Wiltin’ in Cotton-Pickin’ Heat!

If Congress had discovered Daylight Savings Time in the 1950’s, there would have been a half-day of cotton picking left after school let out at mid-afternoon. The sun showed little mercy in late August and early September. We let the garden hose spew the hot water out before we got an earth temperature outdoor shower. We ducked up close behind the house when a car came down the road.

Picking cotton was one of my least favorite farm jobs. The heat and humidity simply did not appeal to my creative aptitude. The work was monotonous. My fingers grasped four or five small fluffy “locks” of white fiber and pulled them from a dried burr. Before there was an open dried burr, there was a closed green boll with small moist wedges of cotton inside. The boll opened and became a dried burr, exposing the fluffy locks of cotton.

A burlap cotton sack was attached to a strap of folded cloth. The strap rested on top of one shoulder while the sack lay against the leg on the opposite side. As I picked the cotton, I placed it in the burlap sack. Each time I filled the sack, I emptied the cotton onto a burlap sheet spread on the ground. At the end of the day, the corners of the sheet were pulled together and tied for weighing.

Some field hands (workers) picked 300 pounds, or more, of cotton in one day. This field (pun intended) of endeavor was not exactly where I excelled. I tried really hard one full day to see how much I could pick. But my cotton-pickin’ OCD worked against me. I stood between the rows and took time to pick the bits of trash and rain-spattered dirt from my cotton before placing it in the sack. The cotton in my sheet was the cleanest in the field. Clean, yes, lots of it, no. At the end of the day, 80 pounds!

I did not follow in my dad’s footsteps, those he made between rows of fluffy white cotton. My “field” of endeavor has been in the area of words and people. I enjoy communication and relationships much more than weighing up at less than 100 pounds after a day of wilting in the cotton-picking heat!

Patience returns with Peace

Lucy, our highly humanized canine, rode on my arm as we rounded the corner of the house. There, just ahead, and strolling as if taking a walk in the park, was a SOLID WHITE DOVE! The beautiful bird did not seem startled by our appearance. I was considerably startled by its appearance. I geared down to slow motion to keep the dove from launching into neighborhood space.

What could I do to make the white dove feel welcome? An animal lover, feathered or furred, I wanted a chance to cultivate at least the beginning of a relationshp. Lucy knows her place is secure within the family, so she was okay with returning to her area in the kitchen. I went back to the yard with sunflower seeds.

The dove enjoyed the game of seed pitching and pecking. I wondered about the possible message in the appearance of this white dove. There was a matter of some stress going on within me. Was the dove’s presence related to that? I thought about naming this bird. What name would be fitting?

Patience! The bird came during a time of stress when I needed patience. Patience would be the bird’s name. I began to speak the name. Patience seemed okay with it. I prepared a small waterer and placed it just a few feet from my bench seat. Patience went right over and beaked a few swigs. When I went close to see if Patience were injured, she flew.

The next day, Patience was back. Introductions behind us, and getting more comfortable with each other, we went right into our seeds pitching and pecking game. I wondered, hopefully, if our daily visits would continue. When I went inside for a while, Patience left. She may have thought it rude of me to leave. I shouldn’t try her patience like that.

The third day, Patience was in the yard again–WITH A FRIEND! What a forgiving new friend bird! But what can you say about a friend with a name like Patience! And, oh, yes, about that friend that Patience brought? ANOTHER SOLID WHITE DOVE, JUST LIKE PATIENCE! This one I named Peace. Patience brought Peace. Both are gifts from above!

Mr Roy, Fighter Pilot, WW II

I met Mr Roy for the first time at a local restaurant. He was with his wife and a grandson. This gentleman is a senior to seniors. But there was something else about him that caught my eye. I’ll call it a kind of contentment. It seemed he would not be hard to please, to care for. The family members who fixed his plate would likely not have to be concerned they didn’t get it right. It appeared that a caregiver might receive as much from Mr Roy as they give.

I could have been seen as a professional eaves-dropper, a sleuth or private investigator. Not so. I haven’t reached that pay grade yet. I’m only an amateur with a tenacious curiosity!  I squinted to be sure I was right about what Mr Roy was reading. Yep, the young sophomore senior (me) got it right. The senior senior was reading the New York Times! Can you imagine! I caught an old veteran fighter pilot in rural central Georgia sitting in a sweet potato soufflé and collard greens buffet hangout poring over the New York Times. Amazing!

There are interesting stories about Mr Roy’s experiences at the controls of a P-51 fighter during World War II. He saw the mushroom cloud of the atom bomb dropped on Hiroshima. He flew on a low-level picture-taking mission to record the damage by the dropping of the second atom bomb over Nagasaki. For more on that era of Mr Roy’s life, please see a story by historian Scott Thompson at http://dublinlaurenscountygeorgia.blogspot.com/2012/12/roy-malone.html.

Please also read a story of a later time in this dear gentleman’s life (“gentleman” is not just a polite title, Mr Roy earned those “stripes”). You will have the pleasure of visiting Goose Hollow Farm at Dexter, Georgia, through the eyes of a very talented writer, Sophie Uliano. I found her descriptive appreciation of the farm’s beauty at https://sophieuliano.com/children-in-the-woods/. Ms Uliano “lost” her child in the woods at a good ole southern fish fry where she learned that a hush puppy is not a command for a dog to be quiet!  

On this Memorial Day and until next one, I invite us all to acknowledge the families of fallen military service veterans and the lives and service of their loved ones. May we pray for and encourage those veterans and their families whose lives and daily routines are changed through their service on our behalf. Let’s give thanks for all those who returned safely and pray for the safety of those who are actively serving.

Thank you, Mr Roy, and all your fellow defenders of the greatest place in the world to live and eat hush puppies with fried fish in the woods!     

Sandra’s “God Breezes”

Sandra Atkerson’s picture beams in radiance from the website at Dignity Memorial Chapel. Sadly, the picture is part of an obituary. The time came, mercifully, for Sandra to lay aside the vessel in which she served God for a lifetime. Sandra thrived in her intimate walk with God. She liked to remember her special times of refreshing with Him as “God breezes.”

At a recent prayer breakfast, I read a writing by Steve Atkerson, Sandra’s husband. The writing was entitled, “Sandra’s ‘God Breezes’”. Steve reminisced about outdoor ventures he and Sandra enjoyed while she was still physically well enough. There was also the memory of when a decision was made that she would not continue chemo treatments for the cancer.

Steve recalls waking beside his wife very early one morning and hearing her labored breathing. He prayed that if God were not going to heal her, He would end her suffering. Steve said immediately Sandra’s breathing stopped. It did not begin again. God heard Steve’s prayer and the yearning of Sandra’s spirit. The chemo did not matter anymore. It would not be needed. The cancer did not matter anymore. Its power was broken.

Steve is pleased that Sandra’s testimony lives on to bless others. The two of them ministered together in life. Steve continues to share his precious life partner’s thoughts in her earthly absence. For some years Steve and Sandra hosted a house church at their home. Steve tells me that local officials asked them to do something differently because of cars “parked all over the street.” Steve says they are still meeting in a “home”. He has not lost his sense of humor. The church rents a funeral home.

Steve and Sandra shared a relationship that thrived in encouraging others to experience an intimate walk with God. When a time of spiritual refreshing renews your heart, Steve will be pleased if you choose to say you just felt one of Sandra’s God breezes!

Inmate plows dad’s garden.

When Lee Roy came home after being gone for a few years, things were really awkward between him and his dad. Mr Joe kept waiting for his prodigal son to apologize for his rebellion and running off with a gang. But Lee Roy kept looking for an opening to talk about getting constant criticism as a young boy.

Lee Roy observed that Mr Joe’s garden plot was growing up in weeds. When he mentioned the garden, Mr Joe confided that his health simply did not allow him to plow and plant the plot as he once did. He told Lee Roy that giving up the garden was one of the very hardest things about his failing health.

The homecoming prodigal decided that plowing the garden for his dad would be one way to convince the old gentleman of his son’s love. Just as Lee Roy backed the dusty tractor out of the shed, a strange vehicle pulled into the yard. Four law enforcement officers invited Lee Roy to get down from the tractor.

The officers arrested Lee Roy on suspicion of bank robbery in the next county. A witness said one of the robbers looked a lot like Lee Roy. Lee Roy was not involved in the robbery, but the witness was sure he was there. The jury found Lee Roy guilty. Everyone wondered what Mr Joe’s son did with the money.

Lee Roy went to prison. One morning Mr Joe awakened to voices in the garden plot. He looked out the window and counted at least a dozen law enforcement officers digging with shovels. The entire garden plot was freshly plowed. Mr. Joe didn’t go outside immediately. He picked up a letter and read it again.

The letter came in the mail the day before. Mr Joe read the familiar words, “Dad, I am really sorry I can’t be home to help you with the garden this year. But I’d really appreciate it if you would guard the garden plot as if it were a place of buried treasure. When I get out of here, you will never have to plow again.”

Mr Joe smiled. He knew his son’s work assignment at the prison was in the mail room. And he knew that Lee Roy had observed that prison authorities carefully read every outgoing letter before it was put on the truck. Mr Joe went out to the garden to thank the officers for preparing the soil for spring planting.

I’m sorry I said that.

How much of what you say to some particular person serves to tear that person down rather than build them up? How much of what you say, generally, could be classified as whining, complaining, or critical of someone else? Does what you say, and how you say it, identify you as an unhappy person? If so, you are not alone.

A Bible verse I learned from my mother at a very young age speaks to how we speak to others. “A soft answer turneth away wrath, but grievous words stir up anger.” That’s the King James Version of 1611. Today, we might say, “a gentle answer avoids triggering anger, but you can make someone mad by speaking to them harshly.”

Speaking harshly and being spoken to that way do not build satisfying relationships. It is stressful to constantly cringe inside in anticipation that someone is going to speak to us in a critical manner. We should remember others feel the same way. Working together to build the relationship is more productive.

Two basic principles are somewhere down in my bag of tools for communicating with others. It may be kind of late to dig them out, but who knows how long I might yet have to practice them. If there are only 24 hours, it will be better to build others up during those 24 hours than to use that same 24 hours to tear them down.

The principles?  (1) The Golden Rule, which says to treat others as I want to be treated, and (2) The Great Commandment, which says that I am to love the Lord my God with all my heart, with all my soul, with all my mind, and with all my strength–and my neighbor as myself.

If I ask God to imprint those principles upon my inner being, I might not need to say, “I’m sorry I said that,” quite as often.  

Grief Tips at Little Church

The absence of the regular pastor was the occasion of my speaking at the little rural church. A dozen in attendance made for a good day. I knew of the losses of loved ones in some of the families who might be present.

I wanted to do something helpful for those families. Obituaries were available online. I pulled information into a format that would be helpful in organizing and presenting. I also took a new look at the 23rd Psalm.

“Though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death, I will fear no evil. Thy rod and Thy staff, they comforteth me.” We are visitors, not residents, in the valley of sorrow. In our sorrow, we receive comfort.

We sang, “Savior, like a shepherd, lead us, much we need Thy tender care,” and “Just when I need Him, Jesus is near, just when I falter, just when I fear.” We voiced our faith, singing without an instrument.

Three tips for grieving closed the service. (1) Give yourself permission to grieve. (2) Remember the loved one lost with honesty—the good and the not so good. (3) Keep moving. We are valley visitors, not residents.

Oh, yes, our frame of reference was the answer to that ever present question, “Why are we here?” The answer? To honor and praise the Creator Who placed us here and to serve Him–by serving others.

No life experience, including the grieving of loss, is to divert us from that purpose.

A New Friend—a Teen!

Hello teens, especially those of you at WLHS and ELHS. I met a young lady this evening from one of those who has connections with the other. She assisted me with my purchases at an old hang out from my own high school days. My hanging out there was similar to hers. I worked there too. Long, long time ago. Almost four times the age of this young lady–ago.

I also have connections with both these sets of initials. ELHS is my alma mater, and I have been to WLHS and WLMS on the very sad occasions of the deaths of students. I was there to help grieving students. Other times, I was speaker at a graduation event for good ole ELHS and at a faculty meeting. I was storyteller in the fall season for classes at SWLE. Subject? Why, pumpkins, of course!

Back to my new friend. She assisted me in a friendly manner, passing my food purchases through the window to my dirty, dirty, dirty, old, wannabe white, Ram truck. I do not really know much more about her. I know her first name, but I promised I would not identify her to the whole world. And I’m sure the whole world, all two of us, me and now my new friend, read my blog site!

There is one very special thought I wish to share with MNF (My New Friend) about teens. A very special young lady, a former, but not-so-long-ago teen, my granddaughter who claims WLHS as her alma mater, once accepted my invitation for a drive. It was one of those bonding times. Granddaddy asked this precious young lady what she would look for in a candidate for a husband. Granddaddy’s heart melted into his socks when he heard in reply, “Well, first he will have to be a Christian.”

This young lady is now a few years into college. I think she has likely not changed her mind about that matter. I hope MNF and her own friends might think long and seriously about what it means to select a life partner. A lot of pain can be avoided by getting it right the first time. I hope she and her peers might commit to Biblical values for relationships. I want to wish MNF well, along with her family and friends.

Now to MNF, it was my pleasure to meet you this evening.  You are welcome, with your parents’ permission, to reply on the contact page. Blessings for your continuing studies, family relationships now and future, and the choice and building of a career.

Oh, yes, don’t forget to try that coke shake!

Should I write spiritually?

It’s 7:30 a.m. on Saturday. Stuff is bouncing around in my brain, ricocheting like a steel ball in a pinball machine (I may be dating myself, I don’t know if those are still around). For one thing, the first major I listed in college (1961) was journalism. Something else is amazing this morning. I found it in the Bible as I reviewed scripture I copied by hand on Wednesday morning.

John, one of those early followers of Jesus, wrote that the Word became flesh. My understanding of the meaning of “Word” there is that it was God, not word as in the many bits of sentences I am writing right now. The Word became flesh. Again, my understanding is that John is saying God became human. That is amazing! How can a man write that God became another man? And how can that happen?

Another question gets my attention at the moment. Should I write spiritually at this blog website? For a long time, I wanted to write a blog. I didn’t really know just what a blog is. I saw that we can write blogs and that it is free. “Free” should be qualified. It ain’t all free! In recent months, I dabbled at the one, two, three steps of opening a blog. But to a non-techie, it was intimidating.

A few weeks back, I jumped in. I have published nine or ten posts. Others wait for tweaking. But still the question, should I write spiritually? The answer, I cannot be who I am and do what I do without getting into the personal meaning of John’s assertion that God became human. That event impacts who I am, no, it is who I am. I cannot be the human being I was designed to be without being and doing as provided for in the God-became-human event.

So, what you are reading at this moment is the intro piece for my blogging about the Bible, faith, and church. My spiritual frame of reference is based upon the person of Jesus as revealed in the New Testament division of the Bible. It is also based upon the anticipation of the God-became-human event in the Old Testament division. I accept both divisions as God’s communication of truth.

May the writing and the reading enrich us both.

Grief Support Articles

The Dublin, Georgia, community was instantly plunged into mass grief upon learning of the loss of an entire family in a fiery crash on Interstate 16 in Bulloch County about 1.5 hours east of Dublin.

We continue to mourn the loss on March 14, 2021, of Dr. Jaroy Stuckey, DHS principal, wife Elysea, three-year-old son A. J., and unborn daughter. We pray for their families and the school community.

We were not ready for this! We were shocked and numb in disbelief. But reality is seeping into our consciousness. Three hearses in procession insisted we face the truth and reach out to each other.

Forced goodbyes are cruel. A million questions begin with, “Why?” We need to talk. We need to listen. We need to cry. We need each other to get through this family, school, and community tragedy.

Posted at this site are brief articles on grieving. More are planned. Grieving well helps us to live well. Stifled emotions of grief can be unhealthy. What are healthy ways to express feelings of loss?

You have a special invitation to follow here the series of articles on grief. You may find helpful ways to deal with loss, and you may want to use some of what you find to help others in times of loss.

I do not know all the answers, but I continue to learn from others. I will try to write some of the helpful things here for you.