help my plans die...

I'm a planner. You would never know it. I don't appear very organized. I don't often share my plans. I just make them. Plans for myself. Plans for my husband. Plans for my children. Grandchildren. Some times they actually happen. You know one of the neatest things about the "golden years" as they call them, is many things just don't matter as much any more. I think God got it backwards. We should have this wonderful confidence when we're younger, when we have a body full of vim and vigor to go along with it. We could change the world! But, as we know, wisdom doesn't come over night. I realize now what Solomon was talking about. Things in this life are not near as important as we think they are.

Every since I told Jesus that I wanted to step out of the boat I was tired of the same old thing day in and day out. He's been there. I've stopped planning...as much. I've finally realized I wasn't doing anything much, I was just planning. Now I try to actually "take a step." It seems to get a little easier each time. I remember selling our house. Moving to a different town where we only knew a few family members. Starting a new church where we only knew our grandson. And...moving into a camper. All of it an exciting-apprehensive kinda feeling. It reminds me of the creak waters that I grew up swimming in. Couldn't wait to climb the rope hanging from the large oak tree or jump in with inner-tube in hand. Even though I knew it was freezing cold. When I finally jumped in...it literally took my breath away. It was always worth it!

 I remember how hard it was for me to take the first grade position at the local school in January this year. Very insecure to say the least. First of all I hadn't taught in over 3 years and I hadn't taught first grade for over 20. Not to even mention that I only knew 3 people at the school.  Was it hard? I don't have enough time or enough words to tell you how hard it was. I did remember for the first eight weeks asking God, "Have I done the right thing?" I kept leaning on Him. I mean literally. It was like I felt  Him holding my body up every single day as I limped into the classroom every morning and dragged myself home every afternoon. I prayed as I drove down our little dirt driveway, "Lord, help me. I can't do this without you."

         It was a most rewarding experience.

This week I'm teaching bible school. Doesn't sound like a big deal does it? But, for me it is. This time I'm actually teaching the bible lesson. Yes, I'm a teacher but something about teaching the bible, I feel all insecure about. I figured it's about time though. If I want to travel to other parts of the world to tell them about God's love, I better start in my own little hometown. So last night we talked about how God so loves His creation that He puts roadblocks in our lives for us to stop and examine our ways. He is definitely a God of second chances. I am enthralled with the story about the Tower of Babel. He told them not to build it. So much like human nature, they did it anyway. So, He confused their languages so that they couldn't continue on in their path of disobedience.

         I still feel so inadequate...but I am learning to trust Him more and more.

 Our church and everyone around this area has been praying for a little baby that was born to a precious family a few months back.  His brain not functioning properly. His little body not able to perform the functions that we just take for granted. The family had him, to love on him for only a short two months before he went home to be with Jesus. Of course, this was not their plans. I watched and listened to this devoted family embrace God's plans rather than their own. His ways are not our ways is not just a favorite little bible verse that rolls off our tongue with ease from memory to them... it is their reality.

         Lord, please help me let my plans die so that I can truly have yours.

something unexpectedly, beautiful always happens ♥

sammie jean

scars....

Looking down, there it was. I hadn't seen it in a very long time. Even though I have had it around 50 years. Looking at it today, I remembered.  I was young. Carefree. Blonde ponytail, blowing in the wind, as I sped down the driveway on my bicycle. Unique bike to say the least. Only one half of a handle bar. The other half had been broken off somehow, leaving a rusty, jagged piece on the other side. It didn't stop me. I rode it anyway. Mama probably told me not to. I don't remember. It wasn't that I didn't listen. I just wanted to do what I wanted to do. I was hard-headed. Okay. I didn't listen!!!! I was a Tom boy, outside was my playground. Being the youngest of two girls, I played alone often. I remember mama telling me one time that a teacher told her I was accident-prone. Whatever that means. I guess I was. I had accident's at school and at home all the time. I fell out of my climbing tree and sprang my arm one time. I fell on our rusty can, dog dish and cut my leg open. One time my family was frying fish at a pond and my poppy was driving all the kids out to the pond where we were going to eat. We were all in the back end of the truck. That's what country kids did in the 60's. He stopped quickly and a huge glass bottle full of water turned over and broke. He quickly jumped out of the cab and hurried to the back where we were. "Are ya'll okay?" he asked. I heard everyone say, "yes." Everyone but guess who? I looked down at my ankle, gashed wide open, blood everywhere. It's true, it seemed like I was always getting hurt. Those injuries were nothing compared to this one though. It was a hot, summer day. I had shorts on and was barefooted, which was how I usually played.  I was riding my bicycle the one with the rusty handle bars. I rode down the driveway onto the highway, which was directly in front of our house. It was a paved road with a lot of rocks. The edge of the pavement came up about an inch and a half from the side of the road. Riding along, not a care in the world, I rode too close to the edge of the road and ran off of it. I tried to correct my error but it was futile. The deep incline and loose rocks made it impossible to get back on the highway. I lost control and my bicycle turned over, gouging my right ankle. It wasn't too far from the ankle mishap I had in the back of my poppy's truck. It must have been quite painful though because my body took over and went into a sorta comatose state because I don't really remember much from that point. I don't even remember who came and got me off the road. I know it must have scared my mama to death. She told me later that daddy sent his assistant football coach to go with her to the doctor. Thank you Lord for good friends because nothing stood between my daddy and his football team. It bled a lot because I remember seeing towels and towels full of blood. They took me to the nearest town and nearest doctors office. Those were back in the days when you could just go directly to his office. Until this day, I still remember the doctor saying, "You missed a main artery." "If you had of cut it, you could have easily bled to death right there in the road." Thank God, Jesus had other plans for me that day. Around fifty stitches later my leg was all sewn up. Stitches on the inside and stitches on the outside. It was a mess. Painful experience. It took me quite a while to get over it. Funny how I haven't thought about it in a very long time until today.

You know, all pain is like that. Whether it's on the inside or the outside. It hurts. My heart or my leg. It's painful. There is really only one way to describe it. At times, it hurts like hell. It just does. It feels like you are never going to get over it.  Never going to see the other side. I remember when I went through divorce. I remember raising my grand kids. Dreams that didn't come true. Then one day, you look at what was once a throbbing wound and you see a scar. It will be forever  present but without the agonizing pain. Only Jesus can do that.  I didn't really know when it happened, it just did. I know that it didn't happen over night. In fact, it felt like it took a very long time. But, when the time had come, I realized, that the pain was barely there any more...sometimes even completely gone.

I loved being a free-spirited child.  Even if it did mean getting hurt at times. As a young mother that little girl continued to pop out. Even as a grown woman, I still see her occasionally. Pushing those boundaries at times. Although, finally, realizing it isn't worth it most of the time. Its taken many years to see it, but pain isn't a bad thing. It's during those times that I see the faithfulness of God to me right where I am. Every time. Drawing me to Him. Not giving up on me. Not keeping count of how many times it takes me. Just simply, loving me. Now, that is a relationship I wouldn't trade for the world.

Thank you Father, that when I look at my scars I see you,

sammie jean

...and then on the third day

 I have so many things that I am waiting on. There are those little things like a new pedicure and a shopping trip. And May to come so that I can stop teaching for a while. A trip up the east coast for an anniversary trip and a mission trip somewhere...maybe Africa.  A house. Definitely a house. Living in this camper has served a purpose. I've learned a lot about myself and my husband. But, I'm excited about the possibility of building a house. I can't help but think about the times, in my past, that I was waiting on God. Thinking back, after my divorce, I waited on Him a lot. Every minute of the day. Direction for my kids. Direction for my grand kids. For His peace and presence in my life. I waited. I'm still waiting on Him for so many of the same things. One big difference now is, I'm waiting on Him with a loving husband, not just by myself anymore. However, I am still waiting.

 This morning, the day before Easter, I started thinking about "on the third day." Thinking about tomorrow...Resurrection Day!  There Jesus lay. Lifeless in the tomb where he had been so mercilessly, brutally killed the day before. As He lay in the tomb, the world waited. All those that loved him so. Waited. All those that walked with Him. Waited. They believed in Him. They knew that what He had said, what He had promised was true. But, there was no physical evidence that anything was going to happen. They just believed. They BELIEVED!!!! The women came to the tomb with their spices like they did everyday. This time was different. He was not there. Two men appeared in clothes that were different than clothes that they wore and said, "Why do you look for the living among the dead?" "He is not here; he has risen."  He has risen! He is alive. Was it exactly like they thought it would be? Did it happen like they had planned? No, it didn't. Did it happen when they thought it would happen? No, it did not. But, on the third day...In the Fathers perfect timing...it happened like He had planned. Like he had planned since the foundation of the world.

...on the third day....

Words are just not adequate. The only thing I can say with a surety is, He is my hope too. I am looking for him to show up...now and forevermore. He is my  hope when I go to bed at night. His mercies are new for me every morning when I rise. He is my hope right now as I sit and write this blog. He is my hope for the future. I believe in Him! I am watching! I am waiting!  On the third day (however many days that is for me) it will happen. His way. His timing. His provisions for my life...He will provide. I BELIEVE!!!!! 

He has never failed me and He never will ❤

Happy Resurrection Day ✞
sammie jean

my first love

I remember the night that I got saved. It wasn't anything that spectacular at the time. I just walked to the altar and kneeled down. I remember the preacher giving the altar call and at the age of 13 at the little Methodist church that we attended, I went down. I didn't know that much about Jesus. I did have a very healthy respect for Him due to my mama. She always took my sister and I to church. I always saw her doing her devotion so I knew it must be important. I prayed every night in my bed, now I lay me down to sleep. Not sure if that was because I was scared of the dark or afraid I would die, either way, I always remembered to do it. It wasn't my first time going to the altar. I remember when I was much younger, I went to a revival with my granny and poppy. I asked granny, "Can I go down there?" Of course, she said, "yes." I didn't really know exactly why I was going but I did believe in God and if the pastor said I needed Jesus, then I believed him. I always believed. Every since I can remember. I don't know if "it took" that night or not. Probably not. But, it was the right thing to do nonetheless. This time was different though. I remember getting out of bed the next morning and it was literally like God had repainted everything around me; there was a fresh coat of blue in the sky, the grass was greener then I had ever seen, and the sun was brighter. I felt like a bud just opening up on a rose bush on the first day of spring. New is the only way I can explain it. It makes me so sad to say that somewhere along the way all those beautiful hues faded. Looking back everything seems to be a blur. Not one thing in particular, just life in general. I just did life and didn't continue to include Him in it. I tried hard to be a good daughter, which was pretty difficult at times with a high school PE teacher mother and father/PE teacher, coach, principal and an older sister that set the standards pretty high. It wasn't their fault. It was just that I wanted to please everyone but always felt that I fell short. Middle school was okay but loved high school. Cheering became my favorite past time...my friends did too. Graduated. Went to college for one year. Married. Had a baby. Finished college. Started teaching. Had another baby. Divorced. And at my lowest point, I realized that somewhere a long the way...I had lost Jesus. And I desperately needed Him. You know where I found Him? Right where I left Him. He never left my side. He had never left my heart. He had always been attentive to me and my needs. I had never lost Him at all. When I finally got over myself long enough to realize that I couldn't do life without Him anymore and I didn't want to either, our relationship flourished. It was just He and I, so to speak, for almost eleven years, before He brought another man into my life. To be quite honest it was kinda hard for me to give up the kind of relationship I felt that we had. But, when He brought my husband into my life I knew without a doubt that he was God's gift to me. And with all the love in my heart, I accepted His gift. I'm so glad that I did. Jesus told the church of Ephesus, I have this against you. You have forsaken your first love. Recently studying this in Revelation really gripped my heart! I can still remember my first love of Jesus, oh so well. I remember what it felt like as a young girl when he saved me. And as a 29 year old woman desperately seeking Him as I fell prostrate on the floor, crying out for Him. I remember how He flooded my soul with His grace and mercy. What an amazing feeling to realize that He had never stopped loving me. Not once. And realizing that I had always loved Him. It was acceptance like I had never known before. I can't help but be reminded of what it felt like when I  found my husband after 10 years of being single. How much I loved him!  And the day that we walked down the aisle to be joined...forever. There is and never will be another relationship that can compare to this... this side of heaven.

 Jesus, may I always remember... always on my lips, forever in my heart...

 sammie jean

You're doing what????

There are a lot of things that I love about my first grade class and some things...well... There is nothing like their precious eyes looking up at me and asking, "Ms. Sammie is this right?" I mean, really. It's like their fragile little lives are in my hands. They are so innocent....most of the time. Then there are times when... it's like this..."How many times have I told you what to do?" I exclaim. And all I get is a blank stare. Or, I am not going to do it. Excuse me! What did you just say? Yes, I heard her correctly. She repeats, "I am not going to do this." I must admit that this is a new one for me. And then there are those times that there are so many adults in my classroom telling me how I can better help this child that I feel like a picture on the wall that lost its hook. Really. How can one little child get so much attention? I guess it's like the expression, "the squeaky wheel gets the grease." You know what I would really like to do? Spank a little bottom. "What in the world have I done?" I asked myself. In fact, I have asked myself that many times over the last few weeks. There I was just two months ago retired; lying in my hammock, soaking up the sun, listening to music... So when I told them that I would take this first grade class in January, I had no idea what I was doing. Not really. I felt somewhat confident of my 30 plus years in the classroom, but being in a new town, a new school, and not knowing a child's parent in my classroom, trumped that. I was a little intimidated to say the least. My confidence went out the window. Thank you, Jesus, for the few friends I have from church that work at the school. They have been my lifesaver. It was all too familiar that first day. I walked into my classroom and there were 32 eyes staring up at me. What am I going to do with them? Deja vu for sure. I remembered it all so well. There I was 29 years old, fresh out of college and planted right in the middle of a classroom full of 6 and 7 year old's. "What have I done?" I confessed. Eyes welling up and lips trembling. No teaching manual prepared me for it. Two months of internship didn't either. It's like having children of your own. You learn as you go. I started college the very next fall after graduating high school in 1975. Getting married the next year. I begged mama and daddy to let me go to school away from home. I yearned to go to Auburn. The only thing that I knew about the school was I went to cheering camp there. That's all I needed. I loved it. But because my daddy believed in supporting the local jr. college, I didn't get to go. I didn't have the GPA or test scores to get into a major university anyway, so it wouldn't have mattered either way. It was just one of those dreams. I really wanted to get away though. I wasn't ready to get married, but figured that I would. Sounds pretty silly now. But, that is how it was. Anyway, ready or not, we got married. I managed to muster up the energy to complete my AA degree after getting married though. School was history after that. Or at least for a little while. I got a job and several years after that was pregnant with our first child. Like a lot of things I have done, it didn't take me long to realize I had made a huge mistake by not completing my degree. Well, second thought, maybe it wasn't a mistake after all, because it gave me time to think about what I wanted to be when I grew up. At the age of 25 it was high time I decided. Elementary education it was. It seemed to be the best fit for me. No matter how hard I tried not to be a teacher because my mama, daddy, and my sister were teachers, I gave in. It was tough going back to school though; attempting to be a mom to a 3 year old, occasionally seeing my husband, working full time, and driving 40 miles (one way) to classes at night, and getting home around 11:00 to start all over again the next morning. This was my schedule three to four days a week. Thank the Lord for the weekends. Time to reboot and then start all over. For some strange reason, I have always chosen the hard way of doing things. I persevered however and less than two years received my degree. I cherish the picture we took that day of my graduation. My husband, me in my camp and gown holding our 5 year old daughter. What a huge accomplishment! As we made Valentine bags this week, a few days before the students brought in their treasures, once again a truck-load of memories came rushing in. I remembered saying the exact same thing way back then. "Now students, eyes on me. Fold your red paper in a hamburger fold," I said. "Now take your pencil and trace a half of a heart like this," I continued, demonstrating the process. Knowing it was very difficult for a 6 year old to see a symmetrical shape of a heart, I continued, "Now raise your hand if you need help." Just as I thought, half the class raised their hands. One thing I have noticed is that kids haven't changed that much. There he sat on the floor focused on his little bag of goodies. "Bobby," (not real name) he hollers all the way across the room at a student on the other side of the room, "Thank you, Sally for my valentine," he continues. "Thank you, Robert." He goes through every valentine in his bag and delivers a personal thank-you for every single one. Precious. Thirty-two years ago each child did the same thing. Isn't it funny how your life turns out? Mine is. The thing that I absolutely was not going to do for a career (not even one time) turns out I'm doing it twice. Don't ever say never. That's for sure. God always knew that I was going to be a teacher. So thankful that He is patient with us like that. Even though he probably shook His head at me and said, "Here she goes again." "That is one stubborn child." I'm still trying to figure it all out though. You would think after all these years I would know all there is to know about kids, teaching, the whole gamut. But, after going back to work after a short lived retirement, that isn't the case at all. I realize I know nothing...well, maybe just a couple of things. And even though I said it over and over, "I will never be a teacher," it was in my blood...destined to be. I wouldn't have traded it for the whole world then. And I still wouldn't. sammie jean

EVER BEEN “PLUMB” WORN OUT? Well I’m there!!!!! Hope to muster up enough energy to blog soon. sammie Jean

2018 in the making

On this, the last day of the year, 2018, we find ourselves, hubby and I, in the Blue Ridge mountains of North Carolina in our cozy little cabin on Red Bird Lane. Rainy and cold. The kind of day that the only thing you want to do is sit in front of a blazing fire, covered with a soft, fuzzy afghan and sip on hot cappuccino while watching your favorite love story. Perfect setting to end this year. This cabin has been a precious gift. One of many this year. It was kinda funny how it all started though. The cabin didn’t become officially ours until the end of 2017. Knowing that the closing had been cancelled, we came anyway on a hope and a prayer that somehow it would work out. I guess we thought being persistent would change things. We can be very stubborn at times. Especially my husband (tee hee.) We stayed in a motel while we were trying to figure things out. We even asked could we rent the cabin for a couple of nights. All to no avail.  I remember us walking around in the yard, looking in the windows, like pitiful, little lost puppies looking for a home. We just couldn’t wait to get inside. I guess patience isn’t our virtue. After several weeks, we went home, very disappointed. The only thing we really accomplished while being here, other than just enjoying the mountains, was to spend a lot of money.  We closed two days after we returned home. It wasn’t until February this year that we were able to return. Finally, we got to sleep in our bed, in our little cabin on the mountain. We wasted no time making it our own. We added a mantel to the fireplace. Pulled out floor
radiators and replaced it with a air pump. Painted furniture, bought eclectic items from local antique stores, hung new curtains. We added our own touch.  We  soaked in the cool mornings and basked in the crisp evenings on the porch as we listened to the running water brook nearby, our dream had
come true. We were back months later, for the summer. Our granddaughter spent three weeks with us. We were like kids again. Horseback riding, white water rafting, jumping into the river and climbing mountains, just anything that we could find that a 12 year old would love to do. Unexpectedly, hurricane Michael gave us a reason to return in October. It was difficult but we managed to put the tragedy behind us for a few days. The exuberant colors of fall all around us made it a little easier. My 87 year old mother came for the first time. Just in time to enjoy the apple season. Her favorite. Daddy’s too. I could see it in her eyes as she reminisced of him. She wished that he could be here. Me too.  Our granddaughter got to make the trip. We only had a week but it was a most special week for
all of us.

We found out during Christmas of 2017 that my son and his wife were going to have a baby. The first
baby in our family in 12 years. A little later we found out that it was going to be a boy. Another grandson for my husband and I. When we were in the mountains in July we knew we would be
returning for his birth. We arrived home in plenty of time. A few days to get reacquainted with ourcamper or we thought. I heard the phone ring around 7:00 the next morning. I got up to answer the phone  to find my son on the other end. “Mama we’re at the hospital, were going to have a baby,” he calmly said. I was anything but calm, “You mean she is in labor?” I yelled. Out of my mind I said, “I have a hair appointment, should I get my hair done?” I didn’t go. Coming to my senses, I realized that this day was far more important than a cut and color. It was a long, hard day for my daughter-in-law and son. They were a great team. Our precious little boy finally arrived late that night. Perfect in every way. Thank you Lord for our special little addition. We have enjoyed all the first.

This year has brought some disappointments too. I’ve watched my older kids and grandkids experience some hurts this year. When they hurt, I do too. We experienced growing pains for sure. Sometimes I wish they were still little and I could sit them on my lap and wrap my arms around them and tell them that everything is going to be alright. I just want them to know that I will never give up
on them. They are and always will be my greatest joy. I will pray for you until the day I die…probably will not stop then either.

In August my husband and I decided to get back into the work force. We didn’t want anything too demanding but something to break up the day a little. Of course, it would be fitting for me to choose substitute teaching since I had over 30 years experience in the field. My hubby, reluctantly came along. We’ve actually enjoyed it.

I love our church and Sunday school class. So glad that we decided to become members. They are the sweetest, kindest, some of the most Godly people that I know. I’ve learned a lot about them as we pray together and play together. A lot of this year has been about community. Learning to live together, laugh together, love together.

I had the neatest thing happen to me. One of my new friends that I met at church told me that she bought her daughter a VIP ticket to see her favorite Christian artist for Christmas. She and her husband planned on taking her for her Christmas present. “What a wonderful Christmas gift,” I told her. I remember seeing that this artist that I loved was close by and I really wanted to go too. She was one of my favorites. I marked my calendar reluctantly, knowing that I wouldn’t be able to attend. Days turned into months and I eventually stopped thinking about going. Well a long story short…my friends husband got sick days prior to the trip and was unable to go and she asked me would I like to go. WOULD I LIKE TO GO???? I don’t think she really had any idea just how much I really wanted to go.  She is one of the most generous people that I know. Not because she asked me to go on this trip but because she is always doing kind things for others. On our way the next morning, I happened to look down at my phone and there it was plain as day on my calendar, notification of the concert that I had saved months earlier. I had to hold the floodgates back. Don’t ever tell me that God doesn’t give us the desires of our heart. I know He does. Days afterwards, during my morning devotion, I was thinking about the trip and how it still warmed my heart so. I thought, how could I ever repay her for this generosity? I heard Him say, “You can’t.” “Just receive it.” I immediately understood. You gave me the greatest gift ever. I didn’t deserve it. And there was nothing I could do to ever pay for it. Just receive. Thank you Jesus. I do.

My husband knows how much I love a fire in the fireplace. It is “almost” my favorite thing about our cabin. If it is cool enough when we are here, he tires hard to have a fire every night. Yesterday we only had a couple of pieces of wood left. I figured that would be our last fire for this week. As I sat here typing this blog I heard the rumbling of an old pick-up truck as it worked hard to climb the mountain. I looked out the window and there was our neighbor from below bringing us a truck load of wood. Tears filled my eyes as I thought about my husband and how he will do anything within his power for me. Love you baby!  Funny thing happened on one of our early morning walks this week. My hubby and I, came up with two interesting names for each other. These names describe our fussing technique.  It’s funny how we always use animals or bugs. He told me that I was a like an ant that sneaks up on you and bites you, implying that I don’t just come out with it but I use a sneak tactic to attack. I told him he was like a cricket. That annoying sound that just want stop but goes on and on. We both laughed. I hope we laugh even more. Thank you God for him! No matter what mood we’re in…he’s  my soulmate.

 I learned a lot about myself this year. I still want things to work out the way that I want them to work out, (what girl doesn’t?) but, I think I might be a just a little better about trusting God and His timing. He still isn’t early but He is right on time….every time! It’s funny how I want everyone else to be on time (including God) but, I’m a procrastinator. However, I will say that I am starting to get a little tired of my procrastination.  This year has been a lot about change. The way I think about things and the way I do things have been challenged. I continue to be stretched. I can hear God and His great sense of humor say, “You asked for it didn’t you?”  One of my favorite analogies for life has always been the butterfly. Talking about change! There is nothing as hopeless looking as a caterpillar. He just sits around eating all day…but you know how he turns out.  So, this year I guess you would say instead of just talking about how beautiful the butterfly is, I have really tried to learn to fly. It’s hard. Very hard. I know that Jesus has been with me...every  flap of my wings.

 As we toasted with our mountain friends on  New Years Eve, with our champagne glasses slightly full of bubbly,  (that no one really liked), we were once again reminded of the gift of friendship.  Praying friends. Sitting in our cabin in front of  warm, cozy fire in the fireplace, with thankfulness in our hearts,  when we got back home seemed to be a very fitting way to end this year.

Thank you Father for the loving people in my life;  a loving husband, children and grandchildren, a beautiful sister and brother-in-law, a precious mother, the constant love of family, a wonderful church family, friends that listen and pray. Thank you for the extra measure of faith, hope and love that I received this year…you are a good, good Father.

Sammie  jean