He thought he could, and he did

I’ve always liked the story of the little train that thought he could make it up and over the hill. As he went upward he got slower and slower, but he kept saying, “I think I can, I think I can, I think I can,” and he did!

If you are friends with me on FB you know I enjoy taking pictures and this summer has brought me great joy. I have taken many pictures of the beautiful zinnias Doug planted in our yard. We’ve never had zinnias before, and I didn’t know of their beauty. I have taken several pictures of the zinnias and made online greeting cards with them.

A special treat this summer has been the beautiful butterflies who have frequented the flowers. I’ve dashed out and made pictures of several of them. Recently as the season is ending I looked out and saw a beautiful zebra butterfly on a magenta zinnia. As I went around the flower snapping pictures, I noticed something unusual about this little butterfly. Its wing was torn away partially on the left side. He was only there for a short time, and I stood in amazement as he fluttered to the sky and around the side of the house. I could tell he was having difficulty flying, but he could fly. He had a handicap, but he didn’t let it stop him. Perhaps he was saying to himself, “I think I can, I think I can, I think I can,” and he could because he believed he could. I wanted to say, “Good for you. You can do it!”

How many times do we let things hinder us because we don’t think we can do it? Fear is a dreadful hinderance. I’m confident we don’t know half of what we are capable of doing because we haven’t tried! I didn’t know I could paint pictures until a friend asked me to take a college painting class with her. I didn’t know I could letter charts for preachers freehand without stencils until my brother encouraged me to try. I didn’t know I could crochet until I tried.

We’re God’s greatest creation. We can do more than we think we can, if we try.

Blocking crochet name doily

I learned to crochet when we first married. I think the first thing I made was a rug. Since then I have crocheted any number of things. One of the things I have seemingly crocheted the most is the name doily. I have crocheted them for all living Presidents and many other people.

All of the doilies are starched and blocked before they are sold to the customer. Here is an example of how I do that. I like pretty days so I can put them out in the sunshine to dry quickly.

Toni Permanents

When I was a little girl, possibly age 11 or so, mother gave me Toni permanents. She cut my hair the same length all over my head and curled it tight. This went on for many years. I guess I was happy with it for a long time. I may have been 9-11 years old here and was as happy as could be. We were at my grandparents birthday dinner out from Opp, AL. That was Herschel's studebaker I was eating on, if memory serves me correctly. I recall being fearful he might not want me eating on his car. He was very proud of it.

Going Home

I glanced out our kitchen window and immediately thought of how the lost child had returned home. There was no one there to greet him, but it was still home. He sat for the longest time on the little perch right outside the door. We’ve all done it at one time or another. Perhaps we have driven by our homeplace, and being so overcome with emotion we’ve begged to stop so we could look a little longer...and remember. Somehow home doesn’t get out of our system. We remember the good and somehow forget the bad over time. And somehow it becomes more precious as the years go by. Deep inside we always have a longing to go home just like the little bird did today.

Little babies and souls

Last night I woke around midnight thinking about the soul of man. I stood at the foot of my mother and watched her depart this life on January 8, 2014. 

You remember it was Jacob and Rachel, his true love, who were on their way to Ephrath when Rachel was in hard labor. She was having a baby boy, and the scripture says, "And it came to pass, as her soul was in departing, (for she died) that she called his name Ben-o-ni: but his father called him Benjamin. (Genesis 35:16-18).

I watched mother's body grow still and saw the blood stop running through her veins. I knew her soul was in departing, (for she died). The question I was needing an answer to last night was when did she get that soul? I have four different Bibles on my desk as I write this and as I studied during the late hours last night.

God formed man from the dust of the ground and breathed into his nostrils the breath of life; and man became a living soul (Genesis 2:7). That is where Adam got his soul. But what about the little babies today? In Ecclesiastes 11:5, The Living Bible Paraphrased says: "God's ways are as mysterious as the pathway of the wind, and as the manner in which a human spirit is infused into the little body of a baby while it is yet in its mother's womb.”

The King James Version states: "As thou knowest not what is the way of the spirit, nor how the bones do grow in the womb of her that is with child: even so thou knowest not the works of God who maketh all" (Ecclesiastes 11:5).

I shudder to think of the little souls which are being separated prematurely from their little bodies while in their mother's wombs. I cannot support, nor do I want to be friends with, anyone, who supports someone who upholds such a practice. That, my friends, is evil, and my Bible says to "shun the very appearance of evil." (1 Thessalonians 5:22)  

Written 09-27-2020 under Glenda's Glimpse, Geneva church of Christ bulletin, p.4

          

Slaves

I love reading whole books of the Bible at one sitting. Recently I read the book of Ecclesiastes. It has only 12 chapters and was written by the wisest man who ever lived, King Solomon. You will remember God told Solomon He would give him whatever he wanted, and Solomon asked for wisdom. So he was wise. We can believe that and know it to be true.

This morning I picked up the copy of my Good News Today Bible, which at one time had belonged to Luther Warrick. I picked it up at a thrift store and that is the name engraved in gold on the front leather cover. I'm sure Mr. Warrick would be delighted that someone was enjoying his Bible. Well, enough about that. I will get to my point. 

In Ecclesiastes the second chapter starting in verse four, check this out with me. Solomon said: "I accomplished great things. I built myself houses and planted vineyards. I planted gardens and orchards, with all kinds of fruit trees in them; I dug ponds to irrigate them. I bought many slaves, and there were slaves born in my household…"

Whoa!!! What did he say? "He bought many slaves, and there were slaves born in his household?" This goes back to Bible days, does it not?

I remember also that Joseph's brother sold him as a slave. He ended up in Potipher's house in a high position. He was assistant to the King himself. Joseph told his brothers years later that they meant it for evil, but God meant it for good (Genesis 50:20). 

We need to let down our buckets where we are, pour potting soil in them, and plant zinnias. That's the way I see it.

Mama's Pincushion

It really isn’t anything special, that pincushion of Mama’s, but it held lots of surprises for me recently. I use the pincushion now. Mama died in 2014 at 102.5 years, and I have her sewing machine and pincushion. Oh, I have other fancier pincushions…several of them, in fact, but somehow I feel closer to Mama each time I pick up her pincushion.

I don’t know if Mama ever had a fancy pincushion. I remember the day she told me she had made herself a pincushion. She was proud of it as she held it up for me to see, and that’s it below. She made it from a bath cloth, I think, and stuffed it with polyester stuffing. It has served us both well.

The yellow pins are all mine. I use them when I block crocheted name doilies. I imagine there are still some of mama’s pins in the cushion somewhere. But the other night I felt something hard deep inside the cushion and decided to work it out to see what it might be. It was a needle. No doubt it was one of mama’s needles which she lost long ago. Finding that needle made me wonder if there were more, so I kept digging. Sure enough I found another one. Occasionally I stuck my finger, but I kept working needles out of the cushion until I decided I needed a medicine bottle to hold them. I surely didn’t want them loose on the sofa where I was seated. I got the medicine bottle and put the needles inside and kept digging. And then I started counting the needles. I found and rescued over 25 needles deep inside that little pincushion.

Mama’s pincushion held lots of secret needles. I couldn’t help but think there was a lesson for us in Mama’s pincushion. Deep inside the much used and old pincushion were secrets, some sharp and some dull, but still secrets unknown to those around the pincushion. We might say the secrets were held in the heart of the pincushion, and that’s where the lesson is held. Just like us, deep within our hearts we have secrets. Some are dull and some are sharp. Some are good and some are bad. And the only difference is that we on the outside couldn’t see the secret sharp and dull needles inside Mama’s pincushion. But God can see the secrets deep within our hearts. He knows and He looks upon our hearts. There’s no hiding from Him. One day all secret things will be known.

“Let the words of my mouth, and the meditation of my heart, be acceptable in thy sight, O Lord, my Strength, and my Redeemer” (Psalms 19:14).