Took an early walk this morning and sat down on a big rock – thought I would watch the sun come up and have a little talk with Jesus. I wanted to take a picture as it’s bright light peeped over the trees. Unfortunately, it was cloudy and started to sprinkle rain. I was disappointed. And when I saw the power lines would be smack in the middle of my picturesque photo I was disappointed again because they were in the way of my view. But I took the photo anyway. Sometime later as I was looking back at the photo Jesus had a little talk with me. I saw things through a different lens. The power pole looks like a cross and those lines carry the power.
With disappointment sometimes comes revelation. Even when, or especially when, disappointment stacks up on you Jesus is there sending His Power and light. He is my source alone for all my needs.
Daddy once told me “just because you can’t see the sun doesn’t mean it’s not there. It’s just on the other side of the clouds”. Count your many blessings name them one by one. It’s guaranteed to put joy in your heart.
My Pastor, Bro. Clyde Stevens, is always encouraging us to share our personal blessings publicly. He regularly reminds us that people of God are (or should be) thankful people. We should be thankful because God is worthy of our thanksgiving. It is only right to credit Him for “every good and perfect gift” He gives . When we are thankful, our focus moves off selfish desires and off the pain of current circumstances. Expressing thankfulness helps us remember that God is in control. Thankfulness, then, is not only appropriate; it is actually healthyand beneficial to us.
When I think about all the blessings I have, the list is extensive but I’m afraid I don’t acknowledge those blessings to others often enough. Today I will try to do at least two. But you know what I just realized? My blessings build on one another and when you try to tell about them you realize more and more and another is connected and so on.
Here’s what I mean.
As most in my circle of friends and community know, my great-niece, Zoey Elise Williamson was born recently with a rare condition called “Vein of Galen Malformation (VOGM)” which wasn’t discovered until shortly after she came home from the hospital. It was a critical condition and the outlook was very grim. Many, many people came together and lifted heartfelt prayers on her behalf. Zoey means life and Elise mean’s God’s Promise. Her parents are Matt and Kaitlyn Williamson.
Blessing One: Fast forward only a few short weeks, sweet little Zoey Elise has had not one but two brain surgeries and is now home and doing well. Thank you Lord for answered prayers. We acknowledge your grace on our family.
This past weekend, my son, Dex, and his family were home for our granddaughter Dakotah’s wedding. We were sitting around catching up with one another and Anna, my daughter-in-law, asked how Zoey was doing. Colton, our 5 year old grandson was sitting in the floor playing with his army men his dad had just bought him at the DG and I had no idea he was even paying attention to us. Little Ears are Listening. I made the statement that Zoey was a miracle. That is the only way you can explain it. She’s simply a miracle. When I said that Colton turned and looked at me with the most serious eyes and said, “it’s because we prayed for her”. That’s blessing two. His little tender heart knows the power of prayer already at 5 years old. Oh that my heart would be like that.
Blessing three (told you they build on each other). I am so grateful for all of my children for teaching my grandchildren to go to The Lord for the big things and the little things in their lives and to pray for others.
This post is not a thankfulness post just because it is Thanksgiving, although it’s the time of year we “count our many blessings”. My biggest blessings are ALWAYS my family and the events and daily connections with them. I once told someone who is much more financially well-off than me, that I was richer than her, because she wanted “everything” but I have everything I want. My life is not perfect but it is filled with many perfect moments.
Thankfulness should be a way of life for us, naturally flowing from our hearts and mouths. Count your many blessings, name them one by one…”SEE” what God has done.
Your testimonies are my heritage forever, for they are the joy of my heart. Psalm 119:111 (ESV)
Harvest is not just the act of picking a vegetable from the vine, it is a season for collecting the crops and celebrating the plentiful gifts our garden has brought to us. I love this season. Actually, I love all seasons. Each one brings us a renewed spirit.
The following is an excerpt of a message by Charles Spurgeon on August 6, 1854 titled “Harvest Time”. If you are a fan of his writings, you will probably enjoy this one.
“[t[here are four evangelists in Nature; and these are the four evangelists of the seasons, — spring, summer, autumn, winter… …We are about to let autumn preach.”
“… I suppose the dwellers in cities think less of times and seasons than dwellers in the country. Men who were born, trained up, nourished and nurtured among corn-fields, harvests, sowings, and reapings are more likely to notice such things than you who are always engaged in mercantile pursuits, and think less of these things than rustics do. But I suppose, if it is almost necessary that you should less regard the harvest than others, it ought not to be carried to too great an extent. Let us not be forgetful of times and seasons. There is much to be learned from them, and I would refresh your memories by a harvest field. What a wondrous temple this world is; for in truth it is a temple of God’s building, wherein men ought to worship him. What a wondrous temple it is to a mind spiritually enlightened, which can bring to bear upon it the resources of intellect, and the illuminations of God’s Holy Spirit! There is not a single flower in it that does not teach us a lesson, there is not a single wave, or blast of thunder, that has not some lesson to teach to us, the sons of men. This world is a great temple, and as, if you walk in an Egyptian temple, you know that every mark and every figure in the temple has a meaning, so when you walk this world, you must believe that everything about you has a meaning. It is no fanciful idea that there are “sermons in stones”; for there really are sermons in stones, and this world is intended to teach us by everything that we see. Happy is the man who only has the mind, and has the spirit to get these lessons from Nature. Flowers, what are they? They are but the thoughts of God solidified, God’s beautiful thoughts put into shape. Storms, what are they? They are God’s terrible thoughts written out that we may read them. Thunders, what are they? They are God’s powerful emotions just opened out that men may hear them. The world is just the materializing of God’s thoughts; for the world is a thought in God’s eye. He made it first from a thought that came from his own mighty mind, and everything in the majestic temple that he has made, has a meaning.
In this temple there are four evangelists. As we have four great evangelists in the Bible, so there are four evangelists in Nature; and these are the four evangelists of the seasons, — spring, summer, autumn, winter…
…We are about to let autumn preach. One of these four evangelists comes forth, and it says, “Is it not wheat harvest to-day?” We are about to take the harvest into consideration in order to learn something from it. May God’s most blessed Spirit help his feeble dust and ashes to preach the unsearchable riches of God to your souls’ profit!
We shall talk of three joyful harvests and of three sorrowful harvests.
I. First, we shall speak of THREE JOYFUL HARVESTS that there will be.
The first joyful harvest that I will mention is the harvest of the field which Samuel alluded to when he said, “Is it not wheat harvest to day?” We cannot forget the harvest of the field. It is not meet that these things should be forgotten; we ought not to let the fields be covered with corn, and to have their treasures stored away in the barns, and all the while to remain forgetful of God’s mercy. In gratitude, that worst of ills, is one of the vipers which make their nest in the heart of man, and the creature cannot be slain until divine grace comes there, and sprinkles the blood of the cross upon man’s heart. Such vipers die when the blood of Christ is upon them. Let me just lead you for a moment to a harvest field. You shall see there a most luxuriant harvest, the heavy ears bending down almost to touch the ground, as much as to say, “From the ground I came, I owe myself to the ground, to that I bow my head,” just as the good Christian does when he is full of years. He holds his head down the more fruit lie has upon him. You see the stalks with their heads hanging down, because they are ripe. And it is goodly and precious to see these things.
Now just suppose the contrary. If this year the ears had been blighted and withered; if they had been like the second ears that Pharaoh saw, very lean and very scanty, what would have become of us? In peace, we might have depended on large supplies from Russia to make up the deficiency; now, in times of war, when nothing can come, what would become of us? We may conjecture, we may imagine, but I do not know that we are able to come to the truth; we can only say, “Blessed be God, we have not yet to reckon on what would have been; but God, seeing one door closed, has opened another.” Seeing that we might not get supplies from those rich fields in the South of Russia, lie has opened another door in our own land. “Thou art my own favoured island,” says he; “I have loved thee, England, with a special love, thou art my favoured one, and the enemy shall not crush thee; and lest thou shouldst starve, because provisions are cut off, I will give thee thy barns full at home, and thy fields shall be covered, that thou mayest laugh thine enemy to scorn, and say to him, ‘Thou thoughtest thou couldst starve us, and make us perish; but he, who feeds the ravens, has fed his people, and has not deserted his favoured land.’” There is not one person who is uninterested in this matter. Some say the poor ought to be thankful that there is abundance of bread. So ought the rich. There is nothing which happens to one member of society which does not affect all. The ranks lean upon one another; if there is scarcity in the lower ranks, it falls upon the next, and the next, and even the Queen upon her throne feels in some degree the scarcity when God is pleased to send it. It affects all men. Let none say, “Whatever the price of corn may be. I can live;” but rather bless God who has given you more than enough. Your prayer ought to be,” Give us this day our daily bread;” and remember that, whatever wealth you have, you must attribute your daily mercies as much to God as if you lived from hand to mouth; and sometimes that is a blessed way of living, — when God gives his children the hand-basket portion, instead of sending it in a mass. Bless God that he has sent an abundant harvest! O fearful one, lift up thine head! and thou discontented one, be thou abashed, and let thy discontent more be known! The Jews used to observe the feast of tabernacles when the harvest time came. In the country they always have a “harvest home,” and why should not we? I want you all to have one. Rejoice! rejoice! rejoice! for the harvest is come, — “Is it not wheat harvest to-day?” Poor desponding soul, let all your doubts and fears be gone. “Thy bread shall be given thee, and thy waters shall be sure.” That is one joyful harvest.
Now, the second joyful harvest is the harvest of every Christian. In one sense, the Christian is the seed; in another, he is a sower. In one sense, he is a seed, sown by God, which is to grow, and ripen, and germinate, till the great harvest time. In another sense, every Christian is a sower sent into the world to sow good seed, and to sow good seed only. I do not say that Christian men never sow any other seed than good seed. Sometimes, in unguarded moments, they take garlic into their hands instead of wheat; and we may sow tares instead of corn. Christians sometimes make mistakes, and God sometimes suffers his people to fall, so that they sow sins; but the Christian never reaps his sins; Christ reaps them for him. He often has to have a decoction made of the bitter leaves of sin, but he never reaps the fruit of it. Christ has borne the punishment. Yet bear in mind, if you and I sin against God, God will take our sin, and he will get an essence from it that will be bitter to our taste; though he does not make us eat the fruits, yet still he will make us grieve and sorrow over our sins. But the Christian, as I have said, should be employed in sowing good seed; and doing so, he shall have a glorious harvest.
In some sense or other, the Christian must be sowing seed. If God calls him to the ministry, he is a seed sower; if God calls him to the Sabbath-school, he is a seed sower; whatever his office, he is a sower of seed. I sow seed broadcast all over this immense field; I cannot tell where my seed goes. Some are like barren ground, and they refuse to receive the seed that I sow. I cannot help it if any man should do so. I am only responsible to God, whose servant I am. There are others, and my seed falls upon them, and brings forth a little fruit, but by-and-by, when the sun is up, because of persecution, they wither away and they die. But I hope there are many who are like the good ground that God has prepared, and when I scatter the seed abroad, it fails on good ground, and brings forth fruit to an abundant harvest. Ah! the minister has a joyful harvest, even in this world, when he sees souls converted. I have had a harvest tune when I have led the sheep down to the washing of baptism, when I have seen God’s people coming out from the mass of the world, and telling what the Lord has done for their souls, — when God’s children are edified, and built up, it is worth living for, and worth dying ten thousand deaths for, to be the means of saving one soul. What a joyful harvest it is when God gives us converted ones by tens and hundreds, and adds to his church abundantly such as shall be saved! Now I am like a farmer just at this season of the year. I have got a good deal of wheat down, and I want to get it into the barn, for fear the rain comes and spoils it I believe I have got a great many, but they will persist in standing out in the field. I want to get them into the barns. They are good people, but they do not like to make a profession, and join the church. I want to get them into my Master’s granary, and to see Christians added to the church. I see some holding down their heads, and saying, “He means us.” So I do. You ought before this to have joined Christs church and unless you are fit to be gathered into Christ’s little garner here on earth, you have no right to anticipate being gathered into that great garner which is in heaven.
Every Christian has his harvest. The Sabbath-school teacher has his harvest. He goes and toils, and he ploughs very stony ground often, but he shall have his harvest. Oh, poor labouring Sabbath school teacher, hast thou seen no fruit yet? Dost thou say, “Who hath believed our report, and to whom is the arm of the Lord revealed?” Cheer up, thou dost labour in a good cause, there must be some to do thy work. Hast thou seen no children converted? Fear not, —
“Though seed lie buried long in dust,
It shan’t deceive your hope,
The precious grain can ne’er be lost,
For God insures the crop.”
Go on sowing still, and thou shalt have a harvest when thou shalt see children converted. I have known some Sabbath-school teachers who could count a dozen, or twenty, or thirty children, who have, one after another, come to know the Lord Jesus Christ, and to join the church. But if you should not live to see it on earth, remember you are only accountable for your labour, and not for your success. Sow still, toil on! “Cast thy bread upon the waters: for thou shalt find it after many days.” God will not allow his Word to be wasted; it shall not return unto him void, but shall accomplish that which he pleases. There may be a poor mother, who has often been sad. She has a son and a daughter, and she has been always praying that God might convert their souls. Mother, thy son is an ungainly boy still; he grieves thy heart; still the hot tears scald thy cheeks on account of him. And thou, father, thou hast reproved him often; he is a wayward son, and he is still running the downward road. Cease not to pray! O my brethren and sisters, who are parents, you shall have a harvest!
There was a boy once, a very sinful child, who hearkened not to the counsel of his parents; but his mother prayed for him, and now he stands to preach to this congregation every Sabbath. And when his mother thinks of her first-born preaching the gospel, she reaps a glorious harvest that makes her a glad woman. Now, fathers and mothers, such may be your case. However bad your children are at. present, still press toward the throne of grace, and YOU shall have a harvest. What thinkest thou, mother, wouldst thou not rejoice to see thy son a minister of the gospel; thy daughter teaching and assisting in the cause of God? God will not suffer thee to pray, and thy prayers be unheeded.
Young man, thy mother has been wrestling for thee a long time and she has not won thy soul yet. What thinkest thou? Thou defraudest thy mother of her harvest! If she had a little patch of ground, hard by her cottage, where she had sown some wheat, wouldst thou go and bum it? If she had a choice flower in her garden, wouldst thou go and trample it under foot? But by going on in the ways of the reprobate, thou art defrauding thy father and thy mother of their harvest. Perhaps there are some parents who are unweeping over their sons and daughters, who are hardened and converted. O God, turn their hearts! for bitter is the doom of that man who goes to hell over the road that is washed by his mother’s tears, stumbles over his father’s reproofs, and tramples on those things which God has put in his way, — his mother’s prayers and his father’s sighs. God help that man who dares to do such a thing as that! And it is wondrous grace if he does help him.
You shall have a harvest, whatever you are doing. I trust you are all doing something. If I cannot mention what your peculiar engagement is, I trust you are all serving God in some way; and you shall assuredly have a harvest wherever you are scattering your seed. But suppose the worst, — if you should never live to see the harvest in this world, you shall have a harvest when you get to heaven. If you live and die a disappointed man in this world, you shall not be disappointed in the next. I think how surprised some of God’s people will be when they get to heaven. They will see their Master, and he will give them a crown, “Lord, what is that crown for?” “That crown is because thou didst give a cup of cold water to one of my disciples.” “What! a crown for a cup of cold water?” “Yes,” says the Master, “that is how I pay my servants. First I give them grace to give that cup of water, and then, having given them grace, I give them a crown.” “Wonders of grace to God belong.” He that soweth liberally shall reap liberally; and he that soweth grudgingly shall reap sparingly. Ah, if there could be grief in heaven, I think it would be the grief of some Christians who had sown so very little. After all, how little the most of us ever sow! I know I sow but very little compared with what I might. How little any of you sow! Just add up how much you give to God in the year. I am afraid it would not come to a farthing per cent. Remember, you reap accord- ing to what you sow. O my friends, what surprise some of you will feel when God pays you for sowing one single grain! The soil of heaven is rich in the extreme. If a farmer had such ground as there is in heaven, he would say, “I must sow a great many acres of land;” and so let us strive, for the more we sow, the more shall we reap in heaven. Yet remember it is all of grace, and not of debt.
Now, beloved, I must very hastily mention the third joyful harvest. We have had the harvest of the field, and the harvest of the Christian. We are now to have another, and that is the harvest of Christ.
Christ had his sowing times. What bitter sowing times were they! Christ was one who went out bearing precious seed. Oh, I picture Christ sowing the world! He sowed it with tears; he sowed it with drops of blood; he sowed it with sighs; he sowed it with agony of heart; and at last he sowed himself in the ground, to be the seed of a glorious crop. What a sowing time his was! He sowed in tears, in poverty, in sympathy, in grief, in agony, in woes, in suffering, and in death. He shall have a harvest, too. Blessings on his name, Jehovah swears it; the everlasting predestination of the Almighty has settled that Christ shall have a harvest. He has sown, and he shall reap; he has scattered, and he shall gather in. “He shall see his seed, he shall prolong his days; and the pleasure of the Lord shall prosper in his hands.” My friends, Christ has begun to reap his harvest. Yea, every soul that is converted is part of his reward; every one who comes to the Lord is a part of it. Every soul that is brought out of the miry clay, and set on the King’s highway, is a part of Christ’s crop. But he is going to reap more yet. There is another harvest coming, in the latter day, when he shall reap armfuls at a time, and gather the sheaves into his garner. Now, men come to Christ in ones and twos and threes; but, then, they shall come in flocks, so that the church shall say, “Who are these that come in as doves to their windows?”
There shall be a greater harvest when time shall be no more. Turn to the 14th chapter of Revelation, and the 13th verse: “And I heard a voice from heaven saying unto me, Write, Blessed are the dead which die in the Lord from henceforth: Yea, saith the Spirit, that they may rest from their labours; and their works do follow them.” They do not go before them, and win them heaven. “And I looked, and behold a white cloud, and upon the cloud One sat like unto the Son of man, having on his head a golden crown, and in his hand a sharp sickle. And another angel came out of the temple, crying with a loud voice to him that sat on the cloud, Thrust in thy sickle, and reap: for the time is come for thee to reap; for the harvest of the earth is ripe. And he that sat on the cloud thrust in his sickle on the earth; and the earth was reaped.” That was Christ’s harvest. Observe but one particular. When Christ comes to reap his field, he comes with a crown on. There are the nations gathered together before that crowned Reaper!
“They come, they come: the exiled bands,
Where’er they rest, or roam;
They heard his voice in distant; lands.
And hastened to their home.”
There they stand, one great army before God. Then comes the crowned Reaper from his throne; he takes his sharp sickle, and him reap sheaf after sheaf, and he carries them up to the heavenly gamer. Let us ask the question of ourselves, whether we shall be among the reaped ones, — the wheat of the Lord.
Notice again, that there was first a harvest, and then a vintage. The harvest is the righteous; the vintage is the wicked. When the wicked are gathered, an angel gathers them; but Christ will not trust an angel to reap the righteous. “He that sat on the cloud thrust in his sickle.” O My soul, when thou comest to die, Christ will himself come after thee; when thou art to be cut. down, he that sits upon the throne will cut thee down with a very sharp sickle, in order that he may do it as easily as possible. He will be the Reaper himself; no reaper will be allowed to gather Christ’s saints in, but Christ the King of saints. Oh, will it not be a joyful harvest when all the chosen race, every one of them, shall be gathered in? There is a little shrivelled grain of wheat there, that has been growing somewhere on the headland, and that will be there. There are a great many who have been hanging down their heads, heavy with grain, and they will be there too. They will all be gathered in.
“His honour is engaged to save
The meanest of his sheep;
All that his heavenly
Father gave His hands securely keep.”
II. But now we are obliged to turn to THE THREE SAD HARVESTS. Alas! alas; the world was once like an Eolian harp; every wind that blew upon it gave forth melody; now the strings are all unstrung, and they are full of discord, so that, when we have a strain of joy, we must have the deep bass of grief to come after it.
The first sad harvest is the harvest of death. We are all living, and what for? For the grave. I have sometimes sat me down, and had a reverie like this. I have thought: Man, what is he? He grows, and grows, till he comes to his prime; and when he is forty-five, if God spare him, perhaps he has then gained the prime of life. What does he do then? He continues where he is a little while, and then he goes down the hill; and if he keeps on living, what is it for? To die. But there are many chances to one, as the world has it, that he will not live to be seventy. He may die very early. Do we not all live to die? But none shall die till they are ripe. Death never reaps his corn green, he never cuts his corn till it is ripe. The wicked die, but they are always ripe for hell when they die; the righteous die, but they are always ripe for heaven when they die. That poor thief there, who had not believed in Jesus, perhaps an hour before he died, — he was as ripe as a seventy years’ saint. The saint is always ready for glory whenever death, the reaper, comes, and the wicked are always ripe for hell whenever God pleases to send for them. Oh, that great reaper; he sweeps through the earth, and mows his hundreds and thousands down! It is all skill; death makes no noise about his movements, and he treads with velvet footfall over the earth; that ceaseless mower, none can resist him. He is irresistible, and he mows, and mows, and cuts them down. Sometimes he stops and whets his scythe; he dips his scythe in blood, and then he mows us down with war; then he takes his whetstone of cholera, and mows down more than ever. Still he cries, “More! more! more!” Ceaselessly that work keeps on! Wondrous mower! Wondrous reaper! Oh, when thou comest to reap me, I cannot resist thee; for I must fall like others; — when thou comest, I shall have nothing to say to thee. Like a blade of corn I must stand motionless; and thou must cut me down! But, oh! may I be prepared for thy scythe! May the Lord stand by me, and comfort me, and cheer me; and may find that death is an angel of life, — that death is the portal of heaven, the vestibule of glory!
There is a second sad harvest, and that is the harvest that the wicked man has to reap. Thus saith the voice of inspiration, “whatsoever a man soweth, that shall he also reap.” Now there is a harvest that every wicked man has to reap in this world. No man over sins against his body without reaping a harvest for it. The young man says, “I have sinned with impunity.” Stay, thou young man! go there to that hospital, and see sufferers writhing in their agony. See that staggering, bloated wretch, and I tell thee, stay thy hand! lest thou become like him. Wisdom bids thee stop; for thy steps lead down to hell. If thou enterest into the house of the strange woman, thou shalt reap a harvest. There is a harvest that every man. reaps if he sins against his fellows. The man who sins against his fellow creature shall reap a harvest. Some men walk through the world like knights with spurs on their heels, and think they may tread on whom they please; but they shall find their mistake. He who sins against others, sins against himself; that is Nature. It is a law in Nature that a man cannot hurt his fellows without hurting himself. Now, you who cause grief to others’ minds, do not think the grief will end there; you will have to reap a harvest even here. Again, a man cannot sin against his estate without reaping the effects of it. The miserly wretch, who hoards up his gold, sins against his gold. It becomes cankered, and from those golden sovereigns he will have to reap a harvest; yes, that miserly wretch, sitting up at night, and straining his weary eyes to count his gold, that man reaps his harvest. And so does the young spendthrift. He will reap his harvest when all Ins treasure is exhausted. It is said of the prodigal, that “no man gave unto him,” — none of those that he used to entertain, — and so the prodigal shall find it. No man shall give anything unto him. All! but the worst harvest will be that of those who sin against the, Church of Christ. I would not that a man should sin against his body; I would not that a man should sin against his estate; I would not that a man should sin against his fellows; but, most of all, I would not have him touch Christ’s Church. He that touches one of God’s people, touches the apple of his eye. When I have read of some people finding fault with the servants of the Lord, I have thought within myself, “I would not do so.” It is the greatest insult to a man to speak ill of his children. You speak ill of God’s children, and you will be rewarded for it in everlasting punishment. There is not a single one of God’s family whom God does not love, and if you touch one of them, he will have vengeance on you. Nothing puts a man on his mettle like touching his children; and if you touch God’s Church, you will have the direst vengeance of all. The hottest flames of hell are for those who touch God’s children. Go on. sinner, laugh at religion if thou pleasest; but know that it is the blackest sin in the whole catalogue of crime. God will forgive anything sooner than that; and though that is not unpardonable; yet, if not repented of, it will meet the greatest punishment. God cannot bear that his elect should be touched, and if you do so, it is the greatest crime you can commit.
The third sad harvest is the harvest of almighty wrath, when the wicked at last are gathered in. In the 14th chapter of Revelation, you will see that the vine of the earth was cast into the winepress of the wrath of God; and, after that, the winepress was trodden without the city, and blood came out, up to the horses’ bridles; — a wonderful figure to express the wrath of God! Suppose, then, some great winepress, in which our bodies are put like grapes; and suppose some mighty giant comes and treads us all under foot; that is the idea, — that the wicked shall be cast together, and be trodden under foot until the blood runs out up to the horses’ bridles. May God grant, of his sovereign mercy, that you and I may never be reaped in that fearful harvest; but that rather we may be written amongst the saints of the Lord!
You shall have a harvest in due season if you faint not. Sow on, brother; sow on, sister; and in due time thou shalt reap an abundant harvest. Let me tell you one thing, if the seed thou hast sown a long while, has never come up. I was told once: “When you sow seeds in your garden, put them in a little water over-night, they will grow all the better for it.” So, if thou hast been sowing thy seed, put it into tears, and it will make thy seed germinate the better. “They that sow in tears shall reap in joy.” Steep your seed in tears, and then put it into the ground, and you shall reap in joy. No bird can devour that seed; no bird can hold it in its mouth. No worm can eat it, for worms never eat seeds that are sown in tears. Go thy way, and when thou weepest most, then it is that thou sowest best. When most cast down, thou art doing best. If thou comest to the prayer-meeting, and has not a word to say, keep on praying; do not give it up, for thou often prayest best when thou thinkest thou prayest worst. Go on, and in due season, by God’s mighty grace, you shall reap if you faint not.
Charles Spurgeon
Happy Harvesting! Let us celebrate the gift of our bounty! Always keep “The Son” in your eyes!
Several weeks ago a client, who is a longtime Hale County native, asked me if I was from Samantha. I told him yes. That I grew up there and live there now in the house I grew up in. Why, I asked? He wanted me to tell him about the “famous” overflowing well that has healing powers. Famous? Healing Powers? Hmm, that was a new one on me. I really didn’t have too much to tell him, except that it existed and lots of people get water there.
That night I told Benny about that conversation and he said, “you should write something about the overflowing well”. He’s always encouraging me to write. But I didn’t give it much thought for a while. Then, several weeks later a picture of a beautiful little girl standing at the well filling a water bottle popped up on my Facebook feed with a caption that said, “Nanna, it’s a miracle”.
Pictured is Adaline Alexander. She is the daughter of Joshua Alexander and Jonica Poe. She is the granddaughter of Wanda Smith. Photo credit: Wanda Smith
I decided it might be interesting to write a little blurb about it. It made me think about how things can become so familiar that we don’t see them, but to someone else who hears about it or sees it for the first time, will be curious and have interest in knowing more of the details. Sort of like when you travel hundreds of miles to vacation or camp somewhere when we have the exact same thing in our back door almost. Anyway, I began asking longtime community residents questions about the history of the overflowing well on Campround Road.
I started first with my family. My oldest brother, Larry, didn’t seem to know much more about it than I did except that it was on the property belonging to the Tierce family. He said I would need to talk to an “old” man in the community who could probably give me some history of how it came to be. He thought for a minute and said, “wait, I am an old man. Maybe, you need an older man”, and he suggested Mr. Skeet Boone because we all know Mr. Skeet knows everything. 🙂 Mr. Skeet didn’t know any details about the history, just that it had always been there.
Same with Ricky and LaWanda – that it has always been there. LaWanda knew more details about the Tierce family. John and Lura Tierce were the original owners but they have been gone many years. I attempted to find and did reach out to several Tierce descendants but was unable to connect with anyone. LaWanda asked her oldest brother, Wade Gilliam, about how the overflowing well came to be. Bingo! We hit pay dirt – or water in this case. Wade said when the road was built there was a spring or more of an artesian well in the middle of the road, so the County had to pipe it so it would run in the ditch. Now, I’m no geologist or expert on these sorts of things so I went to google to learn more. What I learned is that Artesian water is always under pressure to reach the surface. While spring water may emerge through pressure, it may need to be pumped. Springs become artesian when the water flows to the surface without the aid of a pump. I reached out to the County to see if there were any records from when the road was built and was told they only have records starting when the roads were changed from Rural Routes to named roads.
Next, Benny and I visited with Buster Bolton. Buster has lived on land for many years near the overflowing well that also borders Campground Road. Buster confirmed that when the road was being built, the county helped John Tierce pipe it. He said that from time to time the pipes will get stopped up from leaves and trash and that his son, Todd, will help keep it cleaned out. Buster shared a memory of eight or ten years ago when there was a serious drought one summer, folks would be lined up all the way to the Cabiness House to get water.
We were talking to my son, Shane, about our visit with Buster and our discussions about the overflowing well. Shane said that when he played football at Northside High School, before Carrolls Creek water was available, their water boy would fill the water coolers from the overflowing well. He said the school water had Sulpher in it and was undrinkable so the water from the overflowing well would taste so good when they were hot, tired and beat up during practice and games.
More times than not, when you pass by the overflowing well on Campground Road, you will see someone filling up water bottles, empty milk cartons, coolers and/or big tanks. It is a continuous flow of cool, clear water that serves our community freely. I can’t help but think about Jesus’ words to the woman at the well “…Whoever drinks of this water will thirst again, but whoever drinks of the water that I shall give him will never thirst. But the water that I shall give him will become in him a fountain of water springing up into everlasting life.” John 4:13-14 NKJV.
Thank you to all who took the time to talk with me about the overflowing well. Special thanks to Lee Rutley from Moundville and Miss Adaline Alexander for inspiring me to take a second glance at this community landmark. And thank you to my sweet hubby for always encouraging me. Although this little blurb is just a bunch of my jumbled together words and I didn’t find any evidence of healing in the water, I have so enjoyed talking with you. Your stories and memories have caused me to pause and think about times gone by. We had such a wonderful visit sitting in the shade talking with Buster about life in Samantha and remembering some folks no longer with us. As time goes by so quickly I have come to love and appreciate history, especially when it is connected to me and my family and friends. Please share any memories you have about the overflowing well on Campground Road in Samantha, Alabama.
Six degrees of separation is the idea that all people are six or fewer social connections away from each other. As a result, a chain of “friend of a friend” statements can be made to connect any two people in a maximum of six steps. It is also known as the six handshakes rule. This story about Mrs. Maxine’s recipe for Iron Skillet Cake might be a good example.
My son, Shane, married Mrs. Maxine Norris’ granddaughter, Misty, 24 years ago. A few years ago he was telling me about how much he liked Mrs. Maxine’s Iron Skillet cake and that’s what he wanted for his birthday. Misty got the recipe for me and I made it and it was delicious!
Fast forward. We have potluck at my church every Wednesday night and I’m always trying to think of different things to cook. I love the good, tried and true “old” family dishes that have been passed down through the generations. I remembered Mrs. Maxine’s Iron Skillet Cake and flipped through my binder that holds all my favorite hand-written recipes to find it.
It was such a hit among the Wednesday night church crowd that I barely took home a crumb and folks were running me down as I was going out the door wanting the recipe. So, now the church ladies are going to make it for their families who will hopefully share the recipe and it will be passed down to their children and grandchildren. Although I didn’t really know Mrs. Maxine, I think it is so wonderful how we are connected – and a little bit of Mrs. Maxine’s memory lives on. Once again, food, has connected us. 🙂 Remember, Jesus broke bread with his disciples? So, there is a really good reason for it, right?
Mrs. Maxine passed away eleven years ago and we are talking about her. Thank you Mrs. Maxine for sharing your family with mine and for sharing your legacy with us all. Her sweet obituary stated that she was a true example of Proverbs 31. And I believe she was too.
For more family connections I have posted her obituary below :
“SAMANTHA Maxine Dobbs Norris of Samantha died March 13, 2012… Burial … Nazareth Primitive Baptist Church Cemetery…
She was preceded in death by her husband, Wilson Norris; her parents, Eddie Brondle and Celia Dobbs; and her brother, Julian Dobbs.
Survivors include her children, Sheila Watkins (Lynn), Emery Norris (Becky), Gail Willis (Billy), and Sharon Wells (Gary); her grandchildren, Chad Watkins (Jennifer), Ginger Roberts (Jamie), Leo Watkins, Kobe Watkins, Jeff Norris (Kelly), Misty Smith (Shane), Lance Willis (Darlene), and Tyler Wells; 10 great-grandchildren; her brothers, Buford (Sally), Solon (Vera), W.D., and Raiford Dobbs; her sisters, Loyal Farley, Christine Wiggins (Dan), Betty Stival, and Joan Turner (Dan); her sister-in-law, Mable Elliott; and several nieces and nephews.
Our mother was a true example of Proverbs 31, a gift to her family as well as others. She never met a stranger.
We add special thanks to our wonderful caregivers, Gladys Donaldson, Kathy Renfroe, Terry Bynum, and Julie Nicholson for becoming like family in their care of mother.”
My sister, Phyllis, and I have been having conversations about eulogies recently. Mine, hers and others. (Mostly hers since she is the oldest. Hehe). We talked about how it seems that the way for a preacher to eulogize a good southern woman is to talk about her cooking or a special dish she was known for. Phyllis said, “well, I hope I’m known for MORE than my cooking”.
I have thought about that a lot lately. Why do southern preachers do that? Talk about someone’s cooking at her funeral. I think there is a deeper meaning than just the delicious food. Maybe they just don’t know how to say it or it’s sort of a language all it’s own. The food I mean. The food speaks a language. Maybe when the preacher said Aunt Dora Lee had the best fried chicken what he really meant was he loved to sit at her and Uncle Coolidge’s table because their home was so warm and inviting and he just enjoyed being with them. Or, when Brother Terry Joe mentioned that he loved to find Grandmother Pearl’s cold biscuits in Granddady’s lunch “poke” was that he knew he would find extras because she made enough for all the fellas who might be hungry. It wasn’t just about the food. It was about the love that came from those hands and a heart as big as Texas. It is true, we southerners express love with food. I love to hear my family say “Mmm” when they’re at my table. Not just because the food tastes good to them but I get to have them close enough to touch.
The kitchen is really the heart of a home. The kitchen table is a living thing or it used to be. When we grew up, our family had supper together every evening. We all came together at the kitchen table. It’s where daddy took inventory of the status of chores or told us what he expected to be done the next day. It’s where we talked about report cards, teachers, events at school, how many quarts of beans Momma canned that day. We learned about morals and some high expectations we were expected to live up to. We shared Sunday dinners with our Pastor and had wonderful opportunities to hear stories of church and community, upcoming revivals and VBS. We celebrated birthdays at the kitchen table. Sometimes Momma would feed the entire football team on Friday nights. We also learned table manners which seems to be a thing of the past these days too.
the Bible refers to eating together as breaking bread. Breaking bread together teaches us that we are a team. Jesus brought his disciples together to prepare them for what was coming before his crucifixion. The Last Supper.
RonaldReagansaid, “All great change in America begins at the dinner table”.
What we lost when wives stopped cooking was the kitchen table which used to represent way more than food.
Every family has a story that it tells itself, that it passes on to the children and grandchildren. The story grows over the years, mutates, some parts are sharpened, others dropped, and there is often debate about what really happened. But even with these different sides of the same story, there is still agreement that this is the family story. And in the absence of other narratives, it becomes the flagpole that the family hangs its identity from. We must carry those stories through each generation.
“The dinner table is the center for the teaching and practicing not just of table manners but of conversation, consideration, tolerance, family feeling, and just about all the other accomplishments of polite society except the minuet.” -Judith Martin, a.k.a. “Miss Manners”
The family table is also a place where we gather in times of celebration and sadness, to embrace food and each other.
The magic of family dinner is not about what’s on the table; it’s about what happens at the table as you gather around it.
So, the next time you are at a funeral and the preacher goes on and on about Mrs. Johnson’s cooking, just know that this person was probably someone who loved others and that others wanted to be around. If you want the preacher to talk about more than your food, do like my sister and I. Write your own eulogy so he will have MORE to talk about than your cooking. After all it will be my last chance to get in the last word.
Excerpt from Tim Keller’s Prodigal God – The Table
Post Script – I ran across this article The Dinner Table as a Place of Connection, Brokenness, and Blessing, by Barry D. Jones after I wrote Kitchen Table and Eulogies. It compliments my thoughts and says a lot of what I tried to say. 🙂 I hope you will take the time to read it.
My life’s journey has taken many detours but it brought me home and I have the honor and privilege of living in the home where I grew up. A few years ago, I would have never entertained the thought of living in Samantha again. But it’s strange how you can develop a longing to reach back and pick up those lessons learned from your growing years and you realize how rich your heritage really is. Not monetary wealth, but the love of family, friends, neighbors and community. That is getting more rare with each passing day. I was inspired to create a community cookbook primarily for four reasons.
To preserve our rich heritage and create a connection between past generations and future generations. It is my hope that someday our grandchildren will pick up this book and not only read and use these tried and true recipes, but it will prompt conversations about the names attributed to them. While I do believe we must live in the present and embrace our future, knowing our past gives us a sense of well-being and ownership. This project has given me opportunities to have precious conversations with some “senior” members of our community. Their laughter when remembering nuggets from the past is priceless to me and it encourages me to deepen my roots and strive to be able to offer the same one day when I receive such a call. Knowing stories about what others have faced, what they have drawn upon and risked. Great wisdom comes from their experiences. I believe knowing where we came from helps us understand the purpose of where we are going. Our heritage and legacy is a critical part of who we are as individuals. Embracing the heritage we were given enables us to leave a strong legacy. One worthy to be passed on.
To preserve family meals together. Ronald Reagan said, “All great change in America begins at the dinner table.” When I was growing up we always had supper every evening at the kitchen table. TV off and enjoying a home cooked meal and having conversation. When I visited with my friends, it was the same. Families, friends and neighbors sat around the kitchen table and told stories. It was a time to learn about each other’s lives. Having a meal at the kitchen table is not just a time to eat, but a time to tell stories. I loved to hear Momma and Daddy, my grandparents and aunts and uncles tell stories of the past. Families are so busy now that having supper together at the kitchen table is a lost art. I believe breaking bread together is important and I hope this cookbook will encourage us to cook more and eat more together. When I read stories in the Bible where Jesus sat and broke bread with others, it makes me know that is important.
To promote community. When folks come together to work toward a common goal, it serves to buildup and strengthen relationships. I believe communities grow stronger when folks regularly do a variety of simple things together. It gives us a chance to connect with others.
To raise funds for ministries and projects within our community.
Thank you for submitting recipes to make this cookbook possible and thank you for purchasing a copy. I appreciate you all more than you know.
Independence Day. Barbeque, hot dogs, beach parties, baseball games, and fireworks. But what does “Independence Day” mean?
The Fourth of July is our country’s birthday. The day our country’s founders declared independence from Great Britain. This meant they would no longer follow the orders of Britain’s king. To do this was extremely dangerous. At the time, Britain had one of the world’s strongest armies, and to go against the king was a crime punishable by death. But the king’s laws were unfair, so our founders decided it was worth the risk of war to win the freedom to govern themselves. In 1783, the new United States won that war, which we now call the Revolutionary War.
Why does the flag have those stars? At this time of year, American flags are easy to spot. Point one out to your grandchildren. Explain that each part of the flag stands for something. The 50 stars stand for the 50 states. The 13 stripes stand for the 13 British colonies, which declared their independence on July 4, 1776. It’s a symbol — a way to show the world what we stand for. It also shows that we are connected to one another — that we’re on the same team. And because the flag is special, we treat it with respect.
What makes our country special? That one thing that makes our country special is that it guarantees us certain rights, or freedoms. We use these rights every day when we pray (or decide not to), read a newspaper, or meet and talk with friends. We can do these things because our country guarantees us the freedom to practice religion the way we want, say or write what we want, and go where we want. These rights are spelled out in the U.S. Constitution and its Bill of Rights. Which rights are most important to you?
What does the government do for us? We pay taxes to our local, state, and national government so that, among other things, the government can build and maintain facilities that reflect our values. Education is important to us, for example, so we build schools. Safety is a priority for us, so we put up traffic lights. And we want open places where we can gather, so we set aside space for parks. It provides the people who help the community, including police officers, firefighters, crossing guards, librarians, postal workers, and sanitation crews.
What can we do for our country? Our country is like a family: Everyone has to pitch in or it doesn’t work. As members of the U.S. “family” — in other words, as citizens — we all have certain responsibilities, like going to school, voting, and obeying the law. Being a good citizen also means taking care of the country, by keeping it clean, looking out for people in trouble, and staying informed about the problems that we face. Of course, actions always have more impact than words, so set an example by dedicating some of your time to volunteering in the community.
What does it mean to be American? In countries like China or Ireland, most residents share a common culture or ethnicity. But the United States is different. Here, what people share is a common idea — that people should have the freedom to live the way they want, and to work and earn money the best way they can. These freedoms have inspired people from all over the world to come to this country and become “Americans.” This is a profound idea many may never have considered and it should make us feel especially proud of our country, as well as more connected to other Americans of different backgrounds. It can also lead to a discussion about our own family’s journey to the United States. Why did your relatives come? Why did they stay? Every family’s story is part of the country’s story. Make sure you AND your grandchildren know yours. Comments below.
Apparently I have always had a love for or maybe taken ownership of the Samantha Community. Recently, we did some remodeling on the home I grew up in. I came home one day during during the remodel and the carpenters asked me if I drew on the walls when I was a kid. Then they showed me the “art work” they found on the ceiling of a closet they were tearing out.
Rt 1, Box 152, Samantha, Alabama 35482
While I do not remember creating this “masterpiece”, I do remember hiding in the top of that big closet many times to try and scare my brother Ricky (pay back you know?). I also recall having a thing about drawing mailboxes as a little girl. Maybe that was a result of daddy always teaching us the importance of putting down roots. Or maybe I am a horrific artist and that’s all I could do. But my biggest fan, my Momma, said, “you have to frame it”. So we now have a mounted piece of sheetrock from the closet.
I often hear folks from the Samantha Community say they live in Northside. This is always a bit comical to me. Having grown up in Samantha and going to Northside School, I always think to myself, “do they live in the school”? I guess younger folks don’t remember or those who moved here over the passed few years didn’t know this but before the postal service restructured everything our address was actually Rt. 1, Samantha, Alabama 35482. I still remember our address was Rt. 1, Box 152. It just sounds funny to me having grown up here when I hear people refer to Northside as the community. To me it’s a school.
A few years before daddy passed away, I came to visit him and found him in the barn working on “something”. During our conversation I noticed an old mailbox topper hanging on the barn wall. It was covered with dust and spider webs. He granted my request to take it home. At that time, I lived near Lake Tuscaloosa. I took it home and restored it and I proudly displayed it on my back porch, Johnny Williamson, Rt. 1, Samantha, even though I didn’t live in the Samantha community at that time. My heart and all my childhood memories are still connected to Samantha. I can’t help but think that mailbox topper had some historical value for daddy, too. After all, he had kept it all those years.
I believe we should be proud of our roots. Even if some of the memories might not be good, where we came from helped make us who we are today and hopefully we learned from it all, even if we moved away. So, for me, I am proud to say I’m from Samantha, Alabama and I now live in Samantha, Alabama. I am also proud to say I attended Northside School in Samantha, Alabama – home of the Rams. After all, we do still have a zip code and a Post Office located on Northside Road. What are your thoughts? Comment below
I saw this post on Facebook this week. Caption read Remember the Hope Chest? I remember the day daddy took me to Weems Furniture in Fayette to buy one for me when I was a young girl. I still have it. It no longer has a lid but I’m still using it. It has had a purpose in my house since the day we brought it home. Currently, I have it in the children’s corner of my house being used as my grandchildren’s toy box.
Cedar Chest Daddy Bought me
Daddy was a man of few words most of the time, but he knew how to make the important things, the important things without having to talk about them. As I recall, Mother mentioned it to him one Saturday morning that I wanted a Hope Chest. It wasn’t uncommon for me to go to Fayette with him on a Saturday. I would often tag along in his old dirty truck, smelling of diesel fuel and gasoline and sawdust on his Saturday errand day going to saw shops and tire stores. We always stopped in somewhere for lunch. I loved going to Lofty’s Cafe. That was the best hamburger I ever had. He would usually run into folks he knew and they would talk about “you momma and them”, gardening and logging. This particular Saturday he “asked me” to go with him. Our first stop was Weems Furniture. He tells the sales lady we are there to purchase a “Hope Chest”. She ushered us to the row of chests lined up on the side wall. Some with dark wood, some with padded lids, some more “fancy” than others. And there was this one, plain cedar chest at the very end, which is the one I liked. He paid the lady and as the young man was coming from the back to load it, Daddy just picked it up and took it the truck. I always thought he had the biggest muscles and he was always doing things like that to remind me. 🙂
Reliving my memories of Daddy and my cedar chest and it being Father’s Day stirred up other thoughts and sweet nuggets of precious memories of him. It’s sort of funny how when you are living the moment it doesn’t seem significant at all, but later as you touch it again, you see (and feel) it differently. For instance, Daddy, was always breaking or losing his reading glasses. He would fall asleep in the recliner reading and sit on them or they would get crushed somehow. He would repair them in his special way by tying whatever he had available to make them stay on his head. 14 pair of reading glasses were found in the house after he left us. Some with those special ties.
Daddy’s Glasses
When I saw him wearing those glasses I would think it was funny or silly or wonder why in the world does he do that! Now I have them all in his box that he kept notes with phone numbers or whatever. I guess most people would have just thrown them away, but to me it’s a connection to him – sort of fills that “missing him” part in my soul. It’s the “real” things he did that I love so much. Those things that made him unique.
Another example of that unique repair work he would do, is his nut cracker. He never enjoyed TV much so he often would crack nuts at night to be doing something productive waiting on the sun to come up. A lot of men repair everything with duct tape. Not daddy. He used medical tape. Probably because he had a lot of that on hand because he usually had some sort of injury. LOL He wrapped medical tape around the big nail and continued on with his cracking nuts. I just couldn’t throw that away either.
Daddy’s Phone Books
Then there’s his phone books. He wore out some phone books I will tell you. Proof that he stayed connected to folks. He was interested in knowing about them. He spent hours on the phone at night reaching out to his friends and turning strangers into friends. He made opportunity. (Galatians 6:10).
To those who still have your dads – I promise you that those things which you think embarrass you or cause you to shake your head or roll your eyes about your dad – those quirky things he says or does – will someday be a precious memory that you embrace and that you will long to relive.
To those who have said a temporary good bye to your dads, I ask you – “do you agree”? Please feel free to share your memories in the comments below.
Daddy’s Glasses, Phone Books, Nut Cracker and hammer
I was reading the article by Joshua Becker: “Those Things By Which We Get Embarrassed“ and he made this statement: “What if, instead of being embarrassed because our house is too small, we became embarrassed over the amount of unused space within it?”
As I read this article I thought about my visit with a dear neighbor, Jesse Ann, this past weekend. She lived next to us when we were small and has continued to maintain her parents’ house next to daddy’s (my house), even though they have been gone many years. She spends Wednesdays and Saturdays each week at the old homeplace. What a wonderful visit we had – talking about days gone by and some more recent memories of daddy, which brought us both to tears. The Weavers were such good neighbors. Oh the magic of ordinary days!
Old 1930s church. A gift from Jessie Ann Weaver Langston
The inside of the little farm house still looked much like I remembered it as a child growing up. The beautiful pine wainscot paneling in the “front room”. Jessie Ann gifted me with some absolute treasures that belonged to her parents that I will cherish and I hope my children will too after I’m gone, knowing “the history” behind them and the memories attached. A couple of old (1930) churns and other collections that she wanted me to have.
Among them were two old books about the history of Fayette.
150 Years of History of Fayette
Sitting there in the small farmhouse having conversation with Jessie Ann, I thought about how life seemed so much more simple in days gone by. Memories came to me of running barefoot along the path from our house to theirs. She must have thought I was such a country bumpkin. “Probably still does”. It seems that people were much more relational then. And even though life was hard, the hurried pressures of day-to-day life that we live under now were non-existent.
Outdoor Fun in Fayette County in the Olden Days Followed The Simplest Form
We have enjoyed reading the stories about the history of Fayette – some from the 1900 – such comical entries in the local paper about events such as “fisticuffs” and items like “demijohns” which I had to seek the definition. As I was reading those stories it was even more magnified how much more connected folks were then and my soul longs for that. They worked hard “together” and they celebrated accomplishments together. It seems to me that folks were less interested in themselves and their personal interests. It was more about “community”.
You know, I guess we can just “wish” for a simpler life with days of enjoying lemonade with our neighbors after a hard days work OR we can purpose to create those times in our own life today.
Somehow, I think we believe it’s either one or the other – work OR play. But one huge important thing our daddy taught us – work and play go together! “Many hands make the work load light!” And even fun. Make a party out of everything!!
To quote Johnny Williamson, “It’s very simple. Now I didn’t say it was easy, but it’s simple. You just have to make up your mind to do it.”
This newspaper clipping was found in my daddy’s things after he passed away. It is not dated, but I remember sending it to him when I lived in Kentucky. It is also torn – the missing word in the caption is “Liberals”. It is from The Daily Independent in Ashland, Kentucky. I haven’t lived in Kentucky since 2008 so it was written sometime prior. The article captured my attention because Daddy always taught us this concept when approaching a seemingly difficult task or problem. He would say something like, “It’s simple. You just have to make up your mind to it. Now that doesn’t mean it’s easy. But it’s simple.”
Now, Daddy referred to himself as a liberal because to him a liberal was someone who gave selflessly and generously and walked with those who were different (some might say undesirable, neglected, downtrodden, brokenhearted). He said Jesus Christ was a liberal. And he was right in that sense. Chuck Swindoll used the following quote by Charles Thomas (C.T.) Studd in a message I listened to this week about how it does no good to shine a light in the light – light is only seen in the darkness: “Some want to live within the sound of church or chapel bell; I want to run a rescue shop within a yard of hell”. When I heard this statement, I immediately thought of how Daddy lived his life. He sort of ran a rescue shop in a sense. The interesting thing is though, those folks often came to his door. It was not unusual to drop by daddy’s house in the middle of the day (a rainy day) and find several of daddy’s friends gathered around him having a deep theological discussion. They came to him because at some point he had touched them in their world – in their daily, normal walk of life and they knew he cared. Sometimes, Benny would get to listen in on the conversation. He would tell me, “We had church at your dad’s today”.
When I read this article, memories flooded my mind of the many long telephone conversations daddy and I would have when I was in Kentucky, about life and about God and daddy would share his deep revelations about a certain scripture. I also thought about how much truth there is in the words of this article.
If we can just take away the labels of liberal vs. conservative, left-wing vs. right-wing and simply look at the truth. Simple solutions to complex problems. “You might as well pull up your boot straps, and…”, more words from daddy. There is so much news inundating us every second of every day about how our government is corrupt and what all the politicians need to do.
CHANGE DOESN’T START AT THE WHITEHOUSE – IT STARTS AT MY HOUSE! And then in our own communities.
Let’s look for simple solutions, even if they are hard and let’s make our homes and communities better. Every community has it’s problems.
Several weeks ago we traveled to North Alabama on a Sunday morning to visit Benny’s Mother who was very sick. This time of year I enjoy seeing how other folks have landscaped and manicured their yards, taking note of the beautiful flowers, trees and gardens. Normally, we would have been at church on a Sunday morning and periodically I would look at the clock and think about what my church family was doing at that particular time (in Sunday School or getting ready for worship). As we traveled along I started thinking about Sundays and how different they are from my childhood. Sundays are the only day I EVER remember my daddy lying on the couch. He would fall asleep reading the paper after we got home from church. Sometimes we would visit family, make homemade ice cream and have a washtub full of iced down Coke, Grapico and Orange Crush for the whole gang.
So many folks along our way that day were mowing their grass, working on their car, plowing their gardens or doing what I call “Saturday chores”. Some church parking lots were full, some had few cars and one was completely closed and the grass was grown up around it. What happened to Sundays? Can’t we check out of our daily routine just one day to give honor and thanks to our creator? To worship Him and rest our bodies and minds as He has instructed us to do? After all, since He created us He knows what our bodies, minds and emotions need. What I observed that day made me sad. Partially because I am guilty of abusing sacred Sundays, but mostly because I felt grief in my heart for the utter disregard we give to The Lord and what He has asked of us. Now don’t get me wrong, I’m not legalistic about performing needed tasks on Sunday, but His Word instructs us to remember the Sabbath, to keep it holy and to rest. That’s only 52 days out of 365.
This past week, I was searching for 7th Heaven on Dish so I could set the DVR to record. When my granddaughter, Dakotah, comes to visit she likes to watch it and somehow all of the shows had been deleted. Ironically, the episode I “stumbled” on was an episode about Sundays. This is worth a watch. Lucy says, “We work 7 days a week or at least on the go 7 days a week and yet we wonder why people need drugs to relax. Could it be that we have lost 52 days a year to relax and enjoy our families?…Stressed, tired, irritable and no time to do the things I need to do and no time to do the things I want to do. We have lost our Sundays forever unless we make an effort to reclaim them.”
I suppose every generation longs for the “good ole days”. I’m no exception. How do we reclaim Sundays? It’s really very simple – we make a conscious decision to do so. Now simple doesn’t mean easy. Change is NOT easy. It’s like telling a drug addict to stop using. Yes simple – not easy.
It would be very interesting to hear how our neighbors and friends spend their Sundays today compared to Sundays from years past and how they line up with God’s word. Do you catch up from the past week? Do you prepare for next week? Do you attend church? Do you break bread with family? Do you visit the sick? Do you pray? Do you reflect? Do you work? Do you mow your lawn? No judgements please, just your personal activities of today and yesterday and your thoughts on Sunday.
Please share your thoughts in the comments section below!!
8/10/23 P.S. I heard Sundays in the South by Shenandoah while I was getting dressed this morning and I think it fits with my blog of years ago.
Millworker houses lined up in a row Another southern sunday’s mornin’ glow Beneath the steeple all the people have begun Shakin’ hands with the man who grips the gospel gun While in quiet prayer, the smell of dinner on the ground Fills up the mornin’ air, ain’t nothin’ sweeter around I can almost hear my mama prayin’ Oh Lord forgive us when we doubt Another sacred sunday in the south, alright
Standing in line at the Dollar General in Samantha can be entertaining at times, and this particular day was no exception. I overheard a couple of fellas who had not seen each other since high school catching up. “Hey man, where are you living now?” “Oh, I live about one mile down that road in front of the Jesus statue.” I thought about that conversation on my way home and as I turned into my drive I stopped at the statue in my yard and thought about the story behind this local landmark. After the death of my grandmother, Pealie Mae Williamson, in February 1998, my daddy, Johnny Williamson, was inspired to create a representation of the 23rd Psalm. It was her favorite scripture. A Cypress log was chosen for The Good Shepherd Statue because of the longstanding belief that the Cypress is the “gopher wood” (or kopher, which is the Hebrew word for waterproof) that Noah used to build the ark. Daddy worked alongside his longtime friend and local artist/sculptor, Willie Logan, to carve the 6-1/2 foot statue of The Good Shepherd.
It’s sort of amusing how you can become so accustomed to something that you no longer see it, or think about it. This statue has just been part of the normal landscape in my daddy’s yard for years. But, a few years ago I started noticing it when I would visit him. I developed a desire to know and understand what he saw, what his intentions were, and how he viewed The Good Shepherd Statue. I began to ask questions, and we spent hours sitting in the rockers on daddy’s front porch, shelling peas or peeling apples, as he tried to teach me.
Shelling peas with daddy on his porch
Finally, after a ton of my questions, he said, just read, Joshua 4. You see, my father was a great teacher, but he didn’t just simply give you all the answers. He was a deep thinker and that is what he wanted me to do: think about it, ponder on it, dig for it, and come to know it on my own. Local newspapers had done some articles in the past on the statue, and I dug them up. He had told those reporters, “The Statue is a testimony of my faith. It isn’t meant to be an idol. You don’t worship it, but it gets people to think and do good deeds.” Hmm, Good deeds. Well, I had certainly seen him do many good deeds over the course of my life. Time and time again, I saw my daddy give to others. He was selfless. I don’t recall ever hearing him say he wanted anything for himself. Giving to others was always on his mind. And somehow, he managed to know what their needs were. A friend told me once, “your daddy was like a magnet, you just wanted to be around him.
Daddy had a heart attack in March (2013) and died four months later. I had the privilege of living in his house with him during those four months. During many long nights, when he couldn’t sleep, he talked intently about life, pouring story after story into my heart and life that I will never forget. A few weeks after his death, I was looking through his books and found A Shepherd Looks at Psalm 23 by Phillip Keller. I could feel my daddy’s big hands on the book as I opened it. Reading this book helped me connect the dots of what daddy had tried to tell me and it gave me a new understanding of The Good Shepherd. I went back and read Joshua 4. This time I really read it with my heart’s ears. Joshua 4 teaches us to set up memorials as a testimony of what God has done and so that our children and others will ask us “what does this mean”? If provides an opportunity to tell others about Jesus – to tell our story. Since 1999 when it was erected, The Good Shepherd Statue has caused much conversation. Some understand it, some don’t. It has certainly fulfilled it’s purpose of setting down stones as memorials according to Joshua 4. Folks from all over the United States stop by to see it and take pictures. The sheep was stolen once, but thanks to some good Samaritans it was returned to it’s place next to The Good Shepherd Statue. Some call it Jesus in a Box. Daddy never really liked that term. He would say, “everyone knows it’s not Jesus, and you cannot put Jesus in a box”. If you are ever traveling along Highway 43 in Samantha, you are welcome to stop and pay a visit. Check in on Facebook. Take pictures and ponder the meaning of The Good Shepherd.
His sheep know His voice.
Ricky Williamson talks to Sheriff’s Deputies after they returned lost sheep to it’s place beside The Good Shepherd Statue
If our heritage and lineage wasn’t important why would God have put all those “begats” in the Bible.
We must know where we came from in order to fully understand the purpose of where we are going. Our heritage and legacy is a critical part of who we are as individuals. Embracing the heritage we were given enables us to leave a strong legacy. One worthy to be passed on. Preserving the Heritage – Promoting the Future
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