Friday, June 12, 2009
The Cardwell Bridge
Who says there is nothing to do in a small town! A few days ago, after a few days of rain (actually, a Missouri rain one evening - it was great!) Terry and I had been thinking about the Jefferson Valley Bridge next to the Cardwell school. We decided to drive out there before church and see if the river had gone over it's banks. It had not but it was close. And there were many large puddle areas near by. We remembered many times when it flooded enough to cover the windows of the old trailer just north of the bridge and the campground just south of it.
Something about watching the water at that spot is so facinating. It's different now, however. They took out the old railroad bridge just west of the bridge. And, of course, the bridge we drive over is made of cement instead of the old wooden bridge we always drove over hundreds of times as I grew up.
Evidently, river watching has been around for a long time. I remember once when our family drove to the bridge to see if the old bridge would hold when water was literally rushing, touching the bottom of the bridge. It was at that visit that one of my little brothers fell, head first, out of the front window of the car. Back then, seat belts were not existant and our cars resembled a can of worms. Open windows only meant one worm might slide out.
If that bridge could talk...
Grandpa Carroll and his high school friends would go bridge jumping from it. (another activity that is common in small towns).
When I was a teen someone, somewhere in authority decided the bridge was not safe for a busload of kids to drive across. So, for several months, going to and from school the bus would stop just before the bridge and we would all get out, walk over the bridge and wait on the other side. The bus driver would drive across and pick us up and then we would go on. Thinking back on this, as an adult, and a former teacher, I wonder about a number of things. Like... who kept the little kids from running over and standing on the edge, possibly falling in?
I never remember that type of incident. Who supervised the little ones so no one would get run over by the bus? Who kept the older ones from slipping down the bank and playing in the river? I don't remember any such incidents. Maybe it was because I had my eye on some cute boy up ahead. Or maybe we were all just a little bit afraid that old rickety bridge would just break as we walked over and so we would be swept away by the river. Or maybe we were just afraid the bus driver, Carl Armstrong would swat us with the fan belt he used to keep Randy and Vic in line when they acted up. Whatever the reason, we made it past that adventure in our, anything but dull lives, without mishap.
I'm sure, if the people of the Cardwell valley all got together they could tell many stories of that old bridge. And that very old river. When they decided to tear the bridge down it was a sad, even mournful event. Part of our life was being replaced. Change... you can count on it.
Something about watching the water at that spot is so facinating. It's different now, however. They took out the old railroad bridge just west of the bridge. And, of course, the bridge we drive over is made of cement instead of the old wooden bridge we always drove over hundreds of times as I grew up.
Evidently, river watching has been around for a long time. I remember once when our family drove to the bridge to see if the old bridge would hold when water was literally rushing, touching the bottom of the bridge. It was at that visit that one of my little brothers fell, head first, out of the front window of the car. Back then, seat belts were not existant and our cars resembled a can of worms. Open windows only meant one worm might slide out.
If that bridge could talk...
Grandpa Carroll and his high school friends would go bridge jumping from it. (another activity that is common in small towns).
When I was a teen someone, somewhere in authority decided the bridge was not safe for a busload of kids to drive across. So, for several months, going to and from school the bus would stop just before the bridge and we would all get out, walk over the bridge and wait on the other side. The bus driver would drive across and pick us up and then we would go on. Thinking back on this, as an adult, and a former teacher, I wonder about a number of things. Like... who kept the little kids from running over and standing on the edge, possibly falling in?
I never remember that type of incident. Who supervised the little ones so no one would get run over by the bus? Who kept the older ones from slipping down the bank and playing in the river? I don't remember any such incidents. Maybe it was because I had my eye on some cute boy up ahead. Or maybe we were all just a little bit afraid that old rickety bridge would just break as we walked over and so we would be swept away by the river. Or maybe we were just afraid the bus driver, Carl Armstrong would swat us with the fan belt he used to keep Randy and Vic in line when they acted up. Whatever the reason, we made it past that adventure in our, anything but dull lives, without mishap.
I'm sure, if the people of the Cardwell valley all got together they could tell many stories of that old bridge. And that very old river. When they decided to tear the bridge down it was a sad, even mournful event. Part of our life was being replaced. Change... you can count on it.
Sunday, June 7, 2009
God's children
The discussion was about salvation. I was telling Dad and Marlene about reading the gospel of John in the bible.
I was underlining all the parts about salvation and the purpose of life. Alot of what I found was about faith, believing, etc but words that went with that word, "believe" were words like obey and doing God's will. At the end of our discussion I said something like, "But I always think about how, no matter what my own kids did, I would never stop loving them and I would not condemn them to hell. I would always want the best for them. And I think God is like that with His children." Dad was very quiet. (He usually is when Marlene and I get to ranting on and on.) But then he spoke, emotionally, "You know the thing that bothers me. I saw this thing on tv and it had kids starving in some country. And I just don't understand it. How could a God who loves all His children let this happen?"
I could tell it really disturbed Dad. I had been thinking about this for quite some time. I replied, "Sometimes I think that God is so commited to our freedom (free will) that no matter what happens, He will not step in. That God leaves it up to us. God gives us the Holy Spirit (the most powerful force on earth) to change things if we will but God does not interfere."
Dad, "I'm thinking that's true also."
Me, "Maybe our greatest condemnation will be that we did nothing."
This morning as I laid in bed I was thinking about my own life. We have had many opportunities to give and I suppose we've given more than most, and less than some, but I can't help but think about the way we have thrown away so much money on things that don't really matter.
At the end of the movie, "Shindler's List" Arthur Schindler, who had saved hundreds of Jews by buying them to work in his factory began to cry. "I could have done more," he cried, " This ring, this car, I could have sold them and saved one more."
I know that right now a large percent of our world is starving to death. That means children the age of Michael, Kate, Spencer...are hungry, crying. I can do more. Right now we are a bit cash poor. The only way I can give more is to not be frivolous (or give up my trips to see those grandkids and I'm not going to do that). I wonder how much I could give each month if I just ate off the dollar menu at Wendys instead of a large sandwich. If I didn't let my pride cause me to spend too much on a shower gift. If I let my grandkids go to the library instead of buying them books. If I rearranged my garden, using peranials that spread instead of buying new flowers, if I didn't think I had to keep up with the latest styles. If I didn't buy things I don't need sometimes. If...
Nathan and Karen told me they read that guilt was a way to make ourselves feel morally superior. I don't want to just feel guilty and then go back to my old way of life. I want to be different for the sake of others. But I think I am selfish enough that it will be hard. If you read this, help me to remember. Remind me kindly to stick with it. For the sake of God's children.
I was underlining all the parts about salvation and the purpose of life. Alot of what I found was about faith, believing, etc but words that went with that word, "believe" were words like obey and doing God's will. At the end of our discussion I said something like, "But I always think about how, no matter what my own kids did, I would never stop loving them and I would not condemn them to hell. I would always want the best for them. And I think God is like that with His children." Dad was very quiet. (He usually is when Marlene and I get to ranting on and on.) But then he spoke, emotionally, "You know the thing that bothers me. I saw this thing on tv and it had kids starving in some country. And I just don't understand it. How could a God who loves all His children let this happen?"
I could tell it really disturbed Dad. I had been thinking about this for quite some time. I replied, "Sometimes I think that God is so commited to our freedom (free will) that no matter what happens, He will not step in. That God leaves it up to us. God gives us the Holy Spirit (the most powerful force on earth) to change things if we will but God does not interfere."
Dad, "I'm thinking that's true also."
Me, "Maybe our greatest condemnation will be that we did nothing."
This morning as I laid in bed I was thinking about my own life. We have had many opportunities to give and I suppose we've given more than most, and less than some, but I can't help but think about the way we have thrown away so much money on things that don't really matter.
At the end of the movie, "Shindler's List" Arthur Schindler, who had saved hundreds of Jews by buying them to work in his factory began to cry. "I could have done more," he cried, " This ring, this car, I could have sold them and saved one more."
I know that right now a large percent of our world is starving to death. That means children the age of Michael, Kate, Spencer...are hungry, crying. I can do more. Right now we are a bit cash poor. The only way I can give more is to not be frivolous (or give up my trips to see those grandkids and I'm not going to do that). I wonder how much I could give each month if I just ate off the dollar menu at Wendys instead of a large sandwich. If I didn't let my pride cause me to spend too much on a shower gift. If I let my grandkids go to the library instead of buying them books. If I rearranged my garden, using peranials that spread instead of buying new flowers, if I didn't think I had to keep up with the latest styles. If I didn't buy things I don't need sometimes. If...
Nathan and Karen told me they read that guilt was a way to make ourselves feel morally superior. I don't want to just feel guilty and then go back to my old way of life. I want to be different for the sake of others. But I think I am selfish enough that it will be hard. If you read this, help me to remember. Remind me kindly to stick with it. For the sake of God's children.
Sunday, May 31, 2009
one more
I just thought of another extremely funny time. We were having prayer meeting at Twila Snyder's home. She was an elderly lady who was a friend of Grandma Cora. She was 7th Day Adventist and went to our church on Sunday and Wednesday evenings. She was almost deaf and seldom remembered her hearing aids. One night, near Christmas we were singing a Christmas song but the person in charge had told us to sing only the first verse. I think it was Silent Night. Twila didn't hear that announcement. So when the song ended, Twila didn't. She had a crackly, squeaky voice. She continued singing, by herself because she also didn't look up to see she was singing alone. I believe at one point we decided to join her so she wouldn't be embarassed but the damage was done. I especially remember Terra's laughter on the way home. The kids had been complaining about the boring prayer meetings. It wasn't boring that night!
laughter through church
Dolly Parton said, in Steel Magnolia, "Laughter through tears is my favorite emotion." I agree with her but laughter in church is definitely fun. Anyone who has spent most of their life in church would remember a time when it was difficult to keep themselves under control because of some small thing that struck them funny.
This morning I am remembering a few such moments.
We used to go to prayer service every Wednesday at Grandpa and Grandma Sacry's house. Of course, since it was late in the day and it was a very quiet and reverent time, inevitably one child (adult?) would become sleepy. The time I remember is when Ken fell asleep. I suppose he was about 6 but I'm not sure. He fell asleep but instead of just leaning back on his chair, for some reason he was sitting very upright. I have no idea who was praying or giving testimony because we were all watching as he swayed, first forward, jerk, then sideways, jerk. Back and forth he went. Our prayers that night were focused more on helping Ken not fall off his chair than anything else. And our laughter was reserved for later but it was hard!
Mom told about a time when she was at a funeral with Grandpa Pyfer. She was sitting near the isle and happened to look down the isle to the back to see who was coming in. An old couple was slowly making their way down the isle. She was holding on to his arm and he was carrying her purse on his other arm. The sight of him carrying her purse struck Mom funny. So, right there in the middle of the funeral music Mom had what Terry and I call a "Nonie laugh." Not wanting to offend anyone she covered her face with her hanky and hand, shoulders shaking with her silent laughter. That was bad enough but Grandpa thought she was crying so he started patting her arm. This made it even worse! It was a long funeral trying to keep herself under control.
I laugh thinking of the time Terra and Tiffany were in their early teens and they were supposed to sing a song in church. They got up front. Began their song and something started them giggling. Maybe one of them made a mistake. I don't know. They would hold the book in front of their face and try to get control. Start again. After a few tries, they just had to sit down without singing their song.
My own worse (best?) and funniest time was when I was presiding one Sunday. As usual, I was trying something new. Part of that change up was not having people stand for the opening hymn. Mom was going on automatic so she stood - all by herself. The thing that got me started was the way she tried to slither her way back down to her seat without being too conspicuous. I tried to cover up my laughter with the hymn book in front of my face. Shoulders shaking, eyes crying, it was not working. The wisdom of age and similar experiences let me know I must leave the service, if only for a minute, and get it out. Luckily, the way the chairs were placed at that time was around the corner from the bathroom. I slithered around the corner as the hymn continued, went into the bathroom and laughed as hard as I could for probably only 30 seconds. Hardening my mind to not look at Mom or think about the situation I was able to preside over the service.
I believe if it happens again, depending on the circumstances, I will ask the congregation to please take a "Nonie laugh" break. We will all laugh our heads off and I will know that God is laughing with us. After all, didn't God create laughter? And, who says it's not ok to laugh in church?
This morning I am remembering a few such moments.
We used to go to prayer service every Wednesday at Grandpa and Grandma Sacry's house. Of course, since it was late in the day and it was a very quiet and reverent time, inevitably one child (adult?) would become sleepy. The time I remember is when Ken fell asleep. I suppose he was about 6 but I'm not sure. He fell asleep but instead of just leaning back on his chair, for some reason he was sitting very upright. I have no idea who was praying or giving testimony because we were all watching as he swayed, first forward, jerk, then sideways, jerk. Back and forth he went. Our prayers that night were focused more on helping Ken not fall off his chair than anything else. And our laughter was reserved for later but it was hard!
Mom told about a time when she was at a funeral with Grandpa Pyfer. She was sitting near the isle and happened to look down the isle to the back to see who was coming in. An old couple was slowly making their way down the isle. She was holding on to his arm and he was carrying her purse on his other arm. The sight of him carrying her purse struck Mom funny. So, right there in the middle of the funeral music Mom had what Terry and I call a "Nonie laugh." Not wanting to offend anyone she covered her face with her hanky and hand, shoulders shaking with her silent laughter. That was bad enough but Grandpa thought she was crying so he started patting her arm. This made it even worse! It was a long funeral trying to keep herself under control.
I laugh thinking of the time Terra and Tiffany were in their early teens and they were supposed to sing a song in church. They got up front. Began their song and something started them giggling. Maybe one of them made a mistake. I don't know. They would hold the book in front of their face and try to get control. Start again. After a few tries, they just had to sit down without singing their song.
My own worse (best?) and funniest time was when I was presiding one Sunday. As usual, I was trying something new. Part of that change up was not having people stand for the opening hymn. Mom was going on automatic so she stood - all by herself. The thing that got me started was the way she tried to slither her way back down to her seat without being too conspicuous. I tried to cover up my laughter with the hymn book in front of my face. Shoulders shaking, eyes crying, it was not working. The wisdom of age and similar experiences let me know I must leave the service, if only for a minute, and get it out. Luckily, the way the chairs were placed at that time was around the corner from the bathroom. I slithered around the corner as the hymn continued, went into the bathroom and laughed as hard as I could for probably only 30 seconds. Hardening my mind to not look at Mom or think about the situation I was able to preside over the service.
I believe if it happens again, depending on the circumstances, I will ask the congregation to please take a "Nonie laugh" break. We will all laugh our heads off and I will know that God is laughing with us. After all, didn't God create laughter? And, who says it's not ok to laugh in church?
Friday, May 29, 2009
Empty
Mom was almost always home when I came home as a child. One day I walked into the house excited about sharing something about school with her. The house was empty. She had taped a note for us on the tv that was mounted up high in the living room. It was a "to do" list. My stomach felt sick and very empty. This morning when I woke up I remembered that day. It's the same feeling I have now.
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