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