Why did I like Barbara?
As a little kid, I never analyzed it – I just loved her. She was a skinny brown-eyed kid with olive skin who lived in an old house on my street with her parents, younger brother, and grandmother. She and her sibling looked nothing alike. Buddy was freckled-faced silly kid, always joking and laughing. He was a favorite with the whole neighborhood. Barbara seldom laughed heartily, her expression serious most of the time.
I soon found out this girl was loyal as all get-out. I wanted to be her best friend, but she apologetically turned me down; “I’ve already promised Peggy she could be my best friend.” I immediately felt offended by this Peggy. Can’t you have two? No, she said, there’s only one best friend.
We had the most wonderful tea parties at her home. Her mom – a most accommodating woman – enjoyed them as much as we did, though she never presumed to join us. Standing across the room, Miss Elsie beamed as we pretended. Grandma, who was an older version of her daughter, hovered close by.
A boocoo of kids infested our street. Fourteen of us lived within a short city block. We rode bikes, arranged play houses, played hop-scotch (a piece of smooth green glass was my good luck piece), walked to town together, strung china berries into innumerable necklaces, and dared each other to jump from tree limbs.
But back to Barbara. I recognized, even at seven years old, that she had more character than I. I couldn’t have expressed it in those terms; I would likely have explained that she was “gooder than me.” Barbara was unfailing kind, a commodity in short supply among the pack of kids in our neighborhood. Once when exiting the school grounds I, knowing she’d made a pact with Peggy to walk home with her, began urging that she go with me instead. Truth was, I wasn’t longing to be with her - I only wanted to see if she would break her word to that Peggy girl for me. Barbara must have sensed my insincerity, because, with brown eyes flashing, she pulled abruptly away from my grasp, saying, “I promised Peggy first that I would walk with her – and you know that!!” Chastened by her rebuke I slunk off quietly. The crazy thing was, I liked her even more after that little scenario. (I still wasn’t fond of Peggy.) I’ve since thought of Barbara when I read Proverbs 20:11, “Even children are known by the way they act, whether their conduct is pure, and whether it is right.”
I moved away for several years, then relocated back there in high school years. Barbara looked much the same, just a bigger tiny. Still a solemn person, neatly dressed every day, scholarly. We didn’t gravitate toward each other as when we were younger. Our fellowship groups wouldn’t have jibed – hers took school very seriously, everyone straight as an arrow. My was … well, it wasn’t like hers. Not bad, just less focused on academics. Sometimes in homeroom, or history class I’d catch her gazing at me with an unfathomable look in those chocolate eyes. Made me uncomfortable, but I’d smile at her, she’d smile back and we’d go our separate ways.
I sat in my living room in the 70s reading my hometown paper. Turning the page, I saw my old friend’s obituary. She’d died at 30-something; a wife and mother who lived in Missouri with her family. I felt such sadness, and even bereft, as if I had neglected to mine all the precious jewels from her life that would have blessed me immeasurably.
Just maybe I could have blessed her a little too.
That other girl, Peggy? Would you believe it? We’ve mined each other’s lives for years, from high school even to this day. I found out why Barbara was so high on her: Peggy’s life is full of treasures too!
Tuesday, March 6, 2012
Wednesday, February 22, 2012
Inney or Outey?
It seems to take us humans such a long time to be more concerned with inward growth than outward trappings, in other words, to be an "inney," rather than an "outey."
We seem to be experts about getting the motor before the Volkswagen, particularly regarding our physical versus our spiritual. We tend to lavish all kinds of attention on our outward persons: make-up laid on generously (and constant searching for the kind that will make us look like someone else), wrinkle-preventer slathered on nightly (depends on age), to-die-for cologne, just the right kind of shampoo/conditioner/gel/mousse so we can toss our lustrous, shiny heads of hair, not to mention brushes, blow-dryers, straightening irons, etc., etc.
Only one kind of jeans will do - either the expensive sort for the brand-conscious, or those that makes the posterior look smaller – ha! How about the underwear that promises to make certain parts appear more perky - and shoes ... well, shoes galore.
Before some of you complain, I'm really not picking on us women – we all know men have problems with inney and outey also - I just know females better because I are one, and I've certainly spent time (and, unfortunately, sometimes still do) in the "outey" category more than the "inney."
After all this attention to heads, faces, and bods, is there time to give thought to the grooming and nourishment of the inside of us – our spirits - the “inney”? Are we apt to ingest a thimble-full of the rich nourishment of Scripture occasionally, but give most of our energy, money and time to the daily tending of this shell? Our bodies are aging daily and won’t even enter heaven, folks! (that is, until Jesus does a radical remodel of them at the last trump)?
Don’t let the deceiver claim your mind. Look through the lens of the sword of the Spirit – the Bible – daily. Don’t listen to television or anything else for your game plan – but: “Give your bodies to God because of all he has done for you. Let them be a living and holy sacrifice … Don’t copy the behavior and customs of this world, but let God transform you into a new person by changing the way you think” (Rom 12:1-2). NLT
We seem to be experts about getting the motor before the Volkswagen, particularly regarding our physical versus our spiritual. We tend to lavish all kinds of attention on our outward persons: make-up laid on generously (and constant searching for the kind that will make us look like someone else), wrinkle-preventer slathered on nightly (depends on age), to-die-for cologne, just the right kind of shampoo/conditioner/gel/mousse so we can toss our lustrous, shiny heads of hair, not to mention brushes, blow-dryers, straightening irons, etc., etc.
Only one kind of jeans will do - either the expensive sort for the brand-conscious, or those that makes the posterior look smaller – ha! How about the underwear that promises to make certain parts appear more perky - and shoes ... well, shoes galore.
Before some of you complain, I'm really not picking on us women – we all know men have problems with inney and outey also - I just know females better because I are one, and I've certainly spent time (and, unfortunately, sometimes still do) in the "outey" category more than the "inney."
After all this attention to heads, faces, and bods, is there time to give thought to the grooming and nourishment of the inside of us – our spirits - the “inney”? Are we apt to ingest a thimble-full of the rich nourishment of Scripture occasionally, but give most of our energy, money and time to the daily tending of this shell? Our bodies are aging daily and won’t even enter heaven, folks! (that is, until Jesus does a radical remodel of them at the last trump)?
Don’t let the deceiver claim your mind. Look through the lens of the sword of the Spirit – the Bible – daily. Don’t listen to television or anything else for your game plan – but: “Give your bodies to God because of all he has done for you. Let them be a living and holy sacrifice … Don’t copy the behavior and customs of this world, but let God transform you into a new person by changing the way you think” (Rom 12:1-2). NLT
Saturday, February 4, 2012
Vessels
I used to look around the room at the young wives and moms in our class, and think: What a flower garden of women God has created! And he longs to bless each of them for his purposes. Perhaps not in Searcy; he may call some elsewhere to serve. One thing's for certain: their Creator enables each to bloom beautifully for him anywhere. "The godly will flourish like palm trees and grow strong like the cedars of Lebanon. For they are transplanted to the LORD's own house. They flourish in the courts of our God" (Psa 92:12-13).
Before you ask "Just the younger ladies?" No, ALL of God's women are beautiful - even we who are walking much further down the path. Read the next verses: "Even in old age they will still produce fruit; they will remain vital and green. They will declare, 'The LORD is just! He is my rock! There is no evil in him!' "
Satan knows this is God's plan - he tries every conceivable way to block it. One of his most common lies is, "You're too ordinary to do much of anything. Quit dreaming!" Our enemy is also expert in using shame to hold us hostage; we feel unworthy to do anything for God.
Or he urges us to fixate on everything we hate about ourselves. Oh, he really shines here!! How many women lament their body shape (or the lack thereof according to them), skin texture or color, its sagginess, bagginess etc., or their stringy or mule's tail hair. Some feel their families of origin have handicapped them for the rest of their lives, spiritually, emotionally and/or mentally. The devil wants us to blame the Lord for our perceived deficiencies - in our bodies, personalities, emotions, minds and circumstances. If we buy his lies, he has successfully damaged our faith in God's love and wisdom - we begin to suspect God has short-changed us. How could he love me and let me be born to those parents? Or with this horrible birthmark? Or so dumb?
With some of us, aging is the handle Satan uses to pump us dry. It's hard to deal with getting long in the tooth! I struggle with the junk keeping me company as I get older. The deceiver points out my achy joints, my less-than-swift brain action, and lures me to be whiny. He also now and again whispers, "No one wants to hear what you think. Go take a nap instead."
Here's a principle we must, must believe:
It matters not how your bones are arranged, whether you're healthy or ill, to whom you're married, your skin color or its condition thereof, whether you're a new believer or old faithful, kids or no kids, ancient or young ...etc, etc.
GOD CAN USE ALL THAT YOU ARE AS A VESSEL, AND YOUR CIRCUMSTANCES FOR HIS PURPOSES.
And he will use you if you BELIEVE him.
Ready for this? God is so rich in mercy, and he loved us so much that even though we were dead because of our sins, he gave us life when he raised Christ from the dead. (It is only by God's grace you have been saved!)
For he raised us from the dead along with Christ and seated us with him in the heavenly realms ...God can point to us as examples of the incredible wealth of his grace and kindness toward us ... Eph 2:4-7 NLT
Okay, who are we gonna believe - the slanderer, deceiver, diabolos - or the Creator, Sustainer, and Savior who gives us our every breath?
We are vessels. Will we be the kind of vessel that shatters - or implodes - (or rolls in the closet) every time the Master tries to use us?
Our vessel will disintegrate into shards unless we believe God. Believe he has given each of us exactly what we need to serve him. No, we're not perfect - neither are most vessels. Some constructed of metal have dents, ceramic vessls may be chipped. Most of us certainly show some wear, and one or two may even leak. No jokes here. Even the leaky containers can be used -stick dried flowers in them for beauty in your world.
Get that vessel cleaned out, ready for the Master's missions.
Before you ask "Just the younger ladies?" No, ALL of God's women are beautiful - even we who are walking much further down the path. Read the next verses: "Even in old age they will still produce fruit; they will remain vital and green. They will declare, 'The LORD is just! He is my rock! There is no evil in him!' "
Satan knows this is God's plan - he tries every conceivable way to block it. One of his most common lies is, "You're too ordinary to do much of anything. Quit dreaming!" Our enemy is also expert in using shame to hold us hostage; we feel unworthy to do anything for God.
Or he urges us to fixate on everything we hate about ourselves. Oh, he really shines here!! How many women lament their body shape (or the lack thereof according to them), skin texture or color, its sagginess, bagginess etc., or their stringy or mule's tail hair. Some feel their families of origin have handicapped them for the rest of their lives, spiritually, emotionally and/or mentally. The devil wants us to blame the Lord for our perceived deficiencies - in our bodies, personalities, emotions, minds and circumstances. If we buy his lies, he has successfully damaged our faith in God's love and wisdom - we begin to suspect God has short-changed us. How could he love me and let me be born to those parents? Or with this horrible birthmark? Or so dumb?
With some of us, aging is the handle Satan uses to pump us dry. It's hard to deal with getting long in the tooth! I struggle with the junk keeping me company as I get older. The deceiver points out my achy joints, my less-than-swift brain action, and lures me to be whiny. He also now and again whispers, "No one wants to hear what you think. Go take a nap instead."
Here's a principle we must, must believe:
It matters not how your bones are arranged, whether you're healthy or ill, to whom you're married, your skin color or its condition thereof, whether you're a new believer or old faithful, kids or no kids, ancient or young ...etc, etc.
GOD CAN USE ALL THAT YOU ARE AS A VESSEL, AND YOUR CIRCUMSTANCES FOR HIS PURPOSES.
And he will use you if you BELIEVE him.
Ready for this? God is so rich in mercy, and he loved us so much that even though we were dead because of our sins, he gave us life when he raised Christ from the dead. (It is only by God's grace you have been saved!)
For he raised us from the dead along with Christ and seated us with him in the heavenly realms ...God can point to us as examples of the incredible wealth of his grace and kindness toward us ... Eph 2:4-7 NLT
Okay, who are we gonna believe - the slanderer, deceiver, diabolos - or the Creator, Sustainer, and Savior who gives us our every breath?
We are vessels. Will we be the kind of vessel that shatters - or implodes - (or rolls in the closet) every time the Master tries to use us?
Our vessel will disintegrate into shards unless we believe God. Believe he has given each of us exactly what we need to serve him. No, we're not perfect - neither are most vessels. Some constructed of metal have dents, ceramic vessls may be chipped. Most of us certainly show some wear, and one or two may even leak. No jokes here. Even the leaky containers can be used -stick dried flowers in them for beauty in your world.
Get that vessel cleaned out, ready for the Master's missions.
Tuesday, January 17, 2012
InteGRITy
You gotta have GRIT to be a woman of inteGRITy.
A woman of integrity follows her convictions - those essential, unoptional beliefs that she holds - no matter what. To hang on to those beliefs takes grit (tenacity, determination, courage) many times. Opinions aren't on a level with convictions, and don't require much grit, so I have lots of them. I don't have very many convictions. I try to hold them down to just a few.
A woman of integrity must have grit to keep her mouth shut and ears closed when the gossiping begins in the office. Or in the church nursery.
It takes grit to keep promises made to God while on a spiritual high.
To gift her husband with her submission when she wants badly to have her way takes a substantial amount of grit.
It takes grit for the woman of integrity to resist the world's call to "do whatever makes you happy, live as you please, it's no body's business what you do."
Believing the Word of God takes grit, especially when friends take a more sophisticated view of Scripture.
A woman of integrity, a woman with grit, will remove anything from her life that prevents her from being the servant of Jesus Christ - note: not speaking of a husband or children.
To discipline a hardheaded teen who seems bent on destroying herself takes a truckload of grit.
How do I get grit?!! That steely determination called "grit" that's burrowed inside integrity is only as strong as my conviction that God is lodged within me and is working out his purposes in my life through godly convictions, integrity and lots of grit.
A woman of integrity follows her convictions - those essential, unoptional beliefs that she holds - no matter what. To hang on to those beliefs takes grit (tenacity, determination, courage) many times. Opinions aren't on a level with convictions, and don't require much grit, so I have lots of them. I don't have very many convictions. I try to hold them down to just a few.
A woman of integrity must have grit to keep her mouth shut and ears closed when the gossiping begins in the office. Or in the church nursery.
It takes grit to keep promises made to God while on a spiritual high.
To gift her husband with her submission when she wants badly to have her way takes a substantial amount of grit.
It takes grit for the woman of integrity to resist the world's call to "do whatever makes you happy, live as you please, it's no body's business what you do."
Believing the Word of God takes grit, especially when friends take a more sophisticated view of Scripture.
A woman of integrity, a woman with grit, will remove anything from her life that prevents her from being the servant of Jesus Christ - note: not speaking of a husband or children.
To discipline a hardheaded teen who seems bent on destroying herself takes a truckload of grit.
How do I get grit?!! That steely determination called "grit" that's burrowed inside integrity is only as strong as my conviction that God is lodged within me and is working out his purposes in my life through godly convictions, integrity and lots of grit.
Tuesday, January 3, 2012
San Fran part 2
A week and half into our San Fran stay – no new baby, but no matter, the ones that are here keep the days lively. (Eden keeps the nights interesting as well for Wes and Airiel.) She is, however, learning to go to bed on her own, stay in bed, and sleep until morning – or at least daybreak. She made it all the way last night! Airiel sat by her bed at first while Eden lifted the roof, then stood in the door the next couple of bedtimes (holding a spoon for a little extra persuasion), and plans to sit in the rocking chair in their room tonight. Except for some hearty screaming for a few minutes at the beginning, last night was a success.
One of the neighbors in the apartment complex is a sweet older lady who teaches at the university. Red-haired Adella has no grandchildren yet, and enjoys ours immensely! She especially is fond of Eden – thinks she’s very bright. Of course she’s right as rain. We sat in the afternoon sun on her miniscule patio and chatted with her on Saturday. Conrad had used her upstairs bathroom previously – when he ambled by pushing his trike he suddenly felt the call of nature and was graciously ushered in. She whispered, “He likes to use my bathroom,” then had to go get him after more than enough time had passed.
Boy am I finding out just how “mature” I am!! I crash on the bed upstairs at least once a day after hitting that proverbial wall. But after a few minutes of down time, I’m ready to go again, hugging, feeding, playing outside, bathing a sweet toddler girl, swabbing up cracker crumbs, and the myriad of other activities that takes all of us to accomplish every day.
One of the neighbors in the apartment complex is a sweet older lady who teaches at the university. Red-haired Adella has no grandchildren yet, and enjoys ours immensely! She especially is fond of Eden – thinks she’s very bright. Of course she’s right as rain. We sat in the afternoon sun on her miniscule patio and chatted with her on Saturday. Conrad had used her upstairs bathroom previously – when he ambled by pushing his trike he suddenly felt the call of nature and was graciously ushered in. She whispered, “He likes to use my bathroom,” then had to go get him after more than enough time had passed.
Boy am I finding out just how “mature” I am!! I crash on the bed upstairs at least once a day after hitting that proverbial wall. But after a few minutes of down time, I’m ready to go again, hugging, feeding, playing outside, bathing a sweet toddler girl, swabbing up cracker crumbs, and the myriad of other activities that takes all of us to accomplish every day.
Tuesday, December 27, 2011
San Francisco Dec 27, 2011
What a delight to be in San Francisco!
I wrote that sentence yesterday and got no further. Amazing what adding another little one to the mix does to free time –
Yesterday we praised the Lord with others who love him, shared gifts, devoured a delicious meal with a sister who has no family in the area, watched kids go bazooka over new toys, and enjoyed a nice nap. Perfect day.
Eden is so funny. She thinks she can run really fast; instead she mostly jumps up and down, pacifier bobbling along with fat cheeks and booty, not going much of anywhere. Then she looks at us to see if we properly appreciate her feat. She expects clapping and hooraw. Which she gets.
While walking this morning Jim and I encountered a blue-eyed gentleman bent with age, wearing a sporty cap and holding on to a cane. He stopped, motioned up at Jim and spoke in broken English. I managed to figure out that he was asking about Jim’s height. I replied in feet and inches. He talked on, waving his arms and cane – the only word I caught was “centimeters.” We inched on slowly, nodding and smiling since we don’t know the metric system. As we walked past him, I believe he wished us a happy new year and we heartily returned the sentiment.
Next day: Naomi and Conrad played hours and hours yesterday with new Christmas toys, meshing them all into one glorious family. Dora, two cubs from the Lion King movie, a tiny weird creature from another movie and miscellaneous older others had a grand time together. Kind of like the church family, isn’t it? I’m not callin’ anybody weird – just making an analogy.
Airiel – bless her heart as we often say in the South. She’s so pregnant. We’re hoping that Julianna will see fit to appear before this year is out, but these Woodell women have an agenda of their own most of the time. We ought to know something or other by this Friday-
I hate that I can’t be with my extended family today at my sister-in-law’s funeral – I’m so glad our two daughters and older son will attend. That makes me feel as if I’m there in spirit. She’ll be buried beside my brother in the little cemetery right beside our trailer – I’ll visit with her when we get down to Monticello again.
Airiel and I made our annual trip together to Costco for a month’s supply of stuff. We whizzed through that place (just before it became a bonafide madhouse) in just less than an hour. I was half leaning on and half pushing the overflowing BIG cart, with A. pulling from the front. Our checker pleaded piteously for help with this “big order” but failed to get anyone until the very end. Another young guy finally came to his aid, looked at Airiel (pushing her good-sized tummy), then at me (white-headed, o-l-l-d to him) and asked, “How long did it take you guys to do this?” I said nonchalantly, “Oh, not quite an hour.” He mumbled something. We felt powerful.
Enough for today. Little heads and bodies will soon begin appearing down the stairs, singing out, “Good morning, Granmama, good morning, Pa-pa!” And Eden will tumble down a little later, saying emphatically, “Bite, bite!”
God bless and bless.
I wrote that sentence yesterday and got no further. Amazing what adding another little one to the mix does to free time –
Yesterday we praised the Lord with others who love him, shared gifts, devoured a delicious meal with a sister who has no family in the area, watched kids go bazooka over new toys, and enjoyed a nice nap. Perfect day.
Eden is so funny. She thinks she can run really fast; instead she mostly jumps up and down, pacifier bobbling along with fat cheeks and booty, not going much of anywhere. Then she looks at us to see if we properly appreciate her feat. She expects clapping and hooraw. Which she gets.
While walking this morning Jim and I encountered a blue-eyed gentleman bent with age, wearing a sporty cap and holding on to a cane. He stopped, motioned up at Jim and spoke in broken English. I managed to figure out that he was asking about Jim’s height. I replied in feet and inches. He talked on, waving his arms and cane – the only word I caught was “centimeters.” We inched on slowly, nodding and smiling since we don’t know the metric system. As we walked past him, I believe he wished us a happy new year and we heartily returned the sentiment.
Next day: Naomi and Conrad played hours and hours yesterday with new Christmas toys, meshing them all into one glorious family. Dora, two cubs from the Lion King movie, a tiny weird creature from another movie and miscellaneous older others had a grand time together. Kind of like the church family, isn’t it? I’m not callin’ anybody weird – just making an analogy.
Airiel – bless her heart as we often say in the South. She’s so pregnant. We’re hoping that Julianna will see fit to appear before this year is out, but these Woodell women have an agenda of their own most of the time. We ought to know something or other by this Friday-
I hate that I can’t be with my extended family today at my sister-in-law’s funeral – I’m so glad our two daughters and older son will attend. That makes me feel as if I’m there in spirit. She’ll be buried beside my brother in the little cemetery right beside our trailer – I’ll visit with her when we get down to Monticello again.
Airiel and I made our annual trip together to Costco for a month’s supply of stuff. We whizzed through that place (just before it became a bonafide madhouse) in just less than an hour. I was half leaning on and half pushing the overflowing BIG cart, with A. pulling from the front. Our checker pleaded piteously for help with this “big order” but failed to get anyone until the very end. Another young guy finally came to his aid, looked at Airiel (pushing her good-sized tummy), then at me (white-headed, o-l-l-d to him) and asked, “How long did it take you guys to do this?” I said nonchalantly, “Oh, not quite an hour.” He mumbled something. We felt powerful.
Enough for today. Little heads and bodies will soon begin appearing down the stairs, singing out, “Good morning, Granmama, good morning, Pa-pa!” And Eden will tumble down a little later, saying emphatically, “Bite, bite!”
God bless and bless.
Sunday, December 25, 2011
Homecoming
The Christmas season is homecoming time for a lot of people – either driving across town or to another state, or perhaps flying several hours to loved ones. We did the latter to spend the holidays with our youngest son and his family – not exactly a “homecoming” in the ordinary sense, but I sure feel at home anyway!
My sister-in-law experienced her own homecoming this holiday season. She flew to her final home a few days ago – one she didn’t finance or decorate, and one she won’t have to clean or continually fix up. Her mansion was lovingly constructed by none other than the Master and Creator of the universe, Jesus Christ himself. She must be joyful beyond our human comprehension!
My first memory of Emma Leen was when I was a five-year-old, watching solemnly as she and my older brother were married in our living room. Or maybe they married somewhere else, and stood around in our living room for a few minutes before leaving for a honeymoon. Memories from that far back are rather dim nowadays.
They lived with our family for a short time when I was 6 or 7 – incredible that we stuffed five adults and one little kid into a two-bedroom house around 700 square feet. And that’s probably a generous guess.
As the years passed, they frequently lived out of state as Thomas pipelined in several different places. To hear that they were traveling home to visit was better than Christmas as far as I was concerned! I missed them so much.
Emma was a superb cook – ordinary food, nothing gourmet – but turned out luscious pies, cornbread, dressing, fried chicken, etc., as well as wonderful produce from Thomas’s yearly garden. I used to love sitting at the tiny table in her kitchen, listening to her tell about the kids, grans, neighbors and so on, all the while cooking, never missing a beat. She didn’t use a timer, but just knew when something or other was done baking, frying, or stewing.
Her sewing machines must have buzzed over a million miles in the years she busily clothed her family and many others. Dresses, blouses, shorts, wedding/bridesmaids’ dresses, jackets, even training bloomers for the babies churned out in a never-ending stream. And that’s a miniscule description of the items she fashioned with her foot on the treadle of her Singer. I remember receiving a red dress with matching scarf after I was married and we were living on a skinny income. I wore it for years.
So many snap-shot memories over the years: Emma emptying out the ice cube trays into a huge bowl and crunching every single one – nightly - when pregnant with her third baby. Putting a generous dollop of butter into the middle of fluffy mashed potatoes piled high in a bowl; building a quilt box all by herself; eternally changing furniture around (maybe that’s where I got the affliction); and smothering her kids and grandkids with kisses. She even gave one of them a booty kiss when he or she was fresh of the bath – I, a kid myself watching, made gagging sounds. She laughed. Once when they were visiting our house in winter, my dad stoked up the fire in the stove by sloshing a little gasoline in the door. Toddler Tommy happened to be standing nearby as the flames whooshed out; Emma promptly fainted, sure that her baby was sizzled. He wasn’t hurt, thank the Lord. My daddy got a tongue-lashing from my mother, by the way.
She should have been a nurse. Well, in a way, she was anyway – Emma had a natural skill for ministering to anyone who was ill, or who experienced any kind of upset. She simply knew what to do. And did it. Emma’s many attributes shone brightly - she used her talents very well indeed.
Yeah, she was flawed, just as the rest of us are. If we all were perfect we wouldn’t desperately need God’s grace, now would we?
Farewell, my sis-in-law, I’ll see you again.
My sister-in-law experienced her own homecoming this holiday season. She flew to her final home a few days ago – one she didn’t finance or decorate, and one she won’t have to clean or continually fix up. Her mansion was lovingly constructed by none other than the Master and Creator of the universe, Jesus Christ himself. She must be joyful beyond our human comprehension!
My first memory of Emma Leen was when I was a five-year-old, watching solemnly as she and my older brother were married in our living room. Or maybe they married somewhere else, and stood around in our living room for a few minutes before leaving for a honeymoon. Memories from that far back are rather dim nowadays.
They lived with our family for a short time when I was 6 or 7 – incredible that we stuffed five adults and one little kid into a two-bedroom house around 700 square feet. And that’s probably a generous guess.
As the years passed, they frequently lived out of state as Thomas pipelined in several different places. To hear that they were traveling home to visit was better than Christmas as far as I was concerned! I missed them so much.
Emma was a superb cook – ordinary food, nothing gourmet – but turned out luscious pies, cornbread, dressing, fried chicken, etc., as well as wonderful produce from Thomas’s yearly garden. I used to love sitting at the tiny table in her kitchen, listening to her tell about the kids, grans, neighbors and so on, all the while cooking, never missing a beat. She didn’t use a timer, but just knew when something or other was done baking, frying, or stewing.
Her sewing machines must have buzzed over a million miles in the years she busily clothed her family and many others. Dresses, blouses, shorts, wedding/bridesmaids’ dresses, jackets, even training bloomers for the babies churned out in a never-ending stream. And that’s a miniscule description of the items she fashioned with her foot on the treadle of her Singer. I remember receiving a red dress with matching scarf after I was married and we were living on a skinny income. I wore it for years.
So many snap-shot memories over the years: Emma emptying out the ice cube trays into a huge bowl and crunching every single one – nightly - when pregnant with her third baby. Putting a generous dollop of butter into the middle of fluffy mashed potatoes piled high in a bowl; building a quilt box all by herself; eternally changing furniture around (maybe that’s where I got the affliction); and smothering her kids and grandkids with kisses. She even gave one of them a booty kiss when he or she was fresh of the bath – I, a kid myself watching, made gagging sounds. She laughed. Once when they were visiting our house in winter, my dad stoked up the fire in the stove by sloshing a little gasoline in the door. Toddler Tommy happened to be standing nearby as the flames whooshed out; Emma promptly fainted, sure that her baby was sizzled. He wasn’t hurt, thank the Lord. My daddy got a tongue-lashing from my mother, by the way.
She should have been a nurse. Well, in a way, she was anyway – Emma had a natural skill for ministering to anyone who was ill, or who experienced any kind of upset. She simply knew what to do. And did it. Emma’s many attributes shone brightly - she used her talents very well indeed.
Yeah, she was flawed, just as the rest of us are. If we all were perfect we wouldn’t desperately need God’s grace, now would we?
Farewell, my sis-in-law, I’ll see you again.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)