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