Kiss the Wind

I envy the butterflies as they

Make their journeys,

Sitting on flowers,

Over the fields

Without touching the ground,

I would like to run away,

Through the meadows and lily fields,

Over the trees

And enjoy the valleys,

I would love to run away.

To kiss the wind before

It reached the mountaintops

I want to run away to tomorrow

Before tomorrow reaches me today.

 

Life is poetry.  I always enjoyed teaching poetry to students, especially teenagers.  Within each young man lies a poem.  He just doesn't know it. 

Girls find it early. 

Girls talk about living, dying, finding, and losing love; however, boys don't want to admit they have noticed these things.  They could write volumes on lost loves.

Teenage girls will retreat to the bathroom and cry on the shoulder of a friend. 

Major drama. 

I have never had to send a boy to the restroom to comfort and encourage his friend to return back to the room over a girl. 

Guys just don't do drama.

They will, however, start a fight or get into a fight.  Hmmm, maybe this is their drama.---Instead of crying, they beat the heck out each other.

Answers a lot of questions. 

Instead of going home because his heart is broken, he is sent home for fighting, and that, my friend, saves his pride.  Either way, he got to leave school and rid himself of the hurt he feels from being told, "it's over," while eating lunch with a table full of friends, from the girl he thought he would take to the prom.

Oh, girls, girls, girls, think, think, think before you speak, speak, speak!

That young man you are embarrassing and breaking his heart all in one swoop, may later be "the one who got away." Or, even worse, he is friends with the one who might just be "the one" had you not shown your bad side and caused him to run away from "that girl."

Before you say what you are thinking, guys are not immune from causing pain. They have their own way of causing hurt.  Today I am just relating the thought of how poetry is more difficult for guys to admit that they could write their own hurtin' "somebody done somebody wrong song."

 

 

It is me again, Lord, thanking you for the reminder of why I am so happy my teen years are behind me.

 

A little Georgia Wisdom: Think before you speak no matter what your age.  Words can hurt, and words can come back to haunt you.

 

Peace

Starring out the window, I watch the sun and clouds work together to help the leaves on my favorite tree cast shadows on the yard outside. This gives me a feeling of peace. I really don't understand why at this point this scene gives me peace.  I am reminded of scripture.  Philippians 4:7 which says    "and the peace of God, which passeth all understanding, shall keep your hearts and minds through Christ Jesus."

This past weeks have been stressful for my family.  Death comes and escorts our friends and family to their Heavenly home, and we are saddened by the loss.  We are saddened by unfinished conversations, the silence of laughter, the pain we see in the faces of family, and then there is the joy of knowing that with their own words they made sure that the most important decision to accept Christ and His salvation had been taken care of in this life. Bernice and Elizabeth (Lib) were ready to go; however, we were not ready to let them go.

Bernice fought the good fight with cancer.  She had survived three types of cancer and the fourth was no so gracious. Lib had a heart attack.  There is no good way to go.  Bernice's family had some time to prepare if that is even possible; however, Lib was gone so quickly.  How does one prepare to say good-bye?

The memories each of us has for these two ladies will be forever etched in our hearts.  I chose to remember their laughter.  The quick wit each had can't be adequately shared.  As the old saying goes, "you had to be there."  They both had it.  They saw life as it was and accepted it.  I don't remember either of them trying to change someone's thoughts to fit their  own.  They shared their thoughts, but neither never tied to "make" you see it their way.

They both were good listeners.

Lib was so  kind to me when she was a teenager and then later she was kind when I was one. She heard my teenage stories and never laughed at how silly they were. She made me feel grown-up.  She didn't even get mad at me when I fell down the front steps with her baby.  She knew is was an accident. I was so scared, but Lib's baby daughter, Vickie, was okay.  I cried, but Vickie  and Lib didn't. 

Lib came to visit my parents often.  They lived across the road from her.  We would gather at my parents and have coffee.  Mama usually had a chocolate cake.  I loved those visits.  After I married, I gathered there too and had coffee and cake along with conversations that filled the community with lots of laughter.. 

Bernice would join us at Mama and Daddy's house also.  One day she and I met up there (like many, many times before) and we were complaining about how our shoes were so uncomfortable.  She tried on my shoes and I tried on hers.  We both left that day with comfortable shoes...

Her children have given me some of her shoes.  We both liked shoes and pocketbooks.  I resisted the temptation to take some pocketbooks home.  Barry already thinks I have to many.

Bernice wanted to publish another cookbook.  She had already, with her children's help, put one together as a fundraiser.  On the days that I was blessed to spend time with her, we started the wheels in motion to fulfill her dream of publishing another one.  She won't get to see this one completed, but her daughter Cindy, her sister, Bessie, and I have vowed to complete this project. Her whole family will be working on this cookbook.  Friends are joining this effort too.  We will have a cookbook ready by the end of June to send to the publisher.

If you would like to have one of these cookbooks, they will sale for $15.00.  Please email me at churches265@yahoo.com and I will send you an address.  We would love to pre-sale as many as possible.  The monies from the sale of these books will go to pay her mounting doctor and hospital bills.  Living with cancer is not cheap.  The cost is unreal. 

The services are over, the tears that flowed freely have started to slow down, and we are remembering and laughing.  You know, that is the way I want to be remembered.  Tell the funny stories, laugh at the silly things I did, and remember that I was a born again Christian who loved the Lord.


It is me, again, Lord, thanking you for the opportunity to grow up with cousins like Bernice and Lib.

A little Georgia Wisdom:  Take time to spend with relatives by getting to know them as friends. Make sure you save those special moments and memories in your heart.

Bittersweet Memories

It has been a long time since I posted a blog.  Time seem to get away, as it has a tendency to do to all of you, from me.

One of the earliest memories of my grandparents was one Christmas when my parents and I stayed at their house on Christmas Eve.  The next morning there was a footprint in the ashes of the fireplace; I knew that footprint was evidence Santa Claus had brought the tricycle that stood under the tree to me. 

Over the years as our family grew, each Christmas we would gather at Granny's and Granddaddy's house with wrapped gifts for the tree.  We celebrated birthdays at their house and Sunday dinners.  Sunday dinners consisted of fried chicken and home canned green beans, hot biscuits, gravy, banana pudding, and cake.  Mama made the chocolate cake.  As I tell you about these gatherings and meals, I can feel the atmosphere of family.  We were strong on laughter.  My cousins and I enjoyed each other's company which included expanding families with new husbands, new wives, new babies, and new lives.

The first Christmas after my grandfather passed away, my grandmother didn't want to celebrate it. My cousins Debbie and Renee, along with my my sister, Sherry went to her house to "talk her into Christmas."  Those young ladies were pretty persuasive! We had Christmas at Granny's! However, the atmosphere hung thick with the emptiness of not having Granddaddy sitting in the rocker, smiling at all his family, but we all agreed we were so happy to have our tradition of Christmas.  This tradition carried forward until my grandmother was diagnosed with cancer.  She passed away January 1, 1994 at the age of 84.  My grandfather died at the age of 67. This seems young now that I am only three short years away from being 67 years old.

My memories of the years between 1948 and 1994 always include Granny and Granddaddy. They worked hard.  My grandmother would set the clock fifteen minutes fast so my granddaddy would not be late for work at Schnadig (International Furniture Company).  He worked there until retirement. Sure he knew the clock was fast, but I think it was a game he played with Granny.  She would have breakfast ready and he would eat and he didn't seem to be in a hurry to leave the house for work, and all the while Granny would be saying, "Ed, you're gonna be late."  I don't think he ever was.

Granny loved flowers and her garden.  She and my Aunt Mildred would plant, hoe, gather, and can the bounty from that garden. After Granny died, she left behind boxes of canned green beans.  The Golly Green Giant would have been proud!

Once we all went camping in Panama City, Florida.  Granddaddy decided he wanted a pair of shorts to stay cool.  Granny wouldn't wear them then.  Years later on another trip to Florida, she decided she would get her a pair and wear.  She liked her Florida shorts (Granddaddy would have enjoyed her adventurous side).  Didn't wear them at home, but always when she traveled to the beach. I hope I can find their pictures to share with you all.  Granny might not like it, but I think she would eventually find the humor in sharing them. Granddaddy wouldn't care. He would just smile that crooked smile.

Granny taught me how to plant tomato plants and make turkey dressing for Thanksgiving.  Mama taught me the art of canning green beans, but I still don't like to do it, so I will admit, we don't have home canned green beans.

Growing up with family surrounding you was special.  We farmed back in the 1950s.  I sound like I was a hard worker. I guess since Granny made me a small cotton pick sack to sling on my shoulder when all the women worked one cotton season picking cotton, that I qualify as a farmer. I hope you saw my picture on the tractor with my granddaddy.  Does that make me a farmer?  I would like to think so; however, I didn't like to work in the garden.  That was hard work.

 I did my fair share of what we called "stringing beans." Some people would call this "snapping" beans.  We always had to make sure we had the ends off to pull the string from the beans before we broke them into smaller pieces.  Each person had newspaper spread in his or her lap for the beans that were to be de-stringed.  (Is that a word?) Then we left the strings and ends in our laps and threw our broken beans into a common metal dishpan for washing and later cooking. So many family came to help that there were so many of us working together on summer evenings, we had to have several pans so we could sit in a circle under the shade tree and still reach a pan. Now as I tell you about it, it sounds fun. The talking and fellowship was fun, the work was not.  It was work.

If you have followed my blog, you can guess that within this short story are many insights into life just waiting to be shared.  In those years between 1948 and 1994, there were many, many lessons that I was fortunate to learn at the feet of some extraordinary folks.  This is just the beginning.  The old rooster story of this "farmer" is definitely for another day.

Sometimes I think I would love to go back for a day and relive that time, but I would have to go through the heartache of losing our loved ones again.  No, like the song says, "I couldn't live there anymore."

It is me, again, Lord, thanking you for the bittersweet memories that shape the person I am today.

A little Georgia Wisdom:  Savor even the small moments in life. It is those moments that adds the flavor to your character.

Hog Killin' Weather

Reading a post on our family web site written by my cousin Lynn brought back a lot of memories. I remember when it was hog killing weather which was usually winter when it was really cold outside.  It was an all day affair to process the hog, but everyone around would help. 

Me and my grandaddy, Edgar Loudermilk

 I have seen Granny can sausages. She and Granddaddy had a smoke house in which they hung the salted hams.   I don't remember them ever smoking the hams, but we still called it the smoke house.

Mama use to fry pork and after she took up the meat she would pour  hot coffee into the grease and make "red-eye gravy" which we poured over a biscuit.

One time Daddy had killed a hog and there was all this fresh pork.   Mama had been cooking and eating this fresh meat during the day, and during the night had a gall bladder attack.   She had to have major surgery.   She almost died from the combination of a highly infected gall bladder and the surgery, and it was triggered from all the fresh pork.

One of my favorite meals is fried fat back, small green onions, green beans, tomatoes, cucumbers and cornbread with fresh butter on the cornbread.   Add some fried potatoes and you have a meal fit for a king.

Wonderful memories of a time when we grew and processed our own food.  I would have no idea how to process the meat the way my parents and grandparents did.  Good thing we have a grocery store near by.

The "good old days" really means the "hard working days."  So thankful we don't have to depend on my knowledge of agriculture and food preservation.  My family would starve to death.

It is me again, Lord, thank you for the good memories of a time long ago.

A little Georgia Wisdom:  When you are given opportunities to have experiences or learn from your elders, make sure you don't walk away empty handed. 

Dreaming About Mama

The weather is more like spring than winter.  The little jonquil and daffodil blooms have already opened here in the North Georgia Mountains.  This makes me feel like spring has arrived.  Spring makes me miss Mama even more.  It was in Spring that she went home to be with our Lord, Jesus Christ.

I dream about Mama.  I have been dreaming about her on a regular basis since she died.  I want to sit and talk to her.  In my dreams the coffee pot is either brewing, or we are just putting on the pot.  She is not sick in my dreams.  The sad part of my dream is that she and I don't sit down and talk.  Isn't that strange?  One would think that I would be sitting with her, drinking coffee, laughing, and talking.

Maybe my dreams are really trying to tell me something.  Mama and I had unfinished business together. 

If your parents are still with you, clear the air of unfinished business before they are gone.  I always wanted my mama to be proud of me and my accomplishments, but I don't think she was.  I made mistakes in my personal life that haunted my relationship with my mom. The Lord has forgiven me, but I have a hard time forgiving myself.  Do you ever feel that way?  It is harder to forgive one's self than to forgive others.  

It is me again, Lord, thanking you for forgiveness even when I can't forgive myself.

A little Georgia Wisdom:  Make sure you tell loved ones how you feel.  It's good for the soul.

That's My Daddy

I have written about my daddy before, but he was such an unusual man, one writing can't contain the love I had, and still have, for him.

Daddy had a saying for just about everything.  Folks would stop by, and if he had not been feeling well, he was "under the weather" (sick) or he was "Fair to middlin'" (feeling fine, but not great) this was also a term used for a certain grade of cotton.

One day I asked Daddy if he was hungry, "Yes, my stomach thinks my throat's been cut."

I find myself using old sayings and idioms.  My Hispanic students probably don't have a clue to what I am saying.  I have been trying to break this habit of mine, but it is a hard one to break.  I grew up with Daddy.

One day, about a year before my daddy passed away, he and I were sitting in the car waiting for my brother and sister to come out of a furniture store.  Two very large ladies came out.  Daddy, in a soft and thoughtful voice said, "If those two ladies are told to haul butt, they are already loaded."  Yes, that was my dad.

I miss that man.  Lord knows he was hard to get along with sometimes. We had our share of disagreements, but I sure did love him.  Growing up it seemed like I was closer to my mom.  But the year after Mama died, Daddy and I got closer.  I wanted Daddy to be there when I retired so we could go places together.  God had other plans for him.  Daddy missed my mama; he missed Uncle Buford; He missed Uncle Tim.  All three passed away within a few months of each other. In November the year before these three died,  his brother, Uncle Clyde, died.  Those deaths, so close together, really touched Daddy.

When we pray for healing for our loved ones, and they don't get better like we want, one must remember this:  The person we are praying to get better may be praying for God to take them home. 

It is me again, Lord, thanking you for the wonderful memories of my dad.

A little Georgia Wisdom:  Don't get angry with God when a loved one passes and you feel your prayers weren't answered.  God may have answered your loved one's prayers instead.

Ouch! It Was Cozy

The best smell in the world is early morning breakfast with Mama cooking. Some how, no matter how cold outside, the house felt warm inside just by breathing the smell of coffee, biscuits, gravy, and coco syrup. Growing up we had just one heater to heat the whole house, but then Mama would start cooking breakfast, you knew that it would be warm and cozy in our house.

As the house grew from three rooms, when I was small, to the six bedrooms. Each of us had a morning ritual getting up. Mine was to go stand in front of the gas space heater and pull my gown up to warm by bottom in front of the heater. One day our little dog was in front of the heater and I made a mistake of getting between the dog and the heater. I accidently stepped on her tail, she yelped, and I jumped back and touched my legs on the hot metal. Ouch! I had a small burned place on the back of my legs that matched the small metal safety rails on the space heater.

Years later after the upper floor was added and the space heater was history, brother Eddie would come down the steps and sit down in front of the heating vent to get warm and talk to Mama from the stairs.

We had a loved filled home growing up. I miss those days, but I don't miss the gas space heater.

It's me again, Lord, thanking you for wonderful memories of my childhood.

A little Georgia Wisdom:  If if comes down to you or the dog, let the dog have the space in front of the fire.  The scar lasts a very long time.

Are You in Your Mission Field?

Take a minute and think about this particular stage of  your life?  Are you doing something you really love to do?  Do you look forward to each day? Are you retired?  If you are retired, how do you spend your time?  You just may be in your mission field.

Years ago I thought God was calling me to the mission field; however, I was too young to realize that I could ever be a missionary.  I certainly was not good enough, and I certainly didn't have the Bible knowledge that a missionary would need.  I was female.  I had never been away from home.  The excuses were always ready whenever the thought of being a missionary would go through my head.

Years passed and the tug at my heart faded.  I moved away from God.  God never once left my side.

My life had very strange twists and turns, heartaches (many heartaches), I made a lot of  wrong decisions.  I couldn't focus on a future, I lived one day at a time.

One day I found myself in a position with two small children and a poor economy which had taken my job. I believe this to be one of the low points of my life.  I had two choices.  I could feel sorry for myself and blame God for my misfortune, or I could do something constructive about my situation.  I chose to stop living without a tomorrow and to begin looking toward the future. 

My children and me in better days.

I evaluated my options.  I had absolutely no money.  I was drawing unemployment, and I was actively looking for a job. I had a lot of time left over in the day.  With prayer for strength, I made a tough decision.  I would go to school.  I would go to Piedmont College!  This is where you are shaking your head and thinking I have lost mine.  No money and going to school?  How do you intend to accomplish this, you are asking yourself.  Right?

The longest walk was the steps going up to the front door of Daniel Hall.  I had parked across the street from the school and took the flight of steps.  This became symbolic of the road ahead of me.  It began with the first step and kept going upward as I worked toward my goal.

The Registrar's Office was on my left as I came through the front door of Daniel Hall.  I went through the door to his secretary and said simply, "I want to go to school, but I have no money.  Where is the Financial Aid Office?"  Instead of telling me where it was, she took me there.

The gentlemen who worked there were attentive, and I left with a handful of financial aid forms.  As the years have passed, my advice to all students has been, "always complete financial aid forms, you never know what you might qualify for, and all you have invested is the time it takes to complete the form."  The time it took to complete the forms was a major investment in my future.  I qualified for grants!  Yes, grants!  I didn't have to pay them back!  God was moving me closer to a mission field that I had excused my self from over ten years earlier. I did not recognize He was moving me closer to His original plan.

I was able to start Piedmont College the fall of 1975!  Education was my goal!

The road wasn't easy.  There were obstacles. Lots of obstacles!  Keeping a focus on my goal was not easy. God walked with me even when I thought He had forgotten me.  God never leaves us; we leave Him.

Graduation from Piedmont College, a goal that I had set for myself. With the help of my mother, who kept my children so that I never had to worry about them, and the wonderful hand of God, I had reached my goal of a college diploma.

Graduation from Piedmont College

Years later I realized that God had put me in the middle of a mission field.  The classroom.  I was teaching.  I was working with teenagers, and loving every minute of it! Now you are saying, "Whoa!"  Public school in America is not a mission field!"

A mission field is where God sends you.  It is up to you to develop that field.  Public school in America is not a traditional mission field, but the American Civil Liberties Union (ACLU) can't regulate your personal spirit: The spirit of your smile; your spirit of compassion; your spirit of giving; your spirit of love for one another, and they certainly cannot regulate the spirit of love the students show toward their teachers.  One does not have to quote scripture to show the love of Jesus Christ each day.

Where is your mission field?  We greet each day with a mission in life.  We were given this mission by Jesus when He said for us to love one another.  Are you working in your mission field today?

It is me again, Lord, thanking you for not giving up on me when I was giving you excuses for why I could never be a missionary.

A little Georgia Wisdom:  If you are not happy where you are in life, maybe you are not following God's plan for you.  Take time to find out what God's plan is for your life.  You will enjoy the outcome.

CHRISTmas

"Silver Bells, Silver Bells, it's Christmas time in the city..."

It is that time of year when we rush around trying to buy the perfect gift for that special someone.  In our rushing we become irritated; tired; and just plain mean,  Yes, I said mean.

People push and bump each other trying to fill their shopping carts with decorations and presents.  Babies cry because they are tired and hungry.  Mama is trying to get home where she will cook, clean-up, decorate, and wrap presents. 

Wait!  It is Christmas!  It is a joyous time of the year.  Where is our Christmas Spirit?  Surely we didn't leave it at the store.

Christmas stories on the television show beautifully decorated houses, plenty of goodies that Mama had time to make and still get her shopping completed.  The snow is falling outside and a warm inviting fire burns in the fireplace.  Awww.  The perfect Christmas; however, our lives are not Christmas stories.  They are real lives where we get very tired; and sometimes, we lose our Christmas Spirit!

If you have lost your Christmas Spirit, just listen to a child.  Gracie just told me,  "That it was CHRISTmas.  That's the way I learned it," she said.  Out of the mouths of babes...

Children can bring us back to the reality of what we are celebrating.  Jesus' birthday.

Thank you Gracie for reminding me that we are preparing to celebrate the birth of Jesus.  This isn't about the decorations or the presents.  It is about the Christ Child born in a manager in Bethlehem.

It is me again, Lord, thanking You for Your Birth, Your Death, and Your Resurrection.

A little Georgia Wisdom:  If you are having a difficult time getting your decorations, your shopping, your Christmas planning together, just stop and remember the real reason we celebrate Christmas.


MERRY CHRISTMAS EVERYONE! 

Uncle Hollis Barters Cane Syrup



William and Lena Ward Smith Family
At the funeral of Uncle Mickey Broome

 My grandfather, William Smith, passed away a few months before my daddy, Billy, was born.  He was the youngest.  Grandpa Smith asked his eldest son, Hollis, (the one on the left) who was just 18 years old to care for the family when he was gone.  Their mother died from cancer when Billy was just a year old. 

This is just one of the many stories which defines the tough stock of a Georgia mountain family in the late 1920s.  Theirs is the story of brothers and sisters caring and loving their younger siblings in a time of a Great Depression.

Daddy often told about carrying cane syrup and cornbread to school for lunch in a lard bucket. This was all the food they had at that time; but, one family had even less than they did.   They didn't have syrup only the cornbread.   The children went home from school one day and told Uncle Hollis how this family didn't have anything to eat.

Uncle Hollis didn't want to embarrass the folks by giving them what might be mistaken for a handout.   Southern folks, especially mountain folks, are a proud people and Uncle Hollis respected this.

Uncle Hollis carried jars of cane syrup that he had made in the fall over to this family.   Instead of giving it to them, he asked if he could supply them in syrup in exchange for their help in preparing his fields for planting in the spring. (This is an example of the barter system in place during the lean times.)  The gentlemen said he would be glad to help him by breaking-up the field in the spring and that the syrup was fair payment.

Winter warmed into spring, and Uncle Hollis had forgotten about the deal with his neighbor. One day after spring arrived, the neighbor and his sons were out in Uncle Hollis' field, breaking-up the ground and getting it ready for plowing and planting.  

Mountain people knew how to help each other and allow a person to retain his/her dignity.   Uncle Hollis was certainly a very smart and caring man.



Making syrup: Uncle Hollis  (the little boy is my dad, Billy) With Uncle Buford and Uncle Clyde


Uncle Hollis passed away in 1966; he was like a grandfather to me.   I still miss him.

He has been gone a long time, but his legacy lives on.

Cousin Barbara whose dad was my Uncle Clyde, another younger sibling who looked up to his older brother, said, "I think that Uncle Hollis and Aunt Emma did such a wonderful job of raising their siblings after they were left orphaned, and they instilled such good family values into their lives.   But I can say one thing for sure, my dad (Clyde) never lost his taste for cornbread and home made cane syrup.   That remained a staple for him his entire life, and would go to great lengths to find the "real" stuff when he could find it.. He also loved cornbread and milk or fresh buttermilk.

Uncle Hollis, Uncle Clyde, and Uncle Buford (the young boys) My dad is the youngest one.
Uncle Clyde remembered that the horse's name was Rhody.  This picture was made in the 1930s.

It is me again, Lord, thanking you for men and women like Uncle Hollis, Aunt Emma, Aunt Zadie, and Uncle Clarence who were not afraid to rise to the challenge of taking care of their younger brothers and sisters.

A little Georgia Wisdom:  A family, whose faith in God and His son Jesus, can do all things through Christ from whom they receive their strength.   This family gave their faith as the foundation for being able to keep this family together.



He Wore Prisoner's Pajamas, A Sister's Faith

One never knows how history will touch the future.

It was the winter of 1968, I was a nineteen year old working in the office of the local furniture factory. My office manager and boss was Mildred Hill. One day she came in with a map of Vietnam and pointed to an area on the map where the helicopter carrying her brother, Ben Purcell, had been shot down. He was declared missing in action.



Vietnam, 1968



Mildred confided in us that she knew, without a doubt, he was alive. She had dreamed the night before that he had come to her wearing the pajama like clothing and crude sandals of the Viet Cong. He sat down on the edge of her bed. He revealed to her in this dream that he was alive, and things were going to be okay. Mildred never gave up hope and kept the faith that he would one day return home.

With the dedication of Anne Purcell, Colonel Purcell's wife, his status was changed from Missing in Action to Prisoner of War.

For five years Mildred wrote letters, made phone calls, made a trip with Anne  to the Geneva Convention to seek information about her brother. She and Anne never gave up hope. The only assurance Mildred had was her dream in 1968. She would never give in to the fear that he might be lost.

In March, 1973, five years after his capture, the war in Vietnam was over. POWs were being released and among them, Colonel Ben Purcell. He had been a prisoner of war for five years with 58 months in solitary confinement. He had tried to escape on two different occasions. He was interrogated, tortured, and yet, he stood firm against the Viet Cong.

There was a local parade for our hometown hero. One of the most memorable moments is when every employee of Schnadig Furniture Company, Cornelia, Georgia came out to the highway to welcome home our hero, Ben Purcell.

There is no way to convey to you the pride of knowing this soldier had returned home. There were lots of tears that day for our hero. His sister, Mildred, never gave up hope and her positive attitude and faith kept people praying for this MIA /POW soldier we didn't know except through her reports.

Mildred had worked long and hard to get information about her brother, Ben, and now here he was alive and well waving to all of us from the back of a convertible.

Patriotism runs in deep in Habersham County. During this time period, many of the young men with whom I graduated high school were serving in Vietnam. We have the names of our heroes who didn't make it home engraved on a monument outside the courthouse in Clarkesville. Their names are also engraved on a polished black granite wall in Washington, D.C.

I was honored on 11-11-11 to sit at the table with Colonel Ben Purcell and his lovely wife, Anne. I related this story of the faith her sister-in-law had for his return. Anne gave me permission to tell this story of hope and the faith she and Mildred Hill had for Colonel Purcell's return.



Colonel Ben and Anne Purcell





Colonel and Anne Purcell have written a book, Love and Duty.  .  Each tell a story of the faith each had for his return.



It is me again, Lord, thanking you for the men and women who dedicate themselves to protecting our great nation and her people. We thank you for faithful family members who never give up hope and put their faith in You. We thank You for the lesson that began in 1968 to never give up hope and always keep the faith.

A little Georgia Wisdom: Take a moment to remember the sacrifices of men and women who served or who are now serving in our armed forces. Attend a Veteran's Day celebration or attend a memorial service to remember those who gave the ultimate price so we can remain a free nation. Shake hands with a veteran and tell him or her how much he or she is appreciated. God bless them all.

Camping in Broom Straw



Bruce and me

 Just by the title you are ahead of me, aren't you?  My cousin Bruce and I loved the outdoors.  We loved to roam the fields around the house and play in the red Georgia clay.  You can imagine what we looked like at the end of the day.  My brother Dwayne and his brother Earl were right there with us playing; however, when this story takes place both of them were too young to be involved.

Bruce and I had huge imaginations.  Everything had multiple personalities and uses.  The old silver propane gas tank in the back yard was a horse we rode on trail rides or across country in a wagon train; it was an elephant the time we went on a safari across Africa.  The may pops that grew in the yards and fields could be crafted into various cars, wagons, baskets, and bowls.  They were some times used as food items when we cooked on the stove made from bricks and small board placed across them with the tin lids from Chase & Sanborn Coffee cans (these cans were useful when we all shared our chocolate "candy" and peppermint chewing gum) nailed for stove eyes.

One day he and I decided to go camping.  It is at this point I should tell you that this was out in the country.  We didn't have to worry about strange people being around every corner. It someone had stopped to pick us up we were so covered with red dirt that they would not have allowed us a ride in the car.

I still remember Mama scrubbing our clothes in a washtub and wringer washing machine.  She had to really scrub my panties to get the dirt out.  I probably had red dirt stains on everything I owned as a child.

The day Bruce and I decided to camp it was a hot summer day.  His mother, my Aunt Opal was at work.  Mama was taking care of Earl, Dwayne, and my baby brother Eddie.  I don't remember where Bruce's sister Barbara was that day, but she was not with us.  Bruce and I had no supervision.  Of course, up to this point we didn't need any.

How do you light a wood stove?  Every home had a box of wooden matches near the stove.  We got a few to take with us from his house and began our camping journey. 

Behind his house was field of broom straw.  We played in it all the time and it just seemed like the place to camp.  We cleared us a spot to set up our camp.  We didn't need much room.  All we needed was a place for the two of us to sit and build our campfire.

We carefully built our fire from the broom straw we has pulled up for our campsite.  Bruce lit the fire.  I was afraid of the fire on the end of the match. Now, I am not blaming him for starting the fire; I am just letting you know the reason I didn't.  I am just a guilty as Bruce.  Remember we are in this together.

As the fire caught on, it began to spread to the surrounding broom straw.  The smoke rose above the field and we were taking broom straw to try to beat out the fire we had started.  The smoke rose, and we made a vow to not tell anyone about our misfortune.  The more we tried to stop the fire, the more it got out of hand.



 


To this day I do not remember who helped us put it out, but someone help save that whole field of broom straw.  Bruce may remember the details, I remember the fire. It was by the grace of God that the fire went away from Bruce's house.  I'm sure we were punished. 

It is me again, Lord, thanking you again for saving two well meaning children from a fire.

A little Georgia Wisdom:  Make sure you teach your children to stay away from matches and tell them to never try to put out a fire by themselves.


Thanks to Barbara, Bruce's sister for the photo.  You can see the fields behind the house.

"Come in and Make Yourself at Home"

 "Come in and make yourself at home," was the invitation Daddy always used when folks came to visit our family on Demorest-Mt. Airy Hwy.   Daddy and Mama wanted people to feel welcomed.  

When we were younger and our friends came to visit, they became members of our family. The unspoken motto was:  "if you put your feet under our table, you became family."

Mama always had the coffee pot on the stove, and the back door was always open.   They loved company, but most of all, they loved family company.   We have so many good memories of our aunts and uncle, cousins, grandparents, and neighbors coming to our house.   Before Mama got sick, one could always
have a piece of chocolate cake with that cup of coffee.   Mama loved chocolate! (I will tell you one day of growing us with homemade cocoa syrup.)

When folks started to leave our home after an evening of conversation, Daddy would always say, "if any of you'ns get sick, let us know."   Those were parting words that Daddy really meant.  

We grew up with family around us.  We got to know our family and friends as members of our own family.  One never knew who might stop by, but they were always welcome.  It was fun to hear the stories of times gone by or listen to the events of the day or week.  We loved having that connection to folks.  The kitchen table was the gathering place for the adults while we children played outside if the weather permitted. 

Making a living was hard for my parents when I was growing up, but living life was a treasure that is still buried in my heart.

There is not a day that goes by that I don't think about Daddy and Mama and the memories they left behind.   

It is me again, Lord, thanking you for the memories my parents made for me and the legacy of "come on in and make yourself at home."

A little Georgia Wisdom:  Friends and family come into your life for a reason. Don't miss the opportunity to love every minute of their visit.

Giving Birth to a Dream

Sitting here thinking about what I want to do with the rest of my life and coming to the realization that I have a lot of fears to overcome.

Have you ever thought about the fears that keep you from reaching your goals?  We give excuses:  I am too busy today to start today. At my age it will take me forever.  Tomorrow is a good day to begin.  The list could go on and on.  We make up reasons to postpone our adventure.

For years I have thought about writing a book.  The thoughts are in my head all the time, yet I can't seem to pull it together.  It is as if I am another person when I think about beginning the adventure.  That is the way I see this book as, an adventure.  Every great adventure begins with one step.  My first step was telling you about my idea.

A book is like giving birth.  First there is the conception.  The idea is planted in the heart and mind.  The next step is to let it grow.  My book has been growing in my mind for a very long time.  I write it in the car; while watching television; while lying in bed.  My mind doesn't stop.   Unfortunately for me, it is still in that grey womb called the brain.  It grows and grows, but I just can't seem to give birth to it.

Who would want to read it?  I ask myself. 

Maybe all the information nestled in my brain will eventually reach its due date, and I can give birth to the stories growing there. 

In the meantime, this blog has helped me immensely. It is a wonderful feeling to share the stories buried in my heart with you.

Thank you, Lord, for friends you can confide in with the longings of your heart.

A little Georgia Wisdom:  Today is the day to begin your new adventure.

Brother Ray

People come into our lives many different ways.  We are connected by chance, by choice, and by birth.  It is by birth that I met my "brother" Ray. 

Ray is six years and three days older than I.  He probably waited anxiously for his older sister to bring home a new baby and make him an uncle.  I guess I was his birthday present.  For years we shared birthday celebrations and birthday cake.  Once I complained and they baked two cakes.  Ray never seem to mind how we celebrated our birthdays and as we grew up didn't mind having his younger "sister" to tag along.

Ray taught me how to ride a bicycle; to swim; to dance; and to sing.  (He was an excellent pianist and organized a group of us young teens to sing specials in church.) He also told me about Santa Claus to include the details about how he had helped wrap the presents.  That little bit of information about Santa could have waited for a couple of more years.

In the summer we spent many days at Russell Lake with friends and cousins.  I was always with him. I loved the idea he could drive and didn't mind having me tag along.  Once my cousin Susan and I rode to town with him in his 1954 Ford.  Susan and I waited in the hot car, with windows down, while Ray ran into the post office.  A nice newer model car pulled up beside us.  There was a young girl, much like ourselves, sitting with the windows up.  We knew she had air conditioning in her new car.  Not to be out done by our parking space neighbor, Susan and I rolled up our windows.  We sat there, with sweat rolling down our faces, to the point we could barely breathe.  Wait, you are getting ahead of me.

Ray came out of the post office.  He opened the door and asked if we were crazy.  Several factors came into play:  1) the car was not running; therefore, the air conditioner could not run; and 2) Ray's 1954 Ford did NOT have air conditioning.  Susan and I were sitting in a hot car, in 90 degree weather, with the windows rolled up.  It took a long time to live this little episode down, and he told everyone about our adventure with(out) air conditioning.

I have so many wonderful memories of my time with Ray.  He carried me to church. He helped me with homework when I didn't want to do it.  He encouraged me in my pursuit of a higher education. He listened to my pain when I needed an ear, and he offered gentle advice when I needed it the most. 

The day he married, I was maid of honor and Margaret's brother was best man.  I cried after the wedding when no one could see.  I felt I had lost him forever; however, he never let that happen. 

Ray was drafted in the army and while he was in Officer Training School in Columbus, I rode a bus to stay with Margaret for a weekend.  I was his sister.  When his daughter was born, I felt I was an aunt.  It was a wonderful experience having an older "brother."

Years later, when Barry and I got married, Ray escorted me down the isle. We had come full circle.  I have so many heartfelt and funny stories about growing up in our little part of the world.  I think, like many younger siblings, I embarrassed him many times, but he never stopped loving me nor me him.

As I continue to write my blog, I will share more stories about my "brother" Ray.  There was the time that Susan and I went cruising with her brother Tom and Ray.  That day they got so mad at us for flirting with boys and drove us back home.  It wasn't the flirting that made them so angry; it was the fact the boys starting following us in their car (we continued to encourage them by waving from the backseat).  When Ray and Tom got out of the car, they were so mad they took a short cut and jumped a bush to tell on us.  My mom said later she knew by the way they jumped the bush, they were mad at something we had done.  That anger didn't last any longer than it took for them to tell on us.  We loved them for that short lived temper.

God brings people we need into our lives, and they teach us lessons.  Some lessons are just too hard and we long to forget them; however, some folks are God's gift to us.  Ray was my gift.

It is me again, Lord, thanking you for the people who enter our lives by chance, by choice, and especially by birth.

A little Georgia Wisdom:  Never forget those who are responsible for caring, loving, and shaping the person you become.

Fall's A Coming

Don't you just live this time of year?  The cooler weather is beginning to make its journey into our area.  The mornings whisper with a cooler breath.  You know what I mean, the coffee-drinking-on-the-porch weather.  I just love fall.

There is just something refreshing about stepping out in the morning chill and seeing your breath.  "Brr," we say as if we are complaining, but we are excited. Excited because winter is not far away.

Did anyone count the number of foggy mornings we had in August?  The old folks say that's how many snows we will have this winter.  I forgot to count from the beginning, so I guess it will be a surprise to me when the snow comes. 

This fall we are having family over to gather outside for a barbecue. My hope is that the weather is chilly enough to be refreshing, yet warm enough and pretty enough to be gathered outside.  I want the children to roast marshmallows this year and the campfire feel good.  Oh, goodness, I can feel it already.

I love the outdoors, but I hate the bugs.  When it is cooler the bugs leave us alone which means no itching and swatting  at the uninvited guests.  So, maybe, just maybe, it will be a cool night and the bugs will stay snugly curled up where ever bugs go to snuggle. 

We have had such a dry summer that our grass had begun to crunch.  Today it is raining so the grass will turn green again.  The leaves on our trees in the yard have already started to turn colors.  Jack Frost is making his rounds with his paints and is decorating our trees for fall.  I hope he has time to get them all done before our barbecue. Wouldn't that make for a colorful picnic?

My cousin, Jack (not to be confused with Jack Frost), plays with a bluegrass band called Bluegrass Traditions.  They are going to entertain the folks with bluegrass and gospel songs.  A close friend of the family is bringing his karaoke so others can sing if they want.  We have a lot of family members who play several instruments and sing.  I am not one of them.  I have two very young nephews under the age of 10 years old who play the violin, or fiddle if it's country and maybe they will play a tune or two.  My cousin Bruce plays guitar and sings. Bruce, don't forget that guitar!  His dad, Uncle Clyde to me and the others, would come to the family reunions and play and sing. Uncle Clyde was asked by the Singing Cowboy, Gene Autry, to join him in his shows, but Uncle Clyde had family commitments back home in Georgia and chose not to stay in California.

Wow, this is exciting. Out-of-town family, we see only once a year, joining our local families for pictures and fun.  We can sit and talk; sit and eat; sit and listen to music; eat and listen to music, and enjoy each others company.  Hey y'all, it's Fall!

Fall, I am so glad you are coming.  The yard is looking forward to the new colors you and Jack Frost will use for decoration.  We are all looking forward to the cooler temperatures you bring with you.  Fall, you are invited to sit a spell and eat barbecue and listen to gospel and bluegrass music.  After all, Fall, you are a member of the family.

It is me again, Lord, thanking you for fall and family.  The two go well together.

A little Georgia Wisdom:  Enjoy the seasons as they come.  God has blessed us with the changes so be thankful for the uniqueness of each one.

Sweet Livin'

Life has it's ups and downs, but all in all, life is sweet.  At least that's how life seems to be treating me right now. One can choose to have a Pity Party and feel sorry for herself, or one can choose to have a Happy Party and  enjoy life.  Life is all about choices.

Today I am choosing to be extremely, wonderfully, and excitingly happy!  No particular reason, I am choosing to have a good day.  As I sit her and write this blog, I realize I have a world of work to do.  I haven't made the bed; haven't cleaned the kitchen; and haven't done anything on my "To Do" list.  Even though I have this work ahead of me, life is good.

Attended my class reunion and, although I was nervous, I really enjoyed seeing folks I haven't seen in a month of Sundays.  For you who do not understand what that means, it means a very long time.  Forty-five years is a very long time.  It was a happy time.  Many hugs and laughter later, I was so delighted to visit with my classmates, or fellow Rebels, from South Habersham High School, class of 1966.

First, let me say I did not like high school.  I enjoyed my friends, but I really did not enjoy my high school years.  Later when I decided to be a teacher my mother couldn't understand why I wanted to teach at the high school level.  She said, "you hated high school.  Why teach high school?"  My answer was simple. "I know how the student who doesn't enjoy this time of his or her life feels.  I can relate to that student and maybe make a difference."

Teaching was rewarding, and I did have students who felt that their high school years were difficult.  Hopefully I was able to bring an understanding to them that high school was just a stepping stone to better things in  life and that one day they would be able to look back and  realize it wasn't all bad.  The friendships made in high school are the rewards for enduring the journey.

Now, as I look back on my high school years, I can see I should have been a better student and should have planned the timing better for my future.  I did things backwards.  You see, I married at nineteen, had my children at ages 22 and 24.  Started college at age 27 and divorced during my last quarter.  I made some poor choices after those days, but finally got my life on the right track.  I am married to a wonderful man and together we have built for ourselves a good life.  One day soon I want to tell you about him; he has lived an interesting life.

God has blessed us with four children and eleven grandchildren.  Each one is a joy to know and keeps us filled with love.  What better way to live life than with the knowledge that you can love and be loved by special folks.  With our children and grandchildren, we may not all be linked by DNA, but we are linked by love and respect for each other.  I love my life.

Life is good.  God has blessed us in many ways.  It has taken awhile for me to be able to appreciate the love He has for me, but I am fully aware of the blood of Christ who died for my sins. 

It is me again, Lord, thanking you for loving me no matter what foolish mistakes I have made.

A little Georgia Wisdom:  Enjoy life, choose to have a Happy Party instead of a Pity Party.  Life is good when you focus on the blessings.  Make that glass half full instead of half empty.

We lived the '60s

On August 20, 2011 the South Habersham High School class of 1966 will meet along with the members from the classes of 1965 and 1967.  We are getting excited.  For many of our fellow classmates, it has been many years since we have seen each other.  What does one talk about after all this time?  Will we recognize each other?  I can speak for myself when I say the pounds have been sneaking up. It is time to put that fear of  how I look behind me and enjoy the reunion.

Life has been good to me, so what do I have to fear?  Why be nervous?  I think a visit to the past is always scary.  For me, high school was not one of my favorite times even though I had wonderful friends with whom I shared great memories.  We enjoyed the football and basketball games, drive-in movies, the Grand Theater in Cornelia, Lake Russell, cruising town on a Sunday afternoon, and eating ice cream at the Dairy Queen.

During our reign at South Habersham High School, the Beatles was the top music group.  President John F. Kennedy was shot in Dallas, Texas. We watched in disbelief as Jack Ruby shot the accused shooter, Lee Harvey Oswall.  Martin Luther King made his famous "I have a Dream" speech and then later was assassinated.  Robert Kennedy was shot and killed in California. Malcolm X was shot.  The war in Vietnam was raging and many of our classmates served their country there.  (Bobby Sexton from the class of 1965 was killed there, and now his name is listed on The Wall in Washington, DC. ) Sonny and Cher were making their way up the music charts. The '60s Hippies were a growing number, but our class didn't seem to be touched by the movement.  The Civil Rights Act of 1964 is signed into law by President Johnson.  We didn't realize just how much history we were witnessing.

On August  20 this group of grown-up '60s teenagers will celebrate their memories by gathering together for their class reunions.  Although I am a little apprehensive, I am excited.  The years have flown by; the hair has turned grey; the pounds have crept on us; however, the hearts of our friends will be the same.  I look forward to hearing about their adventures through the years.  Class of '65, '66, and '67, bring it on!

It is me again, Lord.  Thanking you for the opportunity to reconnect with old friends.

A little Georgia Wisdom:  If you have the opportunity to attend your class reunion, go.  You will not regret it.

If Life Were Only a Script...

Have you ever watched a movie and thought about the words of wisdom the actor spoke?  When the wise mother or grandmother gives her doting family those wonderful words to live by, I think to myself how I wish I could spew words of wisdom like that. All their conversations seem to be filled with just the right mixture of life experiences and inspired intervention.

When I became a mother and wanted to be the right mix of inspiration to my children, I realized that I didn't have a script writer to put those life changing words in my mouth.  My twenty-two years of life experience didn't prepare me to be the perfect mother.  In fact, I wasn't prepared at all.  I had changed diapers, made bottles and taken care of babies, but when those little bundles of responsibility were mine, I knew I was out of my league.

There was a time when Chaos filled the kitchen.  Bottles were empty; the baby was crying; I was crying; and the dishes were piled in the sink.  Chaos had taken over my life!  What was I going to do?  What would  "Leave it Beaver"  June Clever, in her pearl necklace, perfect dress and heels, do in this situation?

I'm standing in my own kitchen in my night gown, dishes in the sink, empty bottles, baby crying, and I'm crying.  What I didn't know was that Rescue was about to enter the back door.  Just when I thought Chaos had me by the throat, my mother walked in the kitchen.  I stopped crying, the baby stopped crying, and like a miracle, things began to take shape in my stressful kitchen.  My mother, God bless her, took control and swept Chaos out the door.

Three years later, and now with some life experience, I brought home another little bundle of joy.  This time I was better prepared for the responsibility.  Chaos had a more difficult time getting a foot hold on me and my kitchen.  My mother, along with on-the-job training, had taught me how to be better prepared for motherhood. 

As my children grew older, I found that the words of wisdom that I just knew would eventually come didn't.  I did not have a script writer to put those "words to grow by" in my head  to be released at just the right moment to my doting children.

I really wanted those words of wisdom to be there when my children were teenagers, sadly they weren't.  Where was that script writer?  I wanted someone to write those words of wisdom for me to memorize and regurgitate at just the right time.

As I grew older, I realized there was a script writer.  God gave us life's instructions in the Bible. 

It is me again, Lord, thanking you for words of wisdom from the perfect book.

A little Georgia Wisdom:  When you need words of wisdom to share with your family, refer to the ultimate script writer.  Our God is an awesome God.

"Yes, I'm a Christian"

Today my granddaughter, Madison, and I spent the afternoon together.  She rode a horse on a trail ride, and I enjoyed a visit with an old friend I haven't seen in many years.  After her ride, we toured Helen, Georgia.  Something I haven't done in a very long time and something Madison hasn't done at all.  We enjoyed our afternoon meandering in and out of the shops.

Madison wanted to see the tarantula museum and I opted to have a cold soft drink outside at a picnic table while she took the tour.  It is while I was having my cold drink, a very nice lady came over to talk to me.  She and members of her church were Gideons, and it was their ministry to give out New Testaments.  She gave me one.  I gladly accepted it, but I told her I was already a Christian and expressed my delight in her mission.  Ms. Mary is from South Georgia and is a member of the Baptist church in her southern town.  We shared our religious backgrounds since both of us were Baptist.

It was nice to meet her and I applaud her and her husband and friends as they walked the streets of Helen and talked to people.  You see my brother Dwayne is a Gideon and I am very proud of his participation in this ministry of getting Bibles into the hands of the public.

Ms. Mary and I enjoyed our exchange this afternoon.  I may not see her again her on earth, but I know without a doubt we will meet again.  She is a dear lady doing the work God has called her to do.

It is me again, Lord, thanking you for folks like Ms. Mary, her husband and friends, and my brother Dwayne who have been called to share the Gospel by giving out Bibles.

A little Georgia Wisdom:  If you don't have a personal relationship with our Lord, I pray you will accept Him as your personal Saviour.  All you have to do is ask Him to forgive you of your sins and come into your heart today!  You will be glad you did.