spoke to a friend yesterday, and during the conversation I learned that she and her family have not been in church for a couple of months.  They had left the church I attend because there was no group or person with whom her husband could relate.  He is a veteran of the War on Terror with many health issues.  The church they had moved to has no

place for neither her husband nor her daughter.  Both felt out of place, so they stopped going.  She has no desire to return to Fellowship, so they will visit another this Sunday.  What are we doing?  I have heard for years that the church is to be a hospital for the wounded, but how is this possible, if we are driving people away by our actions or inactions?  People are hurting!  What are we doing?  Why can we not just love one another? 

     Last week a well-known denomination voted to remove gender from their prayers.  It is unclear whether or not they will remove gender from the scripture.  Is it any wonder why it, far too often, appears as if our nation is no longer blessed, as it once was?  We have forgotten our foundation.  Are we receiving a wakeup call?  May God be merciful!  May He show us just exactly what we are doing and give us room for repentance.  His grace is sufficient, if we accept it and live it out.  Father, help us know exactly what we are doing or should be doing.

Childhood Christmas Memory

For unknown reasons, memories of a Christmas long ago have flooded my mind.  Perhaps it is the time of the year, the Christmas music playing, the decorations, or a combination of all the above, but the Christmas when I learned that Santa Claus was, in fact, not real came to mind.  Missing Tony has probably added to the memory rising up.

I was four or five, and Tony would have been nine or ten.  We had been sent to bed to await the arrival of Santa.  I had already fallen asleep when Tony came into the room and proceeded to shake me awake.  "Come here.  I want to show you something," he was whispering.  I just wanted to turn over and go back to sleep, but he insisted.  "I want to show you that Santa Claus is not real."  Stumbling I got out of bed and followed him to  the closet, and upon him opening it, I saw all sorts of items, some in bags or boxes, others not.  He then grabbed my hand and took me to the top of the stair case.  We walked down a few steps, just enough to allow us to look into the living room.  There was Mom decorating the tree!  Oh, no!  Santa always decorated our tree, but there was Mom doing it.
"See, I told you!  Now, do you believe me?"  I left him there without saying a word and went back to bed.  My young mind did not want to believe this, but there it was.

In the morning, we were awakened to see what 'Santa' had brought; I never let on that Tony had ruined the day for me.  We did not wrap gifts at that time, so I looked at each gift that was mine--eleven dolls, a dish set, and a table and chairs.  (I had many, many aunts and uncles.)  We had breakfast and I went to dress for outside.  I then went door to door, in our immediate neighborhood.  That was two long buildings that housed six apartments each.  I wanted to see what my friends had received.  Most in those eleven other apartments had received nothing, or very little.  By noon, I had given nine dolls away.  I kept two: one from Aunt Rosemary and the one Richard had picked up and threw across the living room, the little "brat."  LOL  He was two or three at the time, and he had not gotten a doll!

To this day, I do not know why Tony felt the need to reveal that little bit of information.  But, because of it, I did all I could to keep the myth alive for Richard.  I kept the doll Aunt Rosemary had given to me until we moved to Rio Hondo.  I gave the doll to Patsy Stokes' little sister.

I love Christmas!  I love the anticipation and memories it bring.  I, truly, love the kindness that fills the air.  Realizing why we celebrate has brought much joy.  For God so loved the world...  May each and everyone enjoy this season and remember the real reason for the season.

Road trip -- August 2018

I am listening to Roy Orbison's "station" on Pandora via Google Home, as I write this.  I love the memories this music provides, well, most of them.  The music definitely provides a beautiful background for the memories of our road trip

Bob and I headed out for Ft. Stockton the morning of August 21st, my brother's birthday.  We had decided to go somewhere a little different than the normal drive around Central Texas.  We were celebrating his cataract surgery and the fact that he could, once again, see clearly.  Trees actually have leaves!!  Chrys and Karen would check on Bella, so off we went--headed to West Texas.

Bob loves to take the road less traveled, so we  headed north on  Hwy 183, and then NW on Hwy 29.  The drive beautiful, but NW when we wanted West?  My ,mind was having a little trouble with the direction, but Bob was quite sure of where we were headed.  We started off with talk radio on, but soon turned it off so that we could talk. Of course, we settled all the world's problems, and thought of ways we could help others.  The normal everyday talk!   Once we settled all the problems, we got
quiet, so I asked him to turn on our play list.  He showed me how to do it, so I could learn this valuable tidbit.  :-)

We listened to all our favorite 0ld artists, and memories surfaced.  We spoke of  the various artists and what we remembered of them.  Roy Orbison  held the greatest focus.  We talked of the wreck that took Buddy Holly, The Big Bopper, and Ricky Valens'  lives.  I told him of how I cried when I heard the news.  That day was and is called the day that music died.  Waylon Jennings, a member of Holly's band, gave up his seat on that fateful flight.  He lived to become great in his own right, and played Luchenbach with Willie and the boys. The music kept us mesmerized until we found ourselves near Ft. Stockton, on I 10W.  Wow, how time flew! The plateaus or mesas, what ever you want to call the mountains along I 10W are amazing.  In one state one can drive from the beaches, through hills, piney forests, mountains in the panhandle, and the vastly different mountains and deserts of West Texas.  I am very pleased and proud to call Texas home.

                                                            
                                                                   Plateaus/Mesas from I 10.


Once in Ft. Stockton, we settled on a motel and then headed out to find "lupper," Bob's word for
a late lunch or early dinner.  We settled on DQ and had a sandwich---no ice cream!  Once we ate we headed for the original fort area. This historic fort is located on the east side of town.  The site still contains three of the original buildings of Officer's Row, the original limestone Guard House, the original parade ground, and two reconstructed Enlisted Men's Barracks.  This piece of history was home to the famed Buffalo Soldiers, beginning in 1867.  It had been abandoned in 1861, due to the Civil War.

                                                                     
                                   Reconstructed Building






















             Copies of original photos of the Buffalo Soldiers



Once we left the Fort area, we headed to the Annie Riggs Memorial Museum.  This was a hotel originally built by a group of business men in 1899, and it was run by Annie Riggs, a pioneer woman in the truest sense of the word.  It is an adobe building with Victorian detailing.Walking in one is met by  pictures of the stern faced sheriffs of the time period.  Sheriff A.J. Royal's desk is used for signing in and whispers of his 1894 murder--a very bloody chapter in Pecos County history.  There are thirteen rooms in all, and they house so many artifacts of that time period.  I took so many pictures, but the one that amuses me the most is the one of a butter maker that was hung on a wagon and,while the wagon was being used, it swung so much it churned the butter!  There were also several type writers, and one looked as if it could type a full page of a news paper. A flour bin hung in one of the original cabinets.  WOW!  And, of course a picture of Annie Riggs, a true pioneer.

                                         

To say I enjoyed this short but sweet trip is an understatement.  I love history, and my fear is that our young people are not getting enough of it.  The counties of Texas each have a history of their very own.  Do we take the time to look and learn?  Hopefully, some are.

The Meandering of a Curious Mind

     Over the past week I have read much about the need to seek after our dreams, truly seek, and the need to sew seeds for harvest.  These scripture readings come at a time when my mind it whirling, seeking the will of God.  My dream is to write a book...  I do believe that I have sown seeds, seeds of love, hope, prosperity, and friendship, and I am patiently waiting for the harvest.  My dream,  on the other hand, must have "work" applied.  One can dream all day about a desire, but nothing will come of it unless he/she puts forth effort to make it happen.  My daughter Jamie has reminded me of this for years.  Yes, I said years!!!
     I began reading a book by Charles Krauthammer earlier this week.  I am finding it amazing, but I also find it to be perplexing, because of the style.  My mind was reeling until I realized that what I am reading are his articles.  Hmmmm  How much have I written over the years that could be assembled into a book?  Much of my life and the lives of my family members has been written, and the writings could possibly be positioned into the format of a "tell all" book.  NOT!!  It could be a mystery of sorts or, even, a comic book.  After all, the characters would be Claudette, Jamie, Johnny, Jason, Chrystal, Booger, David, Grandma Ila, Grandmas Elsie, Richard, Tony, David, and me.  How much better could it get?  Not to forget Bob and his children and all the friends we have amassed.  No one would be exempt; all could be the target of a section created just for them.  Hey, I am beginning to like this idea!  And, on top of all these characters, I have had thousands of students!  Ah, yes!!!  My wheels are turning...  No one would be exempt from his or her own "chapter" of sorts.
     This book idea is becoming an all encompassing non-fiction reflection.  I can not wait to get started.  This is fair warning, if you do not want to be included, say so now or forever hold your piece.  Watch out world!