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The Round Table: Part 4 in “Old Tables and Old Times”

12 Monday May 2025

Posted by trishascoffeebreak in Children, Family, MONDAY MUSINGS

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Tags

antiques, Changes, children, drop-leaf table, Family, gratitude, inspiration, love, Parenting

Roundtable discussions “are informal gatherings characterized by equal participation, active listening, and the exchange of ideas…roundtables encourage a more open and interactive dialogue, often facilitated by a moderator.” That’s what the internet says. In a child’s world, it is an endless sphere of participation (play-like or real), activity (of reaching, climbing, circling), and interactive ideas (imagination as troops and trucks run their courses of construction and destruction).

As the 1960s were ending, people were starting to see the value in antiques. Not museum people with historical antiques – regular Joes who had the new age, moderate-income, furnishings of the 50s and 60s. Such was the time when my mother was led to an auction by her friend whose son had gone into the “antique business”. Looking for old gems hidden by dust and paint, in need of some repair perhaps, became the weekend hobby for many. Sadly, folks were realizing grandparents had given up real value for light weight, inexpensive furnishings. In my family’s case, fires had taken most of the keepers, and the thought of finding something similar, was enticing. One find for my mother and her friend that day, was a sizable table covered with what we called antiquing, which was enamel paint covered by a dark glaze. Covered in, I believe, early 70s green, with a small chip out of one hinged area, was a coffee table with leaves dropped to the floor, which when raised, made a complete circle. A drawer in each end made the table even more useful. Mama bought it. And the seven grandchildren of her future benefitted from the purchase in the many decades to follow. Her great grandchildren, as well as friends, continued to find pleasure in the playground of the roundtable world. I am so thankful the table was saved from the fire that took my parents’ home in 1978.

Before the round table went to live at my parents’ house, her friend had her son to “strip and refinish” it. This brought out the beautiful solid maple finish of its original state, which is still its condition today – plus the many scratches, dents and wear of four generations since then. I believe my son was the first to put a scratch in Granny’s lovely table, with a toy (seems like it was one of those little silver-colored pistols, but could easily have been one of the hundreds of little animals that have trekked the terrain of the table land; he thinks it was his Hot Wheels racing). My daughter stashed “office papers” and crayons in the drawers as she opened and closed them a thousand times in her world of teaching and office work.

Next came my sister’s first child, a girl, who I am told, turned a long handled bell (another of Mama’s collections) upside down and hammered it into the table top several times. Sister’s second child, a boy, added his own marks of character, playing many sessions of Old Maid; as well as adding his sons (you see the younger one on the table in the photo above), to the activity of his Nanny Betty’s/Aunt Trisha’s table. I recall my brother’s first daughter especially enjoying the Christmas trinkets and music boxes Granny placed on the table. By the time he had more children coming along, Mama had passed the drop-leaf table on to me, and redecorated her living room. How in the world did she have the courage to place a new glass-topped table at child level? Surprisingly, it did survive. OH! That’s right, it wasn’t a round table. Far less activity could be had with four corners in the way, a smaller surface, and – like the glass-bottomed look-out towers – who can put their weight on something that looks invisible?

In my house the old drop-leaf round table continued to supply new ground for race cars, farm equipment, horse racing, army battles, board games, play-doh creativity, coloring and painting, checkers, and climbing in general. Six of my great nieces and nephews have made their own history of discoveries, battles, and masterpieces on the round table. Our friend ‘little man Ryan’ had his own activity for a short while before potty training, but we will just leave it at that. He also drove Match Box cars around and around that table, giving me great pleasure as my mother’s table continued making happy days for those we love.

I see the days of discovery for our round table coming to a close. I do hope the “informal gatherings characterized by equal participation, active listening, and the exchange of ideas” continues over this, as well as all our tables, for years to come. But it was the endless imagination of those tots who made this table so precious to me. Complete with its dents and dings, one drawer now out of function, and one detached slide-out leg that holds the leaf on that side, I have plans for repair and passing it on to someone who appreciates solid value. It is truly vintage now, and due to age, likely could soon be antique, but surely has some good days ahead in her. She now holds books, pens, and the trappings of an avid John Deere man. She comfortably holds the weight of great nephews; she doesn’t mind our feet being propped upon her, nor popcorn, coffee cups, and sippy cups.

Well, my coffee has grown cold but I have enjoyed my short trip back over the 55 or so years since my mother brought the round table home. Her own nieces and nephews will testify that she had a roundtable approach to life that carried over into the grandchildren years. If she loved anything, it was children and watching them learn. Imagination spurs learning and she was delighted to turn her house over to them to grow and learn all they could. Her love surrounded them as they surrounded the table; her guidance encouraged them as they found acceptance and inspiration to be their best. I look at the softly curved feet of the table, the scratches and dents, the missing pieces; and I long to see a world that is as willing to sacrifice parts of itself for the good of others; a world that is strong for its children and softly holds them when they need it; a world like its Creator intended it to be.

Bear one another’s burdens, and so fulfill the law of Christ. (Galatians 6:2) NKJV

Dear Mama

10 Sunday May 2020

Posted by trishascoffeebreak in Reflections

≈ 2 Comments

Tags

gratitude, inspiration, memories, Mother's Day, Parenting, without moms

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Another Mother’s Day has arrived; the sun envelopes the morning, whose stillness is only broken by the song of birds. “This is the day that the Lord has made; we will rejoice and be glad in it!” (Psalm 118:24)  Of all the blessings God has given me, you, dear Mama, are at the top of my favorites list, just behind Jesus and that is exactly as you would have it, for He made all this possible. No, you couldn’t walk on water, but there was a time in my life when I just about thought you could! Thank you for instilling in me a faith in God, by keeping it alive at a level young eyes could see, at a depth mature eyes can reach.  “Her children rise up and call her blessed…” (Proverbs 31:28a) And through her, they learn to see Him.

I had a surprise visit from my sister last evening, ending the day with good memories, and looking forward to today without feeling “socially distanced” at all. Before turning out the light, I wanted to tell Mama about our visit.

Dear Mama, Thank you for bringing home a little sister to me back in 1958. For the first 15 years I only saw our differences and it must have been hard for you to wait. Knowing we were cut from the same pattern, but of different pieces of cloth; you knew we’d figure it out and find the sister in each of our hearts. We still sit and talk about you like you  never went away, and come to think about it, you’re more present everyday. You’re woven through the tapestry of our lives, I know it’s true, for the things you cared so much about, I find living with us too. Your expressions and excitement live on in your second child; and your passion for teaching, your quick wit and smile. What she sees of you in me, I really couldn’t say, but I see you in the mirror every single day! Your love for birds and flowers, gardens and sweets – we share those too. A little wren sings every morning – I think she sings of you. Our hearts first beat beneath your own; three hearts you birthed and took us home. Protected, encouraged, pampered us all, and covered life’s booboos with laughter. Thank you for putting so much of yourself into us, that we would find some part of you in each other, ever after. Love, Trisha

To those boys and girls who did not find your life so encased in a mother’s love and guidance as I did, I pray you will find in your memory the hands and face of someone who did work that magic of training up a child, of holding your hand and being a mom-figure for you. May I assure you also, that you had another. Though you may not have known, my mother tried to be the best friend, teacher and guide to you, to all children, young and old, as she could be. So many faces and names come before me now who were in Mama’s heart and prayers.

Happy Mother’s Day to all women who have carried the thought of another within their heart.

 

NICE DAY, Part 4: Angry Words Do Not Make Nice Days!

06 Monday May 2019

Posted by trishascoffeebreak in Children, MONDAY MUSINGS, Reflections

≈ 2 Comments

Tags

angry words, emotions, Lessons learned, memories, Parenting, truth

I think the first child’s antics are more surprising because young parents have no idea! No. Idea. At that stage, we haven’t even counted as high as the number of emotions, trials, and tests we’re about to encounter. Everything your first baby says and does is amazing and funny because, hey, you haven’t heard it before. And no matter how many others do the same things, you still laugh, because it really is funny! I never get tired of remembering ours, and hearing about others’ memories as well. While remembering the cute things kids have done and said is heart warming and good, I wonder if I am the only one who may once in a while, find those memories followed by an unpleasantness that doesn’t belong there. I’ll explain later.

Our son was our first born, surprising us one evening with an early labor, in breech position, arriving at 9:20 PM. He has been a late nighter ever since, and a late riser as well, so the sun was always up before he was. Even still, the bed and breakfast were about all he wanted of the house. As soon as he was tall enough to see out the window, he checked the weather first, and then would report to me, “It’s a shine-shiny day out, Mama!” Interpretation: I want to go outside. See, what this kid knew was that the indirect approach worked so much better that the direct. A bedtime fighter, he found any excuse he could to resist bedtime routine. I had to pin him to the floor to brush his teeth, while he sputtered, “But my lips are reflexive!”, followed by “I wanna watch Gonny Cawson (Johnny Carson)! As if! When he wanted to go fishing a few years later,  rather than beg to go, he tied a construction paper fish to a stick and held it out the door as I was coming inside. Written on it was “I got an itchin’ to go fishin’!” Sly little dude. Next came fifth grade, with Mrs. Pittman’s rule of  ‘no locker opens after class starts’…did I mention he procrastinated other things as well as bedtime? To see Dora Pittman tell this is quite funny, as she slides one arm slowly back, leaning ever so slyly toward an imaginary locker to retrieve a book that should have been out of there before the bell rang! Some 30 years later, she still calls him her ‘locker boy’.

Yes, memories are fun…but sometimes it gets painful. There’s a little black-caped masked demon about an inch tall that occasionally comes slinking into the picture of a good memory, and it’s name is Regret. I hate that imp! He messes with my mind, and if I give him any attention, he starts growing until he is bigger than the picture. That’s the unpleasantness I was referring to earlier. I’m guessing there is a trigger for almost anyone to be reminded of their failures, for we all have some sort of regrets I’ve been told. For me, the trigger is remembering my kids’ childhood which makes me ask, why is such an awesome responsibility placed into the hands of the inexperienced?? Now, I know most of you were nauseatingly good, patient, creative parents; I mistakenly thought I was at the time. Let me just cut through the chase and bare my blisters: CHILDREN WERE NOT MADE TO BE YELLED AT. There. That is my regret. I grasped at the details and missed the big beautiful picture. Math problems, tooth brushing and choosing which toy to take, should never be a source of pain or anxiety. These everyday life things can create havoc, or heaven. The things that we think must be done should never override patience and gentleness. I was given the most precious gifts on earth, and I let them and the Giver down when I lost control and yelled. Mamas and Daddies, no one else would tolerate our ill tempered yelling, so why dish it out on the very ones who love and trust us to be their Rock? Seriously, they need more good memories, not more math; calm evenings more than clean teeth; and the time it took to choose which truck to take with him could have been spent planning supper, or tickling him into a decision. I wonder how many times he was about to make a choice when I again, called “would you come on now!” Oh how that dastardly bandit Regret can run off with your fun! But, God is good, and has forgiven me. My children say there’s nothing to forgive or forget; they say they had a great childhood. The problem lies within where forgiveness does not come easily for ourselves. I’m working on it, but I still hate those angry words that messed up good days.

“If a person thinks himself to be religious and does not bridle his own tongue, but deceives his own heart, his religion is useless.” (James 1:26)

Lest I leave the impression that I was a total monster, I do have a memory of handling things well. This son of ours has an artist streak in him that was once used on the refrigerator, in crayon. I actually had a roll of film in the Kodak, and it makes a cute photo when a toddler is cleaning the refrigerator in his training pants. I think he was as proud of his job of removing the masterpiece as he was of making it.

cleaning up artwork
cleaning up artwork
sneaking M&Ms
sneaking M&Ms

Happy Monday, stay calm, and make it a nice day! Go ahead and sneak a few M&Ms:)

 

 

 

NICE DAY Part III: I Wanna Go Home!

22 Monday Apr 2019

Posted by trishascoffeebreak in Celebrating, MONDAY MUSINGS, Uncategorized

≈ 1 Comment

Tags

children, Faith, joy, Parenting

As spring break was nearing its soggy end, the few nice days on the beach more than filled three-year old Grayson’s bucket. He had it all, yet he was fed up. Boy do I ever identify with that!

I hope you have had a beautiful Easter weekend, full of the hope and love that Christ poured into us those many years ago. Isn’t it great to know that He never changes; unlike we ourselves, who change our minds and attitudes even in the course of a few days. As promised, this week’s post is another inspiration from the mouth of babes. I do apologize for not having it ready this morning, but I, too, enjoyed the weekend, traveling to our daughter’s

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At Steffy’s, Easter 2019

yesterday after a fun Saturday evening at my sister’s, where we ate a scrumptious meal, loved on the littles,

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Great nieces and nephews

and praised God for His constant blessings and that ultimate HOPE, the resurrection! Now that will be a most welcome change for those who die IN Christ; “in the twinkling of an eye” (I Corinthians 15:52) we shall be like HIM! [see how those words in bold make their own statement 🙂 ]

“This World is Not My Home” is an old spiritual song that most of us probably know. Let me first say, I actually love my life here – in spite of the wrong turns, rough spots and cloud bursts, it’s been a great journey so far. But for the very young, as well as the aging, this world can be foreign soil at times. The older I get, the more I understand that song, and the desire little children have to be at  home. As I was saying, my great-nephew was taken to the beach with grandparents, parents and baby brother. Now how does a three-year old get spring break – he has teacher parents. NICE! One thing however was different this year – a baby brother. That five month old just may have stolen a bit of Grayson’s spotlight, as well as some golden silence…but I’m not saying where I heard that! Haha!

The day before going home time, Grayson looked up at his grownups and said, “I’m ready to go home now”, and just to be sure they didn’t mistake that for wanting to retreat from the beach into the condo, he added, “I mean MY home, I don’t belong here”. Oh my, bless his little heart! He was fed up. He was tired. Too much had changed, and he had filled his sand bucket and dug all the holes he needed to. He knew where peace and solace were.

I’m so grateful that my nephew and his wife have made a home that their little one loves and longs for. How about us? Have we looked into our Father’s design enough to know what home he has prepared for us? It is overwhelming for me to think about eternity. But because I believe the bible as God’s inspired word, I do believe there is a place that is perfect, without change, awaiting the children of God. The more things change here, the more I want to go home. Reading about it in the never-changing word of God, I know it’s where I belong. I am enjoying this great trip He has given me, but I know I’m going to enjoy going home even more.

Finding the glimpses of God and His design within nature is what motivates me from one day to the next. As that natural beauty becomes slathered over in asphalt and shadowed by tall buildings I have to look harder to find it. Thank you God for little children who often bring it right to us. As long as He wants me here, I’ll keep filling sand pails, so to speak, and sharing inspiration, but oh, won’t it be good to go home!

Please share your “littles’ expressions” here! Out of the mouth of babes….you know.

 

 

BEAUTY AND THE DEEP

14 Monday Jan 2019

Posted by trishascoffeebreak in MONDAY MUSINGS

≈ 2 Comments

Tags

beauty, Parenting, truth, value

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a little beauty mask fun – clean pores and laughter

There’s an innocent little lie that many a young girl was told through the ages. “Beauty is only skin deep” was meant to make adolescence somehow less painful for those of us who saw freckles, crooked teeth and plain hair staring back from the mirror. Which wouldn’t have mattered if we didn’t leave the house and meet the golden curls with a button nose and rosy complexion, and hear how pretty they were but because they were immature enough to flaunt it, that it was only skin deep. Hearing that beauty was only skin deep made me think not only that there was not much under those lustrous locks and long eyelashes, but even worse, with no outer beauty, I was a lost cause. Nothing. Not even skin deep. It’s probably why I love Anne of Green Gables.

Well, I grew up in spite of it; and praise God, His word expounded on the issue of beauty. In fact, it put the old adage to death.

“Do not let your adornment be merely outward–arranging the hair, wearing gold, or putting on fine apparel– rather let it be the hidden person of the heart, with the incorruptible beauty of a gentle and quiet spirit, which is very precious in the sight of God.” I Peter 3:3-4

The thing we girls should have been told is “beauty is what lies beneath the skin, in the heart”. Even if I’d been afraid of a ‘skint knee’ bleeding out my beauty, at least I would’ve known it wasn’t all that outward stuff. Anyway, kids eventually realize the difference between flesh and bones, and the invisible heart and soul. Now, don’t get me wrong – I am all for teaching children to appreciate and compliment others for their accomplishments, and there’s no way around recognizing a pretty little cocker spaniel versus a scrawny old mutt. But boy oh boy, have I ever loved some of those mutts! Why? Because we find out real soon that they can be loyal, smart, and clean up real well! There’s nothing wrong with attractiveness, as long as there’s acknowledgement that it is in the eye of the beholder – an opinion, and that true beauty is defined by the Maker – a thing of the heart.

Notice that Peter used the word adornment to speak of outward beauty. But he used the terms heart and spirit to describe incorruptible beauty. Adornment can be changed on a dime. The heart and spirit of a person are developed over time, formed in a furnace of trial and error, and have a way of becoming a permanent fixture. A gentle and quiet spirit, and the inside heart of a girl, not the outside looks; those are the things of beauty. Don’t let the world tell you or your daughters or your sisters that they need a certain body type, eye color, hair style or hip shoes to be beautiful. Point out how beautiful their grandmothers are (yes the ones with wrinkles, gray wiry hair, and chicken wing arms) because of the love they lavish on others. Point out how pretty the mentally challenged child is when her eyes sparkle at ‘hello’. Remind them that babies are so beautiful because of their innocence. When you are looking into their eyes right straight into their hearts, every single day, when they are at their worst – tell them they are beautiful! They’ll know what you mean.

The valuable and virtuous woman of Proverbs 31 has 21 verses of descriptors and none of them say anything of her looks, but one points out that if she does have charm and outward beauty, they are deceitful and passing (vs 30). Yes, girls, beauty may start at skin level, but goes SO much deeper than that. Our grownups didn’t mean any harm, bless their hearts; they were just repeating what they’d been told, I’m sure.

THIS DAUGHTER’S DADDY

16 Saturday Jun 2018

Posted by trishascoffeebreak in Family

≈ 3 Comments

Tags

Father's day, memories, Parenting

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I never called my daddy by the more popular ‘dad,’ nor the formal ‘father’. Dad was someone who belonged to my more sophisticated friends; and Father was the one to whom I prayed, the father in Heaven. No, only one name for my daddy – Daddy.

I was born on his 20th birthday, his first child and the apple of his eye I’ve heard, for four and one half years. That’s when his second daughter, a little cherub, was born along with a cradle of other changes in life. But for almost five years, he was all mine, lunch box and all! They say the first few years of a child’s life sets a pattern for giving and accepting love, among other attitudes. After that, we set about real soon trying to abolish every rule, change every ideal, and break every parent’s heart. But for those glorious preschool years, daddies and daughters are pretty tight. In most cases, certainly in mine, all those attempts to become ‘my own’ self of the 1960s and 70s were for nothing. The roots were already down. Deep. In my heart.

Because of my daddy, I still love the smell of wax paper in the lunch box. I happily anticipated his return home after work because I knew I would find a little gem of something left for me in his lunch box.

Because of my daddy, I like the smell of a gasoline engine and oily tools in a garage. I used to line up old spark plugs, nuts and bolts and tools along the wall of the dirt floor garage we first had. A strong pair of hands that held my head up when I was sick often had that grease and oil on them. Thanks for washing them first, Daddy.

Because of my daddy, and my maternal Grandpa, I love the smell of Old Spice aftershave. They both wore it when I was very young, and wrapped my arms around their necks, and sat on Daddy’s knees in church.

Because of my daddy, I love straight young rows of green in the garden. Later, baskets of produce with various colors washed and arranged like flowers in a vase were brought to the door; I love to do that too.

Because of my daddy, I am crazy about breakfast outdoors, and roadside spots to stop and eat bologna and crackers with a coca-cola. He introduced us to camping, too, or I wouldn’t know that this is not always a desirable thing to do. Thanks for the experience Daddy.

There’s nothing magical about wax paper, or motor oil, Old Spice and gardens. The magic that makes these memories mold us is love. Knowing you are safe and surrounded by acceptance is what every child deserves, just for being brought into this world. I had it, and I drip tears onto the newspaper reports of children who get none of it, and worse. Thank you God for a good daddy. Thank you Daddy for loving me, even when I wasn’t lovable.

Happy Father’s Day, to my Daddy, and all the other great dads, grandpas and uncles, and my brother, too! I love you guys!

 

NESTING IN THE PRIVETS

07 Monday Aug 2017

Posted by trishascoffeebreak in Nature, Poetry

≈ 3 Comments

Tags

Nesting, Parenting

Do you know how a thing can keep standing for something else in your mind; though it’s perfectly fine in and of itself; but for some reason it beckons you to peek around its corner and see something else hiding. So it is with a shrub in our yard. (Yes, in the South, your house sits in the yard, and the houses up north and the White House have lawns.) So, I knew it was a Privet, but after googling photos, I found that ours is a Chinese Privet; pretty and fragrant, it has become one of our favorites. In my search for the name of what I’d planted years ago, I also found  the following descriptors concerning these shrubs.

Low maintenance hedge & privacy screen

        Adaptable to various types of soil

Drought tolerant!

Low maintenance, screen, adaptable and tolerant – yep, that’s my little bush; and not a bad set of personality traits to desire!

Nesting In The Privets – this title just walked into my head one day as I was mowing, and has been running around in there all spring and summer when I am near our bush. The notion that this is a great place to nest was reinforced as I considered those defining words.

This is the only plant around which I haven’t been able to mow closely, to trim near the truck, and I have really tried, only to have scraped and scratched myself and the mower. Other trees and shrubs however, bear the wounds of my attempts to trim while mowing. In our previous home place with large trees, I committed mower murder by running too close and encountering the tree roots. Here, where we have young trees, there are regrettably, my signature rings around the trunks near the ground made by the edge of my mower deck. The privet, however, is much too wise for me. Strong defenders, especially where I have attempted pruning, stand strong and sharp, unyielding to my intrusion. My legs and arms bear the proof. This is not to the Privet’s dishonor; it has gained my admiration in more ways than one.

Lovely spring fragrance, beautiful variegated foliage, small leaves spaced so that there is a feathery look – who wouldn’t want to live there? Whereas I can’t get a 40 something inch mower deck into the midst of the grass beneath, the birds can build a house and live in it! Good for them! These are not cat climbing limbs. With a thick growth habit of closely spaced narrow limbs, it discourages intruders. I haven’t noticed our cat even mildly interested in invading this space. If Mother Nature talks among her offspring, then I imagine she has encouraged Mrs. Mockingbird with whispers of “screen, privacy, and adaptable’. Sitting atop this Privet, the mockingbirds call out threats against our furry four-legged family members, from halfway across the yard. It seems they have found an ideal fort from which to launch their new families.

Are we as careful and concerned about the environment in which we bring our brand new little nestlings? As they become fledglings, are we watching them from the best vantage point, protecting them from predators with the ferocity of a mother bird and wielding strong stems against the intruders of our homes?

Does not Mother Nature herself, even if we didn’t have the Word of God to guide us, tell us to protect our young? The natural tendency of a mother and father is to provide for their children, including shelter. The physical shelter I see provided by the Privet is such a great example of the spiritual and emotional shelter we as parents and relatives need to be seeking for our precious children.

In line with the descriptors for this Privet, parents need to be tolerant and adaptable. Tolerant with the natural calamities of growing up, not in the sense of spoiling, or tolerating the misbehaving; that would only lead them downhill in the character department. Kids are going to have melt-downs over real stressors at times; they need us to be tolerant and tough for them as they strive to thrive through it all. If you thought life was about changes before, then you really discovered “life-changing” after you became parents! Adapt, adapt, adapt! All children are different, and so will the toleration levels be different, as well as the need to adapt to stages of child development. If we look at them with the eyes of Jesus, and pray REAL hard as we search HIs word for guidance, we’re going to find our little birds successfully ready for flight before we know it!

As parents, we hopefully have had our day in the limelight, and now would be a good time to seek low maintenance status. My husband and I have agreed on this one thing in child rearing – they did not ask to be born. We asked for them. We took on this responsibility and have gladly set aside some wants to fulfill their needs. It’s never been about sacrifice – rather, it’s been a privilege to seek less of self and enjoy the sweet charges with whom God entrusted us; making provisions as He enables us to do.

I’ll tell you something else about this Privet. When the strong southwest wind sweeps across our property, all the other trees bow in its presence. But this Privet bush stands its ground. I’ve hardly ever seen it bending with the wind. Ill winds will blow in our children’s lives; count on it. So be a Privet to hold your nest; screen the view until the young are mature enough to see all the ugly and still make wise decisions. Adapt and tolerate when those harsh winds blow and there’s an arid blight in their circle of the world, so that they will know your strong branches will catch them if they fall. And most importantly, point them to Jesus, so that they will know their creator, and will have a home to fly away to someday. Don’t forget low maintenance; if their support system is whiney and delicate, they learn to be needy and fearful. Low maintenance people are able to enjoy the real values in other.

I want to close this with a poem given to me by my great-aunt, Treva Jones Darnell, many years ago.

BE THE BEST

If you can’t be the pine on the top of the hill,
Be a scrub in the valley – but be
The best little scrub by the side of the rill;
Be a bush if you can’t be a tree.
If you can’t be a bush be a bit of the grass,
And some highway happier make.
If you can’t be a “muskie” then just be a bass,
But the liveliest bass in the lake.
We can’t all be captains, some have to be a crew,
There’s something for all of us here;
There’s work to be done, and we’ve all got to do
Our part in the way that’s sincere.
If you can’t be a highway, then just be a trail;
If you can’t be the sun, be a star;
It isn’t by size that you win or you fail,
Be the best of whatever you are.

                                                                                                               …..Unknown

 

 

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Patricia Ward, Trisha's Coffee Break, 2013-2014. Unauthorized use and/or duplication of this material without express and written permission from this blog's author and/or owner is strictly prohibited. Excerpts and links may be used, provided that full and clear credit is given to Patricia Ward, Trisha's Coffee Break, with appropriate direction to the original content.

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