back to 1976...

We took our granddaughter today to see the movie Wonder, based on the book written by Raquel Palacio. I have been trying to get her to read the book since May and she only recently bought it and read it. It is now November, almost Thanksgiving. It is a must see movie. Especially for young preteens and teenagers. Middle school age especially.  I wanted her to see it because it deals with so many issues that kids that age have to deal with. However, it's the kind of movie that has something for everyone. In my opinion, If you can't find an issue dealt with in the story then all I can say is you live a perfect life (whatever that is) or you are just sweeping your stuff under the rug. Close to the end of the movie the older sister that was dealing with her own set of problems in the family, kinda fell into the part of Emily Webb (without giving too much away). Emily is a character in the play, Our Town, a play that her school was performing. As she recited the monologue I remembered when I was a little girl and my mother and her high school students performed this play. As a side note, the play was written the year I was born. Oh well,  I guess it had an impact on me even at that young of an age because in 1976 I recited the same monologue in my drama class in the community college nearby where I was attending. During the movie as she recited it, I was immediately transported back. I remembered how nervous I was. I also remembered the emotion I felt while I was reciting it. I could feel her pain too. I relived it all. I must have done a pretty good job because my teacher asked me to recite it again in front of the whole student body during a drama expo. That was 41 years ago.  Who was that 19 year old girl? Not sure I remember. One thing I do know though is I am so thankful for how far I have come.

monologue by Emily Webb from the play Our Town written by Thornton Wilder, 1957
Emily died in child birth and was given a chance to go back home to a time she remembered.

I can't bear it. They're so young and beautiful. Why did they ever have to get old? Mama, I'm here. I'm grown up. I love you all, everything. I can't look at everything hard enough. Oh, Mama, just look at me one minute as though you really saw me. Mama, fourteen years have gone by. I'm dead. You're a grandmother, Mama. I married George Gibbs, Mama. Wally's dead too. Mama, his appendix burst on a camping trip to North Conway. We felt just terrible about it - don't you remember? But, just for a moment now we're all together. Mama, just for a moment we're happy. Let's look at one another. I can't. I can't go on. It goes so fast. We don't have time to look at one another. I didn't realize. All that was going on in life and we never noticed. Take me back - up the hill - to my grave. Good-bye, Grover's Corners. Mama and Papa. Good-bye to clocks ticking. and Mama's sunflowers. And food and coffee. And new-ironed dresses and hot baths. And sleeping and waking up. Oh, earth, you're too wonderful for anybody to realize you. Do any human beings ever realize life while they live it? Every, every minute? I'm ready to go back. I should have listened to you. That's all human beings are Just blind people.

Thank you Father for opening my eyes and heart to see you!  For healing me of all the pain. (I don't have to go back, ever, ever again)  I hope and pray that I can live the rest of my life with my "eyes wide open." ♡

sammie jean

it might be tradition... but it never gets old

 I love this time of year. It's my favorite. There is a special feeling in the air. Everything looks so pretty. Houses all lit up, everyone dressed all festive in red, even deer antlers mounted to vehicles. Everyone seems to be a little nicer. We even seem to have a little more patience with each other. A little more generous too. We want every little child to have something for Christmas. Even grumpy people that wouldn't think about giving one extra penny to their neighbor just can't seem to pass by the Salvation Army bucket at the local store. I love the nativity scene out on the lawn at church, the wreaths with there big bows on the door, singing Joy to the World, and a sermon about Joseph, Mary, and Jesus. It doesn't matter how many times I have heard it... It never gets old. None of it gets old. I grew up in a home where Christmas was a big deal. I remember us going out in the woods when I was young to hunt for the perfect tree. Daddy, Mama, sister, I and even the hunting dogs trudged through the thick woods. Came back home and decorated it. Mama put our gifts under the tree on Christmas Eve. She placed everything neatly in its perfect place. My sister had a side and I had a side. Nothing was wrapped because she always said, "Santa doesn't wrap his gifts." I wish that I could remember my favorite toy. I know it had to have been a bicycle or a doll that I dressed and undressed over and over again.  My sister and I slept in the same bed for way more years than we want to admit, even though we had our own rooms. But Christmas Eve was special. I had to read Twas the Night Before Christmas before going to bed.  I remember lying there and talking to my sister. She would try to get me to hush and go to sleep. "You know Santa won't come if you're still awake," she would say. But, as the story goes, "sugar plums danced in my head" along with thoughts of what was under the tree. I swore that  I could hear Santa and the reindeer on our roof. Couldn't go to sleep save my life. When we were older we realized that it wasn't Santa at all. It was mama busy at work opening bags, closet doors, pulling out the hidden stash from every corner and crevice of the house.  Mama hung stockings over the fireplace too. When we were really young she filled our stockings with fruit and candy because that is what her and daddy got in their stockings. I remember my sister and I asking her one Christmas to not put fruit and candy in our stockings. You know she never put another apple in our stocking again. She didn't even tell us how rotten we were. But, she didn't have to...we were. The truth is mama and daddy were happy for their candy canes and oranges. I often heard them say, especially my daddy that that was all he got for Christmas. I would love to tell my daddy, if I could, "thank you" for the fruit and the other neat stuff in our stockings. You and mama made Christmas extra special.  As long as my granny and poppy were living and after we were finished with Santa we went to their house for Christmas dinner. All of daddy's family was there. My granny and poppy bought everyone a gift. I know that must have been difficult for them on their meager salary. Even after all of us grandchildren got married, my granny continued to buy us something for Christmas. I remember one of the last gifts I got from her was a punch bowl set. I still cherish it today. I carried much of the same traditions with me into my own home with my own children. Looking for the perfect Christmas tree at a tree farm. Until it became such a mess to deal with. We resorted to a store bought one. It didn't smell like Christmas, but it worked.  Just like mama, I filled the stockings with special treats and I carefully laid the gifts out never wrapping them; one side for my daughter and one side for my son. Never wrapping them, until they talked me into opening one gift on Christmas Eve, of which we always did in our new flannel Christmas pj's. I loved teaching especially during Christmas. Our classroom tree was full of handmade ornaments; glitter galore.  Making from scratch sugar cookies was my favorite thing to do. I rolled the dough out and they cut stars, angels, Christmas trees, holly and decorated them with red, green, white icing with sprinkles on top. The Best Christmas Pageant Ever was a must read. It got us in the Spirit of Christmas every year as we experienced the joy and excitement of little Gladys as she heard about the birth of baby Jesus for the very first time. When my grandchildren came along we continued the stocking and pajama tradition. We also continued the tradition of daddy taking everyone shopping. He always took mama, my sister and I shopping and after the grandchildren came along he took them by himself each year.  Because daddy grew up not having very much, he loved lavishing on the grand kids. He pretty much let them fill the buggy with what they wanted. One year my young son got lost in the store. When I heard about it I was terrified.  He was a good bit younger than the girls. I'm sure they just went on with their shopping never paying him any mind. And daddy... well let me just say he was being "daddy".  He was in his element. He was Santa Claus. We continued most traditions with our grandchildren adding a few new ones. Watching the movie, Polar Express together every year was one of them. Of course, we had to have hot chocolate to go with it. I can just see them now. My grand kids are dramatic, so they act out their favorite scenes of the movies they watch. Well this one is no exception. When the waiters start handing out the hot chocolate and dancing in the aisle of the train my grands would jump up and start dancing and singing too; "hot, hot chocolate" they would sing as they danced. This year we are going to move this tradition to our new home in the woods with an outdoor movie. Can't wait. Should be fun! Since my grand boys have gotten older and outgrown all the fun stuff my granddaughter and I make Christmas ornaments. Last year we made pine cone ornaments and this year we made crystal ornaments. Yes, I love Christmas. I love everything about it. I will do all the traditional things; sing Christmas songs,  bake special goodies,  decorate a tree,  buy gifts for my family. Maybe even buy gifts for my neighbors, for children in Africa and children down the street. But... it will never be "just routine." It never gets old.  I will make no excuses for my traditions. And my "over the top" excitement. Jesus is the reason for the season. He is worthy of my celebration. So....let's celebrate.

sammie jean

 He is my Savior.

Light of the World.

A love story...rewritten

*from my blog entry on 2/10/16

It wasn't my first time walking down the aisle. It was different this time. It might have been for the obvious reason, I was 52 years old. Or it could have been the pride that I felt for my son as he walked me down the aisle. Not sure. But, it was definitely different.  I saw him at church on Sunday. This new guy. He did look familiar but I didn't really pay much attention. Not that he wasn’t handsome. He was. I just glanced. Dare not to stare. I hadn't looked at a man like that in a very long time. Eleven years to be exact.  I had vowed with God that I wouldn't search for a mate. If He wanted me to have someone in my life, He would have to bring him to me. I know that sounds pretty staunch. I really believed it. My life was wrapped around raising my 16 year old son since our divorce. I was 40 years old.  It didn't seem likely that I would marry again. I was okay with that. I came home from a Fall Festival at the school where I was teaching. I went to my phone to receive my messages. There was his name. I stood frozen. Although I hadn't paid much attention to him at church. We had only talked briefly about unimportant things like me needing to get a tree cut down in my yard. There was something that came over me. It was so different this time seeing his name on my caller ID in my own home. I know this is going to sound real weird, but I knew. I thought about how Elizabeth must have felt when her baby leaped in her stomach when she saw Mary whom was pregnant with Jesus.  It pales in comparison but it was a sacred occasion for me. God had chosen this man for me. I was ninety-nine percent sure. I didn't return the call that night. The next night either. I never did. If this was meant to be, it would be. Insecurely optimistic, I prayerfully moved forward. You know, God has a good sense of humor. This almost stranger and I had grown up together around 35 years ago. We knew it, but as we became better acquainted,  it was like we were hearing it for the very first time. We became kids again reminiscing about living in a small town in the south, swimming in the same icy cold creek, and attending the same school, kindergarten through 12th grade. Our parents knew each other and my dad was even his little league baseball coach. Our paths just never really crossed. He was four years older than me; closer to my sister's age. We started dating. I can still hear him as he asked me on our first date. "Can you come over Saturday night, I will cook for you?" I had never had a man cook for me. Dating was so new. I married young the first time. Right out of high school. I had never dated very much. It didn't take me long to realize though that this definitely was not teenage love. He had a maturity about him and confidence to boot. I loved his salt and pepper grey hair. He smiled with a sexy slight wink with his right eye. I loved how easy he was to talk to. I remember telling him about a new book that I had just finished reading. It was my very favorite of all time. He wanted to read it. Our conversation over dinner was open and honest. The only flaw I could find in him was he didn't drink wine. I knew that either I would lose my taste for it or he would acquire a taste. Either way, he was a keeper. I wasn't planning on losing him.  We spent Christmas together. You will never guess what he bought me? Crystal wine goblets.  We shared dinner over candles and Christmas tree lights. It was very romantic. Our first kiss was simple and sweet. But, oh so satisfying. Everyone told me, "You look so radiant." We spent the weekend together in the Blue Ridge mountains where we rented a chalet. Celine Dion sang her heart out that night as we danced to a rhythm that only two people in love could feel. He asked me to marry him during a trip to visit my son in college. We both said, "Yes." My son and I. We married 8 months after I saw his name that night on my caller ID. As my son walked me down the aisle, reaching the front, my arm slid out of his arm and we hugged. He was no longer the only man in my life. God had truly brought me another one. There was no doubt about it. Precious words flooded my soul... Blessed is she who believed that the Lord would fulfill his promises to her. He did.


 Rewritten for possible entry in series entitled, " Love Stories" in Chicken Soup For the Soul. Whether they choose to publish it or not, it is a win/win situation for me. I ♥ loved ♥ writing it. It is dedicated to my faithful God and to my wonderful husband and friend.

💕 with my whole heart,
sammie jean

  

two great grandfathers...granddaddy & papa

  Our son grew up with two wonderful grandfathers; a granddaddy and a papa. Both living in the same town; One, down the driveway the other across the bridge. He was their first grandson, their namesake; carrying both their first and last names.Their pride and joy. His papa living across the bridge in a small little town where I grew up. A pond by his house and the creek across the road. My son loved the pond spending many hours catching catfish. I can just hear my son and his papa now as they fished down the creek, "Son, stay out of the trees," he would say. Because of his big voice, everyone heard it as well.  He was probably no older than 11 years old but he talked to him at times like he was at least forty. They were big buddies; he and his papa. He ate his first oyster with him, cleaned his first fish with him, baited his first hook with him, went on his first turkey hunt with him...a lot of first with this big man with great big hands. He knew that when he grabbed him on the shoulder and looked him in his eyes he was fixing to hear a whole lot of "papa's famous quotes." "I can still hear them," he says now. All those words that didn't mean much then have become, "wise words of wisdom." Words to live by.  My son, like my daddy, was a very good athlete. His papa coached young boys for many years. So, he was just another one of them; coaching him through baseball games, basketball games, and football games. I remember my son dedicating his senior high school football season to his papa. For although his papa never saw him quarterback the football team, he was definitely there in spirit. We all felt him. I remember walking into the hospital after receiving a call to come quickly. Daddy was not doing well. My son arrived before I did. When I got there and walked into the room, daddy was already gone. Mama, like she had done for over fifty years; stood by his side. I touched him one last time. Rubbed his hands. The hands that I had held just a few days before, clipping his nails.  As I turned around to leave the room, my eyes focused on my son, sitting on the floor, up against the wall. The look on his face said it all. He had lost someone that he greatly admired and aspired to be like. Our son grew up so close to his granddaddy's house that he could walk over to visit him whenever he wanted to. He was the kind of child that hardly ever watched cartoons on Saturday morning. Rather he grew up running and playing and using his imagination... the kind of great stuff little country boys are made of. His dad and granddad were both "hands-on" so, there was always something to do. I can just see him now, his granddaddy, as he drove over to the house to pick him up to go "bee-bobbin’." They would go over to his great grandmothers old wooden house and kill bees that were drilling holes in the wood on the porch. I don’t even remember what it looked like. It was one of those "famous gadgets" that he created. All I knew about it was, it worked. He came in the door bragging about their accomplishments. No matter what it was; whether helping out with the tree house to shoot the annoying coyotes or saving day old bread to feed the catfish, he was actively involved. He loved  baseball too; his granddaddy and his dad played, so it was natural for our son to catch the same bug. They pitched, so pitching was in his blood. His granddaddy worked with him; making some kind of contraption with a string and a ball. I can’t even tell you what it was for but it must of helped, for our son had  many years of pitching; high school and college, and even made it to the minor leagues. I can see his granddad and grandmother now in their lawn chair on the sidelines cheering him on; didn’t miss a game until they became to far for them to make them. Years later when he could not make his games, he kept a scrapbook with newspaper articles of his games. He made sure that he kept up with him; one way or the other. I walked into his hospital room after he had had a stroke. I wanted to say hello. It had been a while since I had seen him. I didn't make it in time. What I really wish I could have told him was, "thank you." I wish I could have told them both that, him and papa. Neither grandparent received the miracle of a healed body; more time on this earth. But, there was a miracle...the miracle of time. Time spent planting seeds into a little boy's life. No one can ever take that away. Those memories will last forever. And, without a doubt, I feel confident that he will pass them on one day.

 Thought of this song by Josh McCreery, 
Time rolls by the clock don’t stop, I wish I had a few more drops, of the good stuff, the good times, oh but they just keep on flying, right on by like it ain’t nothing, wish I had a pause button, moments like those Lord knows I’d hit it, yeah sometimes this old life will leave you wishing... that you had five more minutes.

love you always,
mama

spending time...the only spending that will make me rich

We went fishing with our grandchildren on the creek that runs on the edge of our property. It was late winter, early spring. Cool enough to wear a jacket still.  Trudging through the uncleared woods; both grandsons pole in hand, granddaughter in wading boots, my husband with machete clearing the way, tackle box equipped with every thing we needed, even green worms that we bought at the little local store down the road, and me with picnic basket full of snacks that we didn't even eat. Whew! Felt like  we were moving but have to be prepared (you know.)  Everyone had to show their strength a long the way; chopping down dead trees and limbs from our path. Finally, the creek bank was in sight.  My grandsons immediately on the look-out for the hardest place to get to. "That's where the fish are." You know it's not fishing if you don't climb a tree and go out on the longest limb. My granddaughter, husband and I had our perfect spot in view; a little slew on down the creek. As we took our places, I prayed "Lord, please help us catch fish." Didn't say it but was sure thinking it pretty hard, "We have sure gone to a lot of trouble to not catch any fish." Almost as quick as I finished that prayer, I heard a commotion up the creek. Our grandson had caught a large warmouth bass. Not long after, the other grandson caught a good-eating hand size bass. I guess it was the "perfect spot" after all.  The next thing I knew, my granddaughter was right on top of a bed and started catching fish as quick as she could throw her hook in. Such a trooper; taking her fish off her line, baiting her hook with those green slimy worms; a little tomboy. The perfect afternoon... well almost. A few mishaps; fishing in the trees, losing the line, snags in the water, losing the hook. And oh yeah, "These fish aren't biting anymore." Famous last words.  Oh, well,  Paradise doesn't last forever. We came back. The same scene all over again. Cutting limbs, karate kicking dead trees, dragging poles, tackle box, picnic basket, not to mention tired, hot and sweaty bodies. Pawpaw cleaned and fried the fish. Good 'ole fried fish right out of the creek! What a way to end this adventure. Calm chaos! I came across something the other day about a pearl and how it grows inside an oyster. It is actually an irritation to the oyster.  A grain of sand works his way into the shell as an intruder and then over time...well, you know the story, a treasure is created.  Isn't it ironic how a beautiful pearl is first an irritant to the oyster?  Relationships are like that. It takes some planning. It takes a little effort. Sometimes it feels like hard work. There is always going to be a little "snag in the water." Relationships can only be made by spending time. It's the only spending that I know of that will make me rich.

making memories that will last a lifetime (maybe for eternity),
sammie jean

reprint from my blog mymorningmeanderings

something about the mountains...a poem

Something about the
 mountains
not sure what it could be...





could it be the early morning fog
hanging on for dear life,
the crisp, cool, air
that I breathe
 the rustling
brooks that skip and sputter
over the smooth rocks,



is it the music that I hear with
the fiddle and the banjo,
 the easy way of life
that draws me near,
the cry of the Cherokee
their hopes and dreams





or the churches with their steeples
reaching to the sky,
the cows in the valley,
green pasture all around
the foothills gracing it all,



 could it be the
rolling hills in the countryside,
the rustic barn, old wooden planks
falling down,
 country home with its
white columns standing tall,




There's just something that
draws me near
Not sure what it
 could be...

sjo

reprint from my blog mymorningmeanderings

I know how Dorothy must have felt in the middle of the twister. Whew! My sister and I recently returned from a trip to New York. I have often thought that I would like to teach in the inner cities of NY.  But, this trip was strictly to sight-see and enjoy the landmarks with friends; The Statue of Liberty, the 911 Memorial, Grand Central Station, Time Square, Brooklyn Bridge, and on and on...they are spectacular. All of it was great to see but it wasn't what pulled at my heart strings the most. It was all those that were begging for money and sleeping on the sidewalks with only the clothes on their backs. It was all the hundreds of thousands of people that walked the streets, rode the subways, and waited for hours on a ferry to get home from work that made a lasting impression on me. So many of them have no earthly idea of who Jesus is and how much God loves them.They are frantically striving for something that will be of no use to them in the end. It is heart breaking. So it was hard for me to just enjoy the sights and sounds of the city. Oh yeah, so let me backtrack a little to the beginning of our trip. We had just arrived at the airport and was checking in when my sister could not find her driver's license. To say we panicked is an understatement. I honestly saw the trip flash before my eyes without her. I started to think of a plan. I asked the lady that was helping us "Will you take a copy of her drivers license?" Thinking if she left them home we could get someone to send a picture of it. Hallelujah! She finally found them. So all was well. As I said before, we were with a group of friends and supposedly all had the same ticket schedules. Well, we all started to board the plane when a "beep beep" went off on mine and my sisters tickets revealing that we had missed our plane one hour previously. We never dreamed that the others held tickets with different boarding times than ours. Lesson learned, always check your tickets. Never assume anything. The man at the desk said, "You are two lucky ladies." As he explained that he found two seats on the flight with our friends. I said, "No we're not lucky we are blessed."  Although it was a great trip overall, I came home a little drained; physically and emotionally. I arrived at my mothers home in time to enjoy my grandson's football game. They hadn't been winning, truthfully they hadn't even been playing very well. Anyway, it was the big game. Our team against the county rival. I prayed. Lord, please help them play a good game. The previous game they had played was really bad. My prayers were answered. We played wonderful. It was like a new team. The score was close and both teams played very well. We were into the 3rd quarter. My grandson ran the ball, making good yardage only to be tackled by several boys pretty hard. As he got up and started walking to the sideline, he appeared to be stumbling and making motions that something was wrong. They quickly started taking off his helmet and pads and everyone rushed around to aid him. My daughter went hysterical. I sat still on the bench. My insides were screaming though! I eventually scooted away from the crowd beside the bleachers to pace and pray. Having had a son that played sports too, it was a familiar place for me to be. Who would have ever thought we would be rushing him off to the hospital in an ambulance. Long story, short all x-rays revealed normalcy in brain, ribs, and hand. Praise God. As I think about it all... maybe God is just trying to stretch me.  I jokingly told my sister that while we were in NY.  But, looking back in hindsight, there just might be something to that.  A whole lot can happen in one week. This morning, back home safe and sound in my own little quiet surroundings, I thought of this song that Holy Spirit gave me years ago. It is just as true today.

Take me to the place
where love abounds
take me to the place
where I'm safe and sound
in the river of your love
no strife is there
in the river of your love
 perfect peace is where

take me to the place...

There's a whole lot of sadness in this world; the cares might toss me around. I might lose my way at times. My focus not on point.
But, thank you Father God, if I will just stop and listen...you always quieten my soul 💝

sammie jean

"Behold, I extend peace to her like a river..." Isaiah 66:12

Talogia Creek that runs on the edge of our property

His love...

       And then there it was. A little red cabin. Hidden from others to find. A diamond in the rough. Way back in the woods in the Carolina mountains 🌄  A dream of ours. One morning I got on the computer, months ago, as I so often do to blog. The first thing that popped up on the screen in front of me was a cabin in North Carolina on Red Bird Road. My husband and I had been searching the real estate market for almost a year.  I looked through the house; fireplace ✔, front porch ✔, rustic looking ✔, on an acre of land ✔; I remember getting a little excited about it; "it was a good find." Thought about it most of the summer. Finally, in August a home came open to rent at a reasonable rate and it was possible for us to go to North Carolina for three weeks. While there, we planned on looking at homes that we had found that were interesting enough. In preparation to go, we made a list of homes we wanted to see. The cabin on Red Bird Road continued to be at the top of our list. Our first week there, we went with a realtor for three days, looking at approximately 12 homes in the Franklin, North Carolina area. We really liked that little town. However, none of the homes had that "wow" factor or I should say none of them spoke to our hearts. We agreed ahead of time that it would happen to both of us when we saw the one we were suppose to have. It wasn't until 13 days later that we were able to finally see the cabin on Red Bird Road in Hayesville. To get to the cabin, your first turn is on Vineyard Road. I absolutely love that for so many reasons. When I lived alone with my son for almost 11 years before I remarried, I decorated our home in grapes and grapevine paraphernalia. I had a large mural on the wall in the living room; an old wine press; wine bottles, grapes,...all symbolic of God's presence in our lives.  I am the vine and you are the branches, abide in me, spoke to my heart in a very special way during those years; for Him abiding in me and me abiding in Him became the most important thing to me. As we turned down Vineyard Road, I teared up as Holy Spirit reminded me of what He had done in my life, some 19 years ago. We continued down a country road, winding and turning, around curves and up hills, vineyards along the way, cows in the pasture at the foothills of the mountains. So picturesque. And then there it was. Red Bird Road. A little red cabin. What symbolism for us. I wish I just knew how many times we sat on our back porch in Chipley and watched the red birds as they flew in to eat from our back yard feeder. Our grandchildren even took pictures of them to enter in the local youth fair and won first place for their photography. They were the most brilliant red I have ever seen. We were very fond of them...to say the least. Walking around the property, we found an old cement picnic table; laden with moss. Thought it was a little strange but didn't think too much about it.  It was just like the one across the road from my house at the wayside park near the creek growing up. I can't tell you how many times I have eaten on a cement picnic table just like that one; birthday parties, cheer leading parties, class parties, reunions. It was the go-to place for all our get together events from childhood all the way through high school. We were so excited about the cabin that we invited dear friends to come to look at it with us. Looking closely, we started putting two and two together; we discovered that it must had been a camp ground many years ago. The land was still terraced and rocks strategically placed in certain areas.Someone had labored long and hard to create this scene. I could envision mothers and daddy's playing with their children and could almost hear the children laughing as they played chase around the campsite. What sweet memories they must have made there. I think that it's the neatest thing that God wants us to have this piece of property. He saved it just for us; for over four years this couple has had it for sale off and on. No buyers. How awesome to me that God so intricately wove threads of our past together just to remind us of how much He loves us. How much He has always loved us. Oh my 💓 Couldn't help but think about the beautiful star of Bethlehem that God placed in the heavens the night of Jesus' birth.✦ A sign of His love for all mankind to see. Of course, the symbolism on this property dulls in comparison to the birth of the greatest gift I will ever know.  But, in our personal life, He once again let us know...that the "small stuff " matters to Him 🐦

thank you for loving us
sammie jean

Picture taken by our grandson in our backyard in Chipley, Florida.

i remember...

I remember going to the Smoky Mountains with my parents and sister growing up. I can still see all the fog as it settled on top of the mountain early in the morning. I hear my daddy say, "That smoke is  from all those smoked hams they're smoking." Of course I believed every word of it. I loved those 

hams. Not as much as he did though. Daddy always bought one or several to bring home with us. We all loved grits and eggs, mamas homemade biscuits, country ham and red-eyed gravy for breakfast. Oh my, what a Saturday morning feast! Nothing better. We continued the tradition of enjoying the mountains with our children. I remember staying with a couple of friends and sitting on their back porch enjoying the view of the Blue Ridge Mountain range. And just wishing. Not sure when I started dreaming about a home in the mountains; might have been as a child or not until I was older. Every since I can remember I have always wanted a home there. Sixty years old now, retired, and oh so much water under the bridge. It seems like that was a lifetime ago. Those dreams. For really it was. Nine years ago we started over. My husband and I. Now it's our dream. We have returned to the mountains of North Carolina. So different this time. For this time, we really are in search for the home that has been in my dreams for all those years. It's pretty neat how we were in the mountains a year ago when our house sold. That was the first step toward our dreams coming true. I just know God has that perfect little place for us. The one that he has had all along. The home that will bring us and our family and family to come; many, many, years of enjoyment. A place of peace. A place where the Spirit of Lord is present. A place that says to our heart, "you're home" ❤️

Music

 It's been a long time since I sat in a lawn chair and listened to gospel music. We did that last night. I was instantly transported to the 70's at least 45 years ago, on the football field of a nearby town that I grew up in; lawn chairs all over the field, picnic baskets full of chicken and potato salad, quilts thrown on the ground for the babies, songs of Jesus filling the air. It took me back to my roots. Or I should say my foundation.  I absolutely loved those all night gospel sings. I looked forward to them every year. It was another time that my sister let me tag-along. She went with her friends and their families. I think I was actually a nuisance to her at times but she deeply cared about my salvation. She wasn't selfish at all when it came to sharing Jesus with me. She wanted me right there enjoying His presence too. Music has changed for me over the years. What God has done in my life through music, hasn't.  Around 1986 I started going to a different church. The music was different than any I had heard before. My collection of songs up until that time consisted of gospel and hymns, growing up in a Methodist Church. The music was different than any I had heard before. It was slower. Less instruments; piano, drums, maybe a guitar. It was more like a love song. It wasn't the music though, it was the lyrics that gripped my heart. On my first visit I remembered singing, as the dear pants for the water, oh my soul longs for you. you along are my one desire and I long to worship you. I had never sang scripture before and as I sang Holy Spirit seemed to penetrate my very heart. I realized that I wasn't singing about God anymore but I was singing directly to Him. It was like no one else was in the room. Just He and I. Simple, intimate, worship songs are still my favorite. Stripped down. Simply powerful. The music is beautiful, there is no doubt. I think it's our heart that He's most interested in. This past Sunday a well known gospel music singer/songwriter came to our church.  He led worship. I heard some good "ole" gospel tunes once again. Songs that you just can't sit still and listen to. You have to clap your hands, tap your foot, or play a tambourine (if you have one.) It's just that kind of music. He had written thousands of songs for well-known gospel groups. I listened to him as he spoke from his heart. He explained how all that had changed for him over the years.  He stated that he had even changed some of the lyrics to his songs; the arrangements. A simpler style. It was not about performance, or about how well he could sing (which he could) but it was about true worship. Holy Spirit was definitely there. I have always loved these lyrics by Matt Redman; when the music fades, all is stripped away and I simply come. Longing just to bring something that's of worth, that will bless your heart. I'll bring you more than a song, for a song in itself is not what you have required. You search much deeper within, through the way things appear, you're looking into my heart. I'm coming back to the heart of worship and it's all about you Lord Jesus, it's all about you. It's still as fresh today as it was twenty something years ago when I heard Holy Spirit say, "I have created in you a heart of worship... teach others." How in the world do you do that?  I immediately felt led to go to the scripture, an hour is coming, and now is, when true worshipers will worship the Father in spirit and truth; for such people the Father seeks to be His worshipers. Can't say I totally understood then. Can't say that I understand much better today. I do know that, I see in a mirror dimly...I know in part thus I have moved a little closer in understanding then I did yesterday. I do know that I am in pursuit of Him...not the music. If you are reading this blog you will probably agree with me, that over the years, like the well known singer/song writer said, we have chased many things; jobs, opportunities, prestige, popularity...but at the end of the day the most important thing is...I am nothing without you, Lord Jesus.

sammie jean

God's Heart (adoption)

  they

seemed to have

 come out of

nowhere

  emptiness

in their hearts

  loneliness

in their eyes

they needed

 us

we wanted

 them

God's plan

  all along

He knew our

  hearts desire

He joined us

 together

our spirits

 became one

a bond like

 no other

love

 indescribable

 joy 

  unexplainable

fullness 

   has come...

we are

    complete

With love, 

Aunt Sammie

Written for my niece, nephew (in love) and family on their special "love is forever" day 💑

July 14, 2017

Granddaughter...you are salt and light to me

Thought of my granddaughter and her courage this morning while getting ready to go to a baby shower. I only "kinda" know a hand full of people at our new church, so I was feeling a little insecure about going without my husband. I know that I rely on him like that. I realize that growing up in a small town where you are known almost your whole life by most people there is pretty easy. I took that for granted (a little.) Trying hard to step out of my comfort zone, I wanted to go to the shower. Celebrations are important. My granddaughter stayed a week with us and went to bible school in the church that we just started attending. She walked into the church where she didn't know a soul. She also was the only little child with natural brown skin. Everyone made her feel welcomed. She was a little hesitant at first but was a champ. "If she can do it then I can do it," I said. I put on my big girl panties and I went. During her week with ammie and pawpaw we tried hard to spoil her; swimming and fishing, cooking what she liked, reading a little while lying in the hammock, making frozen Oreo pops, playing a game or two of badminton, going to the movie. Our eyes were on her. I've been thinking a lot about her since that week. I can remember going with her mama for a sonogram before she was born. The worried look on the doctors face frightened me. I watched intently as he measured her length on the screen. "She is not growing properly," he said. And to add to the fear, she came early, weighing less than a 5 pound bag of sugar. She affectionately looked like a little "drowned rat."  Before she was a year old she and her brothers came to live with me for a while. I remember her mama handing me a piece of paper with the directions for her formula and the amount of medicine to give her if she got sick. She wasn't walking yet and scooted around on her backside rather than crawl on her knees. I always said she was smart. She figured out how to spare her knees on that hard linoleum floor in her house. The night that all three children, her and her two brothers and I, felt totally broken to pieces is branded in my memory. I took their little hands forming a circle, outside the building where we were and prayed. I don't remember what I said. We cried out in desperation that night. I can still see that sweet child, not much older than two, as she jumped from her seat into the aisle during mine and her pawpaws wedding and began to twirl and twirl with arms opened wide. No inhibitions; just pure, open, honest, worship. Just two years ago, my granddaughter was in a fatal car accident where her best friend was killed. She undid her seat belt in the backseat, while turned upside down, slid out the window and called her mama on the cell phone that she had given her just minutes before, all after hearing her dear friend take her last breath. I have no words. God knows what He is doing. I have no earthly idea. You're a strong little girl, granddaughter. You have been since you were conceived. Father God knew you then and He knows you now. He has seen every tear and heard every cry. He holds them in His bottles. I remember the Wednesday night, right smack dab in the middle of worship, Holy Spirit spoke into my heart, "I will be faithful to your grandchildren." Thank you Father. You have been...I know you always will be. Dear granddaughter you are brave, you are an inspiration, your little light shines brightly ❤️

I love you always and forever,

ammie

Sweet Memories

He was one of the first people that I met at the new church. I don't know if I noticed him because of his white hair or because of his gentle, kind spirit.  He reminded me so of my poppy. My poppy was a humble man too. I heard that he wasn't always that way when he was younger. That's how I knew him though.  I remember when I was a little girl I spent the night with them, him and granny. Probably not that often. But, I remember when I did. Poppy sat in his recliner. Ate ice cream at night. Ate chocolate syrup and biscuit for breakfast. Played with his little black and white bulldog named Shorty. Didn't talk a lot. He was so sweet to me. Granny was always busy. She was a great cook; known for her peas and cornbread.  I went to church a lot with them.  Granny and Poppy were of the Pentecostal faith. I went to the Methodist church. It was different. So I very well remember going to church with them. The church was small and old. A lot of wooden planks and pews. Just like the little white churches you see in magazines. I remember them singing. They sang a lot. A whole lot. People clapped their hands, played tambourines. People just called out page numbers for their favorite hymns. I remember poppy doing that a lot. I wish I could remember his favorite song. He loved to sing. He sang loud. He might have even led the singing. He prayed out loud too. He seemed to be louder at church. I also remember the altar call at the end of the messages when the pastor asked people to come to the altar if they wanted Jesus in their life. I remember asking granny one time if I could go to the altar when I was very young. Of course she said yes. Seeing this white haired man at church just reminded me of my poppy. It's not that he looks that much like him. So I'm not sure what it is. If it's his white hair or his demeanor in church. He is an elder in the church and you can tell he is very respected. I bet my poppy was an elder too. When I would go visit granny and poppy I remember granny making me tea cakes. I loved them. Soft. White with just the perfect shade of golden brown on the underside. Sweet but not too sweet. Hers turned out to be kinda squared in shape, the best I can remember. My favorite cookie. Last night, was the end of our bible school for the kids. Everyone brought their favorite desserts. As I walked down the line filling my plate I came to a plate of cookies.  My husband said, "Those look like sugar cookies." I knew at a glance. I said, "no." "Those are old fashioned tea cakes." I was so excited. I picked one up and immediately flipped it over to see what it looked like on the other side. Looking for authenticity. There it was. It really was a tea cake. Perfect color, texture, and little brown ridges on the backside of it that were made from baking it on the cookie sheet. I took a bite while still standing in the line. I was immediately transformed to my granny's little kitchen. I could see the hot water heater in the corner. The kitchen table by the wall with the plastic table cloth on it, laden with pickles, jellies, and left over biscuit hoecake and bacon. The white cabinets. The wooden door with glass windows and skeleton lock on it that led out to the back porch. And just a slight faint smell of warm cinnamon. A plate of tea cakes on the counter waiting for me when I arrived. And Granny standing their with her apron tied around her with arms opened wide.  I almost cried. As I walked to the table to put my plate down, an older lady called me over to talk to her.  She wanted to tell me how when they built the church they all thought the stage was too large. She said, "You know what, the Lord knew all along that we needed one that large. He knew that we needed one for all the children in this community." She was overflowed with joy about the stage being full with precious children that had come to bible school. For some reason, I just decided to ask her. "Do you know who made those tea cakes?"  With a huge smile and sense of pride she said, "I did." I wasn't the least bit surprised either. I knew she was the wife of my white hair friend, my "new poppy." I had told my husband earlier about my fondness for the elderly man and overhearing my conversation with his wife, he leaned over and said, "I think you have just adopted new grandparents." With warm fuzzy's all over I giggled like a child. "Yes, my granny and poppy definitely live on," I said.

Cleaning Out The Clutter...Rewritten

I started thinking about it yesterday when the inspector was inspecting our house for the buyer to make sure that everything worked properly before they purchased it.  He looked in every crook and cranny. He opened every door, window, went on the roof and in the attic. It was thorough. He told me it would feel invasive and he wasn't kidding. As he inspected the house, I started sorting through years and years of saved stuff. Moving is a huge deal. As I had seen the professionals do, I kept three boxes close by; a box for things I wanted to keep, a box of definite get rid of (I wondered why I still had them), and a lot of maybes. We decided that we would sell our furniture so that we wouldn't have to store anything.  It would just be easier that way. As I took inventory of what to keep and what to get rid of, I found some pearls of great price. There were a couple of treasures that I couldn't part with.  One was the chair that I had kept from the house I grew up in. This heirloom was my mothers favorite chair in our house. She curled up in it in pajamas early every morning before sunrise with a cup of coffee and her bible in hand as she had her devotion by the big picture window in the living room, It was her prayer closet, where she prayed for her family. I'm sure of it. I spotted another piece of furniture as I looked across my bedroom. There stood my old hope chest at the foot of my bed. Mama and daddy got it for me when I was 16 years old.  Growing up I didn't really put that much in it; some stainless steel pots and pans that mama and daddy bought for me from a man selling them at the school where mama taught and daddy was principal, my cap and gown from high school and my diploma. I even put the pink baby dress that had been mine when I was a baby and some little white shoes in it.  Since I left home it had been nothing more than a cedar chest to store my winter clothes in and I hadn't thought about it for a very long time. Even if it had been in my life for 43 years.  Looking at it now, it somehow became a precious piece of furniture. It was definitely a keeper. My first thought was, I'll just give it to my granddaughter. I even explained to my granddaughter that I was going to give her a hope chest. She questioned, "What is a a hope chest?" We had a small history lesson about the cedar chest.  I told her how the Pilgrims came to America from England bringing their valuables in a chest made of cedar. They made these chest and used cedar because it was a good, plentiful, wood and would keep bugs out. Later the cedar chest became known as a "hope chest." I think I enjoyed sharing the information with her much more then she enjoyed hearing about it. A few days later, I felt a tender tug at my heartstrings that I should give it to my daughter, not my granddaughter. This caused a floodgate of memories to come rushing back to the years when my daughter was growing up and I was much younger. My husband and I had been married for three years and I was 22 years old. I wish that those times could have been happier times but they weren't. I was never really able to express to my daughter how special and loved that she was. I guess I didn't feel special either.  I was too focused on myself.  For most of my daughters life we have had conflict and have blamed each other for way too many things. Being prompted to do so, I called my daughter on the phone and asked her did she want my old hope chest. The first thing she said was, "Why are you giving it to me are you fixing to die?" I laughed and said, "Well, you never know but I want you to have it." I could hear a twinkle in her voice as she said, "Yes, I want it." After all these years I think that she felt that she was special to me. As I continued to go through my things, I uncovered a book that I bought for her in June of 1995, entitled "To My Daughter With Love." She was 16 years old. I had written in it some but good intentions gave way to the cares of life and I put it on the back burner. There it has been for 21 years. Upon finding it, I realized that God was really up to something. It was time to brush the dust off of it and begin once again. The book was written in three parts. The first part, about my mother, the middle part about myself, and ended with a section about my daughter.  In preparation to write about my mother, I spent hours talking to her about things in her past. Some things I could recollect and others I heard for the first time. In these hours I spent with her, I was very cognizant that it was all part of our journey to restore our relationship. Just like her old chair that I saved from our family home, we needed a fresh, new appreciation for one another. It was a time for us to reconnect in a way that we had not done in a very long time. To get to know each other as adults. Spending this precious time with my 85 year old mother was more important to me than all the hurts and disappointments of the past.  I realized that some of the same feelings that my daughter had toward me, I had toward my mother. Like all daughters, we just want to be special to our moms and for them to look at us the way that only a mother and daughter can look at each other; with admiration in their eye.  I'm sure my mom wanted that too. As I continued beyond the pages about my mother to the pages about me, I realized I wasn't the same person that I was 21 years ago. There had been a lot of water under the bridge in that length of time. It was hard to write.  Difficult to write about a person that I didn't know anymore. It was kinda funny in a way though. I think that my procrastination was a good thing this time. God used my bad habit to tell this story in retrospect. He has a good sense of humor like that.  I could now tell our story from a viewpoint of  newfound love for my mother and daughter. I am so thankful that I can give this timeless gift to my daughter. And she can give it to her daughter. My beautiful granddaughter. Our story of redemption. Not only in a chair or the pages of a book, but in our hearts...our legacy will live on forever.

Tribute To My Mother and Sister

I didn’t eat black-eyed peas and hog jowl for New Years Day, probably for the first time in 58 years.  I grew up with my mama cooking it every New Years Day and my daddy sayn’, “You better eat a spoon full at least or you won't have good luck this year.” Maybe this is a sign that things are going to be different…don’t know! But one thing I do know for sure, my luck doesn’t depend on black eyed peas.

In the last month I have been reminded several times to hold close this special season that I have with my mother and sister. A lady from Nashville told my sister and I how precious this time was that we have with our mother while lying on the beach in November.  Recently at a funeral as I passed by my dear friend to give her my condolences she whispered in my ear, “Love that Brenda.” She knew what it felt like to lose her only sibling, her precious sister.  I am not going to waste this special time that God has given us to be together. This blog is dedicated to my loving mother, and sweet sister.

 My mother and daddy were married over 50 years, moving to Vernon, Florida after only being married several years.  Daddy was a coach, PE teacher, high school principal, and eventually elected to the State House of Representative from our district. My mother always said about my daddy, “You either loved him or hated him, there was no in between.” I loved that about my daddy. On the other hand, my mother was loved by everyone in Vernon. Not only that, everyone always talked about how beautiful she was. All her athlete’s adored her and her PE students as well. Mother was the girl’s PE teacher and coach for her entire career at Vernon High School. (Thirty something years, (I think). Even today, everywhere I go people are so sweet to ask me about my mother. When they see her they still compliment her on how well she looks. Mom is 86 years old. Not only is she beautiful on the outside but on the inside as well. She is highly thought of, loved, and respected. These are admirable qualities, but the greatest admiration I have for my mother is how she stood by my daddy, no matter what. As the song goes, she was definitely "the wind beneath his wings." Anyone can tell you that! It was so beautifully written in my nieces’ blog when my daddy passed away. I would like to share.

Friday, February 28, 2014

Written by Herrika Thornton

^Heritage

^{I watched her as she got dressed.  She held deep sorrow in her eyes, yet I saw strength, courage and beauty.  There I stood, a girl just getting started good as a wife; not yet a mother, watching this lady who had lived a life time of joy and sorrow.  This day, like so many others, she was a wife dressing to please the man that she had spent a lifetime with, a life that held many sweet stories.}  

^{“Do you think he would think I look pretty today?” she asked me.}

^{I stumbled for words as the tears stuck in my throat.  “Yes ma’am, I know he would,” was my reply because to me she was beautiful dressed in red.  You see red was his favorite color.} 

^{“Well today I’ll stand by him one last time,” was her soft declaration.}

^{Standing by him was all she knew how to do.  She had done so with joy, pride and love for so many years.  Standing by him, honoring him was like breathing to her.}

^{My Nana stood by my Papa’s casket that night for hours as person after person filed by her, expressing their sympathy.  She chatted with each person, hugging and sharing tears with many, but all the while she stood. With elegance and grace she stood beside her husband one more time.} 

My sister is four and a half years older than I am. We weren’t that close in school.  But, I wanted to be everything that my sister was; popular with the boys, well-liked, pretty, smart, a great cheerleader, and passionate about her love for Jesus. She made it a little difficult for me because I knew I could never measure up. After a few years in college, Brenda married Ricky and they have been married 40+ years. She taught school for 35 years.

And all this time, she has labored in love tirelessly with her husband, as she and he have served as pastors for at least 20+ years. I’ve watched her close up, love and support him during times that it would be easy to walk away but, never did she do that. She has prayed for, stood steadfast and loyal to her husband. She has been there to lift his head and not tear him down. I admire her so much for that!
  

What an honor to have two women in my life that have been such excellent role models for me, our children, grandchildren, and generations to come.  Both have loved and honored their husbands and have put God first in their lives. Recently trying to think of a verse that would honor my sister’s birthday I thought of Ruth 13:1. It is so fitting for them both; "Where you go I’ll go and where you stay, I’ll stay. Your people will be my people and your God my God."  My mother and sister have lived by these words. They have stood in the middle of wagging tongues, unpopular beliefs, and had their share of valley experiences and have not wavered. They stood by their husband’s and in doing so have honored their God. They possess a rare beauty.

 I don’t make New Year’s resolutions, but, if I was to make one I think it would be along the lines of, I want to love a little harder and love a little longer… my husband, our children, grandchildren, all my family and friends…

my mother and sister (thank you, you make me want to be a better person)

I love you dearly,

Sammie Jean

The Church; it's not a building

"This is the church, this is the steeple, open the door and look at the people," using hand motions, I recited to my grandchildren one Wednesday night on the way to church. I folded my hands together and raised my pointer fingers to make the steeple. My granddaughter asked, "What is a steeple?" Realizing  that our church didn't have one, I explained. I've thought a lot about the church in the physical sense...what it looks like outside and in. Some churches are extravagant buildings, stained glass windows, beautifully designed steeples with a huge bell hanging in the belfry and others are nothing more than wooden planks, atop a hill, old but with timeless beauty. I have never seen a church as extraordinary though as those in Europe. On our trip to Italy we visited many. They were a work of art... at its very finest.  I love to admire churches; old and new; you feel like you owe them a certain respect or reverence.The people inside are all different too; each one special and unique; all products of their environment, different experiences, and efforts as human beings. Some quite successful by worldly standards, some less fortunate by the same standards, others falling somewhere in between. Just like outward appearances are quite different inward experiences are quite different too. Some people are fluent in scripture, others knowing the most important verse like, "for God so loved the world, that He gave His only Son..",some devoted to a life of prayer, and others just attending church... we are all at different places. I was reading an article by Sean Deitrich, "Sean of the South," where he expressed that He was not a religious man and he didn't attend church regularly. However, while reading the article I could sense a strong sensitivity to the things of God. I remember a time in my life when I thought, why don't I just stay at home? I love Jesus. I'm not an expert on churches. And I am not an expert on religious or spiritual matters. But, one thing I know for certain is we all need each other. God created family. I grew up going to church on Sunday morning with my mother and sister.  I remember many older girls that had a very positive influence on me. I sang specials and enjoyed going to church. I attended another one regularly on Sunday nights throughout my teenage years. Going to church on Sunday night was more of a,"boyfriend date night" than a "date with Jesus night." Although I might not appeared to be listening, I'm sure that way more seeped into my heart than I realized at the time. As an adult, there were two churches that were near and dear to my heart. I started going to one church around the same time that I had begun to do a lot of soul searching about my own life. Sad to say, but a little critical examination of others around me that were frequent church attenders. You know it's easier to see what everyone else is doing wrong. I remember asking God, "How are they different than I am?" I was not attending church very often. He began showing me things about my own life. It's funny how he never one time showed me anything about anyone else. He told me how much He loved me and always had. I had always heard that but this time I really believed it.  He showed me that he was not disappointed in me. That was huge. I was so disappointed with myself and I felt that I had disappointed everyone else around me. One Sunday morning service, in this church that I had only been attending for a short time, I stood up during worship time and started dancing with the music. It didn't matter to me if everyone thought I was crazy or not. My focus was on Him and it was like no one else was in the room. That was the most intimate expression of love that I could show Him. I wanted to give Him my all. It was beautifully liberating. I learned that I could praise Him with my heart, my mind, soul, and with the body that He had so intricately created. I experienced a freedom in Him that I had never known before. Chains began to fall off. I am forever grateful to God and to that church. It was there that I truly learned to worship Him. God led me to a new church that was just beginning, several years later.  We held service in my brother-in-laws and sisters living room, who were the pastors. I love and attended that church for 22 years. There I learned what a church family really was. Just like your own family; you live life together, throughout all the ups and downs, mountains and valleys, and messes of life.  It was like it was yesterday. I was raising my three grandchildren as a single parent, their ages 4 1/2, 3 years and 11 months old. I went to the mailbox one day and there was a check for $500.00. Never knew who sent that to us. They will never know what it meant though. That school year my church family helped with backpacks, had my house cleaned, helped with childcare and babysitting, sent a ham for Thanksgiving, the list goes on. Most of all though... they prayed for me and they loved me and my family through all those years. Just like in your own family, a church family is accountable to each other. Yes, like in our own families we had growing pains. But, everyone learned from them. I wish I had of learned to put my feelings of pride, insecurity, and rejection away a little sooner, but that's all part of the growing process too. I am so thankful for them. My testimony today might not be the same without their guidance every step of the way. We recently moved and I had to tell my church family good-bye. I stood in front and told  them how much I loved and appreciated them, but all I could do was cry. We lived life together for a long time. There were many, many years of gratitude bottled up inside. We recently moved to a small town and started going to a small church thee.  Last Wednesday night the pastor said, "We are going to take church to a 96 year old elderly woman. She isn't feeling well and is unable to come to church."  I thought to myself, "Okay this is very interesting." As we walked up to her tiny wooden-framed home, and walked in, there she sat in her recliner with her afghan and pillows wrapped around her. Her hair was neatly combed, her eyes bright and alert, and her sense of humor in tact as she shared about her exterminator. Everyone sat wherever they could find a seat; on the couch, in a chair, on the floor, on the porch and overflow in the kitchen, and the pastor sat close by her with his guitar in hand. We began to sing..."amazing grace, how sweet the sound, that saved a wretch like me, I once was lost, but now I'm found was blind, but now I see." He asked her what her favorite song was and she quickly replied in her little shaky voice, "I'd rather have Jesus than anything..." As she lip-synced the words, her eyes were moist and her focus intent as her brown eyes moved around the room to take it all in. Love was evident. The presence of the Lord was tangible. Not a doubt in my mind, God was pleased. Thank you, Father for teaching us that church is wherever there are people who love you and love each other. We feel right at home ❤

 We all need each other.

sammie jean