Cuddly God?

In speaking yesterday about the hard sayings of Jesus in John 8, Tim made the statement that perhaps we have made God and Jesus more cuddly than they appear in the Bible.

There was much talk in the 60's about the old gray-haired man with a long beard sitting on a throne in heaven. Then I learned that Abba could be translated Daddy. These seemed irreverent to me and contained much less awe than I had planted in my brain by the "hell fire and damnation" preaching of my childhood.

Perhaps we are still rebeling against that preaching by seeking the softer Psalms to comfort us (nothing wrong with that!)and the pictures of Jesus blessing women and children. I was challenged yesterday by the question, "Would you truly want Jesus sitting beside you in church whispering things in your ear like he told the Pharisees in the temple in John 8?" Would we throw him out or invite him to join the church on the next corner?

It is not very comforting to be told as a "fine upstanding Christian" that you are a child of the devil. The passage made me sad as Jesus had to plead so passionately to the "fine, upstanding Christians" of that day to listen to him and his truth. To believe that he was God's son. What would I have been thinking in that crowd? Would I have leaned down to pick up a rock? Would I have called him a liar? Would I have believed him crazy?

O, God, I do believe in your son and I do yearn to understand his hard teachings. Thank you for his sacrifice and his love for recalcitrant children.

Fireworks

My neighbors shot fireworks in their backyard last night until 1:00--rather than report them to the police, I turned off all the lights in my house and enjoyed them.

It brought back fond memories of fireworks in Groesbeck. Sam's Uncle Ralph loved fireworks and always spent a lot of money on them when we came, because Sam loved them too. Watching the adults last night helped me recall when the adults would leave the group in the driveway, go squat down with a match and then quickly retreat to the group as the bottle rocket went off.

I remember the delicious delight of holding the roman candle waiting for the thump and eruption of color. And holding sparklers gingerly awaiting the sting of the first sparks. There are some powerful things out there now for the general public--one of the displays last night reminded me of the finale at the fireworks in the stadium in Abilene.

Happy fourth of July! I am thanking God for sending me to this country and for the freedom he has given me in Christ.

Birthday bash

What's more fun than watching 15-20 (nobody ever got a real count) preschoolers play in water and sand; slide down slides, swing in swings, eat birthday cake and open presents? Not much.

Maddie's fourth birthday was a true bash; even baby Sam came outside to watch and listen. Hot dogs and grilled sausage, cowboy salsa and diet lemonade really hit the spot as we mostly sweltered in the heat. I longed to jump in the kiddy pools myself.

Maddie should have enough new toys to last awhile. The hit of the day was the Tinkerbell costume with velcroed wings. She did look like an angel in it.

I remember having one birthday party--it must have been third grade. Only 4 or 5 friends, cake and punch, very simple. I don't remember presents except some paper dolls.

Brandon usually had elaborate birthdays with many friends. One special thing was that Sam made and decorated all his cakes. We had them at home, in Cobb Park, at the skating rink, at McDonalds, at church. It was lovely and lots of fun for his parents. And I observed that happening today--it was lovely and lots of fun for Maddie's parents. Nobody likes a party more than Brandon Thomas.

Imagination

"Imagination is more important than knowledge." Albert Einstein

This quotation is featured prominently in a mural in the science building at ACU. I think it is appropriate for the students to know that knowledge is not the end of learning.

When I was a librarian at one of Abilene's elementary schools, one of my fourth-grade boys was extremely interested in fairy tales, folk tales, etc. He would check out nothing else despite my best efforts. One day his mother sent a note to me to not allow the boy to check out these books anymore because they contained witches, trolls, hags, wizards, dragons and other "godless" beings. For the remainder of the year, as the class looked for books, the boy sat in the folklore section and looked through all the books he could in 30 minutes. He did not check out another book that year, except those his teacher required for book reports. I often wonder where he is now.

When our imagination fades, so do our brains. What new imaginations can we apply to the worship of God, the living of life in God, community life in the church? Don't we need to try?

War of the worlds

A few months after I was born, Orson Welles scared America to death with a radio broadcast of War of the Worlds by H. G. Wells.

The audience in the theater today where I sat was mesmerized by the same story. I don't usually like science fiction or scary stories, but I enjoyed this one. It is not for little kids; there are words that Welles didn't have in his book, I am sure.
But for an imaginative ride, it was fun. I think the movie does not parallel the book very much except in the chaos created by out-of-our-world beings.

One sometimes has to wonder if the great God of the universe--the Creator--stopped creating beings with our little world. The thought is too big for my little brain; perhaps that is why I don't care for science fiction. But what if?

Steamy rain

Rain started falling minutes ago. We badly need any drops that come. The street was so hot that steam immediately began to come up like steam from a teakettle. Rain is so choosy here. Yesterday it rained buckets downtown and not a drop out here.

I have been read Max's book Come Thirsty. I hadn't relized there were so many verses relating to water in the Bible. As I read it, Zoe's song All Who Are Thirsty kept running through my head. The verse he quotes from Rev.22:17 most struck me: If you are thirsty come! If you want life-giving water, come and take it. It's free! (Contemporary English Version) One would think that millions would be breaking their necks to get this water. Yet, we struggle along in our desert, content with saying, "I'm so thirsty", missing the free offering around us.

Father, I thank you for the rain today and the showers of blessing in my life. Help me to take bigger gulps, to drench myself, to stand under the fountain of your love.

KO and Marilyn and sweet friends

As Brandon said today on his blog, it was so good to see K. O. and Marilyn. We go way back with both of them. Marilyn and I taught together several years at Austin Elementary. She was the penultimate third grade teacher. She is retiring, having seen as she said, "more cycles than I really wanted to see." Things do keep coming around in the teaching profession. K. O. is the new dean of the business school at McMurry University.

Sweet friends who stay in your lives are true blessings from God. When you share so many memories, the stories just keep coming. Marilyn also taught under Sam when he was principal at Austin. She was next door teacher with a family cousin Louann Flynt who now has multiple schlerosis. Both experts! In fact, the old Austin faculty with whom I taught had some outstanding teachers who made their mark in Abilene. There was no better speech pathologist than Louise Gray who trained more than her share of speech people. Great memories of lunchtime gossip, PTA programs, faculty meetings, and playing tricks on our principal Dave Jones. The faculty got it back when the chief trick-player Sam Thomas followed Dave as principal.

I don't want to go back, but it was surely fun while I was there.

Storytelling

When one thinks of enterainment, storytelling may be the biggest business in the world--movies, books, TV, etc.

In Matt. 13:10-17, Jesus is asked why he tells stories. He replies, "to create readiness, to nudge the people toward receptive insight." (The Message) I guess that is why TV commercials are using so many stories now,even in the short time allowed. For example, the Master Card commercials in which the final statement is
PRICELESS! And the dumb (IMHO) Geiko (sp) commercials etc.

One should never underestimate the power of a story, and we should never quit telling our children stories. Because, contrary to what most young people believe,
"Here isn't everywhere and now isn't always."

Retirement

Standing in line at the bank yesterday, I was drawn to thinking about retirement.
There were at least 15 men in line holding paychecks. By looks, most of them were day laborers, but they were having a good time looking forward to cashing their check.

As a retiree, my check is direct deposited, and I don't get the rush that comes from seeing those numbers on a piece of paper and knowing I will soon have cash in my hand. There is a satisfactory feeling in looking at your paycheck--knowing you have labored and are getting paid for it. As a retiree of the state of Texas and a member of the Social Security System, I know I will never get a substantial pay raise ( yes, there are those $2 "cost of living raises"). I will never again be in line for merit pay, nor will I ever receive a bonus. (Never did get a bonus as a teacher, anyway).

On the other hand, I do have a guaranteed check in the bank each month--more than many people in the U. S. have. My greatest lesson to learn is to spend less of it and save more.

Thank you God for your patient and loving care.

Generosity

"The world of the generous gets larger and larger; the world of the stingy gets smaller and smaller." Proverbs 11:24 (The Message)

Giving is so hard these days when every message says, "Buy me, buy me." "You can't live without me." I often wish I were wealthy so I could give away more. Then my conscience stabs and asks, " Are you giving all you can now? What makes you think it would be any different if you had more?"

I was reading about Bill and Melinda Gates in Time Magazine recently. Their fortune is estimated at 46.5 billion and, they are "now considered the greatest philantropists in history."

Their foundation focuses on issues related to health and education. They put 750 million toward global vaccination and have saved the lives of an estimated 670,000 children already. They have given 1.2 billion to educational causes as well.

That makes me want to go buy a Microsoft product. May God bless the giving of the Gates billions and the giving of our dollars and cents to the unfortunate.

Remembering

Driving home last night, it was sweet to see the fireflies out in full force. It reminded me of the nights at Abilene State Park. We sat in lawn chairs watching the remains of our supper fire and basking in the glow of thousands of fireflies flickering in the branches of the trees.

Taking off of a wonderful essay by Frederick Buechner titled "A Room Called Remember", I have been thinking about the importance of remembering and how memories just jump up spontaneously--a snatch of a song, a photograph curling in the drawer, smells that remind one of home, a random conversation, etc.

For example, Sunday morning Brandon chose to include This Is My Father's World in the worship service. No one but he and I knew that the song was his father's favorite hymn. It was a sweet rememberance. There is this commercial on TV about Nexium in which an older couple sit in a room covered with flowered wallpaper which has triggered a memory in my life I can't quite get to. The musty smell of an old room covered in wallpaper lies somewhere back there--I guess it will come up soon to my consciousness, and I will be able to quit stewing over it.

Monday night at a Bible Study, Pat Ward spoke of how faithful God had been in her life despite many trials. That is one of the important reasons God gave us memory. Buechner speaks of "...a strength beyond our strength(that) pulled us through at least to this day" and a "wisdom beyond our wisdom (that) has flickered up just often enough to light us."

Thank you God for the memories of your faithfulness in our good life and for your promised care to the end.

Places of beauty

In her book Keeping the Sabbath Wholly, Marva Dawn writes, "I am grateful for my heritage in the Lutheran church, because it nurtured me in an atmosphere of symbols. Even when I didn't understand anything of the sermons, I learned from the statues and stained glass windows depicting Jesus, from the altar carvings and paraments in the sanctuary of my childhood."

I made a sweeping generalization yesterday as I am prone to do--there are some churches in my fellowship which do have sanctuary symbols. Highland and Otter Creek both have crosses and banners. Otter has a small stained glass dove over the baptistery. Woodmont Hills has decorative movable items which can be changed from
time to time to meet the season or theme of the semester. I know there are others as well. These are somewhat better than the boards of my youth which reported song numbers and attendance figures.

Dawn continues by saying that her home church had 2 large stained glass windows depicting God blessing Jesus with a dove representing the Holy Spirit hovering near.
Each morning as the congregation confessed the Apostles' or Nicene Creed, she contemplated the images of the Trinity there. On her first Sunday away from home, at that point in the service, she lifted her head and "with a great gasp I realized that the front wall was empty, and it took me awhile to recover my equilibrium enough to speak the words of the creed. The stained glass windows of my home church were very useful tools for nurturing my faith. Their beauty lifted me in awe to contemplate the mystery of the Trinity."

Dawn writes, "...it is important that our places of worship be places of beauty, and it is especially wonderful if the beauty can be produced by members of the worshipping body. When the works of art, the banners, or other furnishings reflect the loving hands of community members, the beauty of these things reinforces the understanding that we are all importnt ministers in the the church according to our respective gifts." I have written before about honoring the artists among us---we were fortunate at Highland to have Jack and Jill Maxwell, whose chalk art hangs on the wall of the auditiorium, helping everyone to recall the Bible story on which the art is based.

For those who are saying, oh, worship is a heart worship in the New Testament--don't forget that heart worship is a sensory worship. Surely your heart worship of your spouse involves the senses? We do not know what the New Testament church looked at as they worshipped--they had no buildings. How then, can we bind what goes in our buildings in the 21st century? It is my belief that we must get over our obsession with avoiding liturgy, icons, candles, etc. and go about teaching our children symbolism and the importance of beauty in the worship of God. He is the creator of Beauty and to approach him with beige walls and beige worship is a travesty.

Power point has provided some hope in this area--an adept use of it can bring to worshippers great works of art and beautiful graphics which do aid worship.

Thank you God for small slivers of light in our bland approach to you. Help us to
look harder for ways to worship you wholly.

Worship is more than words

In his book Telling Secrets Frederick Buechner tells of visiting St. Barnabas Episcopal Church "an evangelical high church." Part of the service was chanted and "I discovered that when a prayer or a psalm or a passage from the Gospels is sung, you hear it in a new way. What the chanting did was to remind me that worship is more than words...that words are not only meaning, but music, magic and power. The chanting italicized them...."

He also writes about their use of incense, "...the church was suddenly filled with Christmas. The hushed fragrance of it, the thin haze of it, seemed to say that it is not just to our minds that God seeks to make himself known (because whatever we may think, we are much more than our minds). but to our sense of touch and taste too, to our seeing and hearing and smelling the air."

I am thankful that more than ever before contemporary Christian music is singing the words of the Psalms and the Gospels. A Dominican nun once said, "When you pray, you walk to God; when you sing, you run to God." We have begun to run.

My fellowship has been very slow to acknowledge that the human being learns other ways than rationally, logically, academically. We have very little in our buildings or in our services that meet the soul by touch, taste (except communion) or smell.
Indeed, we don't even touch each other in fellowship, while other churches "pass the peace." In our stripped-down buildings there are not even baptismal paintings any more. Just beige here, beige there.

More about this later.

The remains of the day

I didn't like the movie/novel very much, but I do love the title--The Remains of the Day.

Today I am sorting through the remains of yesterday--picking up stuff, throwing away the Sunday paper and remembering little tidbits from yesterday:

The six of us sitting around a table with a yellow umbrella on the patio of Mere Bulls. Sheryl, already shrunk from pregnancy, looking so pretty; Maddie, who was in a particularly joyful mood; Ella, her typically bouyant self; Brandon, the FATHER of THREE children; Baby Sam, sleeping; and me.

Ella and Maddie are so different--Maddie can practically faint on seeing a fly or any other bug. Ella just says "Shoo Fly." I tried to teach Maddie the song "Shoo Fly" for the next time she is buzzed. Maddie can rejoice in the smallest things. A butterfly landed on the waiter's back, and she had to tell the world. We should all rejoice in small things!

The weather was wonderful, a slight breeze was blowing, and the eggs Benedict were very good with fried green tomatoes and a mimosa. Can you get any more Southern than that?


Father, thank you for the remains of sweet days.

Watching Brandon

I love watching my son father. He has so many qualities that make a good father:

He delights in his children--his shining eyes and exuberant laughter envelope them in love.

He talks to them about God freely, emotionally and naturally so that Maddie and Ella (Baby Sam is a little too young yet) sing and talk about God too. Prayer time at night is sacred time.

He plays with them with great enjoyment whether it is sitting in the kiddy pool with them or circling in Ring Around the Rosy--it's all fun.

He is warm, affectionate and always excited to see and be with his girls and Sam, as they are with him. I have watched the girls at the door waiting for him quivering with anticipation.

He is a positive encourager. I am never with them that I don't hear him say how pretty and sweet his girls are, and how much he treasures them.

He loves telling them stories about their Poppy--the grandfather they will never see on this earth, but who was a father much like theirs.

He sets aside time just for the girls and is very careful to carve out those hours that are so precious to them.

He is stern when needed, but always precedes punishment with explanation and follows it with hugs and kisses.

He loves reading books to Maddie and Ella and delights when they can read them back.

Thank you God for modeling love for us and for blessing Brandon with three healthy, wonderful children who love him and you.

BA Biblioholics Anonymous

Hello, my name is Judy. I am a biblioholic. Putting me in a bookstore is akin to putting a chocolate lover in the Ghirardelli factory or a bank robber in an open bank vault.

Having access to three great bookstores after having none in Abilene has just about driven me over the edge. With Davis-Kidd, Borders and Barnes and Noble all within driving distance, I am in heaven.

Yesterday I drove to Cool Springs and visited Borders and Barnes and Noble. I had been in a Borders store only once before. Walking in through the coffee shop, I just had to stop for a latte with whipped creme on top. With that I got a coupon for 50% off the next drink and 30% off the next book I buy. So of course, I have to go back. I like the way the store is laid out--things seem much more accessible than in B&N. Well-labeled, neatly arranged, and guaranteed to lure the buyer in. They had a sale of buy two trade paperbacks and get one free. (I did not succumb.) I was looking for a cd for Brandon but got waylaid by the display of books on Tennesse history.

I generally go first to the religious section (Davis-Kidd beats them all), and then to children's books, and wind up at the books about writing. I always have to stop at the mystery section. AND browse in the new fiction and non-fiction section. I never make it to science or sports.

Barnes and Noble has a membership card which gives one 10% off of every book and that makes them inviting. So all three have reasons to visit.

I guess I had better find a chapter of BA here--but several books clubs are beckoning; so I will belly up to the bar and give in.

Thank you God for the sweet pleasure of reading your Word and other books. Psalm 119 says it all.

Words, words, words

In the musical My Fair Lady, Eliza Doolittle gets so put out at her suitor that she sings, "Words, words, words...is that all you blighters can do?"

Ruminating on Mike's words yesterday about church of Christ, rather than Church of Christ (that some are still writing the name with a small case c), I had to think to myself, Who cares? Who cares when they see the name of the church with a small c?
Only English teachers, I guess, who wonder what kind of education those people have.

There was a time in Hamlin during the thousandth split when a group moved to the other side of the tracks into a house and put up a huge sign out front that said
THE CHURCH. Now that's in your face! But again, who cares? This striving at dotting i's and crossing t's is getting on my last nerve. At the risk of being disfellowshipped by some, I believe that God doesn't sanction the restoration of the early church in the way we have done it. He must be shaking his head as we go all over the New Testament looking for things to implement "exactly as they did it."
Would that we had chosen to implement the church in Acts 2:42-47. Wonderful words there.

In his book Telling Secrets, Frederick Buechner writes, "Words wear thin after a while, especially religious words. We have spoken and listened to them so often that after a while we hardly even hear them anymore." Perhaps we need to do as Buechner proposed, "make poetry out of prose" so the words and the quest have more meaning and power.

Front Porch and patio

If you have shade, these are nice days for sitting on the front porch or patio and listening to evening sounds, feeling the cool breeze and just talking.

When we were growing up, toward the end of the afternoon after all the chores were done and supper was in the oven, my mom would go next door to the Warnells--a single woman Sue and her mother lived there. They would sit on the front porch and talk about the day, what was happening on radio soap operas, what the neighbors were doing, and the state of the world. We kids would sit and listen as long as we could stand it, go run and play, and then come back and listen some more. (After all, something juicy might be said.)

It was a lazy time in a long, hard day of work for my mom, and I know she enjoyed the respite. We came to know more about the Warnell relatives than we really wanted to know.

After we moved to another house Sue and her mother would visit occasionally and the same scene would play.

Someone has written a book about the demise of front porches and their haven. Air-conditioning and television brought the end. It seems to me that something important was lost when we all moved inside. I am nostalgic for the shade of that porch, for the soft voices and laughter and the community that was built there as we called out greetings to neighbors walking down the sidewalk and to kids riding their bikes down the dusty street.

Peter Pan and Michael Jackson

Peter Pan last night was a fantastic experience. The sparkle in Maddie's eyes was worth a million dollars. Cathy Rigby is amazing--at 52 flying around the auditorium, doing acrobatics, dancing like she grew up on Broadway and singing. Wow!

Now to the comparison of Michael Jackson to Peter Pan--hogwash! Jackson is a 46 year-old-man hedonist who never learned morals. Oh, he grew up--but not in the right ways. Peter is a little lost boy with no mother to tuck him in, to read him stories or to mend the holes in his pockets. Jackson is a billionaire who manipulates his staff, sucks attention out of every event, and seems to have a problem learning from prior circumstances. I try not to believe everything written in the media, but anyone with two eyes can see that this man has bigger problems than never growing up. Hopefully no child will ever visit his Neverland again, although there were mothers interviewed on TV yesterday who said they would allow their children to go there. Who's the bizzare one here? James Barrie is probably turning over in his grave.

Peter Pan and Blue Bell

This is a red-letter day for us. We are taking Maddie and Ella to see Peter Pan at TPAC tonight. Maddie is obsessed with PP--she has seen the movie at least 1,000 times and is in love with TinkerBell. Cathy Rigby is starring. The paper said she is now 52 years old--unbelievable. She will be flying above our heads tonight.

Also today is the debut of Blue Bell ice cream in Nashville. For all transplanted Texans the answer to their prayers. There is truly a difference even if Purity fans don't think so. Yum, Blue Bell Fresh Peach in June. Lee Ann Womack, the country star, was quoted as saying that she had bought a house in Texas, but she was going to sell it, because she did not need it now that Blue Bell is here.

Father, thank you for the small pleasures of life. Will there be Blue Bell in heaven?

Kool-Aid and Jesus

A recent Southern Living magazine (May, 2005) cites that the South consumes more Kool-Aid per capita than any other part of the country. The author attributes it to Vacation Bible School.

Who can ever forget those summer days of stories, songs, cookies and Kool-Aid? Nowadays VBS always has a theme. I don't remember that growing up--I do remember the end of the morning when we were all let out to grab refreshments--always cookies (chocolate chip) and Kool-Aid. I remember my mother baking cookies and taking her turn in the kitchen mixing Kool-Aid for the hordes who attended.

There was always arts and crafts time too. We looked forward to it. What I most enjoyed was that Van Goghs were not required. Any child could make the day's craft and be rewarded for it. My mother kept the required hand mold in plaster for years. We did sand pictures when studying the House On the Rock--talk about a mess. Somewhat akin to an art lesson using glitter.

I know that volunteers get tired of doing VBS year after year; however, I think it is one of the stellar things we do in church--our memories tell us so.

The food we eat

I am still fascinated by the difference in the food culture here and in Texas. In the book I previously mentioned Being Dead is No Excuse, the authors list the top ten funeral foods with Tomato Aspic as #1 on the list. One would never catch a Texan eating or making Tomato Aspic.

When I married, Sam's Aunt Maude gave us a deviled egg plate with cute little holes for those eggs. A woman of the South, she knew, I guess, that deviled eggs were very desirable for funerals. Except in the South, they call them stuffed eggs.

Of course fried chicken would make the list in both Texas and the South. The younger generation has been known to visit Uncle Harlan's for the chicken rather than drag out the frying pan and oil as they do here.

I am finding grits easier to find here than in Texas. They are generally served with all breakfasts as Texans do hash browns. That suits me; I like grits so much better.

Another unusual quirk is that folks here enjoy making pies and cakes with Twinkies. I haven't been served one yet, but Brandon has told me about them. Yuck--I will have to plead diabetes if that every occurs.

Then there is always the pork vs. beef barbeque argument. I will take beef anyday.

The things we leave behind

Of course the story is true about our not taking anything with us when we depart this life, but we do leave things behind.

On the little country road leading to my house (Pettus Road) someday long ago somebody planted holly hocks and golden day lilies. They are now in full bloom, filling a ditch with their beauty and scent. The holly hock is such an unusual flower--so tall and elegant. It can carry many blooms and never bend. This particular stand of flowers graduate from white to pink to a faint lavender. The day lilies proclaim joy with their color and form like golden trumpets playing
Hallelujah.

Thanks to the gardener who left this lovely patch of beauty.

Wild Things

Today is the 77th birthday of Maurice Sendak, author and illustrator of the classic children's book Where the Wild Things Are. Wild Things sent a bang throughout children's lit circles when it first appeared in 1963 because "monsters" were not included in children's books at the time. His wild things seem very tame now--but librarians thought they were bad for children when the book appeared.

Of course, children ate the book up. Sendak really never topped his classic, although I do like Chicken Soup with Rice. I also enjoyed (perversly) teaching In the Night Kitchen because the little baker with his private part hanging out always shocked my students. Sendak became more and more interested in the theater as he aged. I think he has not written a good children's book in some time.

Thank you Mr. Sendak for a wild rumpus and the warm supper waiting afterwards.

Being Dead is No Excuse

A new book that is taking Nashville by storm--#2 bestseller after McCullough's 1776--is Being Dead is No Excuse; The official Southern Ladies' Guide to Hosting the Perfect Funeral by Gayden Metcalfe and Charlotte Hays. Although focused on the Mississippi Delta, universal Southern applications can be made.

Not only is the commentary side-splitting funny, but the recipes are delicious-looking too. Some of the chapter titles include Dying Tastefully in the Mississippi Delta (with salient comments on cemeteries) The Methodist Ladies vs the Episcopal Ladies ( Methodists--casseroles; Episcopalians--everything from scratch) Comfort Foods: There is a Balm in Campbell's Soup (Nothing is much good without mushroom or tomato soup), and The Restorative Cocktail ("Delta funerals don't end the minute the last Amen is uttered. We stand around in the cemetery visiting so long that somebody once threatened to put up a margarita stand.")

Fun reading and eating.

Coming and going

Sam came Monday, June 6; my friend Moses Osborne left this life Tuesday, June 7. We gain one; we lose one.

Moses and I were English majors together in the heydays of Dr. James Culp at ACU. He was one year behind me. A keen intellect and a quick wit helped him become a campus leader all of his ACU life. He was universally loved as long as he lived.

Moses came back to Abilene after he retired from high school teaching, and we got to teach together for a while at ACU. He was a bright light in my life, and I shall miss him until I see him again.

The wonder of it all

I do not know how anyone who has been pregnant or watched a pregnancy can say there is no God. To me, it is the most certain proof that God exists and has not given up on us.

I just can't get out of my mind the line from James Weldon Johnson's poem The Creation which says that God creates humans like a "Mammy bending over her baby." What a picture of a loving God. And Wordsworth's "Children come from God trailing clouds of glory." So true--one only has to look at them to agree. It is one of life's most delicious mysteries.

SST is so well-formed, and I love his peach-colored fuzz. Forgive the babblings of a grandmother newly amazed!

Samuel Scott Thomas

Thank you God for Samuel Scott Thomas on this his birthday, June 6, 2005. He came very easily, weighed in at 8 lb. 10 3/4 oz. He looks very much like Maddie with peach-colored fuzz and has Brandon's nose. (It is the Brandon nose, as anyone who looks at his Nonnie and his Uncle Mike can attest).

We are so relieved and happy to welcome him and pray that God's name will always be praised through him. I know that God has a special purpose for him, just as God had one for his father and his namesake grandfather.

Nonnie loves you S.S.T.

Mr. Fry

In the halycon days of the 50's when students at my high school could leave the campus for lunch, a primary destination was Mr. Fry's Hamburgers (I don't really recall the actual name of the place--we just called it Mr. Fry's).

We would walk the three blocks to downtown savoring the taste of his burgers all the way. His little shotgun shop was next door to the shoe and boot shop which had its own wonderful smell. You could get the most luscious burger and a Coke in a glass for 50 cents. The burgers were put on buns which had been buttered and browned on the grill so that the edges were crisp and the middles were still buttery. The tomatoes were always huge, and real, and did not taste like cardboard like some do today. Fresh lettuce completed the deal with all the catsup, mustard or mayo you wanted to apply yourself. I don't remember any French fries attached, probably because the burgers were so good.

Long before McDonalds or Wendy's, Mr. Fry gave us the model for a real burger and added cholesterol to our young bodies before anyone knew what that was. Thank you, Mr. Fry--I can still taste your burgers in my memory.

Women of faith

Throughout history, women of faith have molded the course of life through wars, crusades, church councils, church fights, quiet evenings in the garden, sitting in rocking chairs with their children, etc. I know one woman at the Highland Church in Abilene who single-handedly changed the thinking about the Holy Spirit in the congregation and eldership.

If someone asked you to participate in a poll asking the question "Who is the most influential woman in the spiritual/religious life of the 20th-21st centuries?" what would you answer? Taking Mother Teresa out (I know she would be one of the first to mind), who would it be?

Telling your story

"In America, people matter and everybody's got a story," says Dave Isay creator of a project called StoryCorps. The project will tour 24 cities gathering memories from young, old, all ethnic groups, etc. A copy of the CD recorded will be given to the story-teller and one will go into the American Folklife Center at the Library of Congress where it will become part of a digital archive. More info at storycorps.net.

You don't have to wait for the StoryCorps--you can write your own story. Your life has a plot. Frederick Buechner has written, "words are so much a part of what we keep the past alive by...." If you don't tell your story--who will? Only you know the words and the sounds of your life. Years from now, your grandchildren will wonder about your journey, about the thousands of big and small details of your life, about the dogs you had, the candy you liked to eat, how you met your spouse, about the many times God intervened to bless you or lead you down another road.

God forbid that all we leave our children is the history of wars.

Christian fiction

Zondervan has just given Karen Kingsbury a seven-figure advance for nine books of Christian fiction. Maybe I need to stop blogging and get to writing fiction. Nope, don't do that well. I don't even like Christian fiction, or for that matter, mainstream fiction any more.

It is good to hear that religious books are the publishing industry's hottest sellers today. Kingsbury's most recent book sold 170,000 copies. Wow! Last year customers spent 3.76 billion dollars for books like Rick Warren's The Purpose Driven Life, LaHaye's Glorious Appearing and Joel Osteen's Your Best Life Now. Mere Christianity also made the list of best-sellers in 2004. Not much meat there besides Lewis, but I am glad readers are being drawn to religious topics.

Entrusting the minds of children

Nashville's teachers will get a 2% raise in the new budget cycle.

Wahoo!!!
JFK once said, "Modern cynics and skeptics...see no harm in paying those to whom they entrust the minds of their children a smaller wage than is paid to those whom they entrust the care of their plumbing."

The Uncles

Today I would like to honor my uncles who served in WWII. Otis Lee Tucker and Clarence Edward Tucker served as tank mechanics in Italy and never saw action. Roy Eugene Brandon left a West Texas farm to serve in Europe and returned a sergeant and an alcoholic. My dad said once that what Uncle Gene saw in the war changed him. He isolated himself from the family and eventually died of alcoholism.

But while I knew him, he was the greatest uncle--He took me to the fair and gave me my first ferris wheel ride and bought me more cotton candy and popcorn than I should have had. I have a locket he brought me with wings on it as a souvenir--I guess he must have been in the Air Force. My Uncle Clarence still has his uniform packed away and a German gun--but he never talks about the war or shows off the leavings. I never heard my Uncle Tuck (Otis) say a word about the war.

This "greatest generation" deserves our love and respect for the protection and safety they brought us in the last just war. I do pray for those families like the Reiders at Otter who have sons and daughters in Iraq now. May they all come home safely. Oh, God I pray for peace in this generation and for peace among all your children.

The rich get richer...

Today's paper reported that our culture has forsaken keeping up with the Jones and has now gone to keeping up with the Gates by buying $130,000 Hummers, $600 jeans and $400 bottles of wine.

The most outrageous example given was a Japanese restaurant in NYC named
Masa which serves only a $350 dinner. It has 26 seats and a reservation is the most sought-after status symbol in the city. (And they don't even serve steak!)

"Woe to you who are complacent in Zion (America?)....You lie on beds of ivory and lounge on your couches. You dine on choice lambs and fattened calves. You strum away on your harps like David and improvise on musical instruments. You drink wine by the bowlful and use the finest lotions....Your feasting and lounging will end."

Turning off time

I had to turn off the grandfather clock when Ella and Maddie were here Thursday. Ella didn't like the tick and the gong. She said they were "cary".

Come to think of it, I think they are scary too--incessently marking speeding time day after day. I don't know where it goes. Curse that day with the tree when Adam and Eve saw the end of their time with God's admonition that they would return to dust.

I must remember Psalm 31:14-15 "...You are my God. My times are in your hands...."

Until then

I had the good fortune to keep the girls yesterday, and although they had their moments, I found myself looking into their open faces and clear eyes and beautiful childlike spirits when I had the chance and dreading the day when real sadness and pain comes their way, when teenage angst takes over, when friends don't love and adore them.

I have a really terrific new book called Teaching with Fire: Poetry That Sustains the Courage to Teach. This one is called First Grade by Ron Koertge:

Until then, every forest
had wolves in it, we thought
it would be fun to wear snowshoes
all the time, and we could talk to water.

So who is this woman with the gray
breath calling out names and pointing
to the little desks we will occupy
for the rest of our lives?

Hopefully they will never have a teacher with gray breath, and hopefully they will never lose the call of imagination and the power to dream. I pray that for them, my sweet little girls.

Made in the streets

Heard a wonderful report last night from David Wilson and his wife who quit jobs and spent 6 months volunteering with OC's mission in Kenya to uplift children in the streets. It made me think about our perception of poverty--or rather lack of it. Most people not involved with schools or children's affairs do not even know that there are poverty-stricken children in Nashville and indeed all over the U. S. This in a booming economy with house sales going up (one million dollar homes are not rare in Nashville anymore), people restricting themselves to this and that diet (as children have nothing to eat) and spending thousands on Hummers while children are living in cars or boxes.

And now, the mayor of Nashville wants to raise the sales tax and the property tax which will also hit those who are struggling. Nashville EVEN TAXES FOOD!!!! The sales tax will shortly be 9.75%. It was quite a shocker for this Texan to go to the grocery store for the first time to find I had to unload my own cart at the checkout--no small feat in the tiny aisle AND had to take my own groceries to the car and load them, plus pay a sales tax on food.

Read Larry James at larryjamesurbandaily.blogspot.com for more hair raising details about how those in poverty are treated. He recently posted that those who apply for the drug discounts offered by the govt. are now being told that their welfare checks will be cut "because they will not have to pay for drugs and will have more money."
So much for compassion.

All of us need to read the minor prophets again with their warnings about oppression of the poor.

Isaiah 58:14 ...if you spend yourselves in behalf of the hungry and satisfy the needs of the oppressed, then your light will rise in the darkness and your night will become like noonday.

Maybe that is what would make our country an "all are created equal" place again.

Picture

Honeysuckle climbing
up a dying tree--
What a sweet way to go.


Although I prefer to write in prose, there are times when growth demands a go at poetry. I am certainly surrounded by a creation crying out for poetry. The honeysuckle picture is just down the road from my house.

Where are those 10 books I haven't read yet?

not teaching
not studying
not discussing a book...

floating in a limbo of aliteracy
drifting in an open space of free time
hovering above stampeding lists of

chores to finish,
books to read,
hospitalities to return

buoyantly poised for

an inspiration,
an invitation to learn,
a stimulating friend.

Margaret Wise Brown

In the great green room....virtually every child knows this first line of a very famous and well-loved book Goodnight Moon. Today is Margaret Wise Brown's birthday. She was born May 23, 1910 in Brooklyn. She died very young at the age of 42 from an embolism.

This book relates so well to the experience of children and parents and the goodnight ritual, it has become an icon in children's literature. I heard Patricia MacLachlan say recently that she hesitated to submit her new goodnight book to her editor because the perfect one had already been written by Brown. MWB never had children, never married (although she was engaged to a Rockefeller when she died.) The book did not win a Caldecott for Clement Hurd, the illustrator; yet its rhyme and pictures live forever in the hearts of children.

It was the favorite book of Brandon Scott Thomas and his mother enjoyed reading it to him, as she does reading it to Maddie and Ella.

Small gifts

I love the way Maddie and Ella get as excited about small gifts as large ones.
Maddie is just as happy with new colors and a coloring book or blank page pad as with a huge Barbie doll ensemble. Ella loves gum more than a basket full of candy.

It was fun to see how excited the girls were about going to Ben and Jerry's for ice cream after we ate wonderful steak at Houston's this weekend. They were practically dancing. Maddie wanted something yellow, so she wound up with lemony-limeny sherbert. Of course, Ella had the same thing she did. Brandon had strawberry in a cone with sprinkles which the girls loved to eat. Sheryl had her favorite pistachio--she likes the green and the nuts. I had butter pecan--so full of pecans! Ahhh, summer!

Thank you God for your large and "small" gifts--for your Son and for the magnolia trees now blooming in Nashville. For salvation and for the community of family. For your love and for the starry night.

Fraterville Mine Disaster

On May 23, 1902. the Fraterville Coal Mine blew up and 216 miners were killed. They left 150 widows and 1,000 children. Each family got $320 per death. It was the worst mining disaster in U. S. history. Yesterday relatives gathered to commemorate the disaster in Lake City, TN.
The cemetery where many of the miners are buried was being added to the National Register of Historic Places.

I never heard of the disaster until I read about it in the paper today. I was interested that many of the dying men left notes to their families. A very poignant note said, "Oh God, for one more breath. Oh, how I wish to be with you. Goodbye to all of you. Goodbye."

Wow! That makes you want to call your loved ones, doesn't it?

Geography

I thought Texas had the corner on strange town names. However, last night on the weather news, the weatherman mentioned Lickskillet, Ky. (What could the founding folks been thinking?)

And last week at a ladies'luncheon, I met someone from Belt Buckle, TN. (Wonder if that is the origin of The Bible Belt?)

Abilene, TX was named after Abilene, KS in the hope that the new town would become a cattle--railroad town. Unfortunately, there were too many farmers in the settlement for that to happen. The railroad did thrive for a while thanks to the buffalo hunters sending hides up north. Buffalo Gap nearby is named after a gap in the Callahan Divide through which the buffalo came seeking new grass. My birth town of Anson, TX is named after the last president of the Republic of Texas Anson Jones. Hamlin is named after a railroad man who helped found the town. And then there is Cut and Shoot just down the road--don't know where that came from.

Meaningful touch

In Smalley and Trent's book The Blessing, they cite a UCLA study which showed that for emotional and physical health, one needs 8-10 meaningful touches from a significant person EVERY DAY.

I am enjoying many meaningful touches from 2 and 3 year old hands now that I am in Nashville, but not that many. As a widow, I find that touches are hard to come by.
One of the lovely things about going to church is getting hugged a lot--I enjoy that too. How long has it been since you hugged a widow or a single at church? Caring words are nice, cards are nice, but there are times when we all need "someone with skin on."

Look at the many times in the NT when Jesus touched--especially those people he was not supposed to. He didn't hesitate to touch lepers--surely the most untouchables of that era. And he took little children in his arms, put his hands on them and blessed them. (Mark 10:13-16). He didn't mind the touch of the woman who bathed him in perfume.

I know there can be problems with touch in this era of crass sexuality, but I leave you with the challenge to touch someone meaningfully today.

"I never like the giving of the hand, unless the entire body accompanies it!" Ralph Waldo Emerson

Advice

One of the more interesting questions in the book we have been studying in ladies' bible class came today: "What is the most valuable spiritual advice you have ever been given?"

Some answers: "The only perfect church is in heaven." "Always be content with what you have." "When a minister said I didn't have to ask forgiveness for every sin--grace took care of them." "Satan is powerful and deserves respect." Mine was, "Don't believe everything you hear--don't be afraid to ask questions."

It is a thought-provoking question--What is the most valuable spiritual advice you have been given?

Liminal moment

In speaking about rituals and traditions in family life yesterday, I quoted some from Robert Fulghum's book From Beginning to the End: The Rituals of Our Lives. I have had the book seven years and never looked at it much until this past week. It is chock full of wisdom, great emotional stories and comments which make "stops" in your mind.

I learned a new word too--"liminal" meaning threshold moment. This is a moment of crossing over, a transitional phase of personal change. We must all take care to celebrate those liminal moments in the lives of our family--and we must make time to do it--that was the main thrust of my speech. Birthday, funerals, weddings we all understand; but there are others we miss. In Habits of a Child's Heart: Raising Your Kids with the Spiritual Disciplines, the author says we should also celebrate things like the first tulip of spring (certainly a threshold moment when the weather has been rainy and cold for months!), the smile of a baby (another liminal moment for parents), and the blessings of God like a pillow for our heads, hot running water, etc. I had forgotten that one of the final chapters in Richard Foster's book Celebration of Disciplines is about celebration.

These days we are celebrating high school graduation. If you did not do that in your church, read Mike Cope's blog today. The blessing of 48 seniors as they leave the warm environs of their home church is certainly warrented and is a big! threshold moment in their lives.

Thank you Lord for those of us who take the time to celebrate with children. May we celebrate you every day!

Wonderful words

Several years ago Kaye Price Hawkins and I attended a children's lit conference at Sam Houston State. We sat and ate with the poet Lee Bennett Hopkins--delightful, witty, and interesting.

He has a new compliation of poems called Wonderful Words: Poems about Reading, Writing, Speaking and Listening. It is beautifully illustrated by Karen Barbour, a rising illustrator in children's circles.

It contains this one by Tom Robert Shields:

I Am the Book

I'll be your friend,
stay by your side,
contradict you
make you laugh or teary-eyed
On a sun-summer morning.

I'll spark you
help you sleep,
bring dreams
you'll forever keep
On a dappled-autumn afternoon.

I'll warm you
keep you kindled,
dazzle you
till storms have dwindled
On a snow-flaked winter evening.

I'll plant in you
a spring-seedling
with bursting life
while you are reading.

I am the book
You are needing.

Now why can't I think of descriptions like sun-summer morning and dappled autumn afternoon? Lovely.

Taking time

In preparing to talk about Sabbath tomorrow, I have been rereading To Everything a Season: A Spirituality of Time by Bonnie Thurston. In an exercise, she suggests that the reader do a time log of a week of life, examining where time goes. Then discover what the top three timefillers were and ask, "Is this the way I want to spend the precious minutes of my life?" As the reader reflects, Thurston suggests taking a look at the things you "took time" for and the things you want to "make time for", things that delight you.

"You might be surprised to discover that they are not only the things that sustain and energize you and bring you joy--they are, in fact, the very things God uses to call you along your unique path; your heart's desires are at the heart of God's call to you."

As I reflected on the life-enhancing and life-diminishing things in my time, I had to wonder if God is using my writing as part of his call to me? It and this blog is certainly one of the things I delight in doing. And what about going to movies--does that count too?

Thank you God for kairos time to delight in you and your blessings to me.

The Steeplechase and Hats

Tomorrow is the running of the Iroquois Steeplechase here--evidently a big thing.
Similar to the Derby, all the people in box seats dress up--meaning new spring outfits and hats, hats, hats. Hats have been featured in several noon news broadcasts this week.

My Granny Tucker loved hats; she had one for every outfit. I wish I still had some of them. My mother liked to wear hats too, although I rarely saw her in one because most of our budget went for more mundane things. She did wear a hat to my brother's wedding, I remember. At any rate, I remember going with my Mom to Abilene one Easter season hat shopping. We went to the Mode O'Day shop on Pine Street and tried on every hat in the place. I had never had a "Sunday hat," but I left that day with a beautiful pink gauzy hat trimmed with a flower that matched my new Easter dress. Every time I wore it, I felt very Audrey Hepburnish and adult. I am sure it cost way too much of the monthly family budget and that makes it very special in my memory.

I don't think I have worn a hat since that year when I joined the hat tradition of the women in my family.

Meeting Pat again

I spent time yesterday afternoon listening to Patricia MacLachlan tell about her latest book Who Loves Me?--a bedtime picture book. She is the author of the wonderful Sarah, Plain and Tall. She spoke of being in a writer's group in her city with Jane Yolen, Ann Turner, and others. What a group!!!She also said that Tracy Kidder lived in the same town. It was marvelous hour of literary talk I had missed since my last time at the Texas Library conference. And of course, Maddie and Ella got an autographed book out of the deal.

The Blessing

I am speaking to a class Sunday morning on the topic "Rituals and Traditions which Enrich Family Life".

One of the things I want to talk about is blessing your children. One of the watershed books in my life has been The Blessing by Gary Smalley and John Trent. It was bombshell when I read it, and I loved teaching the book many times in various venues.

At any rate, Blessing Your Children is one of the rituals every family needs to practice. Keith Brenton wrote about such an occasion in the New Wineskins Blog
when all the folks in his small group spent a Sunday evening blessing their children.
www.wineskins.blogspot.com.

Smalley and Trent list several requirements of the blessing: meaningful touch, a spoken message, attaching high value to the one being blessed, picturing a special future of the one being blessed, and an active commitment to fulfill the blessing.

This morning I heard Tim Russert say that the first time his father hugged him and said he loved him was after he read Tim's book about their relationship--I think it is called Big Russ and Son. What a waste of a lifetime! But there are many people of my acquaintance who say the same thing--my mom/dad never hugged me, kissed me, or affirmed me.

Smalley and Trent spend the second half of the book discussing the side effects of not getting a blessing. I am sure you can find the book at any religious book store--very valuable reading.

My talk will be mostly "Do as I say and not as I did" kinds of things; however, Sam and I were pretty faithful about affirming Brandon as he was growing up. And I see him doing the same thing to Maddie and Ella.

Thank you, God for affirming me in the highest way by giving me Jesus and hope.

Writing the language

Here are some signs I have seen around town recently:

Banish the rainy day blue's

We want to peak your interest in loans (could have been a play on words, but probably not)

Offices and suits available. Are the suits Armani?

At home in Tennessee

One of the fun things about being here is answering the door. The girls (Maddie and Ella) prefer to knock--several times. Then when I answer, they come tumbling in like little puppies falling over each other. Maddie's first question is always "Do you have any new books?" And Ella says "Hi!" in her low alto voice on the way to the bedroom to play.

It is a joy of major proportions to see them more often than three times a year. Moving was definitely worth it.

Mother's Day

I have just been gathering up from Mother's Day--putting away the dishes from lunch, picking up the toys scattered by the girls, throwing away the tissue from my gift (A lovely arrangement of beautiful shells the family found in Florida).

This is the first Mother's Day I have been with Brandon in a long time. It was so fun to hear the girls giggle in anticipation over the cards and gifts. I think they get more excited over the cards because they get to write in them.

Some years ago at the New York World's Fair I was privileged to see the Pieta--one of the more profound experiences of my life. To see Mary holding the adult lifeless body of Jesus and looking at him with such pain and love was priceless. All mothers know the joy and pain of having their "hearts walking outside their bodies" as someone once said. It is one of the most intense experiences of being human.

I am so thankful to God for the joy and the pain of being a mother to the son He gave me--certainly one of the better deals of my life. I am grateful for his sensitive soul, his thirst for God, his many gifts, the respect he has earned in his chosen occupation, and for the fun, the tears, the triumphs we have had--what a life!

Hazel Pauline Tucker Brandon

I have written about my mother before, but wanted to add these notes for Maddie and Ella on this weekend.

My mother was an enigma I never quite figured out. She was very outgoing with the public with whom she worked as a seamstress and with her church friends, but very closed with the family. By outgoing, I mean friendly and approachable--not speaking her heart to anyone ever. She would truly do anything for anyone in need and often did--I saw her cook double portions of food many times, some for us, and some for the bereaved. Believe me, her family eyed those extra coconut pies!

She went to church by herself come hell or high water, whatever her mood or fatigue.
The only time she spoke of religion to me was the month before she died of melanoma when she told me that she had gone forward at church because she had spoken ill of someone during the church split. The Hamlin church split so often, it was hard to know which side to support. That public going forward was so unlike her, it floored me, and I knew then she was dying. She was intelligent and a reader, but I never heard her speak of anything other than domestic ideas or the weather with anyone. She was the first in her family to graduate from high school and graduated 1st in her class at age 16. I have her senior ring.

She and I both had the mother-in-law from hell and that troubled her marriage until
Granny Dobbins died. But I remember my mom sitting up with her night after night and then working all day the next day.

There are so many questions I would ask her if she were still here--she died in 1976 at age 63. She did live long enough to love Brandon fiercely, and I am glad he remembers her fondly.

I still miss her: the sweet smile, the soft laugh, the flawless skin, and the way she smelled and the example of service she set for me. I will be celebrating her tomorrow.

Silence and ice

I attended a multicultural interdenominational worship service last night--actually a "prayer concert" to celebrate the National Day of Prayer.

As I sat and observed the Hallelujahs, the Amens, the Yes, Sirs, Preach Ons, and other comments coming from the congregation in response to comments made from the podium, I began to think how quiet the worship practices of my fellowship are. There were hundreds of hands raised pointing to God, and a good amount of clapping for what was said and sung. People swayed and clapped to the music. The children's choir rapped for God. During the concert of prayer times, the loud murmur of voices praying ALOUD to God filled Ryman Auditorium. We have made one comment ("decently and in order") into a mantra for silence and ice.

Lynn Anderson says,"Some of us have backed so far away from the ditch of emotionalism that we have gotten entangled in the fence of legalism and cold ritual. Today's church...is in far more danger of having swelled heads, shrunken hearts, and feeble bodies in worship than we are of being overly emotional and subjective."(from In Search of Wonder: A Call to Worship Renewal)

When did disengagement become a science for us in the Church of Christ? Was it during the charismatic scare of the 50's and 60's? Was it at the entrance of contemporary Christian music into our psyches? Was it because Alexander Campbell absorbed and preached the rationalism and logic of John Locke? Was it because we were afraid of the Assemblies of God and Billy Graham? I don't know--I would like to hear someone learned speak on the subject.

I value silence and awe in worship, but there are times when exhuberant praise is necessary and required. So wake up out there and say Amen.

Dream of the past

It is interesting how dreams sneak up on you--you haven't thought of something in years and bingo! there it is in your dreams.

I dreamed last night of the days when I was supervising elementary school libraries in Abilene. In this dream, it seemed that I had been gone for a long time and had been called back to supervise again. I spent the whole night trying to think of the names of each librarian in the schools I supervised. What a night! They were the salad days in my life when I helped build a superior program, in which every school had a full-time librarian. We were the envy of many larger schools in Texas which had only library aides in the elementary schools supervised by a greatly overworked high school librarian. Thanks to a great superintendent who knew the value of libraries and trained people to run them, we did wonderful things. But later came a superintendent who knew not libraries and the whole structure went downhill--Thankfully I was retired.

If any of my readers are superintendents or school board members, you can do no better favor for your schools than to put trained librarians in every school, and spend money for books. We proved that with higher test scores, more readers, and better resources for teachers.

Honeysuckle

Wild honeysuckle grows on the sides of the streets in the city and along the country roads of Nashville. I was delighted when I finally realized what it was. Honeysuckle in my section of Texas was a very domesticated plant--you didn't have it unless you planted it. We had a whole wall of it at Potosi--until we figured out it was damaging our foundation and dug it up.

Honeysuckle reminds me of the south--When I see it clinging to the trees and vines, I half expect William Faulkner to step out and wave. It is one of my favorite flowers; I remember picking the flowers and sucking the juice while growing up. And the fragrance is to die for! What a marvelous creation God gave us--simple pleasures with delightful aromas.

National Teacher Day

I heard on the radio that today is National Teacher Day. I didn't know there was one.

When I began teaching high school English (after a stint with middle school reading)
in 1962, I wanted to teach like the teachers I loved. Trouble was, they were all college professors. Most of the teachers I had in public school were mediocre at best. The ones in high school who really challenged me were math and history teachers. Who knows why I became an English teacher? I lasted only three years in the classroom until I got smart and decided my gift lay in library science. Librarians have the best of both worlds--they get to teach, give book advice, and then see the class leave to go back to the classroom.

As a librarian I got to see each teacher in the school in action. Not all teachers are wonderful; not all should be in the classroom; however, most public schools have far more excellent teachers than they deserve with the pay scale offered. It was one of my goals to try to make the teachers better by giving them the absolutely best materials available and resources on how to use them. I hope I helped some.

One of the best descriptions of teachers of all kinds I have found:

Come to the edge, he said.
They said: We are afraid.
Come to the edge, he said.
They came.
He pushed them,
and they flew.

Guillaume Apollinaire

Think kindly of a teacher you had today and thank God.

The Boyds

I had my first visitors from Abilene Friday! Jack and Joann Boyd, longtime friends from Minter Lane, came to see their son Allen and family and stopped by my house on the way.

What a delight! Jo and I were young mothers at Minter under the tutelage of Laura Smith, Dama Hambelton and Sister Hunter. We did worship committee together, formed a book club, which is still meeting, and shared those days in great joy. She sat with me as I waited from my mother come out of surgery to see if her melanoma had spread (it had); we often had long deep talks on things spiritual; Sam and I taught their children in Sunday School, and I think Sam and Jack served as elders at the same time.

Jack is a Renaissance man who can do anything from conducting an orchestra to growing tomatoes. He writes music, fiction, humor, plays, etc. He was the worship man at Minter through our term there, and we all learned so much from him. There were days at Highland when the worship leader would ask members to go to the hymnal because the song might be unfamiliar--My friends Ronnie and Darla and I would look at each other and say, "We know that; thanks to Jack Boyd." Jack would often go through the hymnal and teach the congregation unfamiliar songs which fit perfectly with the day's topic. It was he who taught us that the service should be cohesive and not just three songs and a prayer. One little known talent is his gift for book reviewing--he joined the Minter Lane Book Club several years ago and has enriched it.
Besides all that, he is a funny man who makes me laugh.

They brought a touch of home with them which lingered when they left--thanks Jack and Jo for stopping by.

Psalms, Hymns...II

Another very old hymn opened to Christians by Fernando Ortega (on Hymns of Worship)
is "Give Me Jesus". An African-American song, the lyrics poignantly say, "In the morning when I rise, When I am alone, and When I come to die, give me Jesus--You can have all this world, but give me Jesus."

Possible some of the most beautiful renditions of hymns can be found on John Catchings' Wayfaring Stranger. John is a premier cellist in Nashville and has played for many stars. This is his contribution to worship. One of the selections on his cd is While on the Sea. This is a Ukranian hymn which first came to my notice at Minter Lane when our missionary Stephen Bilak brought it to us from his home country. It has a very Russian sound. The words can be found in the ACU hymnal we all used before Howard and power-point. (Can't think of the name of the hymnal.)

Jack Boyd told me this week that he had done an arrangement of When We Meet in Sweet Communion for John Catchings and Jack's son Allen to play at communion. I would like to hear that. Come to think of it, wouldn't cello music be a wonderful accompaniment to most communions?

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.