Remembering Memaw

This morning I reached for a spoon from the cutlery drawer for my coffee like I’ve done thousands of times before. My cutlery drawer is an amazing mishmash of sizes, shapes and patterns of all sorts of useful and non useful items. I went for a familiar spoon near the top and found myself in a time warp.

It was one of my grandmother’s spoons. I have two of them in different sizes. Just for a moment I wasn’t in my own house in my own kitchen. I was a little girl with a spoon in my hand in Memaw’s kitchen. I was standing in front of the cupboard where she kept the plates and cups. She was to my right at the sink and I was a kid again. I felt the warmth of her love, knew the familiar sound of the little crackle in her voice, I was at the only safe place I knew in my childhood. And I missed my grandmother.

She was an amazing woman. She had her share of hardships in her life but wasn’t defined by them. I was pretty much an adult by the time I realized the heartaches she had endured through life. All I had known till then was an outpouring of love in the many ways she expressed it. It gave me a profound appreciation for the grace that had been bestowed upon her to rise above those things and minister to those around her. I had truly been blessed – as the first grandchild I knew her longer and probably better than the cousins who came behind me. We lived close enough that I was there a lot, enough that I want my home to be the blessing to those I love just as hers was to me.

So what do I keep of my grandmother’s legacy?

A love of learning. Even during her last hospitalization when we learned she was dying of cancer she wanted to know everything about this strange (puff) quilt I was working on. She was forever learning some new skill.

A love of nature. She did so many amazing things with flowers and rocks and wood. When she went to Hawaii in the 70’s she came back with a suitcase full of rocks for her flower beds. I did the same thing when we went to Alaska a few years ago.

A love of thrift. Memaw wasted nothing. The great depression was a way of life for the Heards. Nothing went to waste, ever. Egg cartons and bags were saved to be reused. Usable clothing was passed on or put in a quilt. Things from the garden were canned, frozen or given away. Pork parts were made into souse in her refrigerator.

A love of people. I couldn’t have been more than six when I accompanied her down to Goat Mitchell’s place to take food and clothing for an impoverished family. Everybody who came to her house was welcomed and treated with dignity and respect. And everybody was expected to behave respectfully. I can’t remember ever seeing an ugly argument or sinful behavior from an adult at her house. Kids had full freedom to just be kids and be loved and enjoyed for who they were. And when it was time to spread your wings and go on with God she bestowed her hearty admonition and blessing with a Schofield Bible.

A love of hard work. I didn’t have the capacity to appreciate this till I was an adult.

A love of simple pleasures. People, music, laughter.

A love of creativity. Rocks, scraps and shells became works of art in her hands. Even on her deathbed she stitched star quilt blocks by hand.

A love of God. I knew from the time I was very little that Memaw loved God. My own fledgling faith took wings the year I was in 11th grade and spent one night a week at her house. No TV there. We had a delightful time studying the Bible together and finding new things. I learned to pray the summer I spent there after high school when my daddy got saved.

So did that spoon have some cosmic energy built up that brought all that rushing back to me? (I’m laughing as I write because that is so ridiculous!) Did her spirit brush by me as I picked it up to remind me how much I missed her? (No, I’m not spiritualist either, at least not in that sense.) No, nothing like that. After the previously mentioned hospitalization she lived several more years at home while the family cared for her. She gradually became a shell of the person she had been. We visited her every chance we got and each time she was less and less of herself. I think part of me had forgotten who she was before she was sick. The spoon just triggered the memories to come back. It was time and I can grieve today.

Tomorrow, her oldest great grandchild and her only great great grandchild will join us for Sunday dinner. We'll love, we'll laugh, and we plan to gather around the piano and make joyful noises like previous generations did at her house. I don't know if Jesus lets the saints in heaven take little field trips down here or peek in from heaven but I hope so. I know it would please her immensely.

It's done! The "big secret" that we kept from my husband's parents for so many months has come to fulfillment and my dear father in law is now officially Dr. Mahlon Horton. On Tuesday night (6/19/2007) he got the shock of his life when all his kids showed up for a routine missions conference above Atlanta and Carolina Bible College presented him with an honorary/earned Doctorate of Divinity.

So now Dad is "Dr. Dad." (I think I'm the only one he lets call him that.) He's not one to fuss over titles and such, preferring to hold a steady course and focus on serving the Lord. Well, his work has spoken for itself in volumes and it's nice to see a good guy get the honor he deserves this side of heaven.

It's close to 11:pm and I will be leaving the office pretty soon. It's been one loooooong day! It seems like it's been a very long month for that matter, but the calendar tells me that next Sunday is my turn at the jail, so I guess we're on approach for the end of the month.

Tomorrow will be a special day. I'm going to relax, relax, relax.

I'm nursing about 15 bee stings right now. We moved the porch hives last night, something I hope I never have to do again. The contractors started on the house and there was no way my porch would get screened in with those things there. (Sweet that my grandmother's wicker sofa became available the day they started!)

What I learned is as follows:
1. Wear the big suit. It's too easy to get stung in the tight suit.
2. Lighten the thing up as much as possible. If it means robbing honey a day ahead to return it later do it.
3. Make sure your entrance covers are the right size.
4. Make sure everything's tight - no escape holes or skewed top covers.
5. Make sure you can back the truck up to your load and unload spots.
6. Good help/good company make a tough job more enjoyable.

Naturally this is not an all inclusive list, but it will give you an idea of some things done right and some things done wrong. Live and learn!

Why in the world would two fresh faced, virgin, PCC or HAC type young men stay at a brothel?

It didn't make sense. The mere thought of such a thing in today's "indy-fundy" culture would be scandalous. Somebody would be bound to write about it in the Sword of the Lord and blackball whatever church or institution they came from.

But it was a different time, a different culture and a war was going on. These guys were spies and as such they did their best to, shall we say, blend in with the culture. I mean, surely, spending the evening with a woman of the night should dispel any thoughts that they might be holy.

And what about their 'hostess' who offered her guests the utmost in ummm, accommodations? We know her story. A whole world of hope and possibility opened up when these guys would not have sex with her. They were holy and their polite decline of her additional services were the very thing that opened dialog between two vastly different world views and led to her trust in the living God.

Sometimes a close encounter with a sharp contrast between ideologies is the very thing people need to get a glimpse of who God is and what He's about. While none of us like what we perceive as conflict, it's sometimes the very thing needed this side of heaven to reach others. I am challenged today not to shy away from anyone "out there" in the world who's thoughts and beliefs are vastly different than mine. They need who I have just as Rahab needed two very peculiar young men to say "no" to her solicitation.

It saved her life.

Sharing Joseph’s Anguish

I’ve read it hundreds of times – the story of Joseph being sold into slavery, the trials through the subsequent years and the resulting blessings of doing right. There is more to the painful confrontation with his past and subsequent healing and restoration than I recognized before today. You’d think that after all this time I would see the parallels to my own experience.

Wounds – deep wounds caused by betrayal. Wounds that leave your heart injured and your relationship with your betrayers damaged if not broken completely.

So you dig in. You do what’s honorable and right for you to do despite the pain, and go through what's left of your life trying to please God in all that you do. And God is pleased – he wants us to do right and can bless and use us despite painful experiences of the past. The wound gets buried deeper as time and experience crust over it. It eventually becomes a distant memory.

Until it comes back to stare you in the face. There’s no way you can just rush in and embrace the scoundrels who caused you so much pain. No, you hang back, you keep a safe distance and watch. But you don’t trust. You know what they’re really like. You know what they’re capable of.

In Joseph’s case it was having his betraying brothers come to purchase food from him. He was in a position to test them and did just that. Would they abandon one of their own? He kept Simeon to test this. Were they jealous of their father’s favorite son? He gave Benjamin five times as much food to test this. They passed both and it looked good. Just how far they would go do the right thing after all this time was revealed when Judah, the brother who led in his own betrayal offered himself as a slave on Benjamin’s behalf. True repentance had taken place.

The emotions hit Joseph like a freight train and there was no containing the exquisite anguish he carried any longer. There was nothing to do but scream it out. He couldn’t even tell his brothers who he was until it had passed. The buried anguish was released as the healing balm of seeing God right a great injustice was applied.

I have been here. I’ve witnessed the wrong and paid my dues to keep going. I have cried out the old anguish as it was released and known the healing balm of seeing God right a great injustice. No, I didn’t have opportunity to disguise myself or test the betrayers, but God arranged all that. He himself showed this in my presence to open the wound that so desperately needed healing.

So Joseph is not some distant person on a Biblical pedestal to me anymore. He is human. He hurt, he didn’t let it sidetrack him, he allowed God to restore his brokenness and experienced the most acute, exquisite anguish in the process of healing. In that regard he is a kindred spirit. He went on to be a blessing and minister to those who had hurt him. I can only attempt to do as well!

We just got back from a weekend wedding trip and I'm so tired I could drop. Actually I will in a little bit.

One of our "kids" got married. Travis Smith spent many a weekend at our house during his high school and early college days. He was a groomsman in our son Brian's wedding last year and Brian returned the favor Saturday. It's always a joy to see the fine young men these boys turn into and we're happy that he's found the love of his life. Erin is a sweetie, that's for sure.

A side treat of this event was spending time with our two older children. Cindy came down as well, and as usual it was "Horton, party of Fun." I've observed that people don't always know what to make of the rowdy bunch who relish the joy of each other's company. And for the second time we've wound up in a huddle at someone's wedding reception. Odd. But it was good. We left the crowd and laid out under the stars at the edge of Pine Mountain at one of those little places on a ridge where you can see for miles for an hour or so after things died down. Good memories. The shooting stars weren't bad either.

And after all the goodbyes this morning Norman took me to Warm Springs and Calloway Gardens. Sweet, sweet man! I must say we need to have a word with the beekeeper there. Norman was pretty upset about the condition of their bee yard. I expected better.

So, we're home, Becky is in Memphis with Cindy, and if Brian's not back in Raleigh he will be soon. It was a good weekend. I've got a truckload to do getting my house and yard back in shape but when it's all said and done there's still no place like home.

Rain, blessed rain at last. It's been a long dry spring and my garden and our animals (including the winged ones) have suffered through it. And now it's raining. The sheets pouring down just outside the window and the roar of thunder are welcome guests. I'm hearing drops hit the concrete at the bottom of the old chimney behind me.

Showers of blessing.

Some parts of my life have been a long drought. I have fought the weariness of it all and struggled to keep going. I've sometimes given up looking for God's hand in the circumstances and thrown my own up declaring "whatever!" Each time I bow low I learn I can bow lower. I need rain too Lord. Please send your showers to me, too.

Today will be a Random Monday, and since I've a truckload of work it will be much shorter.

Life goes so much smoother with extended quiet time.

I found out that a couple of our Prison Ministry students have been made trustees. They are actually assisting the secretary to the Director in the office with paperwork. I couldn't be more proud. Both these ladies have been outstanding students and it's wonderful to see the positive changes in their lives. I'm fully aware that earning the privilege of being a prison trustee isn't exactly what life goals are made of, but hey, it's where Joseph started.

I think the insane Cardinal that's been flying into our guest room window every day for the last five months is getting old and tired. He's not hitting the window nearly as hard or as many times. I suspect he's knocked a few brain cells loose somewhere along the line.

My great niece seems to be finally warming up. (Sigh) It's challenging to love someone so much and want to hold them close and not be able to. The point again - Don't do this to God!

It rained last night. It wasn't much, but everything was washed and the air smelled clean this morning. Maybe it was me but things looked greener too.

Mimosa is in bloom and the bees are all over it. It will probably be our last big nectar producer for this year, at least till fall.

I'm looking forward to Ladies Bible study again. The fellowship of studying with my peeps for the book of Ruth was sweet. I know from the outside it's just another church, but from the inside it's a family of people who love God and love each other. While only God can meet the deepest needs of the heart, it's sweet to have others to be there for us. RP and I have cried many a tear together in the back of Subway. Mrs. C's history here is longer than mine and she's the only regular left who knew me when I was 25. Nancy helped me make my daughter's wedding dress. Connie was a deep sister from the heart from the first month she visited. Yes, sometimes we bump elbows and get on each other's nerves, but that's what happens in families. But we make it right and keep going. The very best part is sharing that love and seeing the family grow. It's a God thing. I've no doubt heaven will be much better, but it is nice to enjoy a bit of it here.

It's Saturday and I'm taking a day off from thinking out things and am borrowing an idea to just post "whatever". So today is a whatever day. It's early, I've already been called upon to deliver the child for a car wash and make a big breakfast for dh so what follows is random. Very random.

Jimmy Dean should get some kind of award for making my husband happy via his Maple Sausage.

Its 73 degrees right now. And it's been dry for weeks. While I like the nice morning and evening temperatures my neighbor says we'll only have rain when it gets sticky hot again.

I've believed for years that in heaven we'll all find out that we were wrong about something. Exactly what is yet to be determined. This was driven home to me again this morning by my daughter. I've been put out with Reliant K since learning they performed at a dance club in Charlotte. Some testimony for a Christian band, right? So Beck has me listen to Deathbed off their newest CD (and no, we didn't buy, it was on YouTube). It was an exquisitely painful nine minute experience that left me crying. I cried because they got it right. They captured all the hopelessness of life without Christ and the joy of becoming His and being ushered into his presence. Plus it was the testimony of my dad who's on his deathbead with few variations from this ballad. Ouch! I will listen to it again, probably several times.

The thought comes to mind, "who am I to judge another man's servant?"

I really miss Ozark Cooperative Warehouse. Breadbeckers don't carry things like 5 lb. bags of dried cranberries. I grieve for the harm done to organic and whole food suppliers when Ozark went belly up.

Which reminds me, I need to make more vanilla flavoring. I don't relish the prospect of visiting the ABC store for the main ingredient.

I wish I could understand the cat when she talks to me. A kitty treat usually settles her down though. (ok, I know I'm missing something - let's just leave that alone)

Red bell peppers and mangos have to be near the top of God's creative agricultural wonders. That and Mrs. Evelyn's 5 gallon bucket porch pineapples.

Propolis doesn't spoil or lose any of its physical attributes if you accidently dump it in the grass and leave it a few days.

After many years of patient obedience God is working it out for our friend Mark to finally get the music that's been in his head and heart on paper and in actual tunes. It crossed my mind (while picking up the afore mentioned propolis) that I may be required to wait in such a manner before I'm given liberty to write the book that's been in my head and heart for how many years now(?).

We've enjoyed For Better or For Worse for years. The similarities between the growing Patterson family and our own have been uncanny at times. I'm glad to say though that our teen is light years ahead of the one in the comic strip in relation to maturity and morality. If nothing else the comic serves to remind us of how fortunate both we and our daughter are.