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