Stay Focused; Just Keep Swimming -By Donna

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Staying in a private beach house during summer break in 1985, was just what two college girls needed. Annmarie and I got a great deal on the house, and we didn’t care that it had no TV.  Our intentions were to be beach dwellers for the week.

One cloudy day we were surprised to find we were the only people on the beach. “This is totally awesome! We have the whole beach and ocean to ourselves.” We laid on our floats, talking and singing for hours.

“Good grief, this water is dark,” I commented as I looked over the edge of my float. “What time is it?” Annmarie was sporting her new Swatch. (For those of you who don’t know, that is a plastic, waterproof wristwatch that was a hit in the 80’s.) “It’s three o’clock.”  She answered, as I sat up.

“Oh my, gosh!” I screamed with fear as my eyes stared ahead. The buildings were barely visible. We had drifted out to sea.

                                                               Panic!

“We are gonna die!” Annmarie wailed. Instinctively, we both flipped over onto our stomachs, stuck our arms into the water and immediately paddled. However, we were met by stinging tentacles. Quickly we withdrew our arms and looked down. Fear filled my heart as I gazed at what looked like hundreds of jellyfish below, every color and size imaginable. It was unbelievable and horrifying.

“What do we do?” She questioned. “Why are there so many jellyfish!”

“We gotta paddle and get to shore.”

We had no choice, so we paddled frantically. Each stroke of my arm, was met with stings over and over. Out of the corner of my eye, I noticed red whelps appearing on my skin. I tried not to think about the documentary I had seen about jellyfish, because I knew somewhere out in this vast ocean were jellyfish so poisonous they could kill you! Looking over at Annmarie, I saw the look of fear. Don’t panic, Annmarie. I know you can barely swim.  

 Overboard

As we continued to paddle, I raised my arm out of the water, exposing a huge jellyfish that had wrapped its tentacles around my arm. Screaming, I flung my arm. It flew through the air, and landed on my back. I thrashed around to knock it off as it was stinging my back. In my frantic movement I fell into the water and my float glided away. Jellyfish stung my entire body. The only thing within reach was Annmarie lying on her float. I quickly climbed on top of her back. We paddled rapidly to my float, and I relocated.

We continued heading towards shore. The further we went, the less jellyfish we saw. But then I saw the dark shadow swim under my float. As the shark passed, my heart sank. We are gonna to die out here, and my mama will never know what happened to me.

I looked to my right and felt even worse. “Annmarie don’t panic. But there’s rain coming.” I said, as I pointed. The wide wall of water moved toward us. “When it gets here, we have to hold on to each other’s float and not let go, no matter what.”

The eerie wall came closer and closer until it was upon us. Cold, hard drops beat down on us. I held tight to her float. The rain was so hard, I couldn’t see if she was still on there. “Don’t let go.” I yelled.

The rain eased up and the jellyfish either washed further out or we had passed them. So we paddled full force, even sliding down toward the bottom of our floats so our feet could kick too. I felt excited as the shore was got closer.

Giving Up

“What time is it?” I asked.

“6:30.” She sighed.

The waves were stronger as we neared the shore. As we struggled to get past them, they tried to pull us back out.

“I quit.” Annmarie stated as she laid her head on the float.

“You can’t quit! You gotta keep going.” I pleaded.

She half-whispered as her exhausted eyes blankly stared at me. “I give up”

I had only one choice. But could I do it?

Sliding into the water, I grabbed the front corner of her float. I swam pulling her along. She quit! I can’t believe she quit. But I can’t leave her. The waves continuously slapped me in the face, but I stayed focused on the shore. My arms and legs began to ache. “Just keep swimming; just keep swimming”. Lord, please help me. Then I thought about my pool. I have swam seventy laps every day this summer for no reason. Thirteen years, and never swam laps. God has prepared me for this. I am a strong swimmer. 

I swam with Annmarie in tow. After four hours, we finally reached the shore. We literally kissed the sand. I called my mama, and she frantically informed me hurricane Elena was headed our way. During the wee hours of the night, we heard a knock on our door. There was an immediate evacuation. We weren’t even allowed to get our belongings!

Focus

As I have grown older, I’ve realized life is the ocean and God is the shore. Someone can be floating along in life, happy as can be, and suddenly things go bad. You realize you are at a place in life you never thought you would be and the jellyfish, sharks, and storms (sickness, family problems, money problems …) come along and try to destroy you. Keep your eyes on God. No matter how many times you get slapped in the face by the waves of life, stay focused on Him. He has already prepared you for what is to come.

-Donna

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Aging Gracefully: My Hands -By Karla

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At forty-nine, my hands are starting to show signs of aging. Actually, they have been through quite a bit, as they have been used often over the decades.

Childhood

As a child, my hands held loads of stuffed animals. I shared my bed with my little sister and about twenty-five snugly, furry things every night. My hands have also petted numerous real animals. Mom was a stray-saver; I think we had fourteen cats—all outside of course—at one time. I’ve also had horses and dogs along the way. Yep, they have spent many hours with animals. 

My busy hands have spent hours at my Nana and Granddaddy’s. They have thrown a ball over the porch roof and prepared to catch it when my sister  would roll it back across. And on that porch, they have snapped green bean after green bean while we listened to many family tales of the olden day. They have held thousands of cards playing Old Maids, Author, Speed, and Rook. 

Teenage Years

Learning to drive was a real treat for my hands. I distinctly remember my oldest sister words. “Keep your hands on the steering wheel. And keep your eyes and TIRES on the road,” She peered briefly over the top of her newspaper. Then she pulled it upward again as if I had interrupted, and continued reading.

On my first date, my hands came in very handy! Leaving the theater, I walked straight into an oversized trash can. Yep! If it hadn’t been for my hands that I used to steady both, the trash can and I would have been rolling down the aisle!

Adulthood

In June of 1989, they carried my college diploma and my bridal boutique on two consecutive Saturdays. Over the next several years that followed, they held my two bundles of joy.

My hands had the pleasure of holding metal chains as I taught the girls to swing. They held cookie dough as I shaped their little hands into turkeys for Thanksgiving year after year. Later, they had the privilege of toting their bags filled with basketball and volleyball jerseys and gear.

More Recent Years

I have used my hands to wipe the tears from our eyes when my girls’ precious friend Amanda passed away from pancreatic cancer. They have had the blessing of holding my adult dad’s hand in the nursing home in his final days.

Over the years, they have prayed. Prayed for salvations, for peace, for mercy, for health, for patience, and for comfort.

Yes, my hands are aging , and yes, I dab a little cream on them every now and then to slow down the visible aging. However, I am beginning to settle my in my thoughts that I will enjoy my hands turning into a nana’s hands.

I want grandkids to curl their tiny fingers around my imperfect, wrinkled hands. I desire them to draw the gray-headed, Old Maid granny from my fingers and giggle with them.

Yes, I will take these aging hands and gladly help future generations learn to fold them humbly in prayer.

Harper Grace Allen

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Humor: Arrr, Matey -By Donna

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Arrr! Ahfullsizerender-5oy there, mateys! Shiver me timbers!  September 19th is “International Talk Like A Pirate Day”. Does anyone else think that is strange? Other international holidays are things like, “World Health Day”, “Earth Day”, “World Red Cross Day”, “International Literacy Day” and “International Volunteers Day”  So, is it just me who thinks a day dedicated to pirate lingo is weird? 

History

     It’s a parody holiday that has been celebrated since 1995. One day, two friends, John and Mark, were playing racquetball. As they often do while playing, they yell out at each other. For some unknown reason on June 6 to be exact, they began yelling out remarks which included pirate slang. They had so much fun with it, that when the game was over, they decided that the world needed a new national holiday, “Talk Like A Pirate Day!” June 6, is however the anniversary of D-Day from WWII, so they decided to choose another date. Mark decided it would be on the same date as his ex-wife’s birthday which was September 19. Now, it is celebrated around the world.

Other Possibilities

     Well, if that’s all it takes to create an international holiday, Karla and I could have done that long ago. Some of the possibilities would be “Talk in Song Lyrics Day”. Anytime someone says anything that is innocently part of a lyric, we belt out the rest of the song. For instance, if someone near us says “bye-bye”, in unison, without planning, we would exclaim, “Miss American Pie, Drove my Chevy to the levee, but the levee was dry…”.  We also sing songs related to events. If we walked out of a story and it was raining you might hear,  “I’m singing in the rain, just singing in the rain, what a glorious feeling….” Beware if there’s a light post nearby because just like in the movie, we might begin to swing around it.

     We could be the founders of “Talk Out Of the Side of Your Mouth Day!”  We have always done this when we’re attempting to tell the other something discreetly. (But I’m sure discreet is the last thing we look when our mouths are twisted half-way around our faces.) 

     Another day we might have concocted would be “Don’t Talk, Just Laugh Day.” This day got us in the hot seat with our parents now and then. There were times we wanted to laugh, but thought it would be better if we kept our mouths shut. However, it backfired, because trying to hold in laughter is much harder than just holding in our words. And when our laughter started, we could not stop.  

Free Doughnuts

     But for whatever reason, some swashbuckler decided to declare “International Talk Like a Pirate Day.” But I can’t totally say it’s crazy, when I can dress as a pirate and receive a FREE box of hot doughnuts. Yes! that’s right. Krispy Kreme will give you one free doughnut if you talk pirate and animg_2090 entire dozen if you dress as one. So avast ye, matey, better known as pay attention, friend!  Yo Ho Ho, if you have a pirate hat, head on down to claim your booty (or your treasure) from Krispy Kreme. It may make your dungbie (rear end) a little larger, but shiver me timbers…it’s yummy!

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God’s Hands versus Mine -By Donna

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Holding my 9lb, 3oz baby boy in my arms that hot August afternoon, the furthest thing from my mind was that one day I would leave him five hundred miles from home.FullSizeRender (2)

During the twenty-one years in between I always thought of him as mine: mine to take care of, mine to teach, mine to love, mine to discipline, mine, mine, mine. He was a wonderful gift from God, who had blessed me with the job of being Travis’ mom.

Travis was the sweetest baby and child, too good to be true. Many referred to him as “smiley” because he always had a smile on his face. He was such a well-behaved child it was almost concerning. The first and only time he got in trouble at school, flicking a Cheetos puff across the room that he found on the floor during nap time, I actually got excited.  “He’s normal!!”

My Concerns

However, Travis did have a concern. It was the very same one I grew up with, extreme shyness, only his was worse than mine. As a young child, he would not play on a playground if other children were there. Many teachers expressed their concern that he “never talked”, but others rejoiced that they had one quiet child in the classroom. Watching him grow, it often broke my heart. I saw a lot of me in him. The low self-esteem, the uncomfortableness in a room full of people, even close family. I encouraged him and even tried herb supplements. Although he was an A/B student, I asked he be  retained in fifth grade in hopes that it was partially maturity. This would give him an extra year before middle school. I was wrong.

Don’t get me wrong Travis had friends and was well liked. He was voted “friendliest in fifth grade” by his peers. But they saw the smiling shell of Travis. At home, we were privileged to see the inside. Deep inside was a wonderful, hilarious, interesting personality that few were allowed to see. As was the case with me, he was often teased for his extreme quietness. But unlike me, it never seemed to bother him, and he always seemed content. He played basketball through middle and high school and graduated with honors.

Of my three children, Travis was always the one I worried about most. Being very similar in personality, I knew the “grownup” world can be challenging.  It’s easy to be taken advantage of and sometimes difficult to fit in. To this day, people continue to comment on my quiet personality.

Time for College

Travis attended community college for two years. During this time, he spent more time in his room away from us. I began sensing discontentment. He seemed almost lost with no direction, frustrated, and apathetic. About half-way into the second year, all that began to change. I could see the changes but was unaware of what was to come.

One day out of the blue, he announced, “I want to be a youth minister, and I want to go to Appalachian Bible College…in West Virginia.” Now you would think my mind would begin racing with thoughts like, you can’t do this, you don’t talk, you never even spend the night away from home, and you are going to go 500 miles away not knowing anyone? But my reply was, “Let’s get on it.” Having comparable personalities, I knew a move this bold meant it wasn’t a quick decision, and he was ready. We had three weeks before classes were to start to apply, get accepted, and take care of financial aid.

I hate to say, but he did hear a lot of negative comments like “you can’t be a minister, you don’t talk.” from some people. Several tried to detour him. But surprisingly, he stood strong and was determined to go. I would be lying if I said I had no worries. Of course, I did, I’m his mom. But during those three weeks, I kept telling myself, “God’s got this. If this is God’s plan, it will all work out.” Travis received his official acceptance letter the day before new students were to move in.

My Hands

Saturday morning Travis walked on campus with a confidence and determination he has never displayed. He had no trouble talking to anyone. He had made the right decision. I was full of joy, but unknown to him, my heart was breaking. I worried, he’s gonna have to wash his own clothes, he has no car here, will he ask for help when he needs it, and I won’t be here if he gets sick. 

After a kiss on the cheek, we embraced in a closing hug. I felt an extra strong hold from his arms. The Bible says to cast your worries on the Lord. As I watched him walk away, I silently prayed, “Lord, he’s in your hands now.”  As soon as I whispered it, I shook my head, knowing the Good Lord was laughing, for I believe He has a great sense of humor. His reply to me, “He’s always been in MY hands, NOT yours.”

That FullSizeRenderMonday in 1995 when I held that black-headed big bundle of joy, God was already seeing this day. It didn’t matter that Travis was painfully shy and withdrawn; God knew he would one day be a servant for him and when the time was right, he would take care of it…after all he is in His hands.

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Acceptance: Cornbread Catastrophe -By Karla

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Not Your Everyday Decoration

The second Sunday of August is deemed as a decoration day, a special occasion for our family. I sometimes explain these gatherings with a more familiar term known as family reunions, but at a church. Like many small towns in the South, our churches are often adjacent to a cemetery. Once a year, the tradition is to assemble at the church for a service. We bring flowers to decorate the graves of loved ones, honoring them and their influences in our lives. Three summer Sundays I find myself weaving the roads toward where my heart always resides, Fannin County.

A Little Too Busy

Being busy with the beginning-of-the-year school preparations, I had not been to the grocery store in a while, but  concluded that I had the ingredients to make the family popular cornbread salad. On Saturday evening, I shook the cornmeal into the bowl and added the oil. Reaching in the refrigerator, I frowned, noticing all I had was almond milk. Oh well, this will have to do. The liquid flowed into the cornmeal mixture. Realizing I  had reached the point in life when I can not beat myself up for having to use the wrong kind of milk to make cornbread. I smiled proudly, and anticipated sneaking a few bites when I took it out of the oven.

Cooling it as long as my taste buds would allow, I popped in a small bite into my mouth.

Hmmm…Something is not right! What is that?

I reached for the carton hoping it was not out-of-date when I noticed the words, “coconut almond milk”! Now, I love coconut, but not in a cornbread. How could I have not seen the picture of the freshly cut coconut on the milk? To my serious dismay, I fed some of it to the dogs, who did not seem to mind the added fruity flavor.

Consoling Myself

I went to bed feeling quite defeated. I consoled myself glad that I am the new me because the old me would have beaten myself up for messing up the only recipe I had the ingredients to make.

For so many years, I tried to be perfect. Please do not get me wrong; I knew I wasn’t. But, I somehow felt I needed to be flawless to be accepted and loved. I am not really sure where those feelings came from since I had an unconditionally loving mom, but the anxiety that accompanied my imperfections was real and not healthy for me.

Saved when I was eleven, I learned many things about Christ over the years, but during the last seven years, I have really began to mature spiritually. Carving out a daily time to read my Bible and having prayer time has made a huge difference in my life. I don’t understand how God transformed me, but He has. Now, ninety percent of the time I am totally fine with the goofy mess I am. And when I do forget the other ten percent, I try to remind myself that God created me, and He does not make mistakes.

I decided to pick up some fried chicken on the way over the mountain. However, when I got to the grocery store, they did not have any ready. So, I picked up some potato salad, which no one ate!

The Bright Side

Note to self: While it may be perfectly acceptable to bring store-bought fried chicken to our decoration dinners, don’t bother getting any store bought potato salad. It won’t get eaten. Just come on emptied-handed; you’ll be just as loved!

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Southern Dialect: Summer Mouth -By Donna

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As an elementary teacher, the end of summer and the onset of a new school year means change. Shoes must be worn at all times and no more tank tops and shorts for my daily outfit . I must apply makeup everyday, not just on Sundays. And oh how awful to return to setting the alarm clock for 5:30 in the morning! But the most difficult adjustment is getting rid of my “summer mouth”.

 In June and July, I talk differently. However, “summer mouth” is not appropriate for little ears. While student teaching my senior year in college, I discovered it was not acceptable. The first time my professor observed me he stated, “You can’t talk like that,” 

Really! I can’t talk like that? Tell that to my daddy. When you grow up listening to it your entire life, it is going to rub off on you. 

However, the first day of teaching, I realized Dr. Walker was right. As I stood in front of my students and addressed them, a cute, blond, curly-headed little girl’s eyes widened! “Bo-wees! Bo-wees! What’s a bo-wee?” I looked at her in shock. Everyone knows what a Bo-wee is. Don’t they? Girls and bo-wees! As a result of her comment, I watch what I say.

After eighteen years of teaching, I have mastered the summer mouth transformation. It’s as easy as turning off a light switch. “We ain’t gonna do that” becomes “We will not do that.”, “What in tarnation are ya’ll doin’” turns into “What are you two doing?”, and “Reckon we best get goin’ ’cause it’s fixin’ ta come a ‘show’r” translates to “We better go because it is about to rain.”

Southern Dialect

Each year gets easier because along the way, I have lost a lot of my southern dialect and slang. When you spend hours each day teaching phonics, it’s important to say it right, or shall I say “correctly”. As my professor warned, “No more extra syllables in words, no more exaggerated long vowels, and no more dropping the g on –ing.”  

But I treasure the sound of the south. It is a part of my heritage and my family. Summer mouth reminds me of those I no longer hear talk, like my grandparents. However, if you want to hear what the old South sounds like, my daddy is your man. And I quote, “Well, Golly bum, Isa tryin’ tu put that thang in that there bucket, and I swanny if it didn’t get stuck, and I like ta never got it out.”

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Menopause: Air Tip to the Rescue

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Menopause

I seem to be right in the middle of menopause. Hopefully, I am in the middle; at least that would indicate I have a chance of seeing light at the end of the tunnel

Since I cannot take medicines to help, I find myself in the midst of an internal combustion often. Honestly, how discreetly can a woman take ice from her glass in the middle of a restaurant and rub those cold cubes around their neck and up and down their arms. Yes, I get some strange looks. 

Menopausal Brain

A women’s brain can also have a lack on concentration during menopausal. Recently, I stood at a convenience store buying a toothbrush. The day seemed longer than others, and I couldn’t focus. The cashier asked if I noticed the price on another tube from the shelf.

Hot Flash

A flash coming on was like a wild fire spreading through my body. My eyes fixated on the enormous galvanized bucket located by the checkout counter. It was loaded with huge pieces of ice with floating, cold sodas. But to my burning body, all I could see was immediate relief! I envisioned sticking my hand in the frost for a second to douse my flaming insides.

Although tempted, I envisioned a scene in which the store manager was looking around to see if there was a wet t-shirt contest going on somewhere near.

Once home, I realized I had forgotten  the toothbrush on the counter and had to drive back to get it.

The following day was not any better. Sitting in the dentist chair, tilted so low my head was near the floor, I felt another flash coming on.

Geez! Really! Not here! I breathed deeply. It’s mind over matter, Karla. You’ve got this. Really, you do! Come on, it is probably going to pass soon….

“I’ve gotta sit up, now!” I blurted as my body vaulted upward.

“Are you okay?” She inquired in alarm, trying to jerk her hand with metal equipment out of my way

Totally embarrassed by my tsunami of heat and spontaneous sunburn, I blurted. “I’m….I’m fine. It’s just a hot flash,” I managed to say.

Handing me a Dixie cup, I guzzled water. I knew, embarrassed or not, it had to be done. That’s when I stuck my fingers inside and began flicking water onto my neck and arms.

“Are you sure you’re okay?” she tried to smile.

“I think I will be in just a minute.”

Then it happened, the moment of peace.

Her face lit up as the idea hit her. She took her electronic air spout and commenced blowing the refreshing blast all around my head! She was awesome. 

Air Tip to the Rescue

In the twenty remaining minutes, she sporadically sprayed me with the invigorating, chilly blast between scraping, flossing, and shining my teeth.

As I left, she smiled. “I will have to admit this is the first time I had used the air-sprayer in this manner.”

“Well, after I leave, and I do mean after, feel free to share your secret with all the hygienists everywhere!”

I left the building with a fluffy, eighties, hair-blown look and a wonderful new reason for a lady of my age to visit the dentist!

“

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Count Your Blessings -By Donna

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baby pic“I’m sorry; you will need to go ahead and get a burial plot for your daughter.” Those were the words spoken to the father of a four-month-old baby girl. She had been born with a rare aorta deformity. Her aorta had grown normally, then split in half, grown around her esophagus and back together, making a complete ring. As her esophagus had grown, the ring tightened around it causing her difficulty swallowing and breathing.

Surgery was the only option. This type of surgery wasn’t common in 1966 and had never been done on an infant this young. Despite the odds, the operation was scheduled and photographers were present to document the event for medical books and journals. After the delicate procedure was performed, the doctor’s outlook was grim. “She will not live.” The father and his wife took their three-year-old son into the baby’s hospital room so he could say goodbye to his little sister.

Proud to be Fifty

Three weeks ago on July 17, 2016, this baby girl turned 50 years old! Fifty is a major milestone in birthdays. Turning 50 often results in surprise parties, a midlife crisis and being categorized as “over the hill”. I know many women that dread the big five-o and others who won’t tell their age. I can honestly say, I’m proud to be fifty! Did my daddy buy my burial plot? Absolutely not! My parents prayed and trusted God. They had a praying church family, praying extended family and praying friends. Despite the fact many people were praying, there was no guarantee I would live. They were aware that sometimes God’s way of healing someone is to bring them home to Him. But God, the great physician, had plans for me.

50 years! Wow! Half of 100! Like most people, in fifty years I have dealt with difficult situations. Some I have experienced firsthand and others through a friend or loved one. Cancer, divorce, bankruptcy, job loss, miscarriage, car wrecks, surgery, and death are just a few of the occurrences that have reared their ugly head in my life. But God used those to make me stronger. And oh, the joys he has included in my fifty years, joys both big and small. For example, giving birth to a child, playing in the rain, watching a sunset, a dog’s love, a mother’s hug, laughing til it hurts, are just a few of the blessings I have seen.

Count Your Blessings

I have scars, a few gray hairs and wrinkles, but I am happy to reach 50! I wake up each morning and smile, knowing I am one of God’s miracles.

Time will march on; you can not stop it. But you can slow down and take notice of all God has blessed you with. Count your blessings, name them one by one.

Donna

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