Monthly Archives: August 2017

Not Home Yet. -By Karla

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Gary Chapman’s Five Love Languages is an intriguing read. I learned many years ago that one of my love languages is words of affirmation. My mom was wonderful for me in that area. I don’t imagine she had read the book, but she was always encouraging me to achieve or reassuring me when I was uncertain. In January, I wrote a blog entitled Give Me a K emphasizing Mom as my cheerleader. I hope as I grew older, I gave my mom the same support she gave me.

Being a mom is sometimes a thankless job. Some days are filled with being a taxi service; others are busied as the chef and the bus boy. We run from one event to another to support our children, and there are days in which our pay is smelly socks to be washed. Moms of little ones often get the reward of wearing their babies’ lunch, whether it be before it is digested or after!

Working with sixth through eighth graders, I usually get more eye rolls than hugs, and there are more sighs than thank yous. They don’t really like it when I have to correct them. In Japan, teachers are revered in such high esteem. I tutored a Japanese lady for about five years. It took me forever to help her understand that she did not need to bow to me. She was always thanking me. However in today’s America, gratitude for teachers is not always held in high-esteem.

I don’t mean to complain because I LOVE being a mom and teacher. But, sometimes these two jobs do not always fill my cup in the area of needed love. I give and give until my cup is empty. Pastor Scott recently shared a story that I am holding dear to my heart on days when I get few words of affirmation.

There was a missionary couple who had worked in Africa for many years. As they were returning to New York for retirement, they we tired, had little money, and their health had declined. Soon they discovered that President Teddy Roosevelt was also coming home from a big hunt and was on the same ship.
A band was there to greet President Roosevelt as they docked. Many important people came to welcome him home.
Later that evening, the missionary said to his wife that it didn’t seem right. After all they had done for others, there was no one welcoming and acknowledging their service. He felt his spirit breaking because he had been treated so differently, so unappreciated in comparison. I have served the Lord all my life and have gotten little appreciation. His wife told him he was wrong.
At her request, he went into their bedroom to talk with the Lord. He poured out his heart to God sharing how upset he was for the unfair treatment. In return he heard God say, “You’re not home yet.”

I too think Godly moms and teachers need to remember on those thankless days that we to are not home yet. For when we get to Heaven, our ultimate home, our cups will be overflowing. In the meantime, we should stay close to Him, reading His word and praying to help us persevere.

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Influence: You Never Know -By Donna

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After school today, I went to return something at the mall. As I walked in the store, a fellow, about 20, who was folding clothes, grinned and made a beeline to assist me. He was extremely friendly and polite; he asked me tons of questions about my day. I thought what a sweet boy, which made me glance at his name tag, Robby. Robby, I taught a boy name Robby once. As I looked back up, I saw the face of  a former six-year-old.

When my mind made the connection, I said, “I just realized who you are. I taught you.”

He replied, “You didn’t remember me?”

“I’m surprised you recognized me. That was a long time ago.” I said.

“Of course I do. You were my first grade teacher for a little while. But then they had to disperse the class and move you to another grade. After that year, my family moved, and I changed schools.”

“You are right! That’s exactly what happened.”

“Those were good times. I’m so glad to see you again.” He smiled as he handed me my receipt.

Now, normally I am quick to recognize a former student. But I only taught this child for about six weeks. Having taught school for over twenty years, I have encountered a lot of children. Teachers say they don’t have favorites, but there are some kids, that take a special place in your heart and it never goes away. Though Robby was a great kid, cute as a button and sweet as pie, he was not one of those kids who stole my heart.

The Next Larry Bird

As I walked out of the mall, I thought of a former student, Alan. He was one of those kids. In the beginning, we had no special connection. For a good portion of the year, I looked at him as a good kid to have in my class. He always followed the rules and made good grades. One morning as each child walked into my room, I announced something good I had noticed about them. “And here comes Kay as always sporting her cheerful smile.” “Introducing Denver, who I saw was the fastest runner on the playground yesterday.” “Look at Mike, the awesome artist of the room.” Alan was late that morning, so when he walked in, everyone was in their seat working. As he tried to slip in without drawing attention to himself, I proclaimed, “And here comes Alan, the next Larry Bird! I saw you dribbling ball yesterday.”

In unison, most of the class replied, “Who is Larry Bird?” My reply, “What! Y’all don’t know who Larry Bird is? Am I that old? He was one of the best basketball players ever!” As I explained, Alan stood  grinning from ear to ear. That one comment changed my relationship with that child. From that day on, he became attached to me.

Later in the year, a fellow teacher commented to me, “You need to take him home with you; he needs a real mom.” I nosed around and discovered stories that I won’t share. Let’s just say, he didn’t have a great mom. Nothing horrible, but sad no less. When May rolled around, we made our Mother’s Day gifts. As we bagged them up in the decorated brown paper sacks, he came up to my desk. The eight-year-old crawled in my lap and said, “I want to give mine to you.”

At the end of the year, his mother withdrew him, and they moved away. I cried.

Do Your Remember Me?

About ten years later I was at an out-of-town basketball game, and I saw Alan. I knew instantly from afar it was him. When I saw him head for the concession stand, I took off to speak to him. I was so excited; I couldn’t wait. Walking into the lobby, he looked up, and I smiled. He turned away from me. Surely, he remembers me! How can he not? He treated me like I was his mom. “Hey, Alan.” He turned around and said hey. But the look on his face said to me he didn’t know who I was. “Do you remember me? I was your second grade teacher.”

He smiled and said, “I think so.”  But I really don’t think he did.

I can’t believe Alan was so attached to me and did not remember me. I just knew, even when he was fifty years old, he would recall me! And then Robby who I only taught for six weeks, and I didn’t recognize, was so excited to see me. I guess you don’t always realize the impact you are having on someone.

Sometimes, like with Alan, a teacher’s care impacts a child only in the current chapter of his life because he needs you at that moment. Other students like Robbie you leave a lasting footprint in their life. For a teacher the important thing to remember is you do make a difference.  -Donna

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Reunion: Second Sunday in August -By Karla

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I have always thought our family was normal, but the older I get the more I sense a bit of abnormality. Usually there a negative connotation with this word, but not in our case. We are a rare breed in context with our close-knit kinship and our number of gatherings. For generations, we have assembled for Thanksgivings, Christmases, Easters, the fourth Sunday in June (Off the side of Loving Road), the second Sunday in August, and the third Sunday in August. These days are cherished moments of life.

My Childhood Churches

Growing up, I attended two churches. One was First Baptist of McCaysville/Copperhill with my sisters, mom, and dad. New Hope, also known as Flinthill, was my church on weekends when I stayed with Nana.  The second Sunday in August is the decoration at New Hope Baptist Church in Morganton, Georgia. On this day, we gather for service and eat on the grounds. But first, we adorn the cemetery with flowers to honor our loved ones, who have passed before us. This church holds dear memories for me.

I have always adored listening to the guitars and banjo that grace New Hope church. While we sang the old hymns, Gerald Heaton always amazed me! Even when he was in his 80’s, he seemed to pluck his banjo with as much vibrancy as he did when I was a kid! I thought of how I used to sit with Nana in the choir as she sang in my little ear and I tried to follow along.

Keeping Me Occupied

Looking around in the pine-paneled church, the memories flooded my mind. I can vividly remember as a little girl getting restless during the preaching. Nana would play “put your fingers in my palm, and I will try to catch it” until I would get too rowdy. Then she would pull out the maroon, vinyl, picture pouch to settle me. I love family pictures! I’d sift through the photos smiling, giggling, and pointing until Nana would have to pat my leg and shhh me. Finally, she would exchange the pouch for a baggie of cookies–always two large ones. Those were joyous days!

     The Lord’s Supper

I gave my life to Christ when I was eleven, and I was baptized at First Baptist Church of McCaysville/Copperhill in April of 1979. Granddaddy had been diagnosed with Parkinson’s disease. I can remember being excited and felt so proud to take part in communion. At times, his hands shook badly, which had caused him and issue or two trying hold his “juice cup”. Nana and Granddaddy did not sit together in church, which was quite common for older people in country churches. When I was at New Hope, Nana would softly nudge me during communion. This is my signal to slip out of the pew we sat in, and move across the isle to sit beside him. Even as an early teenager, I was aware of how his pride must have been hurt because he could not to hold his cup. At the same time, this little job made me feel like it was an honor to hold such a special cup for such a special man.

   Amazing Grace 

Most every Sunday, at the end of the service, the congregation would slip out of their rows and walk around the church hugging and shaking hands as we sang “Amazing Grace”. I loved how the members in the church seemed like one big family that loved each other so.

VBS

In my youth years, our Sunday school and VBS classes were small at New Hope, but they were not lacking in Biblical teaching. My Aunt Anna seemed to always be our teacher, now matter our age. We always had such fun! My cousin Stacey, cousin Jimmy, my friend Carlton, and I so enjoyed singing “Just a Little Talk with Jesus”.  Once we insisted on signing “I Come to the Garden Alone“.  Stacey and Carlton had such beautiful voices. Though, at times Carlton’s voice would waiver due to puberty.  We were being so serious and probably thought the angels were smiling at our harmonies until Carlton’s voice cracked! When he got to the word “alone”, his voice shrilled about an octave higher! To this day, I have a hard time getting through the song without bursting out in laughter.

Flint Hill  Founders 

Homer Turner

How would the founders of this little church, established in 1869, have known what it would mean to a little girl named Karla? How could they know that I am thankful it was rebuilt after three different fires? Could Uncle Homer, Donna’s grandfather, have known how important his land donation was for the last rebuilding of the church.

I am grateful for years when it was common for 30-40 people to be baptized in a nearby river. Many of those are my relatives. I am so glad that a man named Leeander Turner decided to honor his wife, who is buried at New Hope, by putting flowers on her grave in the late 1800’s. Because of his actions, many churches began to set aside a day each year to honor their loved ones, which was the beginning of church decorations and homecomings in the Blue Ridge area.

The congregation of Flint Hill has influenced others for generations. Rarely, do we realize how often we affect other people. God has planned for every person to do his part, helping others to see His glory.

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Sisters: Adopted In -By Donna

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According to the internet, the first Sunday in August is National Sisters Day! Many of my friends and cousins had sisters, but I was the only girl in the middle of two brothers.  (You can read more about that in the blog, Brotherly Love, located in the February Archives.)

Growing up, I never longed for a sister. I believe it was for several reasons. When I was very young, my little brother played everything a sister would have from Barbie dolls to house. As a teenager, my cousin Lisa spent most of the summer at my home, so I had a temporary sister. In addition, two weeks out of the summer Karla and I stayed together.  Obviously, when I went off to college, I had my fill of females in my dorm. Who needs a sister?

Mama

When I lost my mama in February 2007, I realized the reason I never yearned for a sister was because she was that “sister” figure in my life. She was my confidant, shopping buddy, shoulder to cry on, psychologist, and more. Mama was the one to call when there was an embarrassing question that I didn’t want to ask anyone else. She always had advice about my kids. She knew me inside and out. But when Mama died, despite my close cousins and friends, I felt a gaping hole. 

Karla was always there for me, above and beyond, but over the course of the year, after Mama’s passing, I really became aware of what it meant to have a sister. I had watched it from afar. I saw Karla, who had lost her mother a few years prior, and her three sisters.  During the months and years after their mom died, she always had her sisters checking on her, helping her, loving her, and grieving with her. Over the years, Karla had become the sister I never had. But, wow she had three. When one couldn’t be there, another stepped in. My brothers are wonderful and would do anything for me, but there are things that boys just don’t understand. Now that mama was gone, I realized how special a sister was. 

Sisters

One day, I expressed my feelings to Karla about how lucky she was to have sisters. I believe it was the next day that I received a text from Lynn, Karla’s oldest sister and the Matriarch of our generation. It stated that I was now a sister to them. I smiled at the gesture and knew Karla had shared with them my thoughts, but didn’t really think a lot about it. But over time, I came to realize it was not just a “gesture”. I began to be included in group texts between the sisters. They began treating me as if I was one of them. And the thing that melted my heart was that all of their children began calling me “Aunt Donna”.

I was not fortunate enough to have a birth sister, but God has blessed me with multiple sisters, and I didn’t even have to share my clothes with them growing up! But as you can see from the picture, mine probably would have been a little too short for them.

 

 

 

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Relaxation: Not Your Normal R & R. -By Karla

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It is rare when one can say they have been on vacation (five states in ten days) with two Rachel Elizabeth’s! One Rachel is my youngest daughter, and the other is her best friend, who I call my fourth daughter.

If I was making a commercial, I could list the individual ways we spent money: airfare, rental car, gas, hotels, and food.

But instead, I choose to focus on the priceless parts of our trip. The longer I live, the more I have learned to appreciate the senses God gave us.

Gift of Sight

     I etched some visions from this trip into my heart. I had the pleasure of watching my “fourth daughter’s” face light up,  seeing the beauty of the west coast. Her enthusiasm of seeing the Golden Gate Bridge stretch over the bay was precious. Driving up Hwy. 1, which weaves along the coast, we watched the waves crash into the rocky terrain. We talked about God’s power. His might was also seen in the enormous redwood trees! One of my Rachel’s most cherished sites was seeing her Aunt Jeanie and Uncle Bill’s enthusiasm when they greeted her. She seemed to be making mental photographs of her grandparents, knowing it will be a while before she saw them again.

     Perhaps, the most precious site on our whirl–wind trip was our amazement as Great-Grandma Mona, who is 93. On afternoon she slid into the floor for my Rachel to play with her hair. Then she practically jumped up out of the floor!

Scents

Refreshing smells of salt in the ocean and sweet perfume made me smile over the past ten days. The odor of urine, from the mass of homeless people on the streets of downtown Portland, made us so grateful for our blessings.

Scrumdiddlyumptious 

Ah, the food that our mouths inhaled! I savored clam chowder on the pier in San Francisco. We ate burgers cooked by my sister-in-law outside Sacramento. Then in Oregon we devoured meatballs made by a beloved cousin and the barbecued tuna grilled at my brother and sister-in-law. Finally, there was a specialness in the taste of Applebee’s chips and dips simply because we had driven 20 extra miles to cross the state line and spend the night in Vancouver, Washington.

Tantalizing Touch

     God seems to think of everything; how remarkable is our sense of touch? In California, I held Grandma’s sweet, worn-out leathery hands. Her hug embraced me, reassuring me that one time or distance would change the love she had for me. Later in Sacramento and in Portland, we sensed the uncertainty of a few double-decker and draw bridges as we tightly. We had the pleasure of feeling a cool breeze by the coasts, and for this menopausal women, it was even more of a treat! Along with some of windy moments, we felt the warmth of smooth sand on our feet as the three of us sat with my in-laws enjoying some sweet stories with each other. And, there was the feeling of a tear or two that trickled down my face as we left each relative’s residence.

The Sounds of this Season of Life

Many of the adults I have adored over the years now need help with their hearing. The most blessed sounds I heard on the trip were the sweet caregivers at the assisted living home where Grandma Mona and Grandpa Jack lived. “Good morning, Jack, I brought in your medicine,” or the joyful, young lady who greeted us at breakfast, “Mona, what could I get you for breakfast this morning?”

The sound of laughter accompanied the three of us as we rode from city to city was priceless. “Hey, Mom, I think this is your lake up ahead. It’s named Loon Lake!”

     The Sense of Belonging

Rachel and Rachel were troopers, having to hang out with a 50 year old on this trip. I know I am blessed; they made me feel a little more carefree and young again. I believe I did ok, hanging with them, until I accidently called the rapper Tupac, “Toepac”!

Visiting with relatives, who could have allowed life to separate us, rewarded me with some of the most precious gifts of all time.

Over the past ten days, R & R took on a whole new meaning! And I have the selfies to prove it!

-Karla

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