Christmas Caroling Memories

Singing Christmas carols in church last night brought back wonderful memories. When I was in elementary school my dad and several other parents took a group of kids from the church Christmas caroling. We would drive to someone’s home and sing two or three songs and then drive to the next house. My dad had one of those deep voices and sometimes sang in the choir. Sadly, I did not inherit any musical talents but at the time I did not know that the only thing that mattered was being with my dad and forever I will hold that memory in my heart.

Cherished, Broken, Glued, Found, Restored, Cherished

 A number of years ago I was at an estate sale at the end of the day.  I saw two blue and white dog figurines on the mantel.  When I picked them up I saw they had been broken and glued back together.  They spoke to me and were only a dollar for the pair.

One of the owners approached me and told me the story of these little dogs.  She said her parents were from Germany and they were some of the few things hey had brought with them when moving to America. 

When World War II broke out they were afraid that if their friends knew the figurines were from Germany they would think they were German sympathizers.  They were afraid just hiding them away would not be enough so they broke them, but then could not bear to dump the broken pieces, so they put them in a drawer hidden away.

Years after the war, they glued the little dogs back together and put them back on the mantel.  So sad that no one in the family knowing the history of these precious little dogs did not want to keep them, so I bought them.

My husband wrote the whole story up and we listed them on eBay with photos of the markings on the bottom and a clear understanding that they were broken and glued.  A dealer out of Los Angeles bought them for twenty dollars.  I was happy to sell them; he had the story of their history to pass on and I am sure he would restore them properly and they would be worth much more than he paid for them.

Even the broken can be mended, the history lives on, someone else will enjoy their beauty and love them as the original owners did.

Jesus loves the little children

Jesus loves the little children
All the children of the world
Red, brown, yellow
Black and white
They are precious in His sight
Jesus loves the little children
Of the world

Jesus died for all the children
All the children of the world
Red, brown, yellow
Black and white
They are precious in His sight
Jesus died for all the children
Of the world.

Jesus rose for all the children
All the children of the world
Red, brown, yellow
Black and white
They are precious in His sight
Jesus rose for all the children
Of the world

Words by C. Herbert Woolston, music by George F. Root

A New Awareness

A lovely day at the movie theater with our two grandchildren.  The littlest found it hard to sit still so I took him for a walk in the mall to burn off a little energy.  About halfway down the mall I suddenly began looking to see where an exit door was or a service entrance.  I looked at people with backpacks as I held the little one's hand and wondered how I would keep him safe if a person began shooting in the mall. 

I raised three children, sometimes it seemed like dragging them, when it was really me nagging, cajoling, bribing them to get errands done.  In and out of malls, Target, grocery stores, discount centers and never did I worry about a shooter.  I worried if I was going to pull my hair out or who might be in time out when we got home if they didn’t stop terrorizing each other.

With my oldest grandson, we have been in many of those same places I took my kids to and never worried about a shooter.  After three mass shootings in a week, I was looking around that mall differently than I would have a week prior.

I don’t want to worry about every angry person who walks by me.  I don’t want to wonder what is in that heavy backpack.  I don’t want to live like this, but this is a new reality.  I am not going to stay home and be a hermit, but I am going to be more aware of where I am and what my options are. 

I pray that those who are in power and can make changes will look at the families and friends of those who have lost a loved one and grieve with them, have sympathy for their pain, and if they have ever lost a loved one for any reason then to feel empathy, and try to prevent another family from the unthinkable.

Ponca City Oklahoma Dust Storm

We lived in Ponca City Oklahoma for four years when I was very young.  My mom said that when I was about five years old, my dad who was a training union teacher at First Baptist Church along with my mother and several other Sunday school teachers took a group of eleven to twelve year old’s to a farm outside of town for a picnic.

Near the end of the day, after everyone had eaten hotdogs and cleaned up, the wind began to pick up.  The teachers loaded everyone into the trucks and quickly drove to the farmer’s barn to take cover.  My mom said the dust storm was terrible and lasted for a very long time.  They had no way of telling the parents waiting at the church to pick up their children that they had taken cover from the dust storm and could not see to drive.

When the weather cleared they finally were able to drive back into town and they delivered the children to their parents and then we drove home to discover that the windows had all been left open to help cool the house down.  Mom said our home was covered in dust and dirt.  It was late and my father had to work the next day but all the beds had to be stripped, remade, and the floors swept. 

One closet in the house faced east and the dust and dirt had not penetrated the closed door.   What a blessing for clean bed linens.  Mom said it took days to clean all the nooks and crannies to make our home livable again. 

I have no memory of this happening but always enjoyed hearing stories and events my mother shared with us.