Home Sweet Home

19 Sunday Nov 2023

Posted by in Celebrating, Life

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No matter how far or near I travel, even for a few days, I grow more appreciative of home. As I reminisce about a recent trip, and watch our cotton candy sky give way to dusk, I feel there really is no place like home.

I was thinking about the comparisons we make, which can be bad, stealing our joy; or good, increasing our appreciation for things. How was this place compared to that? How is home compared to there? How is our traveling compared to thirty years ago? (!) Having some bit of trouble re-acclimating myself to being home, I kept going outside for fresh air and just to look around and appreciate being home. My head felt “fuzzy” which could have been due to four days of driving the up, down and round and round path from Smokey Mountains to Asheville NC and back. It could as well be from riding with the country boy who found the reins and permission to go home. With ears pinned back and the scent of the stables, this steed was not looking back! I do believe he drove it like a rental!

Our early fiftieth anniversary celebration trip was splendid in many ways, but home cannot be overrated! I brought home touching memories, funny memories, and well, just memories (maybe best left unpacked). But from our front door, we found comfort and beauty like nowhere else. Not because it’s spectacular; no, that was the Biltmore Estate. Not because it is luxuriously accommodating; no, that was the Inn on Biltmore. Simply because it is ours. If there is any comparison to be done, it is only to say, it is better, because it suits us just fine. I found our beautiful Burning Bush hailing from the lawn and Brandywine Maple leaves raining from tree to ground. Our red leaves are no brighter, but no less striking, than those of other areas. But these leaves are here; our leaves. That makes them more appreciated; no prettier, just more appreciated. The drizzle of rain here is nothing spectacular, but so welcome! While in North Carolina, we experienced their severe draught, with disappointment at seeing very little autumn color. Other than a splash here and there of dull yellow, there was a brilliant red oak, common name Scarlet oak. They rather enjoy the dry conditions and were strutting their stuff! Compared to expectations, the lack of color could be a letdown. But compared to the rest of the landscape, those oaks were outstanding! And more appreciated than ever. Otherwise, leaves clung to trees drained of color, and not all the brown fields were due to harvest. A cloud of dust followed a John Deere combine as the soybean crop was being harvested on the Biltmore Estate. Rows of sunflowers surrounding the soybeans hung their big brown faces toward the ground, gasping for a break from heat and dust.

Travel itself can be a larger issue than the destination, so it helps to keep our eyes on the goal. We plan the route and reservations, pack the necessities, and prepare with small GPS screens and chargers, which once was a paper atlas, at least 10 by 14 inches in size. It’s the unknowns that must be dealt with as they arise. Detours; must I say more? To avoid backed up traffic our GPS took us off I65, and onto the ‘scenic’ route. I still feel dizzy just thinking about it. While we slowed down to a new speed limit, there was no stalled traffic and we had opportunity to really see that part of the foothills. On life’s journey, try a detour; even if a forced one. With a different pace you may experience some amazing stuff. Assuredly, if we let God plan the route and we pack according to His instruction, we’ll be prepared for those unknowns – as much as is possible.

Whether the journey goes as planned, or has sudden rounds of ‘what?’, all roads eventually lead home. Our son’s first book he learned to read was called “Home Is Best” which as a toddler, he ‘read’ from memory of hearing it read to him. It began, “East, west, home is best. Sometimes home’s a hanging nest.” It went through many animals and the different kinds of homes they have. Each one is the best. Because it is theirs. Make your home what it needs to be for you and your loved ones’ comfort. Protect it, cherish it, and make it the safe haven from which all can go out and appreciate the world at arms length, and then love coming home.

Likewise, life’s journey has beautiful rewards, as well as its ups and downs. The goal should be getting back home; the eternal home that God has waiting for us. Life can be a fun trip, or the travel may be difficult, but oh, won’t it be great to get home! In Ecclesiastes 12:5, we are reminded, “for man goes to his eternal home, and the mourners go about the streets.” Thinking about the difference age has made in actual road trips, the difficulty of it and adjustments to be made, I realize reluctance to see the vacation end is a thing of the past. We are so ready to get home. Similarly, aging does a miraculous thing about this life thing – we may not cling to it as we did in our youth. The more we roam, the more Heaven is our home.

I try not to get too wrapped up in the trip and keep my eyes on home. Jesus has prepared it (John 14:2), protected it for our homecoming, has forwarded the route details to us in His holy word, and I genuinely believe His presence there will make the trip worthwhile. Trisha

“For we know that if our earthy house, this tent, is destroyed we have a building from God, a house not made with hands, eternal in the heavens.” II Corinthians 5:1

ON BIRTHDAYS, MEMORIES AND HEALING

10 Thursday Aug 2023

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I missed my Mama and Daddy today. I feel like a child. No-one can love you, be interested in you, like your parents. Though I had about a hundred well wishes, never lonely, lavished with family love, and a sister above all others, I long to hear that phone call. I long to sit down to that birthday dinner. The TLC she put into every morsel, gift and hug are incomparable. And daddy’s genuine interest – in my gardening, the kids, and my husband’s welfare – he always took time to listen to my answers and encouraged conversation.

And then, I can hear my brother so clearly, “Hey, this is ya lil brother. hope you’re having a good birthday. love you.” I miss that too.

Special people go, and leave in their wake a void that can’t, and shouldn’t, be filled. It echos with love and I wouldn’t want to fill that up and take it away for anything.

So… this is healing…to accept the void – where memories drop in and stay to warm your heart.

BIRTHDAY BEAUTY
 I awoke today on my 70th, to the song of bluebirds in the air.
 From my front porch I could see them playing everywhere. 
Through the pink crepe myrtles and Mama's maple tree,
 their flash of azure blue is a special gift to me. 
Pink rosebuds have opened to late summer sun,
 and blue morning glories run a fence just for fun. 
 The biggest blessing is, I can hear and see,
 the bountiful gifts sweet nature has for me.   Trisha

“Every good gift and every perfect gift is from above, and comes down from the Father of lights, with whom there is no variation or shadow of turning.” James 1:17

Daisies In The Ditches

16 Tuesday May 2023

Posted by in Children, Faith, inspiration

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May 2023: The following is edited from my original 2016 post (and I shuddered when I read my 7 years ago post where I left out the chapter information for the reference to Luke!)  As our daisies are again blooming in a sitting area; and as the little girl of this story has grown now to a teenager, I’m reminded of “the more things change, the more they stay the same”.  The sweet neighbors are moving away this week;  the children are young adults; my daisies have moved from the road.  Yet, they are still daisies. Relocation doesn’t change the essence of who we are. People relocate; yet they do not move out of our hearts. A friend is a friend, whether near or afar. Love is still love, wherever you are.

“Megan, where did you get these?” her mother asked. Being a typical six-year-old, the little girl hadn’t thought it important where, just that they were pretty, and would no doubt make her mom happy. Isn’t is great how little ones say “I love you”?

Later in the week,  during a visit to our house, Megan’s parents revealed to me how their daughter had come in from riding bikes with her big brothers, holding a nice bouquet out so proudly for her mom. Upon being asked, she stated the flowers were just growing out in the ditch! Her parents looked cautiously at each other, not wanting to dash her delight, and queried further. “Megan”, they explained, “flowers like these do not just grow wild; exactly which ditch did you pick them from?” “Well, you see, they are down by Mrs. Ward’s mailbox” Megan said, and was then gently informed that sometimes people plant things on purpose by their mailboxes. At this point in their story, Megan began squirming sheepishly, so I quickly let her off the hook. “Well, at least your mom got one nice bouquet out of them!”,  I said with a wink and a smile. She hopped down from the bar stool and ran out chattering something about her next venture. Oh dear God, if only we could all be so open to Your possibilities; Your grace; and so easily redirected when we stray.

I was thinking later about the child and the daisies, and wondered if we, as Christians, share Jesus as little children share flowers. What made Megan stop, look, consider, and partake? I’m thinking of accessibility, desirability, and perhaps the practicality of it.

I’m pretty sure that if I’d planted the daisies only in a bordered flowerbed, the sweet child would have never touched them. She’d have recognized the border as hemming in someone’s possession, and would probably have been too shy to ask if she might pick from them. But these were visible and accessible. Do we tend to keep our Jesus and His words and love behind the church doors; neatly tucked inside a pretty bound bible of perhaps the latest version? Do we keep them hidden within our hearts, where they certainly must begin to take root of course, but out of which they must grow beyond self and into the world. (I should say from the start that I am thinking, and now write to myself first;  for I am most guilty of seeking and finding….and then keeping instead of sharing!)  In His teachings given to us in the book of Luke, chapter 14, Jesus points out that there are people in the “streets and lanes” (verse 21) and “highways and hedges” (verse 23) who are to be invited into the feast in His kingdom. Matthew records His words in chapter 5 where He tells us our lights must not be hidden (verses 14-16), but placed with purpose upon a lamp stand, illuminating goodness, and giving glory to God. To please the host, God, we must make the feast, His precious word, accessible.

The daisies were desirable to her; like she said, “They were pretty”.  What makes Christianity desirable? That is, what looks so good about following Christ that others want to follow? I think we all agree it is not when we distort Christianity with the panes of judgmental attitudes, bigotry, and hypocrisy! We are told how Christianity should look in Galatians 5:22-23. Here we read the beautiful fruit of the Spirit listed. I am convinced that if we are busy living out these fruit, namely ‘love, joy, peace, patience, kindness, goodness, faithfulness, gentleness, and self-control’,  there will be no time nor tolerance for the awful things that should never be named among God’s people.  Additionally, a prophet of long ago stated “He has shown you, O man, what is good; and what does the Lord require of you but to do justly, to love mercy, and to walk humbly with your God?” (Micah 6:8) That is absolutely one of my favorite scriptures, so simply stated. Who would not be attracted to justice, mercy and humility?

Practically speaking, what made more sense than to see flowers, pick a bunch, and take to mom, showing her rather than telling her “I love you”. We see something which reminds us of someone, and provided we can afford it, we buy it, package it pretty and can hardly wait for them to open it! My first blog post told of the blossom in a teacup given to me by my toddler many years ago. I still remember, because he cared enough to pick it (and many more afterwards) and give it to me. When John Dale was our pulpit minister, he often said, “you just start where you are” as he encouraged us to follow Christ, to share His teachings. See the flowers. Pick the flowers. Share the flowers. It’s the only practical way. See it, appreciate it, share it. Megan didn’t need a special purchase order, a price list, or permission to do a good deed. Life is a constant learning experience. So waiting to be perfect will only serve as one of those flower bed borders, foreboding and forbidding. Christ taught us that the greatest love is to give. After giving Himself for us, His last commandment before sitting down at the right hand of God, was to His disciples – to go. Teach. Baptize. Share. Love in word and deed by picking his gospel flowers and giving them away. There is no better way to say “I love you” than to share something precious to you.

Again a child has given me a posy to ponder. Thank you Karen Opferman for letting me quote your child.

I pray that in sharing these thoughts you’ve found a couple of seeds to take with you; one to bloom within your heart and one to bear blossoms for sharing.

 

Thunder-struck

31 Friday Mar 2023

Posted by in Nature, Reflections

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Being wakened by a clap of thunder and a streak of lightening, before the alarm sounded, was a sweet and salty mixture this morning. Salty as a coarse eye opener, and sweet as the heavy rain lulled me back to a cozy sleep.

When we awoke for real about an hour later, my husband recalled how storms for him, had morphed through his life from a threatening monster into an actual sleep inducer. My thoughts, however, had hopped on a different train. One specific clap of thunder stands out in my mind above all others. It happened on the day of my mother’s passing from this life. And it was no sleep inducer!

A day in June dawned clear and warm, as most others had, with one exception; my mother was gone. Following all the usual information exchange with hospital personnel, we were drawn back to the house I had seen her leave for the last time, several days before. I ran through the front room and hallway into her bedroom crying her name and as I reached her bed, I begged, “Oh God, please let me hear her voice just one more time. Please, let me hear her voice!” As I gained composure and moved into other rooms, I saw that my sister had arrived and we stood together at the glass door, gazing through memories into her sunroom and backyard. A booming thunder came out of nowhere, surprising us so much that we could only stare open-mouthed at each other and feel the hair stand on our necks; thunder-struck! You make what you will of it; but she and I know what we know.

I’ve always believed God answers prayer; otherwise I wouldn’t pray, I suppose. So, two sides to this coin since that day; was the thunder we heard on a clear day with no rain, wind nor clouds, the answer to my prayer? Did we hear from our mother one last time? Or, on the other hand, was God reminding me that He is all I need to hear? “Do not be concerned for your mother, child. She is with me and you need to take care of the life I have given you until you, too, may enjoy the rest she has found.” Actually now that I’ve said it, I realize the two are the same. I absolutely know my mother would want the Father to tell me those exact words, and if it is in His divine plan to allow the departed a request, she would most certainly call out to her children. And If you knew my mother, you know her calling would be thunderous! Her by-word was, no kidding, “thunder!”

I once thought growing older would make me more skeptical, but I am not nearly the skeptic I was in my younger days. This is not the first time God has spoken through nature, and my friends, it won’t be the last either. From the birds who sing their creator’s praise to the seeds erupting with life in springtime, the Lord speaks of His amazing grace and favor.

Some things I know for sure. It was already said in His word, that in Him we will find rest and peace, and the soul never dies. It is also said in scripture that God hears prayer. Also I know one day I will get to hear Christ call my name, as Mary did standing at His empty tomb. And you know, if we get to recognize each other, I’m going to ask, “Mama, you know that clap of thunder, back on June 17, well, …?”

“This is the confidence we have in approaching God: that if we ask anything according to his will, he hears us.” (I John 5:14 NIV)

Then I heard a voice from heaven saying to me, “Write: ‘Blessed are the dead who die in the Lord from now on.’ ” “Yes,” says the Spirit, “that they may rest from their labors, and their works follow them.”(Revelation 14:13 NKJV)

















					


	





	

								
KINDNESS IN NATURE
										

			13
			Monday
			Mar 2023
		

	
	

		

			Posted  by  in MONDAY MUSINGS, Nature		

		

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There are in nature, often what we call cruelty, things that break our hearts. These aren’t chosen by a black heart to cause pain, but instead they are just the way of survival, of replenishing the earth and natural happenstance. Fortunately, there are many more instances of beauty and complementary behavior; things that make our hearts soar. One such occurrence  was mine to witness on the morning of February 1 this year. 





The ground was white with a solid coat of sleet, sunshine glinting off icy limbs, and my feeders were partially occluded by ice and sleet. The Dark-eyed Juncos and House Finches were sharing time with Blue Jays, Cardinals and Song Sparrows, dining at the feeder trays, and hopping around beneath the feeders to scoop up seeds which fall from feeding activity above. As I watched them, it was as always, each man, or bird, for himself, but then the sweetest thing happened. To my surprise, I saw a little round fat Junco feed a morsel, beak to beak, to a slim red-hooded House Finch. No more than four feet from my window, they were perched atop the shepherds hook from which hung the feeders, and there was no mistaking what I was seeing. Well, nature never claimed to be boring. My research has confirmed this to be a rare bird behavior indeed. 





In more normal activity, a Bluebird couple watched from outside the circle, along with the Robins. Mr. Bluebird, defending his house against invasion by the black throated gray-capped house sparrow, watched from his post atop my clothesline pole for morsels of a meal. My mealworm offering to the Bluebirds also attracts the birds of an aggressive feather, but he never minded their feeding themselves what he could have had. He just moves farther away, watching for a safe zone to dive down for his own meal.





“Look at the birds of the air, for they neither sow nor reap nor gather into barns, yet your heavenly Father feeds them. Are you not of more value than they?” Matthew 6:26 NKJV





Suddenly a convention of Robins convened at the back edge of the lawn. Mingling with a growing flock of Blackbirds, they all seemed busily concerned with whatever it was in the field that interested them. A bustling world of busyness, not unlike our own, just going about their own business; neither harming, nor helping, any others. Much too familiar for comfort, I see some of us pulling at our collar.





But the colorful sight at the feeder was too grand to take my eyes off for long. 





Red, orange, black and brown; striped, solid, smooth or crowned; all aflutter, searching and eating, sharing time at window peeking; bringing life to frozen air, Nature’s love song everywhere.





Be the Junco in feeding a fellow flyer. Be the Bluebird in seeking peace. 





“If it is possible, as much as depends on you, live peaceably with all men.” Romans 12:18 

					


	





	

								
Notabilia from the Ladies Retreat
										

			20
			Monday
			Feb 2023
		

	
	

		

			Posted  by  in Encouragement, MONDAY MUSINGS		

		

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Simply stated, notabilia means ‘things worthy of note’. I came away Saturday from our local congregation’s ladies’ retreat with several items of notabilia. First, I will say it was a privilege to be there, and by that I mean, I’m privileged with the transportation and time to go; with some great friends to accompany me; with the opportunity of getting to know more about some sisters in Christ who were very nearly strangers to me; and lastly I got to hear notabilia from others as I sat back, relaxed, benefitting from their life stories, their words and their studies. 





I must insert a fair warning here. I have not been able to keep this short, though I have forced myself to omit a great number of details I would love to have shared. But I don’t want to lose you before I make my intended points.





At first I was drawn the distance of an hour and a half drive just for the chance to see again the actual place of my obedience to the gospel of Jesus Christ, which was the West KY Youth Camp. It was in the swimming pool there, that I was immersed into Jesus’ body, in about 1966. I attended a total of three summers, two as a camper, with the director being the late Kenneth Hoover, and one as a junior counselor under the direction of the late Dennis and Florence Rogers. Though it was touching to see the old pavilion where my tears flowed, (or was that the off note I sang in How Great Thou Art?), it turned out not as interesting as what I found inside the building where the retreat was being held.





This large multipurpose building was a little rough around the edges, as it would be most difficult to have fine and fancy on donations alone. (Aren’t some of the biggest hearts found inside those who are a bit rough around the edges?) But it was SO accommodating! All the necessities were there: great space, comfortable chairs, tables, bathrooms, kitchen and lots of light. But, what made it work, was the people rather than the venue. Thorough planning was done, which is necessary, but it doesn’t carry itself out. The hard work carried it out, and that’s necessary, but impossible without the planning; which leaves intent, which for me, must’ve been God’s part. Being human, our intentions for being there were likely as varied as we were. 





As an older member (some of these ‘ladies’ were young enough to be my grandchildren), I had to ask myself beforehand as to intent; why so far away, and why I wanted to get up at 5 AM on a Saturday. In all honesty, I even dabbled in the devil’s deceit, wondering if it was to weed out us older ladies; you know, the old stale routine. Shame on me. Oh, we were taken far away for sure – far from everyday monotony, rush, confines of the clock; to a place where we were encouraged to see through our spiritual eyes, our gifts and our places in the body of Christ. Unfortunately I was only able to attend Saturday, but what a blessing that day was. 





My take away from Kelly Vaughn’s lesson on spiritual gifts (our talents or abilities) is they change. We change. So do our gifts. Changing does not render us useless. Perhaps our former abilities are those upon which to build. Maybe we do an about-face in another direction altogether. Why this hadn’t occurred to me before, I do not know. I didn’t see it. I felt that because I wasn’t doing the same things I had done like teaching littles, and then later,  medical mission trips, I must be washed up; no real purpose in the work of the church. Then there I was enjoying Kelly’s excellent points about spiritual gifts, and BAM! she said things like older…changing…different…still have a place in the body. To quote her, “One’s gift, or function, can change, as life goes on”. There. Right there was my God given intent, my reason for wanting to be there. He knew, and I did not. This “seasoned” Christian needed to hear that our grace given gifts change; and we are still deemed useful, though probably in other functions. Self-centered, perhaps. But don’t pretend I am alone in this. We need to be needed. And the body, the church, has a great many needs to  fill.





On the other hand, life was just settling me into the comfort of excusing myself from responsibilities.  I now realize using age and lower energy levels as an excuse for sitting back, is not a reason to avoid all roles. As the scripture says (I Corinthians 12), if the whole body were hearing, where would be the sense of smell? There are women older than I and with family/health/obligation issues as well, and they are serving circles around me. 





The second talk by Alisha Bohannon, still focused on finding our places in the unified body – the church – as found in Ephesians 4. There is diversity in gifts given by God, that we may function as a whole body. Alisha’s story added a sweetening, like dessert after a sumptuous meal from Kelly, reminding me that some have had to endure extreme hardship and tragedy to come to their “place”. Not that all who use their gifts must have come through great tragedy, as she pointed out. But for those who do suffer, there is the choice of whether to allow God to work through the situations to transport them into a better place, or to hold out in anger.  This gave me pause; introspection, as to what circumstances in my own life had led me to opportunities or areas of service I either filled, or perhaps resisted. It was endearing to me to have these tender moments shared with us.












Our activities included artwork. Well “art” may be stretching it a bit, but it was quite enjoyable to play in paints again. It’s been a while or two since my kids, now in their 40’s, asked me to paint. I came away with a permanent record of favorite scriptures from these young women. I look forward to looking up each one to read and meditate on them.





The last item of notabilia I’ll mention is one of the stations in another activity (and all of them were valuable!) But at this one, the instructions were to write on a piece of paper what weights you are carrying. After looking at them and comparing them to a list of categories, along with scriptures related to each category, you were to give these weights and burdens to God. Symbolically, we were to then put the pieces of paper in the shredder provided. As I read what I’d written, I was a bit unsettled to realize these were in the categories of fear and doubt. Me, a seasoned Christian, having fear and doubt riding around on my already over-used back! I jotted down the verses to take home for fast reference when I am tempted to retrieve those burdens from God. In Isaiah 41:10 God tell us “Fear not, for I am with you. Be not dismayed, for I am your God. I will strengthen you. Yes, I will help you. I will uphold you with My righteous right hand.” The second one is Proverbs 3:5-6 where we read, “Trust in the Lord with all your heart, and lean not on your own understanding; In all your ways acknowledge Him, and He shall direct your paths.” 





Other notable points I want to mention are as follows:





    

  • Young women whom I saw screaming their way into this world are now able to lead with their voices in song and scripture.
    • 




  • Everybody loves tacos.
    • 




  • Quiet women can raise the spiritual roof with devout prayer.
    • 




  • I do not need to use stensils again. Ever. No kidding. But I can still have fun with failure.
    • 




  • One generation learns from another; both are valuable.
    • 






Please do not consider this to be a complete list of things worthy of notice from the retreat. Nor is it anyone’s opinion but mine. My observations and take-aways are as particular to me as my own face. I incorporated no one else’s. Before I go, I think I have come to what I found most noteworthy. No tradition should be so tightly gripped that it squelches the flames and excitement of others as they grow and change in their spiritual life. Friends, I lived through watching one congregation dwindle down to bare bones and I never want to witness that again! I cannot speak for them, but my own observation attributed the decline to resistance. Resistance to fresh ideas between generations and reluctance to change. First, and foremost, the truth in God’s word never changes. Venues, methods, action however, all can and will change to serve and carry out what He has called us to do. The scriptures are filled with examples of women who altered their styles, made new connections and did new work as their lives changed. Naomi and Ruth, Esther, Rahab, Mary Magdalene and Mary the mother of Jesus to note a few.





It was the first time I had attended a church function where I was the oldest, and only two others near my age. I have to say I was disappointed. My prayer is that our inspirational times together will continue to thrive as they have in the past as we remember what we learned from those gone ahead of us, who made learning and serving fun and exciting as we grew. I will try not to be so unyielding to my own changes. I will be praying for unity in the Spirit; for every sister in Christ to find her gift and cherish it; and for all of every age to “Be kindly affectionate to one another with brotherly love, in honor giving preference to one another.” Romans 12:10
























I told you this would be long. If I have misrepresented anything or anyone, I encourage correction. I am sorry I had to miss Mallory Bybee’s talk Friday. Thank you Ashley Benson for your planning; Leigh Ann Grady for the delicious goodies; the men, Jacob, Matt and Scott for the work of maneuvering tables, trash detail and providing food. I no doubt have left out others who made the time of refreshing/retreating possible but you are just as appreciated as if I knew your names.





Planner, speakers, jobs well done!

					


	





	

								
When The Old Was New
										

			06
			Monday
			Feb 2023
		

	
	

		

			Posted  by  in Life, MONDAY MUSINGS		

		

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“The Way We Were” by Paula Vaughn






You know those little corners, where perhaps the hardwood meets the carpet to the side of the threshold, or in the bathroom where hairspray drifts and dust evades the dust mop, and they stick together tighter than the suction of the vacuum…well, I do. Sitting to take off my boots, I took a good look at one such corner, and found myself remembering the days of brand new. A brand new house, no matter how humble, is something you expect to stay new, until it doesn’t.  In spite of diligence to take care of it, living happens. Dents and dings, cracks and crevices seem to crawl over the surface like the evening shadows. But it doesn’t happen while we are sleeping; oh no, we are quite awake – living. Living takes its toll. Every imperfection, flaw and failure tell a beautiful story; we are living. Winning some, losing some, we get to keep trying again. Fallen soup cans dent the kitchen hardwood (probably not the wisest decision we made) and little gaps in the weatherstripping made by fur-friends, join the hole in the patio screen door where sweet little fingers missed the too small handle (what was the manufacturer thinking?). Those and more, prove life was happening. 





As I stared into the corner where threshold carpet flattens into the land of sprayed down dust,  I pictured my mama, down on her knees, scraping yellowed wax from the crevices of patterned linoleum. I would like to go back to that time, lift her gently by her elbow, up from the floor and into the yard for a picnic. Maybe just sit down and invite her opinion, about anything. But I believe she was clearing away what she could, of life’s ills, and right then it was old yellowed wax. Shiny floors back then meant you had paid a high price, and it wasn’t in dollars and cents. But this is about old and new, so I will get back on track now. I couldn’t imagine that house, or that woman, being new or young; any more than she could imagine my being old. Thank goodness we were too busy living to give it much thought then. As I sat today, for a moment, old enough to have earned a few minutes of meditation, the following came from that forgotten corner.





WHEN OLD WAS NEW





I remember when all of this was new. 





Those corners there, the carpet too – 





Fresh and clean, and the doors didn’t squeak – 





I remember when all of this was new. 










It had a fresh-start feel when it all was new. 





I recall the paint was a different hue. 





Those dents in the floor were once flawless boards, 





Before the living, when it all was new. 










The garage had space, the attic did too. 





And the shingles stayed put when a strong wind blew. 





The screen is torn and the weather stripping worn, 





Yes, it looked a little different when it all was new. 










Everything old was at one time new. 





And we’re no different, we were too. 





Ills back then were swift to mend, and 





moving was easy when it all was new. 










So stand on my shoulders for a better view 





For I’ve been there, done that, and saw that too. 





But when I’m out of gas and stall in your path, 





Wait – there’ll come a day when you were more new. 










Well, I’m not gonna let it make me blue, 





When I feel the changes in what was new. 





I’ll just wait for the call for my overhaul 





And this old house will be better than new! 










Until that time when the old is made new 





And we each can do what the others do too, 





I’ll fix what I can, lend others a hand, 





And remember with fondness when it all was new.    Trisha 






















“For we know that if our earthly house, this tent, is destroyed, we have a building from God a house not ade with hands, eternal in the heavens.” II Corinthians 5:1 NKJV














					


	





	

								
Remembering Dr. Cook
										

			30
			Monday
			Jan 2023
		

	
	

		

			Posted  by  in In Memory		

		

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As paths cross throughout life, some prints make a deeper impact than others, on each of us.  It is likely those who first held our children, made some of those deeper ones. 





The ability to touch hearts comes in many forms, like song writing or painting, but the skill of letting others know they matter, or that they are cared for, may be the most rare form. Eventually we are all going to be known and remembered for something.  





There is much to recall by many, and here are a few of my memories. I will remember red pickup trucks, roses, and babies, and the encouraging statement “you’re doing a much better job of this than I could do!” for mothers-to-be who were in their pushing stage; but one very important quality Dr. Gene Cook had was taking an extra moment for people. Time, a valuable commodity in a physician’s life, can make a world of difference. A moment of thoughtfulness, like a sympathetic phone call, or writing down the name of a hearing aid specialist for an obstinate nurse who blamed his soft voice instead of her aging ears, was kind, but even kinder was his smile at her denial. That’s just one of a hundred things I remember. 





How many reassuring words from Dr. Cook, calmly escorted a patient through her pregnancy? How many supporting affirmations were given to the heart broken families who waited but did not conceive? How many warm hugs and words of ‘well done’ kept a nurse on her tired feet? Never too busy to hear an update or concern for patients’ changes or lack thereof, he was swift to reply, swift to appear. Many unit clerks and nurses’ jobs were made easier by Dr. Cook’s clear orders and perfect handwriting. As the computer age rolled in, so did his efforts to help us merge the old with the new, one way or the other. (Only the nurses will get that last statement.)





While we have struggled these last few days to wrap our heads around the reality of our loss, indeed our community’s loss, we have sobbed with sadness, shaken our heads with disbelief, and remembered with fondness the man Gene Cook, the physician Dr. Charles Eugene Cook, our friend, Doctor Cook.  Each person who was privileged to meet him will have their own memories, and impressions. To be so soft spoken and humble, he sure made an impact. I can see him now, hands clasped and elbows on knees, sitting in a rolling chair at the nurses’ station, and gently turning his head side to side as a denial of any accolades for himself. He would instead, be watching for the “okay” that the surgery crew was ready for him to enter the cold sterile room where he would quickly and adeptly bring a warm screaming life into the world, by way of cesarean section. There was no waiting on him; he was johnny-on-the-spot! Or, he would be donning gown and gloves, having orchestrated long hours of a successful labor and the eventual delivery of one more new life. Whether one who was first touched by Dr. Cook’s capable hands, or the grateful new parent, or a fellow care provider so glad for the intense concern for excellent outcomes, or just a nurse who was thankful Dr. Cook had her back, we can all say thank you; from the heart, thank you Dr. Cook!





Of all my memories, I want to share this one because it speaks to me of Dr. Cook’s attitude in general. It didn’t take long to find we shared the enjoyment of tending roses. He appreciated the beauty of the few nice specimens I took to share at work, and I appreciated his knowledge of rose care and of varieties. He often asked, “How are your roses doing?” When the virus we called ‘witches broom’  struck so many, wiping out entire gardens for some, we lamented our concerns for it. One day after his asking about my roses, I began fussing about a particular bush I had not pruned in the winter and the resulting growth was quite gnarly; poorly blooming and just a mess. He then stopped me by saying, “Never bad-talk your roses”.  Exactly. And Dr. Cook lived by that rule as far as I ever knew. His roses, his people, whatever he cared about may have gotten constructive criticism, but there was no ‘bad-talking’ them. His level of care for his patients was, well, on a scale of one to ten, a twelve. I believe I can speak for others perhaps who worked behind the scenes with him, and beside him, in assuring you he always wanted the best, not just okay, but the best outcome. For everyone. Every time.





My sincere sympathy goes out to the family of Dr. Gene Cook. “Blessed are those who mourn, for they shall be comforted.” Matthew 5:4