eve of 2010

"The strongest and sweetest songs yet remain to be sung." ~Walt Whitman

I Still Do

Forty-six years ago the organ chimes rang seven times and I walked down the aisle of the church where we both grew up to meet the love of my life and make vows in that beginning which was called a wedding. In all the changes and challenges in my life, the promises we made to each other and to God have held fast. In joy, in sadness, in sickness and health, in poverty and wealth (both of pocket and spirit), in the face of what at times seemed insurmountable difficulty, we have moved through the years to this day of celebration. Grace is still at work in our lives. Among many reminders of memories made in our home is a small framed copy of this prayer which we asked to be read at our wedding. It is my daily prayer.

Lord, make me an instrument of your peace
Where there is hatred..let me sow love
Where there is injury, pardon.
Where there is doubt...faith,
Where there is despair...hope,
Where there is darkness, light.
Where there is sadness...joy.

O Divine Master, grant that I may
not so much seek
To be consoled....as to console,
To be understood...as to understand,
To be loved...as to love,
for
It is in giving...that we receive,
It is in pardoning, that we are pardoned, It is in dying...that we are born to eternal life.
~St. Francis of Assisi

There's No Business like Snow Business

Our granddaughters who live in North Texas had a White Christmas! Maddie made snow angels and snow balls. Santa had to leave the wooden playhouse in pieces because he had trouble putting them together in the heavy snowfall. No snow for us in South Texas, but I did watch White Christmas! Our family here gathered for the day, enjoying cooking and eating and gifting and singing around the piano, with a number of telephone conversations with the snow angels and their angel parents.

Recipe for Remembering

I have been doing Christmas baking and candy making the last few days. As I got out my recipe box and files to choose which meals and treats I would make this year, I realized one more time how many of these are traditions in our family, but also the numbers of friends and family who passed these recipes on to me. Most of the recipes are handwritten, and include the name of the person who gave them to me originally. As I read through them, and particularly as I cook that special food, I think of those names, and am grateful for all the ways they were and are part of our family story. A few reflect a family experience that resulted in the collection of the recipe. This year I made a list of 18 recipes and contributors and smiled as I realized most of them I have been using for 40 years or more! Some of them were:

Dr. Pepper Bread: this came from a booklet handed out at the Texas State Fair in 1978! A family trip to the fair resulted in a recipe we have used ever since.

German Butter Balls, courtesy of my friend Nancy Johnson in San Antonio in 1970.

My sister in law, Iris' recipe for Toffee.

Candy Cane Cookies, clipped from a Ladies' Home Journal in the late 1960's This is an alltime family favorite, and the one my grandchildren like best to make as well as to eat!

Ice Box Cookies, my mother's recipe and a cookie I remember eating for well over 60 years!

Thumb Print Cookies, from Pat Tarver Taylor, our good friend for over 40 years.

Mexican Stack Up: given to us by C.W. and Mary Bess, a dear pastor and his wife, in a book of Christmas recipes in 1982.

All Bran Yeast Rolls, from Billie Housman in 1963.

Orange Spiced Wine, from Georgie Ingram, 1972

Poppy Seed Dressing for fruit salad, from Opal Carl. She was my Public Health Professor in Nursing School in 1962.

Chicken Tetrazinni, from Jean McGuire, our neighbor in San Antonio in 1966.

I am grateful for friends past and present. I love remembering with recipes.

It looks like Christmas!

Skye and her doll Molly have matching Christmas dresses. Our house has its Christmas dress on too. The outward preparations for Christmas start Thanksgiving weekend although I always give myself the gift of beginning to listen to my favorite Christmas music on my birthday two weeks prior to that. Once I get the bins of decorations into the house from my garage, I am always eager to get everything "out and up". I find it takes me longer these days, so here it is only a few days until the 25th and I am still tweaking the tree...trees, actually. Skye is here in the afternoons after school and she has helped with getting ready. We have a small kitchen tree with handwritten recipes from my mother and cookie cutters I have used since I was a child. The tiny tree in the dining room has small china teacups and saucers for decorations plus a few tea bags and the pieces of Joe's mother's spoon collection that came to us. The decorating is only a sign of what goes on inwardly for me. Advent is a time for making my heart ready.

Snow is seldom forecast for the Texas Gulf Coast. Yesterday, December 4, 2009, we had the earliest snowfall ever. For hours, we had huge wet snowflakes that began to blanket every rooftop and garden, transforming our everyday views into Christmas card works of art. I kept coming back to the window and the porch to watch it. I gathered squash, greens, tomatoes, peppers and herbs that I did not want to freeze since our temperatures for the night would drop to the low twenties.

SHATTERING

When remembering my grandparent’s old house on an East Texas Hill, my thoughts reenter the red dirt road up to the house. We never went in at the front, but always drove around to the back, parked under the oak trees and, flinging open car doors, we ran to open arms and an open screen door in the back. That door took us into the large room known simply as the sleeping porch. It had windows all across two sides , was furnished with a big feather bed, the curved front bureau that now lives in my own front bedroom, some rocking chairs, a heater, and the oak dining table and china cabinet we now call ours.

I can picture going into the small kitchen just off the sleeping porch. There was a wood stove, a bucket of water with a dipper, and there Grandma produced peas and cornbread, fried chicken, homemade blackberry jelly, and my favorite treat, tea cakes. From the kitchen a door led into one of 3 front rooms which were separated by a long hall that had speckled blue linoleum dotted with white stars. On one wall sat a long chintz covered quilt box. That box is here in my house, too. On its surface sit family pictures, generations beyond my grandparents, but none of whom would have been possible without them!

At the end of the hall, the door opened onto the front porch. Two things pulled me there. One was a porch swing where I could sit and swing and read. The other was a large rose bush, planted at the corner where the house and porch met, just outside a bedroom window. It was a yellow rose, with large fragrant petals. My grandmother often filled a jar with these roses to put on the kitchen table. She didn’t have a car or an indoor bathroom, but she had roses. We would bury our noses in their softness and fragrance and thank God for this gift to us. When these roses had blessed us with their beauty for a brief time, and began to drop their petals on the table cloth, Grandma called this “shattering”. “Those roses have shattered,” she would say. I know that we use the same term for broken crystal and failed dreams, but in today’s bouquets, the shattering of the roses always brings a tender smile and a remembering of Grandma’s yellow roses.
Lord, I want to bloom today. Keep me together. Help me not to shatter.

PUMPKIN PARTY

I feel very celebrated! Ben and Kristen gave me a birthday party on November 14 that has to be the most unusual in 69 birthdays. We may not have had 69 ways to enjoy pumpkins, but it was close. Pumpkin seeds, pumpkin spread, pumpkin scones, pumpkin popcorn, pumpkin bark, pumpkin candy, pumpkin soup, pumpkin lasagne, and the work of art pumpkin cake! Decorations were, of course, pumpkins - small, medium, and large. Charlie Brown may not have a corner on the Great Pumpkin anymore!

Lemon Harvest

Our Meyer lemon tree had a bumper crop this year. The tree is small and the branches were drooping all the way to the ground with the heavy fruit. The basket full of golden globes begs me to find ways to use them. We have already given bags of them to friends and family. An online article from the LA times advises me of 100ways to use Meyer Lemons! But the best use in my opinion is enjoying them in a variety of delicious recipes. These lemons are slightly different from regular lemons, presenting an edible peel and a sweeter flavor. The sweet tart citrus fruits are perfect for desserts, stuffing for chicken, or making simple sweet lemonade. Try this for a delicious autumn supper:

Meyer Lemon Risotto
Makes 4 to 6 servings

Ingredients:
1 yellow onion, chopped
2 shallots, chopped
3 cloves garlic, chopped
1 teaspoon sea salt
3 tablespoons extra-virgin olive oil
2 cups pearled barley
1 cup dry white wine
6 cups vegetable stock
Grated zest of 4 Meyer lemons plus juice of 2
1/2 cup Parmesan cheese
1/2 cup creme fraiche
1 cup spinach, chopped
Handful of toasted pine nuts, for garnish

Directions:
1. In a large pot over medium high heat, saute onions, shallots, garlic and salt in olive oil until onion softens.

2. Stir barley into pot and pour in wine. Let mixture come to a simmer for 3 to 4 minutes. Add 1 cup of stock at a time, while letting the barley absorb the liquid (this will take about 30 to 40 minutes). Stir often while adding liquid.

3. When barley is tender, take pot off heat and stir in lemon juice and zest, cheese and creme fraiche. Mix in spinach and top with pine nuts.

Which Witch?

When two of my grandchildren came to my house on Halloween dressed as witches, we made witch cookies with green faces, beady eyes, hooked noses and wild hair. Credits go to chocolate chips, cashew nuts and chow mein noodles for the bewitching features.

Soup's On!

Soup can warm your body, fill your hunger, boost your immune system….but it also can warm your heart, fill a need, and boost your spirits. I am of the opinion this can happen not only when it is eaten, but when you prepare it! There is something about the gathering of healthy ingredients, the chopping and dropping, the fragrance of herbs and the sounds and sights of a simmering, steaming pot that cheers the cook long before it is tasted.

Our family’s favorites have been made many many times, some of them for over forty years. The roots go back much further, because I learned to cook from both my parents and my grandmother. Chicken and Dumplings would have been a favorite at my grandmother’s table. I serve it at the same table, and cook it in one of the same pots.

There are many resources for soup and stew recipes today, but these are some of the ones enjoyed by the Parkers. You need little more than some hot bread and in some cases a few condiments to make a satisfying, healthy meal. I employ artistic license in my cooking…I feel quite free to add or substitute ingredients, and many favored variations of these same recipes exist. Why use dried herbs when I have fresh ones growing outside my kitchen door? If I have vegetables in the crisper that aren’t in the recipe, they will probably wind up in the pot. When those with dietary preferences are at my table, I will substitute turkey for meat, or omit a certain spice. Old recipes tend to ignore today’s low fat recommendations. Healthy improvisations are wonderful. The important thing is to have a starting place, and to enjoy cooking a great meal.

Great Soups to Try
German Lentil

Tomato Basil Soup

Vegetable Soup

Chicken Noodle

Gazpacho

Corn and Crab Chowder

Barley Burger

Chicken and Dumplings

Curry Soup with Chopped Apple

Cheese Soup

Chili

NOW AND THEN, ALWAYS FRIENDS

Skye missed her friend. Anna’s family was in Chicago for the summer. Skye longed for Anna’s return, only to learn that when they came back it would be to pack and move. Anna’s Dad was being transferred to Calgary, Canada! For three years Skye had answered “Anna” to questions about best friends. Anna answered “Skye” to the same questions. Now, in two days, Anna would go with her parents and her brother, Jack, to the airport where they would fly to their new home. This would be too far away to come back for play dates or even birthday parties. They would start first grade next week in two different countries! But today they would have fun doing all the things they had enjoyed doing together, their favorite things.

First, they chose scarves and hats from the dressup basket in Granmary’s front bedroom. Purple chiffon and leopard spotted satin floated from their shoulders. Tutus and capes and jewels hung here and there. Anna chose a comb with a tall feather to put in her hair, while Skye peeked out from a red straw hat. Angel and Bella, the cats, ran under the bed. The sight of the fashion parade to the tune of giggles made Granmary smile.

Skye took Anna outside to show her the fairy house she was making. It had a real door painted yellow and pink and green. Twigs and rocks and sparkling bits of broken jewelry surrounded it. They picked flowers and ran on the paths in the garden and fed the fish in Papa Joe’s pond.

Skye set the small round table and stools in the hall while Anna stacked the tea dishes. Granmary gave them a red checkered square for the table and brought tiny peanut butter sandwiches and tuna salad with apple juice to pour in the teacups. After their tea time, they went outside for a few minutes to dance in the rain! Then they watched a movie about a mouse who loved books and ate popcorn.

While Granmary watched Skye and Anna, she thought of her own best friend when she was just the same age. Mignon and Mary Ann dressed up and dressed alike. They played with their kittens and with their dolls. They had picnics and parties. They giggled. And when Mignon moved to what seemed like a whole country away, although it was only to Houston,they kept being friends. So Granmary smiled again and thought about her old friend. They were both grandmothers now. But they were still friends. She thought to herself “I will call Mignon and we will have lunch this week, so I can tell her about Skye and Anna.” Then she helped Skye and Anna string some tiny silver beads on a stretchy cord. The two bracelets were exactly
alike. The beads in the middle had their initials and said: SP FRIEND AL, but they wouldn’t really need the bracelets to remember.
~I wrote this story for Skye after
she and Anna had their goodbye for
now day at our house last month.

Place of Grace

"I am a home-oriented person, one who is striving to be a homemaker, a people-builder, a steward of things in whatever place come together as family and friends.

If I cannot be at the locality we normally call home, then I find I instinctively try to make a home wherever I am. I find tremendous satisfacton when I am able to create pockets of safety and encouragement for those who are close to me at any given time. A place of grace, if you please."
~Gail McDonald

July's finish, then the days of August have passed like bands marching by in a holiday parade. These days, going past in an accelerated rhythm, have not waited for me to get in even one August blog before the calendar turned to September. But September is a month for beginning again. So, as the children begin a new school year, and new vegetables go into the ground for my fall garden, I am back!

I have kept journals for years, and find this 2009 variation has many of the same considerations. One of my favorite authors, Luci Shaw, discusses some of the benefits of journal keeping. She mentions the collection jars we used to put lightning bugs in when we were kids and likens a journal to one of these collection jars! I like that. A journal, or a blog is a place to keep impressions or experiences so they are not forgotten.

"Such solace at a phrase just written down,
Relief that now it's firmly pinned in place-
An insect stilled that recently had flown
but snagged its wing in this dark brainy space
to be subdued, place marker for collections
of other airborne words, termites, or humming bees,
for me to sort and shift and make selections.
When the assortment's fixed the writing flies."

~Luci Shaw, in A Syllable of Water

If you would have a lovely garden,
You should have a lovely life.
—Shaker Saying

Summer Snow

When Maddie and Skye were playing on the back porch a couple of weeks ago, they walked along the sitting wall which made them eye level with the overhanging branches of the white crepe myrtle that are heavy with blossoms. I had so much fun watching them swatting at the bloom clusters and squealing when the petals showered over them and floated to the ground. Summer snow! When all the available blooms were harvested, they had the snowflakes in their hair and on their shoulders, and the porch was covered with petals. Time for a snow cone? Summer heat, summer treat!

Thank Heaven for Little Girls

From peanut butter and polka dots to puppy dogs and paper dolls!

Dance With Me!

This is Maddie and her new friend, Roxie. They hear the music!

Eastering

Dusty road, despairing pair,
Putting one foot in front of the other,
Grieving, bewildered, unaware.

Preoccupied with deep loss
Seeing once more that recent horror,
Their friend’s awful death on a cross.

Dulled by painful sorrow,
Immersed in tangled thoughts,
Anxious about tomorrow,

Barely noticing one coming aside
To question their troubles,
Matching their stride.

Their vision was clouded with doubt and tears
So, recognition delayed,
They told him the news and their fears.

No reproving or chiding in his talk
As with clear understanding
He walked their walk,

Then joined them in a simple meal.
It was bread that was broken.
By this they saw what was real.

Tears were gone, hearts on the mend.
It was as bread was broken,
That they knew their dear friend,

And learned by heart what eyes had concealed.
That He was with them.
That first Easter, in Emmaus.

I travel my own path far from Jerusalem.
Am I blinded by what comes next to do?
Will I know what comes next to be?
In the breaking of the bread, I remember Him.

I see with my heart, not my eyes.
With is a powerful thing.
Eastering, again.

Mary Ann Parker

Reflection for Lent

March has come in like a lion. After several balmy days causing the little nubs on the crepe myrtle outside my kitchen window to swell and turn bronze and green, suddenly the winds rose, temperatures fell and in Texas Blue Norther fashion, March 1 dawned near freezing. In my Bible readings in Luke, I feel the progression as Jesus begins to intensify his teaching to his disciples and turn steadily toward Jerusalem and His cross. I am reflecting on how He must have felt the changes in His followers' "weather" of understanding and relationship. One day they seem so eager and in tune and perceptive. Overnight, or the next minute there can be change to clouds of "me first" and questioning. Jesus must have felt them waxing warm and then cold, peaceful, then blustery. It is easy for me to raise an eyebrow at the disciples scuffling along on hot dusty roads among crowds of questionable people, many with urgent needs. I am so spoiled to comfort.

I think of the weather proverb we apply to March. "In like a lion. Out like a lamb."
Jesus entered Jerusalem like a lion. Lion of Judah. King. Hosanna.
He left, a lamb.

As He said...not "The End", but "It is finished".

It wasn't easy, but it was life-giving.

Room for Waiting

On time, out of time, spending time, waiting time.
Waiting need not be a waste of time.
How will I choose to use the wait?

Sitting, knitting?
Cell phone talking, restless walking?
Watching, listening to an also waiter?
Making plans for what comes later?

Flipping through magazines’ glossy ads of products I would not buy?
Reading a chosen book I brought with me to try?
Tuning out noise from the TV intended to entertain?
Can I make something happen instead of complain?

Could I, would I pray?
If the wait is too long, will I stay?

If the waiting is in a place in my life instead of a place of medical appointment, is my choice the same?

Letting Go

When my sons were in elementary school, they all went to Davis Elementary In Plano, Texas,several blocks from our house. Adjoining the school grounds was a small greenbelt area that had a creek running through it. When it was raining hard, that creek rose pretty fast. One day when it had been raining, as he walked home from school Sean spotted something caught in the underbrush by the creek and he stopped, pulled it out and brought it home. They were always rescuing something. This time it was a very large bird that Sean was sure was a Peregrine Falcon. All three boys loved medieval castle and knight stories complete with falconry, so it must be a falcon! It was obviously hand trained because it had a leather jess on its foot. It also had a BB hole in its wing. Wounded and unable to fly it fell near the creek which had risen enough to reach it as it lay caught in the scrubby growth. When Sean ran into the kitchen with it, explanations were rushed as he wrapped the soggy exhausted bird in a towel, then got my hair dryer and dried it! Sean had a large cage leftover from his parakeet breeding phase so they put it there but it didn't stay long. Ben and Jeremy were amazed at the new bird! It didn’t take long for this bird to revive somewhat. Before we realized just how mobile or strong he was, he had decided to have a snack on another resident of the garage: Jeremy's King snake that was living in a gallon jar with a screen on top. The screen was like paper for that sharp beak. Jeremy was of course very upset, but he was excited enough about the bird to forgive him.

This was before the days of Googling Hawks and Falcons! They read everything they could find about the bird. Jeremy even took him to school for a show and tell! The bird rode on Jeremy's towel wrapped arm with what they had devised for a jess strap and Jeremy told the kids about intelligence and wingspan and strength and speed. (This is the son who is now a jet pilot.) After Jeremy's talk, another boy in his class came up to Jeremy with tears in his eyes and remorsefully confessed he was the one who shot the bird with his BB gun! Mrs. Wharton, his 2nd grade teacher is our friend even now (over thirty years later) and she remembers the story.

I told the boys I didn't think we were supposed to keep a falcon, and we began calling agencies to find out what to do with him. Texas Parks and Wildlife would only say we were not allowed to keep the bird. Finally we contacted a wildlife rehabilitation organization in McKinney, TX that worked to rehabilitate wounded birds of prey. They said they would take care of his wound and when he was well enough, gradually teach him to hunt for his own food again , then release him. It was a tearful day when Ben and Jeremy and Sean and I drove up to the Heard Museum in McKinney, 30 minutes away, with the bird in the car. Again, he rode peacefully on the boy's arms. He could have decimated some flesh or at the least caused a major distraction for mom the driver. I was probably crazy for taking him loose like that in the car, but that is what we did. When we arrived, he was identified not as the falcon that they had hoped, but as a Texas Red Tailed Hawk. They were shown the cage he would be kept in and told about his feeding and rehabilitation.

About a month afterward, we received a call that "our" hawk was ready to leave. The boys were invited to come up and release him. As they carried him out into the field, we talked about how good he would feel to have air under his wings again, to fly! When he left us, he circled and then flew higher and higher until he was only a dot and then gone, leaving three boys growing into strength and wisdom and freedom of spirit, and a mom who herself was only beginning to understand about nurturing and letting go. When I see a hawk I remember him. Sometimes when I stand with an upraised wave of my arm as I see the plane my son is piloting fade into a dot in the sky I remember, too.

Patchwork Promises: On being kept and keeping.

I once was asked to speak to a women's group at our church about peace. I talked about my grandmother, who loved to quilt and did what she called piece work. I said she also was known for her peace work, making patchwork quilts. She was the grandmother whose table around which our family still gathers. I wrote about that table in one of my first blog entries. Grandma Terrell fed us teacakes and garden vegetables but she also fed us the nourishment of love and peace that came from her deep faith. She covered us in her feather bed with quilts she had pieced from scraps of worn out clothing or pieces left over from making a new dress, but she also covered us with grace. She taught me the joy of being kept. She taught me the value in keeping.

Now I am the grandmother. Last week I had the special blessing of keeping my two youngest granddaughters for a few days while their parents traveled. We pulled out a quilt to place on the family room floor. 2 year old Maddie and I added a card table and coverings to make a play house, and had our lunch there. 5 month old Jordann practiced her rolling overs and carefully examined the new colors and patterns in the old quilt pieces. As I watched her, I realized the little daisy and strawberry print she was fingering was cut from a scrap of cloth that made a sundress I had worn when I myself was a very little girl. I felt a leap to and from the past. Mine, my mother's, this special grandmother who had sewn the quilt. I felt tears that must have made my eyes shine almost as brightly as Jordann's, and I laughed with Maddie as we pretended.

A Psalm 46:10 Ponder

What tone of Psalmist voice says "Be Still"?
Admonition? Invitation? Consolation? Consternation?

A mother's voice to a restless chld fighting sleep? "Time to be quiet, I'll watch you and keep."
A daddy's reassurance as he holds out his arm? "Come, let me hold you, safe from harm."
A friend's response to grief or to pain? "Take your peace. I am with you, in loss or in gain."

Pulling thorn, setting bone. I am still, but not alone.
I read the words in all the voices and don't yet know what more will be.
But in every voice I hear God telling He knows a way that's best for me.

Be Still.
Cease Striving.
Kinow that I am God.

Psalm 46:10

But you, O Lord, are a shield around me, my glory, and the one who lifts up my head.

Psalm 3:3

January Garden Gifts

Clumps of fountain grass whisper as they dance with the wind.
Branches with curling bark and a few hanging leaves silhouette against pewter sky.
Pond fish swish far back under rocks.
Today is wet Winter. Yesterday felt like Spring sunshine.
Narcissus and daffodil are just beginning their green peep through.
But pansies and snapdragons still offer golden yellow and crimson and velvety purple petals. Rosemary,thyme, oregano, and dill provide a whole palette of green, plus fragrance for my fingers when I cut them for soups. Lentil, chicken, potato and tomato.

And the roses, oh the roses! A table with steaming bowls of soup and a little jar of golden roses warms my body and my soul.

New Song

Learning new ways of writing is like learning new music. It is easier to hum along with familiar melodies and rhythms. Learning the yet untried means deliberate focus, attention to details, and risking mistakes. I need to listen and learn as I work on song. I am listening and learning as I work with words. May singer and writer stretch to embrace the new notes.



The Untried Melody
Howard Thurman

I will sing a new song.
I must learn the new song for the new needs
I must fashion new words born of all the new growth in my life---of my mind---of my spirit.
I must prepare for new melodies that have never been mine before,
That all that is within me may lift my voice unto God.

How I love the old familiarity of the wearied melody,
How I shrink from the harsh discords of the new untried harmonies.

Teach me, my Father, that I might learn with the abandonment and enthusiasm of Jesus,
The fresh new accent, the untried melody,
to meet the need of the untried morrow.

Source: from "I Will Sing a New Song" in Meditations of the Heart

www.wordle.net/gallery/wrdl/444350/Family_Table"

Grandma Terrell's Table

Last night we gathered after work and school to celebrate Sean's birthday. I pulled out my biggest soup pot and made gumbo with shrimp and crab. As I chopped and added tomatoes and onions and garlic and some of the last garden peppers to survive winter temperatures, the house filled with promising smells. The addition of rice and a crusty baguette and a Red Velvet cake completed the menu, but not the celebration.

That happens in many places, but mostly we gather noisly around the table where there is a sign that says "Memories Made Here." If the oak could speak, it would fill our hearts with stories. The table came to me when my grandmother was going to live somewhere other than her home. Today I believe it is called downsizing. She called it "breaking up housekeeping". My grandfather had died, and she, refusing to move in with my parents, went to live in a tiny apartment not too far from them. At the time, not married for long ourselves, we had no room for a big dining table in our apartment, but I loved the table that had been where we gathered to eat at Grandma's house, and I wanted to keep it. She and Papa bought it second hand around 1920 after their house burned and they were replacing furniture. Since she was selling what she could, and badly needed the money, we insisted on paying her for the table. She would only accept $25.00. It sat for several years in Mother and Daddy's garage. When we bought our first house with a dining room, we brought it to live with us and so began its role in our own family celebrations. That was n forty years ago. Since then, it has moved with us from San Antonio to Dallas and other Texas homes, to California and beyond to Indonesia. Perhaps it felt like a homecoming for the table when we brought it back to Texas in 1992. It was certainly a homecoming for us.

Last night, the gumbo was spicy and delicious. Sean's birthday candles lit up the room, and our gratitude to God for him and for our family lit up our hearts. Grandma Terrell's table was the altar of another blessing of our food and family as it held our bowls and our elbows and soaked up another memory, another story of family celebration.

Birth of a Blog

Blog? The word is strange to me. I know what it is. I read other blogs. But I do not know how to blog. The word as a verb instead of a noun is vaguely unsettling because it implies an action I do not yet know how to perform. But I will learn. I will.

Forty one years ago tonight I was beginning the labor that would bring our first son into the light. On that cold Saturday morning, mighty work was required but then came the overwhelming joy. The work that can deliver words that have grown within me into the light of print and scrutiny may be absorbing and intense as well but with joy I ask for grace in the passing on of life and story.