Psalms, Hymns...

Old hymns in a different format have a way of awakening our sensibilities toward God.

One of the most beautiful hymns recently rescued from relative obscurity is The Love of God (Mercy Me on Spoken For). The second verse says,

"Could we with ink the ocean fill,
and were the skies of parchment made,
Were every stalk on earth a quill,
and every man a scribe by trade--

To write the love of God above,
Would drain the ocean dry.
Nor could the scroll contain the whole,
though stetched from sky to sky."

This beauty lay in quietness in our hymnals for years.

Another hymn revived last year by Fermando Ortega is Come, Thou Fount of Every Blessing. (Fernando Ortega on Hymns and Meditations). His version of the first verse of that old hymn includes:

"Teach me some melodious sonnet,
Sung by flaming tongues above;
Praise His Name, I'm fixed upon it,
Name of God's redeeming love.

Thank you God for the glorious gift of music and the gifts of those who bring it to us.

Lilacs and gardenias

I am anxious to plant a lilac bush in my yard. Lilacs have been a part of my life since childhood. We had a big bush in Hamlin until the 50's drought and the prohibition of watering killed it. Those were the days when water was brought in on trucks for the city, and when we bathed in a bathtub using the same water--yuck--maybe that is why I prefer showers today.

We had one at Potosi, and I always enjoyed cutting and bring the blooms in for a lovely smell in the house.

My date gave me a gardenia for the Senior Dinner in Hamlin (no proms then), and I have loved the scent ever since. I understand both flowers grow well in Nashville. If it ever stops raining, I plan to go to the nursery and see what I can find.

Hasn't God blessed us with a world full of wonderful smells?

The mystery of it all

It is a very rainy day in Nashville. Time to finish that mystery I have been reading.

Someone once said, "The woman who gave me the most pleasure in bed was Agatha Christie."

I have been reading mysteries since the Hardy Boys hit the shelves in my middle school. I liked them better than Nancy Drew who seemed a sort of elitist prude--although I read all of her books too.

Is it true that intellectual people like mysteries, and that others are bored by them? Perhaps. As an adult I have read all of Sue Grafton's alphabet mysteries "R
is for Ricochet" being the last one. All of Margaret Truman's mysteries set in Washington D. C. All of the books about the forensic scientist (can't remember the author's name) which really looked forward to C. S. I. ( I watch that too.) And of course, all of John Grisham. These authors cannot write books quickly enough for me.

I am currently reading Slaying is Such Sweet Sorrow by Patricia Harwin( about a librarian amateur detective)--gift of my friend Nancy Hutchinson who passed it on.

Must go now and see who-done it.

Sweetie and Honey

Why is that when one reaches a certain age and has white hair that all waitresses and clerks feel compelled to call their customer honey and sweetie? I have been called both today. I wonder what do they call male customers?

Don't get me wrong, they were very nice--but it grates and seems to me to be sexist when this happens.

Oh, well what is the female form of curmudgeon?

Birthing

Putting together and recording a Zoe cd is work--it is a birthing process of sorts. Planning begins months in advance. The breath of the Holy Spirit blows over the process as each piece is chosen, transcribed, practiced and perfected. Then the pregnant project enters the studio and through multiple and long labor pains, the cd is born. The gifts of accomplished musicians, engineers, and the producer help with the birth. The baby arrives ready to give pleasure to the thousands who will hear it and worship with it.

John Wesley, who promoted hymn singing in the Methodist movement he founded (and he wrote many of the hymns), was right: hymns are a "body of practical divinity, a sung theology." Don Saliers writes that where people sing of God, theology is formed and expressed. It shapes the religious community by its rhythm and pitch.
(From Practicing Our Faith by Dorothy C. Bass).

As a Zoe groupie, I affim that their recordings have both shaped the theology and the religious community where they are heard. Thanks, Brandon for taking me to the studio Saturday to watch you lay your solos down on the tracks and for allowing me to hear some of the new songs. All Zoe fans and God will bless and love the new cd
for the "practical divinity" and grace it contains.

Laid to rest

Still thinking about Jill.

One of the most interesting trips we took years ago was to the cemeteries where past Thomases and various other relatives are buried. Most were around Groesbeck in semi-East Texas where there are beautiful trees and old plots with real headstones.

I realized yesterday that I needed to tell Maddie and Ella where some of their relatives are buried for future historical purposes. Your Poppy Sam, his mother and father (Ludene and A.B.--Mow and Big Paw) his grandfather and grandmother (Sam A. and his wife--Back and Granny) and other long-gone relatives are buried in the Falkenbury Cemetery in Groesbeck, Texas. My mother and father (Pauline and Ollis--Granny and PawPaw) are buried in the Hamlin, Texas Cemetery. Pauline's mother (Lizzie Belle Herndon Tucker--Granny Tucker) is buried in Elmwood West in Abilene. (Granny Tucker's mother and father (William Samuel Herndon and Mary) are buried in the Anson, Texas cemetery east of town, along with many other Herndons.)Pauline's father is buried in Zephyr, Texas. Ollis's parents are buried in Hannah Cemetery north of Anson, Texas.

Because of my interest in history and genealogy, I think it is important to know these things. Two of my peeves are that people do not put enough information on gravestones and that families do not keep up with burial places. I guess another is the "modern" cemeteries with no headstones showing above ground. The ambiance of the Groesbeck cemetery is enhanced by the centuries old evergreens and moss and the unique headstones of the 19th century. The dead don't care, but the living are enriched by such a place, I believe.

Rest well, sweet Jill.

Jill

"Death comes equally to us all and makes us all equal when it comes." John Donne

My brother's stepdaughter Jill died last night after a long fight with cancer. She left a husband and three teenage boys. She was 36.

Jill had a hard growing up--her bouts with drugs, teenage angst, and early marriages almost got her, but she found toughness and reformed to live a happier life during her 20's and 30's. She fought the cancer with courage and a strong will to live. My heart goes out to her family. Death came way too soon as it does for many.

Even if your child is 37, call him/her today and tell him/her how much love you have for your sweet one.

We Are On the Take

Maybe we noncontributing members can be found sitting in pews and chairs all over the church building forever taking, taking, taking and never contributing.

Recently a group of three knocked on my door. They are beginning a new church in Antioch, and were gathering info about the community. One of the questions they asked was "Who do you think is the most underserved in churches today--children, youth or the elderly?"

I replied they are all overserved (using hyperbole, of course). I said if you are looking for a population to serve, go to the poor and underprivileged. ( I am taking Jerry and Sandra Collins' lessons on the minor prophets to heart.)

Are we overserved? Do we go the the meetings of the body seeking what we can get or give? What do we say about the worship, the sermon, the activities of the church? "That didn't do much for me." "I wish THEY would...." "The preacher, the other ministers, the elders, etc. don't even know my name." "Nobody in the church would know if I left this church." DUH

O, Lord, give us the discernment to discover the important things in our life with you and the courage to run the race required.

I Found Us

I'll tell you where we are:

We are watching television six hours after work.
Sitting at soccer/baseball/football/basketball games.
Working two jobs (for the new car and the 5 bedroom house)
Volunteering at schools, athletic events, political activities, etc.etc.

NONE of these is bad, sinful, obscene. But we have to ask ourselves what are we modeling for our children?

TV and sports are more important than spending time with God...
Marching in a rally and going to meetings are more important than helping your youth participate in a youth group mission or activity?
Working (doing) is more important than Being?
Manic days full of errands, meetings, activities and materialistic goals are more important than building up and supporting the body, the church community?
An apple for the classroom teacher and cupcakes for the class are more important than a hug or a note to the ministers?

Juliet Schor said in her book The Overworked American, "We live in an economy and society that are demanding too much from people." And we are exhausted! Choices must be made.

"I have set before you life and death, blessings and curses. Choose life so that you and your descendants may live." Deut. 30:19

Contributing

I have heard folks lately lamenting the fact that members don't contribute to the church anymore. And I don't mean money.

Where are the members willing to take on teaching 3-year-olds or 6th graders for a semester? Sam and I taught Juniors (4, 5, 6th graders) for 10 years at Minter Lane. We had so much fun teaching together. We ran the class like the teachers we were--each student had textbooks (Bible, concordance, bible atlas, paid for out of the education fund). Lessons were centered around stories with moral values, but students had to do homework with their textbooks for each lesson. It was a different time--they actually did the work because we were heavily supported by their parents.

Along the way, we created games not seen then in Bible classes--Jeopardy, Concentration, To Tell the Truth, etc. We often used learning centers which included art, music and drama. We had a library of religious books they could check out. And we gave tests and report cards. A former students says she knows much more today about the Middle East because of the bible atlas.

Where are the members willing to rock babies in the nursery one Sunday a month? Why must we pay others to "keep" the nursery?

Where are the members willing to teach Ladies Bible class during the week or a class on Sunday morning? In the class I attended at Highland, after the topic for the semester was chosen, members of the class rotated teaching. Some were skilled; some were not. We bore with them as they learned more than we did. I am becoming more and more convinced that Sunday morning classes as our fellowship runs them now are an anacronism. They tend to make us think we know more than we do, and they give us another "act" to check off.

Where are the members who are willing to contribute money and time to church missions, the youth group, cooking for the homeless, newcomer dinners, adopting college students?

Where are the members willing to encourage the staff with hugs, notes, hospitality,
and other encouragement?

Where are we?????

Organized and orderly

"Life is too complicated not to be orderly." Martha Stewart (who else?)

Spring cleaning time has arrived. Davis Kidd bookstore has displays of books about how to clean and organize and how to live a life of simplicity. One of the best titles was How Can I Help Others If I Cannot Find My Keys?

I am drawn to these books, but not always to their content. Writers in this genre seem to enjoy either making their pronouncements too easy--as if they were writing to dummies; or they enjoy giving formulas for cleaning products which would strain the most experienced chemist. I prefer to buy Windex and Pledge.

The best advice I ever read on the subject was "When you take something new into your house, cabinet or closet, ALWAYS take something old out."

Now if I could just do it.

Listening to God

I spoke last week to a group of women on the topic of sittting quietly and listening to God. As I prepared, this vision of God came into my mind:

(Big Sigh!!!) Finally!!!It's amazing. She is sitting quietly and trying to listen to me. I have been speaking to her for years through her children, in music, in sermons, through my creation, through the Bible--and now she has finally sat down to listen. Miracles really do happen!!!

Be still and know that I am God.

Hope for the future

Celebration Sunday at Otter last night featured an open mic. Worshippers (men and women) were invited to come read scriptures of praise.

Allie Davidson (age 7) came forward and read Mary's visit from the angel in Luke 1 perfectly. Watch out church! Here comes the next generation of daughters uninhibited by past wrong-headed restrictions, feminine shyness or other silly things.

Thank you Allie Davidson for giving me hope for the future.

Holding

There have been several thrilling proclamations in my life: "Will you marry me?"
"It's a boy!" "I love you, Mommy." "Mom, we're expecting." and others.

One of the sweetest comes when Ella's blue eyes and sweetheart face turn up, and she says, "I want to hold you." I melt into a puddle.

I wonder if God feels the same way when we accept His outstretched arms? After all, He wants to hold us, to take us with His right hand, to hold us in the palm of His hand, to comfort, bless, and warm us.

Dear Father, I accept your arms of love today and forever.

Apt Words

"A word aptly spoken is like apples of gold in setting of silver." Prov. 25:11

I love it when a writer uses words "aptly". The Baptist church down the road has begun a coffee house. Its title: Holy Grounds. I think that is clever. I smile every time I read it on their sign.

On this topic, I can't get away from Twain's proclamation: "The difference between the almost-right word and the right word is the difference between the lightening bug and lightening."

However, my favorite advice on the topic of choosing right words is, "Don't tell me the moon is shining; show me the glint of light on broken glass." Anton Chekhov

Looking forward

It is fun to think ahead about the future of Maddie and Ella.

These days, Maddie is intent on being either a princess or a ballerina. She is so "girly"--I can easily see her in a tutu on a stage doing Swan Lake. Ella is enthralled with babies; I am sure she is headed toward rearing a wonderful family. She is much more athletic and tough than Maddie, so I am certain she will kick a few soccer balls and mud-wrestle along the way.

As I babysat with the girls last weekend, I did see other possibilities for the future. Ella (age 2) is a storyteller. A lot of her stories are in German or Polish, but the gestures, faces and stage presence foretell a future in the theater. Maddie (age 3)is an artist like her mother and grandfather Poppy. Her recent picture of a rainbow was the talk of the teacher's lounge at pre-school. When she colors or paints, she does not use the colors one would expect, but artfully sets color against color to create a unique effect pleasing to the eye. Pretty good for a 3-year-old.

One thing I do know for sure, they will be women of God thanks to their mom and dad.

FDR

Tuesday was also the anniversary of FDR's death in 1945. I remember where I was, although I was only seven.

I was sitting in a cave my brothers and I had dug in a vacant lot across the street from our house. It was actually just a hole we had enlarged with seats dug out in the corners. I was eating a salmon croquette mayonnaise sandwich when the "fire whistle" started blaring. In our small town, the fire whistle called the volunteers to the station to fight a fire. But this siren went on so long, we all knew something extraordinary was happening. I ran home and found my mother listening to the radio announcer telling the sad news.

I wish I didn't know about FDR's affair with Lucy Mercer and about his ego which wouldn't allow pictures of him in a wheelchair. I guess I prefer my heroes mythologized rather than the warts and all buffet carried in today's tabloids. We needed heroes in the dark days of WWII, and we need them today.

Clois Fowler

Yesterday was the 50th anniversary of the announcement that Jonas Salk had found a cure for polio.

I never knew anyone in my small town who had polio, but I do recall the elation at the announcement: the extremely large headlines in the paper and pictures of Jonas Salk in magazines and newspapers, etc.

A dear friend in Abilene Clois Fowler has suffered terribly from post polio afflictions, and I thought of him yesterday. He missed the cure that benefitted my generation. But despite his health problems, he became a spiritual giant, long associated with The Herald of Truth, and he also served as an elder at Highland.
Clois also has a great gift for storytelling--love him! (and Betty too!)I am still waiting for the book he should write.

Night Ritual

How does one tell the flame-haired three-year-old sitting in your lap with her head in the curve of your shoulder, "No more books. It's time to go to bed!" ?

Well, when you're the grandmother, YOU DON'T. We continue reading about Mr. McGregor, a marshmellow chick, 10 jumping monkeys and a bunny who will be loved forever.

Finally, the eyes grow heavy, the bed beckons, and Maddie goes to sleep with the sound of wonderful words and Nonnie's voice in her ear.

Camping Out

When I married Sam, I came into a family with a long experience in camping out. We have pictures of his parents' road trip to Colorado in the 20's. They traveled in a "touring car" with shades that pulled down over the windows. At night, they slept in cots by a fire. My parents never did such things. The closest my dad got to nature was fishing.

Shortly after our marriage Sam and I accompanied his sister and brother-in-law (Dorothy and Sam Morse) on a camping trip to Big Bend. It was not only my introduction to camping, but also to many family dynamics. We slept outside in sleeping bags on cots (with mine as close to my Sam as I could get). Sam M. said that he woke in the night to see skunks playing under my cot.

I found that the best thing about camping was the food--the men always cooked. At first, I resisted eating anything cooked on "cow chips" (dried cow manure). When they introduced me to the tasty world of "fried toast", resistance fell. (Slather both sides of bread with softened butter and then fry in a frying pan with more melted butter.) Sam M. was a scoutmaster and a top-notch camp cook. Top off the fried toast with homemade strawberry jelly, bacon and scrambled eggs,
and camp coffee (coffee cooked in an old perculator on the fire), and it was a feast for the gods. There were also the baked potatoes,wrapped in foil and put in coals before we went exploring. Coming home to them was heaven.

Dorothy and Sam M. are gone now, but I treasure those pleasure-filled days when a city girl learned the joys of nature's bounty.

Early riser

Ella woke up at 5:00 Friday morning. Although she really wanted her mommy, she readily crawled into my bed and snuggled for a while.

I had forgotten the pleasure of feeling a warm lumpy body curved into my tummy like a puppy. I had forgotten how loudly a 2-year-old can snore. I had forgotten the sweet feel of warm breath from a sleeping child.

Ella is the early riser of the bunch, and she always awakes with a bang. There is not mistaking who is ready to get up. But she loves to cuddle with whoever appears to pick her up. While Mommy and Daddy are in Colorado, Nonnie had that treat.

Another joy of Nashville!

In the Country

I am so thankful that my little house is removed from the Nashville hustle and bustle by a patch of country.

Country where minature horses graze on a block of hay in the front yard of a country house, where some plots of land are vacant, and one can see the mountains beyond them.

Country where a pick-up truck and small tractor sit parked in the field and a sign out front says, "Gardens plowed". Country where pavement does not cover every inch of dirt and where wild berry bushes grow along a tiny creek.

Country where a small, well-kept private cemetery graces a field covered in dandelions. Country where traffic sounds like sirens and horns cannot be heard, but where crickets and cicadas bring music to the evening.

Thank you Lord for the lovely things you created. Help us to sit in awe among them.

The Chicken and I

In my early childhood, my father drove a chicken bus delivering baby chicks from the Hamlin Hatchery to farmers in a large area of West Texas. I often heard him say, "Chickens are the dumbest creatures on the face of the earth!"

I suppose that is true. For example when one chick is injured and shows blood, the others, sensing his weakness, will then not rest until they have pecked him to death. But on the other hand, I have seen people with much larger brains do the same thing.

The time I spent around chickens at my grandmother's house was pleasant, especially when the rooster was penned up. He enjoyed chasing and spurring anyone who came around his flock.

I loved the sounds chickens make at dusk and when they trumpeted an egg's appearance. I selected one of the hens as my pet and called her Annie. I called her by name when I entered the chicken yard and petted her when I gathered her eggs.
Imagine my horror and surprise when I walked out on the back porch one morning and saw my Granny Dobbins wringing Annie's neck. Annie had been targeted for lunch.

The fried chicken was delicious with biscuits and white gravy, and I forgave my grandmother quickly. That day I learned a lesson about the balance of our family's eco-system.

The egg and I

Eggs rolled into my life when I was about eight years old. My grandmother Dobbins, who kept a chicken coop full of chickens, decided I was old enough to gather eggs. Of course, I had been eating those eggs for years oblivious to their origin. Until that day, my job was scattering the chicken feed "in the yard" and filling the water jars--those glass jars which screwed into a large metal bowl full of holes just right for beaks to imbibe.

I watched as my Granny Dobbins fearlessly reached under the chickens and pulled out 3-4 eggs. Some were white and some were brown. Also in some nests were glass eggs (I forget what those were for). She showed me which chickens were "nesting"--the gatherer NEVER reached under them. We returned to the kitchen where she gave me a cup towel-lined basket, and I stepped off the back porch with these words ringing in my ears: "Watch out for snakes." It seems that snakes love to eat eggs and baby chicks, so the chicken coop is a favorite hang-out.

I was less a scaredy-cat then; I actually enjoyed going in, making a soft clucking noise to the hens and pulling out warm eggs. Fortunately, I never encountered a snake. That would have been my last time in the hen house!

Raised by appliances

Bill Moyers once said, "Our children are being raised by appliances." Noting the number of hours children spend watching TV in recent reports, I can see what he means.

When did this thing we sit goggle-eyes before at every opportunity take over our lives? We watch it for news (I am appalled at how few literate people read the newspaper), we watch it for entertainment, we watch it for .....and yet we say that our lives are so busy we don't know whether we are coming or going. Perhaps it is because we are so driven that we need the mindless 5-6 hours every evening to get our will built to go on the next day to more activity.

Maybe we just need to take a break every now and then to see how much we depend on it. Maybe our eyes would be opened to how addicted we are. The Sunday newspaper recently featured a woman who watches 8 hours of soap operas a day. She does have a job--just sets the recorder to catch all those she misses when working. What kind of mind set must that many hours of soap opera build? Can't be positive; can't be moral; can't be creative.

Lord, keeps us from idols whose arms entangle us with the world so tightly we cannot move or think.

The Ugly Duckling

I missed it! April 2 was Hans Christian Andersen's 200th birthday. He is the father of modern folklore, as opposed to the Grimm Brothers being the collectors of ancient folklore.

Andersen had a very unhappy life. Born in poverty, his father was a shoemaker (how ironic) and his mother a washerwoman. His father died when he was 11, and Hans had to go to work. His sister became a prostitute and his mother died in a charity old folks' home. Before his father died, he did start Hans down the literary road and often took the young boy to the theatre. He even bought him a puppet theatre of his own, so his son could make his own puppets and compose his own plays. His father was literate and often read to his son plays and the Arabian Tales.

H. C. Andersen was extremely tall, had a very large nose, close-set eyes, and was quite effeminate--so he was the target for bullies of all ages. At age 14, H. C. moved to Copenhagen where he became associated with the Royal Theater because of his beautiful soprano voice. As his voice changed, he succeeded in gaining a mentor there who later paid his way to Copenhagen University. In 1928 he published a travel sketch and a poem called "The Dying Child". Later in 1829, he fell in love with a woman who was secretly engaged to another man. A letter from her was found around his neck in a leather pouch when he died.

Although he wrote many travel sketches, poems and novels, his fame rests on his book Fairy Tales and Stories, written between 1835 and 1872. The third volume of these stories contained "The Little Mermaid" and "The Emperor's New Clothes". He frequently identified with the poor and unfortunate which made his tales very appealing to the common reader. Many had very sad endings like "The Little Match Girl". His tale "The Nightingale" is considered a tribute to Jenny Lind a famous Swedish opera star known as the Swedish Nightingale. He fell in love with her in 1840, but the interest was not mutual. Andersen died in 1875.

My favorite story of his is "The Princess and the Pea".

The Sounds of Silence II

I have a friend who teaches communication at a Christian university who assigns her students a media fast during the first semester of school. They are to watch no TV or movies (DVD or theater), turn off the radio, the cd player, the computer, the fax machine, read no newspapers, etc. for one week. At the end of the week, they are to write their reactions to the deprivation.

Some of the students refuse to do the assignment; some do not get through the week. They take a lower grade rather than fast.

How would you do? Though some might say that since I am a widow with no one at home but me, I might do pretty well. That is not necessarily so because of my daily habit of Katie, Matt, Al and Anne and my love of Antiques Roadshow. How would a day go without music? I don't want to find out.

I read recently of a man who decided not to speak from dusk on Saturday to Sunday night as part of his celebration of Sabbath.

Any takers on either proposition? If you decide to do either, write and let me know how it went.

The Sounds of Silence

I heard a morning (mourning?) dove today. The lonesome wistful sound is so familiar and poignant. I heard it because the TV and radio were off. Madeliene L'Engle says, "We need both for our full development: the joy of the sense of sound and the equally great joy of its absence."

How did our world get so noisy? We allowed it. I remember when I first heard elevator music in the elevator at Minter's Department Store in Abilene. I thought it was an intrusion. We are no longer comfortable with silence, and some of our children have no first-hand knowledge of it. Much has been written about the demise of the front porch. I think silence "demised" when everybody moved inside.

Silence makes us more attentive to the little sounds which make our life more comfortable and enjoyable--the rhythmic ticking of the clock, the songs of birds outside an open window, the sizzling of bacon, the tune played by the coffee pot, and the padded thump of little feet coming down the stairs.

What can we do? For starters, turn everything off: the TV, the radio, cell phone, telephone, fax machine, cd player. Practice quiet moments around what one author calls "the edges of the day." Begin and end with silence. More tomorrow.

Making Beds

As I babysat last night while Zoe recorded, I was privileged to see one of those sweet moments I treasure.

I brought the girls new beach towels (on sale at the Disney store). Maddie, followed by Ella, of course, immediately began "making beds" all over the downstairs. Gathering a pillow here and a "blankie" there , any open space was open to being "made".

At one point in the evening, Maddie had labored for a long time spreading the towel over couch pillows until there was no wrinkle in sight (my own bed should be so smooth!). She positioned the right pillow in just the right place and spread a pink blanket over the bottom half for cover. Then she stood on the couch looking down at her handiwork and said, "That is so pretty!"

I pray that Maddie will always be enthralled by the simple work of her hands and by the soft gifts of rest she can create.

Storytelling

I have just started to read a book called Founding Mothers: The Women Who Raised Our Nation by Cokie Roberts. In the introduction, Roberts speaks of the importance of the stories her mother told her about a famous ancestor, William Claiborne who in the late 1700's was the sole representative to Congress from Tennessee. Of course, Roberts is now a political commentator for ABC. She writes about the dearth of information about those early women who stood behind the giants who formed our country because they did not write down much, or what they wrote was not saved. Abigal Adams was the most prolific writer of the day, but she asked her husband John to burn her letters and other correspondence. Fortunately, he refused, and we know more about her and him than most of the Revolutionary group.

When I began this blog, I stated my goal was to preserve some of my life for Maddie and Ella--and I hope that my writings will be fun for them to read in 30-40 years.
I want them to know their grandmother and her philosophy of life, to know what she was thinking and what she was passionate about.

However, I have realized that I am not telling enough stories--so every now and then from now on there will be a random story for them.