Sittin' in the mornin' sun
I'll be sittin' when the evenin' come
Watching the ships roll in
And then I watch 'em roll away again
As I sit here this morning, as usual my mind goes in many directions. I think of times past. I think of friends and family, of good times and sad times, but mostly good times. I think of times spent in the mountains and times at the beach. I think of laughter ringing in the air and of tears gently falling to the ground. I think of children playing in the park, full of energy, and I also think of a child snuggled in my arms, full of contentment and their feelings of security and peace.....And then...just as quick as the eye can blink my mind goes to times still to come. The "future" we call it. What does it hold for me? What does it hold for those I love? Being almost 65, I'm in what I like to call the forth quarter of the game but if the Lord is willing and this pig valve is strong enough to survive the excitement yet to come, who knows? After all, many a game has been won in the forth quarter. And then just as quickly as my mind went from the past to the future an old song pops into my mind. A song from 1967. A song made famous by a Georgia boy and recorded on this day, December 7, 1967. Three days later Otis Redding would die in a plane crash outside Madison, Wisconsin.
When Otis Redding, along with Steve Cropper, wrote this song, I wonder where their minds were? Were they thinking of times past or dreaming of things to come? You can be sure it was one or the other. When my mind goes back to the past, some of my best thinking was done while gazing at the waters. Made no difference if it was sitting beside a small creek, in a boat on a peaceful lake or looking at the beautiful colors or the powerful waves of the oceans from the beach or a pier. It seems water always takes us on a trip if only in our mind.
As always, when I started writing today, I had no idea where I was going. I still don't, but as I just now stopped to read what I had so far put on paper something hit me. Have you ever noticed how much of our lives we live in the past or the future? It's old times or when I was in school or back when I was young etc etc. Then the next thing you know, it's December the 7th and we're saying, "Well next year I'm going to do this or do that." I wonder what Otis Redding had planned for December 11, 1967?
Oh sure, it's nice to look back. It's fun to think of the things we did but it's also sad to think of the things we didn't do. Can you think of one thing you wish you had told someone, but didn't? Can you remember that one person you wish you had called just to let them know you were thinking of them, but didn't? There's no going back now. The time has past. And how about that old friend you haven't talked to in months or years. You know the one. The one you told your spouse that y'all needed to go see as soon as the Holidays are over, things slow down and we had more time, or the old aunt or uncle that is shut-in that you've been meaning to go see but just haven't found the time. Listen to that excuse ...."Haven't found the time." I found time to watch that football game. I found time to rake the leaves. I found time to go shopping. Hmmmmmm.......maybe it's not finding time that's the problem....maybe it's MAKING time that's the problem. Or how about just saying a prayer for someone you love. I've prayed for people and I've been prayed for. It doesn't take much time. I remember just after my heart surgery running into an old friend and they told me..."I heard about your surgery and I've been praying for you." I looked at him and said..."I know, I could feel it." And I could. I talked to my sister last night who will have her surgery next week and to my brother-in law. They both talked about the out pouring of prayers they had received and the strength and comfort the prayers had given them. Prayers are like love..."they don't cost anything but are more valuable that silver and gold."
You know, I don't have a past that I can change and I don't have a future that's promised to me. All I have is today. It's all you have too. Make it count.
I'm sittin' on the dock of the bay
Watching the tide roll away
Ooo, I'm just sittin' on the dock of the bay
Wastin' time
Friday, December 7, 2012
Saturday, November 24, 2012
DICY AND COTTON EYED JOE
It was February of 1948 and I had just entered this world. My sister was an old soul at the time, having just passed the ripe old age of six and 1/2 years. The family pastor, George Southard, who in my formative years I considered to be a
'Rock Star", approached my sister and asked the pretty little girl what the family was going to name the new baby? My sister, never being at a loss for words responded to the preacher, " I'm not sure but I think we're going to call him Cotton Eyed Joe." For the last sixty four plus years I have been thankful my parents didn't let my sister name me.This is one of the earliest stories I can remember hearing about my big sister, but the memories of her started at about the age of 3.
My big sister's name is Dianne but we all call her Dicy. I don't know where this nickname came from but it does seem fit her rather well. Of course when I had reached the wonderful age of about three, Dicy had also grown and was now about nine years old. There are just a few memories that I can pull from the depths of my mind from that far back but there are a couple. One is that Dicy was taller than me. I can remember having to look up to her. Isn't it strange how things work out. It's now more than sixty years later. In stature I am now taller and have been for awhile but I still find myself having to look up to her.
At that time in our life, we lived in a house in Mableton, Georgia where Ragan Plaza now sits. I can remember we had these tall Nandina bushes in the front yard. At the time I thought Dad must have planted these bushes just to entertain Dicy because they attracted what seemed at the time to be millions and millions of bumble bees. I thought Dicy must be the bravest person in the world because armed with nothing more than an old fruit jar with holes punched in the top she would venture out to the picket fence where the bee bushes were and bring back to the house her bounty of bumble bees. At the young age of nine, Dicy had become the great white hunter, and I wanted to grow up to be just like her. Of course at the young age of three I knew and Dicy knew I needed much practice and training to become a great bee hunter. Here is why that first memory sticks in my mind so vividly. Dicy was the elder. In my mind at that time she was almost a grown-up at the age of nine. I thought I would never be a great bee hunter like Dicy was. But even at her young age, Dicy was caring, she was filled with patience and she was willing to share her knowledge. Dicy got another old fruit jar. She got the lid and the sharp potato knife and taught me how to punch holes in the top so the bees could breath. Later on when I thought I had learned everything, I decided to make a new and better bee catching jar all by myself. As I was punching the holes in the new lid with the sharp potato knife I missed the lid and drove the Sharp potato knife through my hand instead of the lid. I've tried to recall if Dicy failed to teach me the safety part of making the bee catching jar or maybe I just slept through that lesson. I really can't remember so I will just assume I missed that lesson. Anyway I can remember our maid, Suzy, soaking my hand in Kerosene everyday after that. Suzy always said the kerosene was good for healing the cut but I still think she was punishing me for using her potato knife. At my young age it was to dangerous for me to go out into the big front yard to catch the vicious bumble bees so Dicy would spend what now seems like hours and hours on the screened porch perfecting bee catching strategy by catching the safer object of the hunt, the common housefly. I would spend days on end catching houseflies. I must have caught thousands. As I think about it I must hold the world record for most houseflies caught. Now you may think the only thing I learned in all of this is how you catch house flies and bumble bees but you would be wrong. This practice was also very valuable in the catching of lighting bugs in later years. The other thing Dicy taught me in this process at the time seemed kind of sissy or kind of girly. As it turned out Dicy was way ahead of her time, although I didn't realize it until I got older. She taught me about catch and release. Even at her young age Dicy had compassion and she passed it on to her little brother.
As we grew older we moved to Atlanta and had many more experiences that we learned from. As I grew it seemed I was always looking up to Dicy and I was always learning from her. How to act and how to treat others. How to dress and how to enjoy life. As I was thinking back on times spent with Dicy, I tried very hard to think of just one time, one single moment when I didn't feel welcome in her life. When she was a teen and I was the little pesty brother, I cannot ever remember her pushing me away. I knew all her friends, she always made me feel apart of what was going on in her life and even today I'm friends with many of these same people. When I needed anything, Dicy has always been there. In fact it seems whenever anyone needed anything Dicy has always been there.
I could tell you many more stories of growing up with Dicy and will probably do that at another time. She has been such an inspiration to our whole family, always putting every one's needs in front of her own. Now it's time to think of Dicy first. Doctors have diagnosed her with cancer. She will meet with the surgeon Monday to determine when surgery will be performed and what other procedures they will do. I have no doubt she will be fine. We have prayed to God and we all know He is in control. The whole family believes God will use this part of Dicy's life to touch other just as He has used the rest of her life in this way.
Many of you that will read this know Dicy and have been blessed because of knowing her and I ask that you lift her up in your prayers. Some of you haven't yet had the pleasure of meeting her. To all of you, I ask that you lift a prayer selfishly that the Lord heal her and take care of her until you can have the great pleasure of calling Dicy your friend also.
As I said, we have prayed to God and once again we ask for His undeserved grace. Amen and Amen.
It was February of 1948 and I had just entered this world. My sister was an old soul at the time, having just passed the ripe old age of six and 1/2 years. The family pastor, George Southard, who in my formative years I considered to be a
'Rock Star", approached my sister and asked the pretty little girl what the family was going to name the new baby? My sister, never being at a loss for words responded to the preacher, " I'm not sure but I think we're going to call him Cotton Eyed Joe." For the last sixty four plus years I have been thankful my parents didn't let my sister name me.This is one of the earliest stories I can remember hearing about my big sister, but the memories of her started at about the age of 3.
My big sister's name is Dianne but we all call her Dicy. I don't know where this nickname came from but it does seem fit her rather well. Of course when I had reached the wonderful age of about three, Dicy had also grown and was now about nine years old. There are just a few memories that I can pull from the depths of my mind from that far back but there are a couple. One is that Dicy was taller than me. I can remember having to look up to her. Isn't it strange how things work out. It's now more than sixty years later. In stature I am now taller and have been for awhile but I still find myself having to look up to her.
At that time in our life, we lived in a house in Mableton, Georgia where Ragan Plaza now sits. I can remember we had these tall Nandina bushes in the front yard. At the time I thought Dad must have planted these bushes just to entertain Dicy because they attracted what seemed at the time to be millions and millions of bumble bees. I thought Dicy must be the bravest person in the world because armed with nothing more than an old fruit jar with holes punched in the top she would venture out to the picket fence where the bee bushes were and bring back to the house her bounty of bumble bees. At the young age of nine, Dicy had become the great white hunter, and I wanted to grow up to be just like her. Of course at the young age of three I knew and Dicy knew I needed much practice and training to become a great bee hunter. Here is why that first memory sticks in my mind so vividly. Dicy was the elder. In my mind at that time she was almost a grown-up at the age of nine. I thought I would never be a great bee hunter like Dicy was. But even at her young age, Dicy was caring, she was filled with patience and she was willing to share her knowledge. Dicy got another old fruit jar. She got the lid and the sharp potato knife and taught me how to punch holes in the top so the bees could breath. Later on when I thought I had learned everything, I decided to make a new and better bee catching jar all by myself. As I was punching the holes in the new lid with the sharp potato knife I missed the lid and drove the Sharp potato knife through my hand instead of the lid. I've tried to recall if Dicy failed to teach me the safety part of making the bee catching jar or maybe I just slept through that lesson. I really can't remember so I will just assume I missed that lesson. Anyway I can remember our maid, Suzy, soaking my hand in Kerosene everyday after that. Suzy always said the kerosene was good for healing the cut but I still think she was punishing me for using her potato knife. At my young age it was to dangerous for me to go out into the big front yard to catch the vicious bumble bees so Dicy would spend what now seems like hours and hours on the screened porch perfecting bee catching strategy by catching the safer object of the hunt, the common housefly. I would spend days on end catching houseflies. I must have caught thousands. As I think about it I must hold the world record for most houseflies caught. Now you may think the only thing I learned in all of this is how you catch house flies and bumble bees but you would be wrong. This practice was also very valuable in the catching of lighting bugs in later years. The other thing Dicy taught me in this process at the time seemed kind of sissy or kind of girly. As it turned out Dicy was way ahead of her time, although I didn't realize it until I got older. She taught me about catch and release. Even at her young age Dicy had compassion and she passed it on to her little brother.
As we grew older we moved to Atlanta and had many more experiences that we learned from. As I grew it seemed I was always looking up to Dicy and I was always learning from her. How to act and how to treat others. How to dress and how to enjoy life. As I was thinking back on times spent with Dicy, I tried very hard to think of just one time, one single moment when I didn't feel welcome in her life. When she was a teen and I was the little pesty brother, I cannot ever remember her pushing me away. I knew all her friends, she always made me feel apart of what was going on in her life and even today I'm friends with many of these same people. When I needed anything, Dicy has always been there. In fact it seems whenever anyone needed anything Dicy has always been there.
I could tell you many more stories of growing up with Dicy and will probably do that at another time. She has been such an inspiration to our whole family, always putting every one's needs in front of her own. Now it's time to think of Dicy first. Doctors have diagnosed her with cancer. She will meet with the surgeon Monday to determine when surgery will be performed and what other procedures they will do. I have no doubt she will be fine. We have prayed to God and we all know He is in control. The whole family believes God will use this part of Dicy's life to touch other just as He has used the rest of her life in this way.
Many of you that will read this know Dicy and have been blessed because of knowing her and I ask that you lift her up in your prayers. Some of you haven't yet had the pleasure of meeting her. To all of you, I ask that you lift a prayer selfishly that the Lord heal her and take care of her until you can have the great pleasure of calling Dicy your friend also.
As I said, we have prayed to God and once again we ask for His undeserved grace. Amen and Amen.
Friday, November 9, 2012
LISTENING
How long has it been since you had a quite time with God? No No No....Not a prayer time but a quite time. For me, it had been awhile. Oh I've had plenty of prayer times,,, "Good prayer times." I've done prayer request and I've thanked Him for answering my prayers. I've praised Him and I've knelt in awe at how good He's been to me and my family. I've looked to the heavens and often wondered why He loves me so much. But again I ask..."How about a quite time with God."
Now as you read this, some of you may think I'm talking about you. Let me assure you this is all about me. If by chance it speaks to you, maybe you should have a quite time with God yourself.
As I stated before I've had my prayer times. I'm not talking about that. What I'm talking about is coming into the presence of God and keeping my mouth shut and listening. Got that.... "LISTENING" to God.
I did that last night. It was a cold night. Our first below freezing night. I went to bed and pulled the covers up tight against my body and as always I said my prayers. I thanked God and I asked of God. I praised God and I thanked him some more. I told God He was great and I was amazed at His saving grace. I thanked Him again and said Amen. Amen is suppose to be the end of the prayer but for some reason it didn't feel finished and I laid there.....And I laid there...And I laid there some more. And then it hit me,,,I was through with my prayer but God still had His turn coming.....He wasn't through. God had listened to me, He had listened with a loving heart and a loving concern. God had heard my every word. It was now God's turn to speak.
I pulled the covers tighter, I turned the volume on the TV down ( I sleep with the TV on) and I said...."OK God...Speak to me." And He did.
He talked to me about my reaction to the election. No it wasn't an audible voice but I know it was God's voice. He said "I know you're disappointed in the outcome and that's OK. Nothing wrong with being disappointed. What is wrong is the way you are reacting. Your reaction has been to argue. To call the other side names. To get angry and let your anger fester. Then you think to yourself...I'm just going to quit. I'm not going to do my part anymore. It is totally "us against them" and I'm sure not going to do anything to help them. I'm going to take my ball and go home."
Then God said something that really hit home. He said something that I went to sleep thinking about and woke up thinking about. God said...."Wesley, your attitude doesn't please Me." What I was thinking, What I was saying, The way I was acting didn't please God. I then asked God to forgive me for responding the way I had been. I ask Him to guide me in the way I should go I asked Him if it was possible to mix Christianity and politics. The answer came to me not in that Godly voice but in a voice that nonetheless I was assured was from God. I am a Christian first, and although I'm not of the world I am in the world. I am in the world to make it a better place. I am in the world to serve not only God but to likewise serve man. I am in the world to minister to mankind. I will hold to my morals, express my morals and beliefs but I will do so with humility and love and not with haughtiness and anger.
I had coaches in high school that just like me hated to lose. To name a couple Julian Mock and Benny Davis. But they taught me to not only win with dignity but to lose with dignity also. They taught me about character. I thank God for reminding me of what these men taught me and I pray I will carry myself in the future as I was taught.
And don't get this wrong. The fight isn't over. I will not change my beliefs in order to win but I will fight to change the minds of my brothers and sisters of this great country as God would have me do. I will treat them as I would have them treat me and by using this strategy, God and the USA will win. If I have offended anyone of you during this election period I ask for your forgiveness. Now on to 2014 and 2016 and beyond
To God be the glory...Great things He has and will continue to do.
How long has it been since you had a quite time with God? No No No....Not a prayer time but a quite time. For me, it had been awhile. Oh I've had plenty of prayer times,,, "Good prayer times." I've done prayer request and I've thanked Him for answering my prayers. I've praised Him and I've knelt in awe at how good He's been to me and my family. I've looked to the heavens and often wondered why He loves me so much. But again I ask..."How about a quite time with God."
Now as you read this, some of you may think I'm talking about you. Let me assure you this is all about me. If by chance it speaks to you, maybe you should have a quite time with God yourself.
As I stated before I've had my prayer times. I'm not talking about that. What I'm talking about is coming into the presence of God and keeping my mouth shut and listening. Got that.... "LISTENING" to God.
I did that last night. It was a cold night. Our first below freezing night. I went to bed and pulled the covers up tight against my body and as always I said my prayers. I thanked God and I asked of God. I praised God and I thanked him some more. I told God He was great and I was amazed at His saving grace. I thanked Him again and said Amen. Amen is suppose to be the end of the prayer but for some reason it didn't feel finished and I laid there.....And I laid there...And I laid there some more. And then it hit me,,,I was through with my prayer but God still had His turn coming.....He wasn't through. God had listened to me, He had listened with a loving heart and a loving concern. God had heard my every word. It was now God's turn to speak.
I pulled the covers tighter, I turned the volume on the TV down ( I sleep with the TV on) and I said...."OK God...Speak to me." And He did.
He talked to me about my reaction to the election. No it wasn't an audible voice but I know it was God's voice. He said "I know you're disappointed in the outcome and that's OK. Nothing wrong with being disappointed. What is wrong is the way you are reacting. Your reaction has been to argue. To call the other side names. To get angry and let your anger fester. Then you think to yourself...I'm just going to quit. I'm not going to do my part anymore. It is totally "us against them" and I'm sure not going to do anything to help them. I'm going to take my ball and go home."
Then God said something that really hit home. He said something that I went to sleep thinking about and woke up thinking about. God said...."Wesley, your attitude doesn't please Me." What I was thinking, What I was saying, The way I was acting didn't please God. I then asked God to forgive me for responding the way I had been. I ask Him to guide me in the way I should go I asked Him if it was possible to mix Christianity and politics. The answer came to me not in that Godly voice but in a voice that nonetheless I was assured was from God. I am a Christian first, and although I'm not of the world I am in the world. I am in the world to make it a better place. I am in the world to serve not only God but to likewise serve man. I am in the world to minister to mankind. I will hold to my morals, express my morals and beliefs but I will do so with humility and love and not with haughtiness and anger.
I had coaches in high school that just like me hated to lose. To name a couple Julian Mock and Benny Davis. But they taught me to not only win with dignity but to lose with dignity also. They taught me about character. I thank God for reminding me of what these men taught me and I pray I will carry myself in the future as I was taught.
And don't get this wrong. The fight isn't over. I will not change my beliefs in order to win but I will fight to change the minds of my brothers and sisters of this great country as God would have me do. I will treat them as I would have them treat me and by using this strategy, God and the USA will win. If I have offended anyone of you during this election period I ask for your forgiveness. Now on to 2014 and 2016 and beyond
To God be the glory...Great things He has and will continue to do.
Thursday, October 11, 2012
THE "F" WORD
If memory serves me it was a warm day at the end of August. One of those feel good days that fills your whole body with contentment and excitement. Our young family was together, myself, Peggy my wonderful wife and our two beautiful daughters, Cindy and Vicki. We had just picked the girls up from school and were excited to hear about their day. Vicki was in kindergarten so everything about school was new to her and Cindy was growing up and forging ahead toward her higher education. Cindy was in first grade. As we rode down the road, Peggy and I were all smiles in anticipation of the stories we were about to hear. The stories about how the girls liked their new teachers and about how nice and pretty they were. The stories about the new friends they had made and the fun things they had done. We also wanted to hear about what they had learned......or did we?
As Cindy was telling us about her day at school she told us that one of the boys had said the worse word you could ever say. "What did he say?" I asked. Cindy then said, "Oh it was awful, no way could she tell us what the word was." Peggy then asked her what letter the word started with. Her quick reply was, "It starts with an "F" and has four letters. I was a young man at the time but could feel my blood pressure going up. I was becoming angry. We had to get to the bottom of this. Who would teach a child to use this type of language. These were first graders. Peggy then told Cindy..."It's OK just tell me the word the boy said." Again Cindy refused saying it was an awful word. Finally Peggy told Cindy..."Just lean over here and whisper the word in my ear, or better yet, Just spell it for me. No one will hear it but me." Cindy slowly leaned over close to Peggy. She got her lips as close to Peggy's ear as possible to ensure that no one else could possibly hear her. As she spelled this horrible word out in a whisper that only her mother could hear.....as she spelled this awful four letter word that started with the letter "F"...... A smile began to wash over her mothers face which soon turned into laughter. What was this awful word I now asked Peggy, spell it out for me to which she slowly spelled "F...A...N...Y.......So on this day in school my oldest daughter had learned the word "fanny", but she had yet to learn to spell it correctly.
We have told this story often and it always brings a smile to my face. It is one of those stories that I will always keep in my memory bank. But as I was thinking about this story today, I got to thinking about how we learn things. When did you learn your first "cuss" word? Was it from a classmate or a family member? We're you offended by it? I honestly don't remember the first cuss word I learned. I'm sure I was young. I do remember a couple times in my early life when I heard someone say a cuss word and it had an effect on me. One was at a basketball game Murphy High was playing in. I really looked up to that team. They were like heroes to me. It was half time and as they came off the court I heard one of the players say a cuss word. I could tell he was angry and I can remember asking myself.."Is anger reason enough to use bad language?" The other time I can remember is I was helping my Dad on his bread route. I must have been 7 or 8. Dad had made a mistake and he was upset with himself, and again in anger out came a cuss word. It is the only time in my life I can remember my Dad cussing. I'm sure he had cussed before and I'm sure he cussed again but I never heard him. As I look back on this time I'm glad I heard him cuss. It made me realize he wasn't perfect after all. It made me realize we all make mistakes in life, even our dads, but we must put those mistakes behind us and keep on going forward.
Sometimes I worry about the stories I tell my grandchildren. About my growing up and the things I did. They probably don't understand that times were different then. Maybe I shouldn't tell then about hitchhiking to Florida at an early age or riding down Stone Mountain on a bicycle back when it was just a big rock in the middle of the woods. Or about walking downtown on the railroad tracks or hunting for rats in Underground Atlanta before it was Underground Atlanta. Stories about segregation and integration, about ax handles and fire hoses. Stories of times spent in the pool halls and of skipping school. I worry if these stories will give them ideas of things they could do and I wonder if some of these stories might embarrass them. Then I began to wonder if maybe they are at a time in their life when they don't want to share everything that is happening in their life with me. Could they be afraid of giving me ideas of things to try. Is it possible they are afraid they may embarrass me if I knew all about their life. After all.... "WE DO LIVE IN A DIFFERENT TIME."
Which reminds me..."Did I ever tell you about the time.........................."
If memory serves me it was a warm day at the end of August. One of those feel good days that fills your whole body with contentment and excitement. Our young family was together, myself, Peggy my wonderful wife and our two beautiful daughters, Cindy and Vicki. We had just picked the girls up from school and were excited to hear about their day. Vicki was in kindergarten so everything about school was new to her and Cindy was growing up and forging ahead toward her higher education. Cindy was in first grade. As we rode down the road, Peggy and I were all smiles in anticipation of the stories we were about to hear. The stories about how the girls liked their new teachers and about how nice and pretty they were. The stories about the new friends they had made and the fun things they had done. We also wanted to hear about what they had learned......or did we?
As Cindy was telling us about her day at school she told us that one of the boys had said the worse word you could ever say. "What did he say?" I asked. Cindy then said, "Oh it was awful, no way could she tell us what the word was." Peggy then asked her what letter the word started with. Her quick reply was, "It starts with an "F" and has four letters. I was a young man at the time but could feel my blood pressure going up. I was becoming angry. We had to get to the bottom of this. Who would teach a child to use this type of language. These were first graders. Peggy then told Cindy..."It's OK just tell me the word the boy said." Again Cindy refused saying it was an awful word. Finally Peggy told Cindy..."Just lean over here and whisper the word in my ear, or better yet, Just spell it for me. No one will hear it but me." Cindy slowly leaned over close to Peggy. She got her lips as close to Peggy's ear as possible to ensure that no one else could possibly hear her. As she spelled this horrible word out in a whisper that only her mother could hear.....as she spelled this awful four letter word that started with the letter "F"...... A smile began to wash over her mothers face which soon turned into laughter. What was this awful word I now asked Peggy, spell it out for me to which she slowly spelled "F...A...N...Y.......So on this day in school my oldest daughter had learned the word "fanny", but she had yet to learn to spell it correctly.
We have told this story often and it always brings a smile to my face. It is one of those stories that I will always keep in my memory bank. But as I was thinking about this story today, I got to thinking about how we learn things. When did you learn your first "cuss" word? Was it from a classmate or a family member? We're you offended by it? I honestly don't remember the first cuss word I learned. I'm sure I was young. I do remember a couple times in my early life when I heard someone say a cuss word and it had an effect on me. One was at a basketball game Murphy High was playing in. I really looked up to that team. They were like heroes to me. It was half time and as they came off the court I heard one of the players say a cuss word. I could tell he was angry and I can remember asking myself.."Is anger reason enough to use bad language?" The other time I can remember is I was helping my Dad on his bread route. I must have been 7 or 8. Dad had made a mistake and he was upset with himself, and again in anger out came a cuss word. It is the only time in my life I can remember my Dad cussing. I'm sure he had cussed before and I'm sure he cussed again but I never heard him. As I look back on this time I'm glad I heard him cuss. It made me realize he wasn't perfect after all. It made me realize we all make mistakes in life, even our dads, but we must put those mistakes behind us and keep on going forward.
Sometimes I worry about the stories I tell my grandchildren. About my growing up and the things I did. They probably don't understand that times were different then. Maybe I shouldn't tell then about hitchhiking to Florida at an early age or riding down Stone Mountain on a bicycle back when it was just a big rock in the middle of the woods. Or about walking downtown on the railroad tracks or hunting for rats in Underground Atlanta before it was Underground Atlanta. Stories about segregation and integration, about ax handles and fire hoses. Stories of times spent in the pool halls and of skipping school. I worry if these stories will give them ideas of things they could do and I wonder if some of these stories might embarrass them. Then I began to wonder if maybe they are at a time in their life when they don't want to share everything that is happening in their life with me. Could they be afraid of giving me ideas of things to try. Is it possible they are afraid they may embarrass me if I knew all about their life. After all.... "WE DO LIVE IN A DIFFERENT TIME."
Which reminds me..."Did I ever tell you about the time.........................."
Sunday, September 30, 2012
BE CAREFUL WHAT YOU ARE DOING OR SAYING, THE WORLD HAS EYES AND EARS !!!!!!
I had an aunt pass away this past Friday. She was 98 years old and lived a good life. Her name was Ruby Cardell and she and her husband, Ed Cardell were the owners of Floyd Road Shopette for years. If you grew up in Mableton, at some time in your life you most likely met Aunt Ruby. She was a very humble lady with a loving personality and a beautiful smile. May she rest in peace in the arms of her savior.
As I was thinking about Aunt Ruby this weekend, my mind naturally flowed to others that have died recently. It seems each week we are going to a visitation, funeral or memorial service for a friend or family member that has died. Why is it that there seem to be more and more deaths of people close to me I asked myself the other day? I'm sure it's because I'm getting older and am getting close to that time when I will be called home myself. I'm sure some of you are saying to yourselves about now "This sounds like a gruesome post, I don't know if I want to keep reading this or not." Or you may say "This doesn't sound like a post from Wesley, he's usually upbeat." Let me ask you to please continue reading. There yet maybe something that will inspire you.
When writing most of my post, a subject or a person will come to mind, I sit down at the computer and just start typing. What you get is the first thing that pops into this old soft bald head that is attached to this body of mine. But this post has developed over the past week and the inspiration came from someone who is probably going to be shocked when she sees her name. If you happened to read my last post, you will remember it was about my Aunt Frances and her having her 100th birthday. If you haven't read it I hope you will. It was about the things I remember about Aunt Frances and the influence she has had on my life. I posted it on facebook as I usually do and was again amazed at the responses I got. I still have a hard time believing people will read something I write, much less enjoy the things that come out of my mind or my memories of my life years ago. Maybe that's a subject for another post but for now I must finish this one. Anyways, I love getting comments on what I write. I guess it confirms that what I write is worth reading. Maybe it's an ego thing. I'm not sure but I know I enjoy the comments and I mean everyone of them. But after the last post there was a comment that really hit me hard. I mean hard like a kick in the stomach hard. It came from a lady that I went to High School with. We are friends on Facebook. In fact we are probably better friends on Facebook than we were in High School. You see, she was a much nicer person in school than I was and she had the good sense to keep a safe distance from me and my kind. That being said, I guess I can still say we were friends back then, and I'm glad I can say we are friends today. The person I'm talking about is Edna Brown Romano. What was her comment you ask? Edna said:
Stop for a minute and think about what Edna said. She not only said these kind words to me, she set a goal for herself to live a certain kind of life. In fact, Edna took it a step farther and prayed to live her life in a certain way. Edna's comment struck a chord with me. As many things do lately, Edna's comment got my mind to going. The first thing I did was type a new status on Facebook. You may remember I typed:
I can do that. Think about it.
You probably thought I was asking you to think about it, while I was actually asking me to think about it. The more I thought about it, the more I realized I couldn't live that kind of life. I could type I CAN DO THAT, and I could say I CAN DO THAT, but by myself, I couldn't do that. So I went back and read Edna's comment again, and two words jumped out at me. I PRAY. There was my answer. If I pray, I can do that.
Phil. 4-13 says "I can do all things through Christ who strengthens me."
When I was younger, just like most young people I thought I was indestructible. I thought I would live forever. Then for some reason we finally realize we are only here for a short time. It is during these times we discover that if we are going to leave a footprint on this earth, the best way to be remembered is by how we lived. How we treated others. How we loved others. When I think of the ones that have gone before me, the ones I remember fondly are the ones that always had nice things to say. The ones that always had that smile on their faces. The ones with a giving spirit. The people with a righteous spirit and those that showed mercy to the downtrodden. In short, the ones I have the best memories of are the ones that were the most Christ like.
And so:
I had an aunt pass away this past Friday. She was 98 years old and lived a good life. Her name was Ruby Cardell and she and her husband, Ed Cardell were the owners of Floyd Road Shopette for years. If you grew up in Mableton, at some time in your life you most likely met Aunt Ruby. She was a very humble lady with a loving personality and a beautiful smile. May she rest in peace in the arms of her savior.
As I was thinking about Aunt Ruby this weekend, my mind naturally flowed to others that have died recently. It seems each week we are going to a visitation, funeral or memorial service for a friend or family member that has died. Why is it that there seem to be more and more deaths of people close to me I asked myself the other day? I'm sure it's because I'm getting older and am getting close to that time when I will be called home myself. I'm sure some of you are saying to yourselves about now "This sounds like a gruesome post, I don't know if I want to keep reading this or not." Or you may say "This doesn't sound like a post from Wesley, he's usually upbeat." Let me ask you to please continue reading. There yet maybe something that will inspire you.
When writing most of my post, a subject or a person will come to mind, I sit down at the computer and just start typing. What you get is the first thing that pops into this old soft bald head that is attached to this body of mine. But this post has developed over the past week and the inspiration came from someone who is probably going to be shocked when she sees her name. If you happened to read my last post, you will remember it was about my Aunt Frances and her having her 100th birthday. If you haven't read it I hope you will. It was about the things I remember about Aunt Frances and the influence she has had on my life. I posted it on facebook as I usually do and was again amazed at the responses I got. I still have a hard time believing people will read something I write, much less enjoy the things that come out of my mind or my memories of my life years ago. Maybe that's a subject for another post but for now I must finish this one. Anyways, I love getting comments on what I write. I guess it confirms that what I write is worth reading. Maybe it's an ego thing. I'm not sure but I know I enjoy the comments and I mean everyone of them. But after the last post there was a comment that really hit me hard. I mean hard like a kick in the stomach hard. It came from a lady that I went to High School with. We are friends on Facebook. In fact we are probably better friends on Facebook than we were in High School. You see, she was a much nicer person in school than I was and she had the good sense to keep a safe distance from me and my kind. That being said, I guess I can still say we were friends back then, and I'm glad I can say we are friends today. The person I'm talking about is Edna Brown Romano. What was her comment you ask? Edna said:
"I pray I will live a life that will call to the mind of a niece,nephew or grandchild the warmth of love you have shared so beautifully."
Stop for a minute and think about what Edna said. She not only said these kind words to me, she set a goal for herself to live a certain kind of life. In fact, Edna took it a step farther and prayed to live her life in a certain way. Edna's comment struck a chord with me. As many things do lately, Edna's comment got my mind to going. The first thing I did was type a new status on Facebook. You may remember I typed:
I can do that. Think about it.
You probably thought I was asking you to think about it, while I was actually asking me to think about it. The more I thought about it, the more I realized I couldn't live that kind of life. I could type I CAN DO THAT, and I could say I CAN DO THAT, but by myself, I couldn't do that. So I went back and read Edna's comment again, and two words jumped out at me. I PRAY. There was my answer. If I pray, I can do that.
Phil. 4-13 says "I can do all things through Christ who strengthens me."
When I was younger, just like most young people I thought I was indestructible. I thought I would live forever. Then for some reason we finally realize we are only here for a short time. It is during these times we discover that if we are going to leave a footprint on this earth, the best way to be remembered is by how we lived. How we treated others. How we loved others. When I think of the ones that have gone before me, the ones I remember fondly are the ones that always had nice things to say. The ones that always had that smile on their faces. The ones with a giving spirit. The people with a righteous spirit and those that showed mercy to the downtrodden. In short, the ones I have the best memories of are the ones that were the most Christ like.
And so:
I pray I will live a life that will call to the mind of a niece,nephew or grandchild the warmth of love You have shared so beautifully with me my Lord. Let me always be submissive to Your Guiding Light.
Amen and Amen.
Tuesday, September 25, 2012
ON THIS DAY IN HISTORY:
On this day in history the Congress passed the Bill of Rights, The three crewmen of Skylab II landed in the Pacific Ocean after being on the U.S. space laboratory for 59 days, and My Aunt Frances was born. Big deal you might say to yourself..."So today is your Aunt's birthday. We all have birthdays." Yep, we all have birthdays, but will you have a 100 of them? That's right, today My Aunt Frances is 100 years old. Happy birthday Aunt Frances.
I'm sure you are familiar with the old saying "He can't see the forest for the trees." Well this morning as I was thinking about someone like my Aunt Frances having 100 birthdays, this old saying came to mind. But as I thought, I said to myself, "Be careful Wes, living to be a hundred years old is quite a feat, but the big thing, the thing that really matters is what you did in those hundred years." So I decided to change the saying to "You can't see the trees for the forest." You see, the forest is the one hundred years but My Aunt Frances built that forest one tree at a time. To know My Aunt Frances, you have to be able to see the years in small segments.
1912....Taft was President. It would be 2 years before WWI would start. Seventeen years before the great depression, and it was the first year of the Girl Scouts. Oh how I wish I had been smart enough to quiz Aunt Frances years ago about her young life. The stories I could have heard and the things I could have learned. Aunt Frances is the oldest of eight Hogue children and the last one living. Today she is bed ridden, her body is broken and almost worn out. Her mind isn't sharp like it was a few years ago but her spirit is still something to behold. If you look up "sweet spirit" in the Dictionary, it wouldn't surprise me to see a picture of My Aunt Frances.
As I wish for unheard stories to be told to me by My Aunt Frances, the one thing I do have and cherish are the memories I have of her. I still remember as a young boy visiting at her house, playing with little cars in the room next to the kitchen as she was cooking dinner for her family. The thing that is foremost in my memory isn't the food she was preparing or the decor of the house. It isn't of the toy cars and trucks I played with or the clothes she wore. The memory is of her voice singing praises to her Savior. She wasn't just humming a tune or singing a chorus. She knew all the words to the hymns and would sing all the words. There was no air conditioning and the windows were open and I know the neighbors heard her sweet voice. It hasn't been but a short time ago that I once again heard her singing and it still brought a smile to my face and a warmth to my heart.
I love going to yard sales and flea markets. I like taking old throw away items and decorating my birdhouses with these things. I can trace my love for scrounging for old things directly back to My Aunt Frances. We lived in Atlanta when I was young and I can still remember her coming out and picking me up and we would go down on Decatur Street to the pawn shops looking for bargains. It makes me laugh thinking about her shopping in these stores. She loved her antiques.
But if you're going to talk about the loves of My Aunt Frances, you have to start with family. When the Bible talks about being equally yoked, I'm sure it's talking about Aunt Frances and Uncle Ralph. When you came to the first curve on Cooper Lake Road, every house you could see, the people who lived in them were related to Aunt Frances or Uncle Ralph. My Grandfather died when all the kids were fairly young and from what I can discern, the family stayed very close in large part because of Aunt Frances and Uncle Ralph. I can still remember during the last years of my Mom's life, if there was a problem, she would say "Call Aunt Frances." If the Hogue family had a Matriarch, without a doubt it was My Aunt Frances. And you could easily see the importance that was placed on family, in the lives of the children of Aunt Frances. Even when we lived out in Atlanta it wasn't unusual for Jimmy or Stuart or Nick to show up for a visit. And Marlene and Dianne seemed as close as sisters sometimes. Family mattered to Aunt Frances and she taught her children that family matters.
I could go on and on about stories about My Aunt Frances. Stories about auctions and staying the weekend at her house. Stories about sleeping in the attic of the garage, riding across the fields in a horse drawn wagon and early morning squirrel hunting trips. Funny stories about biting my finger nails and getting Polio from it.
I'm sure during these 100 years there were some hard times and disappointments. I'm sure there were times when many of us would say "why keep on going." But not My Aunt Frances. I'm sure that on this morning she awoke with a smile on her face and a song in her heart. And so today I say to her......
HAPPY BIRTHDAY AUNT FRANCES, HOPE YOU HAVE A BLESSED DAY AND I AM SO GLAD I CAN CALL YOU:
MY AUNT FRANCES
On this day in history the Congress passed the Bill of Rights, The three crewmen of Skylab II landed in the Pacific Ocean after being on the U.S. space laboratory for 59 days, and My Aunt Frances was born. Big deal you might say to yourself..."So today is your Aunt's birthday. We all have birthdays." Yep, we all have birthdays, but will you have a 100 of them? That's right, today My Aunt Frances is 100 years old. Happy birthday Aunt Frances.
I'm sure you are familiar with the old saying "He can't see the forest for the trees." Well this morning as I was thinking about someone like my Aunt Frances having 100 birthdays, this old saying came to mind. But as I thought, I said to myself, "Be careful Wes, living to be a hundred years old is quite a feat, but the big thing, the thing that really matters is what you did in those hundred years." So I decided to change the saying to "You can't see the trees for the forest." You see, the forest is the one hundred years but My Aunt Frances built that forest one tree at a time. To know My Aunt Frances, you have to be able to see the years in small segments.
1912....Taft was President. It would be 2 years before WWI would start. Seventeen years before the great depression, and it was the first year of the Girl Scouts. Oh how I wish I had been smart enough to quiz Aunt Frances years ago about her young life. The stories I could have heard and the things I could have learned. Aunt Frances is the oldest of eight Hogue children and the last one living. Today she is bed ridden, her body is broken and almost worn out. Her mind isn't sharp like it was a few years ago but her spirit is still something to behold. If you look up "sweet spirit" in the Dictionary, it wouldn't surprise me to see a picture of My Aunt Frances.
As I wish for unheard stories to be told to me by My Aunt Frances, the one thing I do have and cherish are the memories I have of her. I still remember as a young boy visiting at her house, playing with little cars in the room next to the kitchen as she was cooking dinner for her family. The thing that is foremost in my memory isn't the food she was preparing or the decor of the house. It isn't of the toy cars and trucks I played with or the clothes she wore. The memory is of her voice singing praises to her Savior. She wasn't just humming a tune or singing a chorus. She knew all the words to the hymns and would sing all the words. There was no air conditioning and the windows were open and I know the neighbors heard her sweet voice. It hasn't been but a short time ago that I once again heard her singing and it still brought a smile to my face and a warmth to my heart.
I love going to yard sales and flea markets. I like taking old throw away items and decorating my birdhouses with these things. I can trace my love for scrounging for old things directly back to My Aunt Frances. We lived in Atlanta when I was young and I can still remember her coming out and picking me up and we would go down on Decatur Street to the pawn shops looking for bargains. It makes me laugh thinking about her shopping in these stores. She loved her antiques.
But if you're going to talk about the loves of My Aunt Frances, you have to start with family. When the Bible talks about being equally yoked, I'm sure it's talking about Aunt Frances and Uncle Ralph. When you came to the first curve on Cooper Lake Road, every house you could see, the people who lived in them were related to Aunt Frances or Uncle Ralph. My Grandfather died when all the kids were fairly young and from what I can discern, the family stayed very close in large part because of Aunt Frances and Uncle Ralph. I can still remember during the last years of my Mom's life, if there was a problem, she would say "Call Aunt Frances." If the Hogue family had a Matriarch, without a doubt it was My Aunt Frances. And you could easily see the importance that was placed on family, in the lives of the children of Aunt Frances. Even when we lived out in Atlanta it wasn't unusual for Jimmy or Stuart or Nick to show up for a visit. And Marlene and Dianne seemed as close as sisters sometimes. Family mattered to Aunt Frances and she taught her children that family matters.
I could go on and on about stories about My Aunt Frances. Stories about auctions and staying the weekend at her house. Stories about sleeping in the attic of the garage, riding across the fields in a horse drawn wagon and early morning squirrel hunting trips. Funny stories about biting my finger nails and getting Polio from it.
I'm sure during these 100 years there were some hard times and disappointments. I'm sure there were times when many of us would say "why keep on going." But not My Aunt Frances. I'm sure that on this morning she awoke with a smile on her face and a song in her heart. And so today I say to her......
HAPPY BIRTHDAY AUNT FRANCES, HOPE YOU HAVE A BLESSED DAY AND I AM SO GLAD I CAN CALL YOU:
MY AUNT FRANCES
Monday, September 10, 2012
I WISH FOR ONE MORE PHONE CALL
The phone call would come in the night. Most times between 9:30 and 10:30 PM. It would be my good friend Ed asking if Peggy and I would join him and Ruth on a trip to the lake to go fishing. You see Beth, the oldest daughter of Ed and Ruth, had recently gone to be with the Lord. They were having trouble sleeping and just needed company. "Of course we'll go Ed, give us 30 minutes and we'll be there." Those fishing trips came to my mind yesterday as I learned of the death of Ed Ramsey. Many people would say we were doing a good deed by spending the night with friends during their time of grief but I say it was us that benefited from these times. We learned so much about life and ourselves, about God and His wonderful grace on these trips. Funny how the mind works. I can remember the sound of the motor on the back of the pontoon from these nights. I remember the stars shining so brightly and the cool crisp air in my face. I remember the fresh smell of God's creation and the laughter of friendship but I can't recall if we ever caught a fish. Maybe fish isn't what we were going for after all.
As I heard the news of Ed's passing, my mind became a whirlwind of memories of Ed and his family. I can still hear him telling stories about himself and Jessie Ruth. Seems he always called her Jessie Ruth. He would tell stories about when they first came to Georgia from Port St. Joe and stories about when he was a kid growing up in Florida. Ed always had a story to tell. He was a master story teller. I hope his kids and grand kids have recorded some of these stories to pass down. Speaking of the kids, it always amazed me at how different they were from each other. Oh, as far as looks go they all seemed to favor one another but their personalities and interest were all so different. Ed and Ruth were the best I have ever seen at letting their children develop in their own direction and I so admired that in them. And when I say this, don't think for a minute these Ramsey kids didn't have direction. They were always directed toward God and they were always loved unconditionally.
I thought of times when Ed was the Pastor at Brookwood Baptist Church. He would tell me about things that were happening at the church and he was so proud of his members. Ed was a good preacher and he was a great pastor. He loved the congregation and was so good at encouraging them and building them up. I can still hear Ed bragging on a teenager speaking on youth night or about a lay member giving a talk at Wednesday night service. We were blessed to visit Brookwood sometimes and we were always greeted with open hearts and smiles.
Another memory was when Cindy, our oldest daughter, and Randy were planning their wedding, Cindy insisted that Ed be one of the Pastors of the service. Ed wasn't the pastor of our church but Cindy considered him to be a pastor to her. I think this tells alot about the love he had toward people. I can still see Ed standing there with that barrel chest stuck out. As I think back I realize God had to give him that big chest to hold that big heart he had.
I could go on and on talking about what this man meant to me and my family. I could tell of swimming parties and other trips to the lake. Of Sunday dinners and playing cards all night long. I could tell what a blessing he was to all that knew him but they already know this. This Wednesday there will be a funeral for Ed. There will be songs sung and words said. There will be prayers prayed and stories told. But it won't be Ed's funeral. Ed's funeral has already been told. It was told in his life everyday by him.
Rest in peace my friend. I love you and miss you and I know when you reached those gates to heaven God said welcome my good and faithful servant....Welcome home.
The phone call would come in the night. Most times between 9:30 and 10:30 PM. It would be my good friend Ed asking if Peggy and I would join him and Ruth on a trip to the lake to go fishing. You see Beth, the oldest daughter of Ed and Ruth, had recently gone to be with the Lord. They were having trouble sleeping and just needed company. "Of course we'll go Ed, give us 30 minutes and we'll be there." Those fishing trips came to my mind yesterday as I learned of the death of Ed Ramsey. Many people would say we were doing a good deed by spending the night with friends during their time of grief but I say it was us that benefited from these times. We learned so much about life and ourselves, about God and His wonderful grace on these trips. Funny how the mind works. I can remember the sound of the motor on the back of the pontoon from these nights. I remember the stars shining so brightly and the cool crisp air in my face. I remember the fresh smell of God's creation and the laughter of friendship but I can't recall if we ever caught a fish. Maybe fish isn't what we were going for after all.
As I heard the news of Ed's passing, my mind became a whirlwind of memories of Ed and his family. I can still hear him telling stories about himself and Jessie Ruth. Seems he always called her Jessie Ruth. He would tell stories about when they first came to Georgia from Port St. Joe and stories about when he was a kid growing up in Florida. Ed always had a story to tell. He was a master story teller. I hope his kids and grand kids have recorded some of these stories to pass down. Speaking of the kids, it always amazed me at how different they were from each other. Oh, as far as looks go they all seemed to favor one another but their personalities and interest were all so different. Ed and Ruth were the best I have ever seen at letting their children develop in their own direction and I so admired that in them. And when I say this, don't think for a minute these Ramsey kids didn't have direction. They were always directed toward God and they were always loved unconditionally.
I thought of times when Ed was the Pastor at Brookwood Baptist Church. He would tell me about things that were happening at the church and he was so proud of his members. Ed was a good preacher and he was a great pastor. He loved the congregation and was so good at encouraging them and building them up. I can still hear Ed bragging on a teenager speaking on youth night or about a lay member giving a talk at Wednesday night service. We were blessed to visit Brookwood sometimes and we were always greeted with open hearts and smiles.
Another memory was when Cindy, our oldest daughter, and Randy were planning their wedding, Cindy insisted that Ed be one of the Pastors of the service. Ed wasn't the pastor of our church but Cindy considered him to be a pastor to her. I think this tells alot about the love he had toward people. I can still see Ed standing there with that barrel chest stuck out. As I think back I realize God had to give him that big chest to hold that big heart he had.
I could go on and on talking about what this man meant to me and my family. I could tell of swimming parties and other trips to the lake. Of Sunday dinners and playing cards all night long. I could tell what a blessing he was to all that knew him but they already know this. This Wednesday there will be a funeral for Ed. There will be songs sung and words said. There will be prayers prayed and stories told. But it won't be Ed's funeral. Ed's funeral has already been told. It was told in his life everyday by him.
Rest in peace my friend. I love you and miss you and I know when you reached those gates to heaven God said welcome my good and faithful servant....Welcome home.
Sunday, July 8, 2012
THE IHOP MAN
Late yesterday afternoon Peggy and I went to IHOP to eat dinner. Now I know most people go to IHOP for breakfast but they have a pretty good menu besides the pancakes. Many time when the Grands come over and spend the night, the next morning I will make them PaPa's world famous pancakes for breakfast. I often tell them how for years I have been recruited by IHOP to be the head chef of their pancake kitchens but part of the deal requires me to give them my secret recipe which I refuse to give to anyone. Therefore, the wonderful treat of PaPa's pancakes is given just to them.
Anyway, back to the original story. As we sat there, an older man walked in by himself, was seated, and for some reason I couldn't take my eyes off of him. No, he didn't look familiar. I don't believe I had ever seen the man before. There was really nothing special about the man's appearance. He was dressed normal, had two eyes and two arms, one nose. Just an ordinary man. But still there was something. "What was it about this man?" Then it hit me. It was something about the curvature of his lips. The corners were naturally turned down. And his eyes. Yes he had two just as you and I, but he had such a blank stare. A stare as if he looked passed what was in front of him and saw things that were not seen by others. There was a sadness about him. A loneliness. What an unpleasant feeling it must be to be lonely. A feeling of emptiness. I mentioned to Peggy how lonely the man appeared, then the subject was changed and we enjoyed our meal together.
When we got home we did the same as we usually do. We checked the computer, watched some TV, talked awhile, just the everyday things we do.
Then we went to bed. But as I was lying there, the memory of the man at IHOP came back to me and the look on his face would not go away. Did I see something that was not there? Had my imagination run amok again. No matter....Whatever it was I knew I had to pray for this man or sleep would never come. I didn't know what to ask for, but I knew God would know what the man needed. And so I prayed for this stranger.
As I finished and said my amen, I knew sleep would soon come. So I waited,,,, and I waited,,,, and I waited some more. But sleep wouldn't come. All that I could think of was this man at IHOP....."WHY GOD? WHAT IS GOING ON?" I thought to myself, I've done as I should. I've prayed for the man. "WHAT MORE DO YOU WANT OF ME GOD?" As I was asking God these questions, little did I realize I was still praying. It was as if I could hear God's voice giving me answers. The reason I was so concerned for the
man was because subconsciously, I have the same fears. I don't want to be lonely. I don't want to feel empty. All of a sudden Isaiah 41:10 came to me................
"So do not fear, for I am with you; do not be dismayed, for I am your God. I will strengthen you and help you; I will uphold you with my righteous."
I thought to myself, "What a small verse and what a big promise." Think about it for a minute....it says.... "for I am with you" My God is with me always. No need to fear, no need to be dismayed. He will make me strong. He is my God.
As I laid there my mind went back to the man at IHOP. I had prayed that he would not be lonely. That God would give him friends to comfort him. I now went back to my God in Prayer. This time I prayed that the IHOP man would know my God through Jesus Christ. I prayed that my God would show him, just as He had shown me that He was real and He was present and He was righteous. I now knew I had asked for what the IHOP man needed and I knew God was able to supply those needs.
I once again closed my eyes. This time sleep came quickly and I rested in the assurance that my God was in control.
May God Bless You This Day...Amen
As I laid there my mind went back to the man at IHOP. I had prayed that he would not be lonely. That God would give him friends to comfort him. I now went back to my God in Prayer. This time I prayed that the IHOP man would know my God through Jesus Christ. I prayed that my God would show him, just as He had shown me that He was real and He was present and He was righteous. I now knew I had asked for what the IHOP man needed and I knew God was able to supply those needs.
I once again closed my eyes. This time sleep came quickly and I rested in the assurance that my God was in control.
May God Bless You This Day...Amen
Friday, March 9, 2012
THE FLOWER
She was a fair maiden. Not only beautiful but very intelligent. She lived in the city and was loved and trusted by many. In this city was located a community garden. When you had shown yourself to be responsible and trustworthy, a small plot of the garden would be allocated to you and on your plot you could plant what you wanted. Some planted vegetables for nourishment of their bodies. Others planted flowers simply for the beauty they provided. After years of learning and maturing the fair maiden was finally allowed to have a plot to work. It was a plot owned by a man and his wife that had much faith in the fair maiden. To this man and his wife, this plot was very valuable. In fact it was more valuable to the man and woman than it would be to anyone else. By allowing the fair maiden to plant their plot, it showed the trust they had in the fair maiden and she in turn took the responsibility of this plot very seriously.
The fair maiden decided she would plant flowers. She was a gentle lady and loved things of beauty. She plowed her plot until the soil was soft and smooth. She then carefully planted the seeds. One by one, not to close together in order to give them room to grow. She fertilized and watered. In fact she watered daily and made sure no weeds grew in her plot that would crowd and smother her plants as they grew. And then she waited with much anticipation. And she waited and waited and waited. Not a single flower appeared. Weeds would grow and she would pull them up but no flowers ever broke the ground.
I often wonder what went through the fair maidens mind as she waited. Was she disappointed? Did it depress her that she never saw a flower grow? Did she feel that she had failed? After years she disappeared. I know not where she went but for years the plot that she had taken such an interest in lay barren. Others tried to grow things on this plot and on occasion would get a very small yield of crops but mainly the plot continued to lay barren.
And then, out of no where, a plant began to grow. It wasn't a large plant but kind of small. No one had ever planted these seeds on this plot since the fair maiden so it must be from her seeds. No it wasn't the year after she planted the seeds on this plot. No it wasn't even ten or twenty years later but it was over fifty years later. And then a small flower bud. And then another. This must be a miracle everyone thought. This defies nature they said. Where can we find the fair maiden? Where should we look? Is she still alive or has she passed away? She must see this. She must see the results of her labors. I have no idea where she is but I wish I did. I wish I could find her. I wish I could sit and talk to her. Why do I wish to see her you ask? What would I share?
It was in the 1950's. I was far from being a good student at Kirkwood Elementary School. My teacher's name was Ms. Ernhart. She was special to me and made me feel I was special to her. I hated homework. In fact I hated all school work but even though I hated the work, she made me want to be at school. Why you ask? Because she made me feel that I was smart. I can remember her telling me how good I was at spelling. I can remember being proud and wanting to be a good speller because of this.
I remember once she gave us an assignment to read a book from the library and then do a book report. She told us we could chose our own book as she wanted us to read something we were interested in. We were to tell about the book and also about the author. As for me, I had no time for this book report stuff. I had much more important things on my mind like my paper route and playing baseball with the guys.
It was the night before the book report was due. I had a problem. I mean I had a big problem. I had not only not read a book, I had not checked one out and the library was now closed. Ohhh boy!!!!!! How was I going to get past this. I had really dug myself into a hole this time. It's probably not what your thinking. I wasn't worried about making a zero on the grade. My problem was I didn't want to fail Ms. Ernhart.
As I sit in my room trying to come up with an excuse why I didn't have a book report, the craziest idea came to my mind. I would make a book up. I would write a report on a book that didn't exist by an author that didn't exist. I even made up the copyright date and the publishing company. Boy I thought, "I'm Good".
A couple of days later Ms. Ernhart called us each up to her desk, one at a time, to give us our book reports back and discuss our grade with us. I was as nervous as I had ever been. Then I saw my grade. I had made an "A". She then told me that my report was the best story she had ever read. She said she gave me the "A" because she knew it was much harder to make a story up than to read a book and do a report. She then said something to me I will never forget. She said four simple word. "I'm proud of you".
It was over fifty years before I wrote anything else. Are my post the best I've ever read? Not by a long shot, but I've finally found that I enjoy writing. I enjoy telling a story. And the most important thing...."I'm proud of me"
If you haven't figured it out yet, in the metaphor I started this post with, Ms Ernhart is the fair maiden, my parents are the man and his wife, I am the plot of ground and the flower buds are my writings. Hopefully after awhile I will improve and the buds will become full blooms. The seeds of course are the words of encouragement given to me by Ms Ernhart.
I have no idea where Ms. Ernhart is. I don't know if she is still alive or dead. But I do know she touched many a child. She was a wonderful teacher and a beautiful person.
I wish I could sit down with her and thank her in person but I can't. If there was a Ms. Ernhart in your life and you can still thank her, I hope you will.
God Bless our Teachers
Monday, March 5, 2012
- MEMORIES LIGHT THE CORNERS OF MY MIND,
- Misty water color memories of the way we were.
- Scattered pictures of the smiles we left behind,
- Smiles we gave to one another fore the way we were.
- Can it be that it was all so simple then,
- Or has time rewritten every line?
- And if we had the chance to do it all again,
- Tell me, would we? Could we?
- Memories may be beautiful, and yet
- What's too painful to remember
- We simply choose to forget,
- So it's the laughter we will remember
- Whenever we remember the way we were.
I posted a piece on facebook the other day titled "Things I've Learned."
It was to me a very inspiring piece and got my mind to running. Of course I have a very hyper mind so it doesn't take a lot. If I was as hyper physically as I am mentally I would weigh 99 pounds. Not sure if that would be a good thing or bad. Anyway as my mind was running amok, it quickly went to things that I had learned and things that make and have made me happy. The more I thought and the more I pondered what has and still does make me happy, the more I realized it was simple things. Inexpensive things. In most cases free things. These things and experiences made me smile. Some even made me laugh out loud. Others brought a tear to my eye and some even had me sobbing. But they were happy tears. Tears that made my heart feel as though it may burst at any moment. Memories of childhood, memories of my teen years, memories of young adulthood and memories I've built while I was getting older. I of course can't tell all here I hope at least one of the things I've learned through my memories will turn the key of your memory bank and make you smile.
I've learned that if I can hold a grand child tight against my chest while he sleeps that the child's unconditional love and trust permeates between our bodies and I am a happy man.
As I remembered playing outside as a child, I learned that the smell of an afternoon summer rain refreshed me just as the rain itself, refreshes the earth.
I remember as I would walk to school at a young age, that when I waved to another child, that small gesture made the child smile, and when the child waved back at me, it likewise made me smile.
I learned that the best way to make me happy is to make someone else happy.
I learned when my best friend Jeff moved away that a letter or a card sent by snail mail was priceless. It still is and can't be replaced by an e-mail or a text.
I've learned that even though I can't sing or carry a tune, that when I sing "Amazing Grace" and contemplate the words a tear still comes to my eyes.
Almost exactly one year ago I learned that sometimes we get a second chance at life.
I've learned that prayer works. I have many memories to prove this.
I've learned that even at my age, I can learn things from a child.
Although I would not advise it today, I have many memories of hitch hiking. The people I met, the things I learned and the places I went.
Ohhh the memories of hopping on my Cushman Eagle, the freedom I now had, the wind blowing in my face.
I loved riding downtown Atlanta just at dusk with the top down and the smell of the city in my nostrils.
My first trip to New York City. I couldn't believe a place so big with so many people.
The memories of the first time I stood at the edge of the ocean, the waves washing over my feet and the sand around my feet being returned to the sea. As I gazed out to an endless horizon I think this is the first time I contemplated infinity.
At a young age I learned not to judge people. At an older age my children and grand children retaught me this valuable lesson.
The best swimming is done in a wide place in the creek.
Thinking back at my memories, I realize my life is the best. Thank each of you for making it so.
I've learned I love each of you.
God Bless
Thursday, March 1, 2012
WHAT'S IN A NAME
"What's in a name? That which we call a rose
by any other name would smell as sweet."
AWWWW...One of the most famous quotes in literature. Have you ever wondered what Shakespeare was thinking when he wrote it? Did he think this quote would start so many brains to start working? Why do we call certain things what we call them? Is there really any rhyme or reason behind names of things? Why do we call a cow a cow? Why not call a cow a dog? If a cow was called a dog, wouldn't the milk still taste as sweet? Of course it would. Seems we just accept the names given to things in stride and go on with our everyday chores.
But how about the names we give people? Have you ever thought about all the effort that was given to naming people. As soon as we find out a new baby is on it's way, the first thing we do, as far as parents, is think about names. I wonder how many books there are about baby names? I googled baby names just out of curiosity. I got 63,700,000 results in .17 seconds. If you really got into a deep search for a newborns name, the poor kid could would be dead before you came up with the right name.
Notice the last two words of the previous paragraph. "RIGHT NAME." Have you ever noticed how sometimes a perspective parent will tell you what their new child's name is gonna be and under your breath you will quickly find yourself saying a prayer for this unborn child. You very quickly know this child is going to have an awful life with that tag attached to them for the rest of their lives. I have also noticed that even though the name in no way fits the child, Like magic, the child usually grows to fit the name.
When Peggy and I realized we were going to have a son, one of the first things we knew we had to do was pick a name. I joked that we, needed a good southern name, and my first choice was "Billy Bob." Peggy hated it but for seven month before our wonderful son came into this world he was known as "Billy Bob." Every time I would call him "Billy Bob", Peggy would let me know in no uncertain terms that we were not going to name him "Billy Bob." The day of the birth finally came. We were in the delivery room. The birth went great and all of a sudden we were the proud parents of a 10 pound 1 and 1/2 ounce boy. That's right, a TEN pounds ONE and a Half ounce son. The Doctor looked at Peggy and upon congratulating us asked her the all important question....What are you going to name him? At this time we still weren't completely sure what his name would be but Peggy knew it wouldn't be "Billy Bob." She looked at the Doctor and said "We might name him after you......what is your name?" The Doctor looked at Peggy and his response..................."William Robert"...........or Billy Bob. Later that day our son was named Joshua Kyle and he grew into his name very soon there after.
Some of us end up with what is called Nicknames. All of my three children and seven grand children have their own special nicknames. I don't know if they like these nicknames or not but they are terms of the deepest affection when I call them by these nicknames. As for myself I have been called by many names in my lifetime, some of which I like and some that are not printable in this post. Some of my nicknames have been Wes, JW, WD, Stonk, and Catfish. I'm sure you have had nicknames also.
Our names are special to us. Even though someone else may share our name, our name is still unique to us. My first post and the name of this blog is about my last name. "Daniell." This name is very special to me and not just because it's spelled with "Two Ls." It is special because it tells where I came from. It tells of family before, the good and the bad. It tells me of people that came before me that helped form this land, this country, this state and some of the different towns and cities. Of people that worked hard, had strong beliefs and stood up for these beliefs.
You too should be proud of your name. You are special. You are unique. It is estimated that there have been more than 107,602,707,800 people born on this earth, and out of all these people not a single one is or has been just like you. Stand up straight. Stick you chest out. Hold your chin up. Your name means something special. You are special.
Many times we are asked if we could change our names what our new name be? For me, I'm happy with my name. I'm even happy with my nicknames. In fact there is one name I'm called that always makes me smile and sometime brings a tear to my eye. What is that name you ask? That name is "PaPa." If you have this same name or one like it, you know what I'm talking about.
God Bless
"What's in a name? That which we call a rose
by any other name would smell as sweet."
AWWWW...One of the most famous quotes in literature. Have you ever wondered what Shakespeare was thinking when he wrote it? Did he think this quote would start so many brains to start working? Why do we call certain things what we call them? Is there really any rhyme or reason behind names of things? Why do we call a cow a cow? Why not call a cow a dog? If a cow was called a dog, wouldn't the milk still taste as sweet? Of course it would. Seems we just accept the names given to things in stride and go on with our everyday chores.
But how about the names we give people? Have you ever thought about all the effort that was given to naming people. As soon as we find out a new baby is on it's way, the first thing we do, as far as parents, is think about names. I wonder how many books there are about baby names? I googled baby names just out of curiosity. I got 63,700,000 results in .17 seconds. If you really got into a deep search for a newborns name, the poor kid could would be dead before you came up with the right name.
Notice the last two words of the previous paragraph. "RIGHT NAME." Have you ever noticed how sometimes a perspective parent will tell you what their new child's name is gonna be and under your breath you will quickly find yourself saying a prayer for this unborn child. You very quickly know this child is going to have an awful life with that tag attached to them for the rest of their lives. I have also noticed that even though the name in no way fits the child, Like magic, the child usually grows to fit the name.
When Peggy and I realized we were going to have a son, one of the first things we knew we had to do was pick a name. I joked that we, needed a good southern name, and my first choice was "Billy Bob." Peggy hated it but for seven month before our wonderful son came into this world he was known as "Billy Bob." Every time I would call him "Billy Bob", Peggy would let me know in no uncertain terms that we were not going to name him "Billy Bob." The day of the birth finally came. We were in the delivery room. The birth went great and all of a sudden we were the proud parents of a 10 pound 1 and 1/2 ounce boy. That's right, a TEN pounds ONE and a Half ounce son. The Doctor looked at Peggy and upon congratulating us asked her the all important question....What are you going to name him? At this time we still weren't completely sure what his name would be but Peggy knew it wouldn't be "Billy Bob." She looked at the Doctor and said "We might name him after you......what is your name?" The Doctor looked at Peggy and his response..................."William Robert"...........or Billy Bob. Later that day our son was named Joshua Kyle and he grew into his name very soon there after.
Some of us end up with what is called Nicknames. All of my three children and seven grand children have their own special nicknames. I don't know if they like these nicknames or not but they are terms of the deepest affection when I call them by these nicknames. As for myself I have been called by many names in my lifetime, some of which I like and some that are not printable in this post. Some of my nicknames have been Wes, JW, WD, Stonk, and Catfish. I'm sure you have had nicknames also.
Our names are special to us. Even though someone else may share our name, our name is still unique to us. My first post and the name of this blog is about my last name. "Daniell." This name is very special to me and not just because it's spelled with "Two Ls." It is special because it tells where I came from. It tells of family before, the good and the bad. It tells me of people that came before me that helped form this land, this country, this state and some of the different towns and cities. Of people that worked hard, had strong beliefs and stood up for these beliefs.
You too should be proud of your name. You are special. You are unique. It is estimated that there have been more than 107,602,707,800 people born on this earth, and out of all these people not a single one is or has been just like you. Stand up straight. Stick you chest out. Hold your chin up. Your name means something special. You are special.
Many times we are asked if we could change our names what our new name be? For me, I'm happy with my name. I'm even happy with my nicknames. In fact there is one name I'm called that always makes me smile and sometime brings a tear to my eye. What is that name you ask? That name is "PaPa." If you have this same name or one like it, you know what I'm talking about.
God Bless
Saturday, January 14, 2012
DO YOU EVER WORRY ABOUT GETTING LOST?
Have you ever been somewhere and thought to yourself, "It seems I've been here before but things look different." The other day Josh and I went downtown to the Dome to buy some tickets. I drove as Atlanta is my home town and I know how to get around. As we were on our way home Josh asked, "How do you remember all these streets, you always go a different way every time we come down here. It got me to thinking about the changing of Atlanta. Oh sure, the main streets are mainly as they were in the 50's and 60's but so much has changed. And when I say the streets are the same, I mean they are in the same place but so many have been given new names. Cain Street is now International Blvd, Sewell Street is now Benjamin Mays Drive, Bedford Place is now Central Park Place, and Bankhead Highway is now called Donald Lee Hollowell Parkway. Even my beloved Boulevard Drive, the location of my first paper route, is now Hosea Williams Drive. And this is just a sample of the name changes. There are pages and pages of them. Of course as with most things there is good news and bad news. The good news is I can pronounce most of these new names. The bad news is if our country keeps going as it is now, the next name changes will be Chinese names and I will have no idea how to say the street names. I hope this name changing doesn't catch on. If all my friends change their name, I'll never be able to remember them at this age in my life. I guess I can call them all "Hey you".
One of the other things that has changed are Landmarks. Compared to other large cities in the United States, Atlanta is a relatively young city. As I think of this it amazes me how many of our landmarks, our first mansions and first buildings are gone. We call this progress. I don't want to be included in this "WE". I had rather think of some of this progress as dumb. In fact I may start using the word progress as my new word of profanity. A good friend of mine, Tim Cole is a fantastic photographer. The other day on facebook he posted some pictures of the Fox Theater. Do you ever think about how close we came to losing this treasure. The Fox was saved but think of the ones that were lost in the name of "progress". How about the Lowe's Grand and the Roxy Theater, or the Peachtree Arcade. Atlanta was built because of the railroad. If you notice most large cities have river ports or ocean ports. Not us. Atlanta was railroad, and the most famous railroad building in Atlanta, Terminal Station, is gone. What a lost treasure. And what replaced it? The Richard Russell Federal Building. I understand sometimes some things have to be torn down, but before we do it we need to really think if what we are doing away with is worth what we are replacing it with. We have become a "throw away" society. I love the old neighborhoods in Atlanta. The Inman Parks and the Ansley Parks. The Grant Parks , the Kirkwoods and yes even the Cabbagetowns and Reynoldstowns. I don't know.....Maybe it's a "getting older thing" but just walking through Piedmont Park and Oakland Cemetery or just riding past Grady Stadium and remembering high school football games. Just walking down Peachtree Street, thank God it still has that same name, or riding through the tree lined streets of Druid Hills. These are the blessings of a man in his forth quarter of life.
Sure progress is good. Where would we be without computers and the advances of medicine. And we can now go to California as easily as we use to go to Mississippi. I realize we need to go forward but we must realize that going forward doesn't require us to destroy the past. Some of us came from the past and is was a great place. A place to be revered, a place to be honored, a place to be loved and a place to be remembered.
One day you will want to look back at a place called yesterday. I pray your yesterday will still be there. I pray your past will put a smile on your face and a tingle in you heart. I pray you will be able to say thanks to your generation for not destroying your past.
God Bless you All.
Have you ever been somewhere and thought to yourself, "It seems I've been here before but things look different." The other day Josh and I went downtown to the Dome to buy some tickets. I drove as Atlanta is my home town and I know how to get around. As we were on our way home Josh asked, "How do you remember all these streets, you always go a different way every time we come down here. It got me to thinking about the changing of Atlanta. Oh sure, the main streets are mainly as they were in the 50's and 60's but so much has changed. And when I say the streets are the same, I mean they are in the same place but so many have been given new names. Cain Street is now International Blvd, Sewell Street is now Benjamin Mays Drive, Bedford Place is now Central Park Place, and Bankhead Highway is now called Donald Lee Hollowell Parkway. Even my beloved Boulevard Drive, the location of my first paper route, is now Hosea Williams Drive. And this is just a sample of the name changes. There are pages and pages of them. Of course as with most things there is good news and bad news. The good news is I can pronounce most of these new names. The bad news is if our country keeps going as it is now, the next name changes will be Chinese names and I will have no idea how to say the street names. I hope this name changing doesn't catch on. If all my friends change their name, I'll never be able to remember them at this age in my life. I guess I can call them all "Hey you".
One of the other things that has changed are Landmarks. Compared to other large cities in the United States, Atlanta is a relatively young city. As I think of this it amazes me how many of our landmarks, our first mansions and first buildings are gone. We call this progress. I don't want to be included in this "WE". I had rather think of some of this progress as dumb. In fact I may start using the word progress as my new word of profanity. A good friend of mine, Tim Cole is a fantastic photographer. The other day on facebook he posted some pictures of the Fox Theater. Do you ever think about how close we came to losing this treasure. The Fox was saved but think of the ones that were lost in the name of "progress". How about the Lowe's Grand and the Roxy Theater, or the Peachtree Arcade. Atlanta was built because of the railroad. If you notice most large cities have river ports or ocean ports. Not us. Atlanta was railroad, and the most famous railroad building in Atlanta, Terminal Station, is gone. What a lost treasure. And what replaced it? The Richard Russell Federal Building. I understand sometimes some things have to be torn down, but before we do it we need to really think if what we are doing away with is worth what we are replacing it with. We have become a "throw away" society. I love the old neighborhoods in Atlanta. The Inman Parks and the Ansley Parks. The Grant Parks , the Kirkwoods and yes even the Cabbagetowns and Reynoldstowns. I don't know.....Maybe it's a "getting older thing" but just walking through Piedmont Park and Oakland Cemetery or just riding past Grady Stadium and remembering high school football games. Just walking down Peachtree Street, thank God it still has that same name, or riding through the tree lined streets of Druid Hills. These are the blessings of a man in his forth quarter of life.
Sure progress is good. Where would we be without computers and the advances of medicine. And we can now go to California as easily as we use to go to Mississippi. I realize we need to go forward but we must realize that going forward doesn't require us to destroy the past. Some of us came from the past and is was a great place. A place to be revered, a place to be honored, a place to be loved and a place to be remembered.
One day you will want to look back at a place called yesterday. I pray your yesterday will still be there. I pray your past will put a smile on your face and a tingle in you heart. I pray you will be able to say thanks to your generation for not destroying your past.
God Bless you All.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)