Summer Time Fun

When I was a little girl, one of the highlights of summertime was going barefoot and swimming. The only thing was I couldn't swim, but then I didn't have to swim.

Mother had two large galvanized washtubs, #2 and #3, that she used in washing clothes under the shelter behind our house. Early in the day she filled the tubs with water and the sun heated it so I could swim. My cousin, Brenda, came and she would sit Indian fashion in one tub of water, and I sat in the other tub. We had lots of fun sitting in the tubs of water, imagining we were somewhere else and chattering away.

After our afternoon of fun, mother washed the tubs out, took them to the shelter and hung them over nails on the wall. They stayed there until wash day. Mother didn't always have a shelter under which she could wash clothes.

I remember as a little girl, perhaps age seven, after we moved to the old Holland place that we took our clothes into the woods to a stream of water and washed them. The stream was across the road in front of the house and down a steep embankment. Mother never complained. She set her tubs up beside the creek bank, and filled them with water. She had an old black washpot that she filled with water and built a fire under it so she could boil our clothes to clean them. Mother used lye soap that she made. She had a battling stick with which she stirred the clothes in the boiling pot of soapy water. That stick looked a lot like a worn down axe handle. She also had a rubbing board. She used the tubs of water to rinse the clothes.

When the washing was finished, we lugged those wet clothes back home to hang on the clothes line. Mother taught me early how to hang out clothes on a line. We hung all the bath cloths together, all the towels together, all the sheets, the pillowcases, the shirts, hankerchiefs, dresses, underwear, etc. Everything had to be hung with its own kind, and overlapped so as to save clothespins. That way, it made them easier to fold after they dried.

Daddy's pants, what we would call kakis now, had to be pulled over the pants stretchers. I still have one that we used. It was adjustable and each wire frame would slip down the leg of the pants. We stretched it out as tightly as possible so we wouldn't have so much to iron. We then hung them on the line. I think I never met anyone who liked to starch and iron pants.

Mother starched clothes with liquid starch that she made from a powder in a box that she mixed with water. After the clothes dried, they were stiff and hard to handle, so we had a sprinkling bottle that we used to dampen the clothes, so they would iron easier. Ours was a cork stopper with a silver top with holes in it. It fit right down into a glass Coca Cola bottle. Mother would sprinkle thegarment and then roll it up tightly until she could iron it. I suppose the dampness evened out all over the garment while it was rolled.

I can't remember the days when mother had two cast irons that she heated in front of the fireplace. My brother, Hoyt, can recall those days. She heated the irons and ironed as long as she could before having to reheat them. She kept one heating in front of the fire all the time she was ironing. I still have one of her irons and use it as a door stop.

We had an electric iron by the time I knew anything about ironing, but it wasn't a steam iron. They hadn't been invented yet. I remember when the control stopped working and we had to unplug it to let it cool down, so it wouldn't scorch the clothes. Mother was always upset when the iron was too hot and she burned her clothes. I can almost smell the scorch now.

Mother taught me how to iron shirts and I've done my share of that, at least all I ever wanted to iron. Today I don't buy things that have to be ironed.

Douglas and I lived in Memphis, TN in 1966-67, while he attended Harding Graduate School of Religion. He preached and attended school. I put him through by working as secretary to brother Jessie Fox, head of the Department of Chemistry at Memphis State University.

On the weekends I washed 5-7 white shirts at a time for Douglas. We didn't have much money, so we learned early in our marriage to pinch a penny. If one of his shirt collars started wearing out, I took it off, turned it over, and sewed it back on. But ironing those shirts was a job that took a long time. I believe by this time we had spray starch and that is what I used, which was a great improvement over what I had grown up using.

The back of the collar was the first thing to be ironed, and then the front side. While in that area, the back yoke of the shirt was next, inside and outside. The goal was to have no wrinkles ironed on the shirt. Taking the shirt off the ironing board and repositioning, I flattened out the sleeve and ironed the cuff first, inside and out, and then the actual sleeve on each side. After all this was ironed, I then positioned the shirt to iron one side of the front and kept working myself around the shirt until I finished on the other side. Having a clothes hanger near was important so I could hang the freshly ironed shirt and get it to the closet. That was quite a feeling of accomplishment to see all those shirts ironed and ready to wear. Douglas always let me know how much he appreciated what I was doing.

The simple things in life make the most lasting memories it seems. A playhouse under a sheet draped over a table on the porch on a rainy day; a stick and spoon used to carve a roadway on an area of hard dirt underneath the porch, so the little metal cars could be pushed on the roads; fruit pies made with dirt, water, and China berries; a swing on a high limb in the old oak tree. Memories are made of things like this. Maybe next time I will re-visit the high swing that was my favorite place.

Putting My Prayers Into Action

In my post, "I Prayed to Marry a Preacher," I mentioned how I prayed for my daddy while he was living a sinful life. Daddy spent his money on the bottle and we didn't have much as we grew up. As I listened to him snoring in his drunken slumber, I knelt by my bed and prayed that he might not die in that condition. I loved him and didn't want to see my daddy die lost. Here is the rest of the story.

Daddy became sick and was admitted to the hospital. He had been in there several days in the small town of Elba, AL. I worked with the Mayor and City Clerk and our office was located right off the city square. Dr. Bancroft Cooper's office was within walking distance and he was caring for daddy. One day an idea came to me concerning my daddy. I knew Dr. Cooper. He was my doctor too. I called his office and made an appointment to go and "talk" to him about daddy. I don't recall how long it was until the appointment, but it wasn't too long. I remember walking into Dr. Cooper's office and him inviting me to sit down across from his desk.

"Dr Cooper," I said, "My daddy is in the hospital and you are caring for him. All my life, all I have ever known is my daddy drinking. I wouldn't ask you to lie for anything in the world, but if you could tell my daddy something to make him, or scare him, so he would stop drinking you would make our house a home."

I don't remember what Dr. Cooper said to me, but my mission was over and I returned to my office.

Daddy got out of the hospital in a few days and on a Wednesday morning I stuck my head into his room before leaving for work. Daddy said, "I thought I would get to talk to that little preacher, but I never did." I knew he was talking about our local preacher, Raymond Elliott. He probably had visited with Daddy every day he was in the hospital. He was so good to visit people.

I went on to work and the city of Elba closed at noon on Wednesdays. That morning brother Elliott called me at work and asked how daddy was doing. I told him he was at home and better, but I did not tell him what Daddy had said to me that morning before I left for work. We hung up and I went home at noon.

I had mowed the yard that afternoon, came in the house and got a bath, and washed my long hair. Raymond Elliott came to visit Daddy and I felt like I had to be in the living room with them because mother was gone to work. Daddy was seated on the sofa, Raymond on a matching chair, and I was on the swivel rocker. I really wanted to get out of there and go roll and dry my hair.

To anger my Daddy was not something I liked to do. He had a bad back hand slap up side of the head that I didn't like to receive. I decided I would take a chance, and I said, "Daddy, didn't I hear you say this morning that you wished you could have talked to the preacher?" The pause and the silence was long. Daddy looked over at me and said, "Yes I did." Whew! Raymond was up off his chair ushering me out of that room, and closing the door behind me, in no time flat! I went to do my hair.

I was sitting under the old bonnet type dryer on the side of my bed when I heard daddy coming down the hall. I was so afraid of what he might say to me and how angry he might be. He came to my door and stopped.......and said, "Glenda, you have company." A friend from Enterprise had come to visit me. I was so relieved I didn't know what to do.

Daddy asked to go to church with us the following Sunday, and that is the day I will never forget. Douglas and I were seated in the center section half way to the front, when during the invitation song I looked over to the left aisle and saw my daddy walking to the front. He confessed living in sin for over 30 years. I had lived 21 of those with him at that time. Daddy laid down his smoking, his drinking, his cursing and our house became a home. God answered my prayers. Daddy died in 1985 as a Deacon in the Elba church of Christ. He made the statement after he returned to the Lord that he couldn't understand why anyone would want to drink.

For years I didn't know what Dr. Bancroft Cooper said to daddy, and one time I was telling this story to my older brother, Hoyt Williams. He said, "Well, I know." I asked, "You do? How do you know?" He said, "Because Daddy told me." Anxiously I asked, "Well, what did he say?" Hoyt said, "Dr. Cooper walked into the room one morning and said, 'Mr. Williams,' and daddy said, 'Yeah Doc.' 'Do you want to live?' Daddy replied, 'Yeah Doc, I want to live.' 'Then you have to give up your drinking. We have found a spot on your liver.'

This is just another time that I know God answered my prayers and I am so thankful He did. One day I believe I will be reunited with my daddy on the other side.

Gifts to Give God this Year

This morning I was checking email and found an article written by Tim Hall about gifts we can give God this year. Recently I have been thinking about what I would call a wonderful sermon for a preacher to present at this time of the year. My Douglas is a preacher and I like sermons that have good illustrations with them. That may be because of the artistic ability in which God has blessed me.

At this time of the year people are thinking about giving gifts. Visualize walking into the auditorium and seeing several beautifully wrapped Christmas gift boxes across the front of the stage. Inside each box would represent a certain gift we could give the Lord this year. The preacher would be down on the floor (always miked) and start on one side and talk about the gift in that particular box, working his way to the last box.

You can imagine my surprise when I received the email early this morning with an article that would go perfectly with my Christmas gift sermon idea. Since today is Christmas day, it is too late to use it now from the pulpit. I decided to go to my Adobe Illustrator program and illustrate the lesson. I sent it to a missionary friend in Brazil who in turn has forwarded it to Tim Hall. The lesson could still have more work done to it, like listing scriptures to go along with the thoughts on the gifts, but check it out above. I'm sharing it with you. Maybe we can all profit from the idea even now. Enjoy!

New Year 2010 - New Goals

My goals for this year, or at least one of them, was made the first of October, 2009, when we had a visiting preacher come to do a seminar at the Geneva church of Christ. Carl S. Sims of Manchester, TN came to teach us the 3 lesson Ivan Stewart Bible Study course. I had volunteered to videotape the sessions, edit and make DVD's for him to give away. I was seated behind the camera, center aisle of the church building and not too far back. You might say I had a "ring-side seat."

Brother Sims began his introduction and I was watching closely the viewer on the camera, trying to listen to him and keep him in view. I almost yelled, "Stand still!" Not really, but he certainly kept me on my toes in keeping him centered in the viewfinder. Pretty soon in his lesson he made a life-changing statement for me. Maybe it will be for you too! He said, "I have been reading through the New Testament from one to two times a month for more than twenty years. I read in the Old Testament too, but have concentrated my reading mostly in the New Testament. I do this by reading nine chapters a day. Sometimes I read more than nine chapters but by doing the nine chapters a day a person will finish reading the New Testament a little before the end of the month."

Whew! I tried to remain calm but that was the most wonderful thing I thought I had ever heard. For years I have tried to read through the whole Bible and every time I have tried to do it, I have bogged down in the Old Testament and failed to finish it completely.

Brother Sims statement seemed to give me permission to read just the New Testament, and in the Old Testament as I choose, but I determined that I would also try to read it through in a month. So in October 2009, I shared my goal with friends and I began. By the end of October I was finished!!!! November came and I started reading it again. By the end of November I had read completely through the New Testament and also the book of Genesis, the first book of the Old Testament. Here it is December and I am on target for my monthly Bible reading. It amazes me the things I continue to find that I haven't noticed before in my earlier readings. It is fresh to me each month and grows sweeter with each reading. I have found when I want to read something, my Bible is my book of choice these days. Isn't that wonderful? By the way, I learned about an easy reading Bible by Hugo McCord, Th.D., "The Everlasting Gospel" which is the New Testament with Psalms, Proverbs and more and ordered two of them from Freed-Hardeman University bookstore. It is praised as being the most accurate translation of the Holy Bible on the market today. I ordered Douglas a copy and me a copy. I didn't want to share my Bible with Douglas because he might be using it when I would want to read it. He was as proud of his copy as I was mine.

We serve an awesome God. How do I know? The Bible tells me so!

May I challenge you to try this for one month. Start the first day of the month and read nine chapters. Do this every day and see what a feeling of accomplishment you will have at the end of the month. You will be so pleased with yourself and God will be pleased with you too! "Study to show thyself approved unto God, a workman that needs not to be ashamed rightly dividing the word of truth" (2 Tim. 2:15).

My special goal for next month is to have a notebook to make notes in as I read. I have noticed the sin of fornication is mentioned often as the first word in a list of sins and I want to count the times it is mentioned, not just as the first in the list, but in general. The penalty for such is terrible!

Join me. Won't you? It would thrill me to know you are going to try to read with me. Post a comment to let me know if you will accept this challenge. It is a wonderful way to start the New Year off right! God bless you in the New Year.

Ramblings - Where have I been?

I didn't realize it has been so long since I posted on my blogspot. You would think I didn't really care, but not so. My time has been devoted mostly to caring for my 98 year old mother, who has lived with us six years last September 22. It is such a joy to care for her at this particular time in her life. She is loving, meek and gentle and kind and makes it very easy to love her. I am so much her security blanket so to speak. Seldom do I get a sitter and go anywhere, but when I do she is asking them when I am coming home. She sits in her chair by the large glass window in the family room and watches for our vehicle to come and park in front of the house. I always wave to her and she waves back. Sometimes she is overjoyed to see me and wants to hug and kiss me and hold me tight, all the while telling me how glad she is that I am home. Not many people are that happy to see me coming in a door, you know what I mean? Ha. Now with all that explanation of why I haven't written sooner, I am ready to write a very important blog entry now. Read on.

I Prayed to Marry a Preacher

We never had much growing up. Daddy drank and wasted his income on the bottle. Mother sewed our clothes from flour sacks she saved. I remember how happy she would be to find a sack full of flour at the grocery store that had the same print as others she was saving at home. I remember her saying, "I have enough to make a dress now." I was happy for her. Ah me, what memories. My mother was something else. She didn't have to use a pattern to make a dress. She made my brothers shirts out of flour sacks and recycled clothes long before it was even a popular thing to do.

Time went on and I grew up and realized how things were at our house. Mother tried to live right and she taught us the one way. Daddy didn't have any interest in spiritual things. Mother always told me, "You may not have much, but you have your character and if you keep it clean you will be all right."

I wanted better for myself than what I had and mother and daddy wanted that for all of their children. What they didn't know was just how much I wanted it better. Deep within me was the dream of marrying a good man who didn't drink, curse, and who put the Lord first in his life. I wanted to marry a man completely opposite from my daddy. The best person I could think of who would fit that dream was a preacher, so I knelt by my bed at night and prayed to marry a preacher. I didn't know a boy that was making a preacher, but I kept praying. Often times at night I could hear my daddy snoring across the hall in his intoxicated state and as I prayed I asked God to let him live to change his life. I didn't want my daddy to die lost. I loved my daddy but didn't love his habits or life style.

Jerry Humphries was our local preacher and one summer when I was 19, he left for two weeks to preach in gospel meetings. He invited this young preacher man, Clifton Tuggle, from Alabama Christian College in Montgomery, to preach in his absence. Clifton was so cute but he brought his girlfriend, Marcia Moulton, who later became his wife, with him. Mother and I invited them to eat lunch with us at our home. Daddy went to the country store and visited with friends all afternoon and avoided meeting them. During the afternoon I asked Clifton and Marcia if they didn't have a fine young man they could bring down and let me meet the next time they came. After thinking a little bit Marcia snapped her fingers and said, "Old Doug." The following Sunday when they came, they brought "Old Doug." I thought he was one of the nicest people I had ever met. There was just something very special about him. We four went riding in my new red and white 1963 Rambler that afternoon. They spilled a Coke in my car, which I didn't appreciate, but didn't let them know it since they cleaned it up nicely. At some point during our outing I started singing unconsciously, "Today I met the boy I'm gonna marry." It was a popular song back in the 60's and they roared with laughter at me. I was embarrassed.

Douglas and I dated for a year and a half. He invited me to attend banquets at Alabama Christian College with him and I wore evening gowns mother had made for me. I was just as proud of those brocade satin dresses as if they had cost a fortune. The one pictured above was a light green and with my green eyes, it really looked nice. I felt like a princess.

After one year with a potential preacher for a son-in-law, Daddy quit drinking and smoking after being in the hospital. The doctor warned him he had to stop or he was going to die. Daddy asked if he could go to church with us one Sunday when Doug was visiting. We were thrilled beyond words that he wanted to go and worship with us. Mother and Daddy sat in the back of the auditorium. Doug and I were in the center section about half way to the front. During the invitation I looked over and saw my Daddy walking down the aisle toward the preacher. He confessed having lived in sin for 30 years. He rededicated his life to the Lord and later became a Deacon in the Elba Church of Christ. Things really changed around our house. My daddy died in a right relationship with God.

Douglas and I were married December 18, 1965, by brother Raymond Elliott, at the Elba Church of Christ. We've had a wonderful life together. God answered my prayer as a young girl to marry a preacher, and I am so thankful He did. We look forward to celebrating 50 years together in 2015, if it is God's will.

THE DUMB BULL WASN'T REAL

We lived out in the country from Elba, AL when I was growing up. Just a short piece away from the house was the old Holland Cemetery. Word had it that Indians were buried in the back part of that cemetery, but no one had been buried there in years. We also enjoyed walking through the cemetery reading the headstones or looking at the wood stakes and just wondering about the person laid to rest in each spot. I grew up with the cemetery being close, so I didn't have any problem with it being there......until dark. When dark arrived I didn't want to go near the cemetery, pass it, or anything else especially on foot.

My youngest brother was seven years older than I, and he always liked a good prank or a good joke. He was the prankster in our family. I always begged to go with him, to do things with him and naturally he didn't like that.

My brother must have been 17 when I heard him asking our daddy about how to build a dumb bull. Daddy cautioned him that those things were illegal to use because they would frighten people and animals so badly. I'd never heard of such a thing so I was all ears to hear what they were saying. First of all, he was to get the old wood keg out back with the top and bottom out of it. Then he was to stretch a piece of dead animal skin over the top very, very tightly and let it dry for several days. In the top he was to make a small hole right in the center before the skin dried. A heavy string that he had waxed with a knot on the bottom end was inserted in that hole. As the skin dried it would be tight around the string in the hole. Someway when he pulled that string he had waxed with bees wax up out the keg it made a reverbrating awful, awful, sound that could be heard for miles around. It sounded like what I suppose a very large bull would likely sound, or should I say a "dumb bull."

I had forgotten about the dumb bull until one night my brother announced he was going to go out on the hill by the cemetery and try it out. Of course I asked to go with him even though the cemetery was an area I didn't like to go at night. The Morris family, an elderly man with his two sisters and a grandson, lived in the little house way off the road and down at the bottom of the hill. Mr. Morris would come up to our house in the day time to sit on our porch because he said there was no air stirring in the bottom where they lived, and none of us had air-conditioning back then. Our front porch was shaded by a large oak tree and our being on the top of the hill made us able to feel the breeze blowing. We thought a lot of all the Morris family.

It must have been as late as 10:00 o'clock that night when my brother and I, along with the dumb bull, made our way to the edge of the hill so we could look down and see the Morris home. There were no lights on anywhere. People didn't have yard night lights back then and it was pitch dark. Only the sounds of the night were around us. My brother must have been grinning when he started slowly pulling that string through the top of the dumb bull. I've never heard such a loud, vicious sound in my life. The night was black and still, and he pulled it again. He saw it first. A light came on in the back of the small Morris house, and we could tell they were coming through the house by the lights coming on. Finally the porch light came on and Mr. Morris came out. The young grandson came out, stood with the screen door open and Mr. Morris yelled, "Get back in that house, boy. Get back." The boy went back inside.

I don't remember if my brother pulled the dumb bull again that night, or ever again, but I know it scared Mr. Morris. My brother was laughing so hard, and I was scared and wanted us to go home.

The next day when it got too hot in the bottom for Mr. Morris to stay home, we saw him walking slowly up to the house. Mr. Morris was a small in statue man, but a very nice person. He made his way to our porch where my daddy was sitting and he sat down on one of the white metal rockers. In a little while he said, "Old man, there was a big one that came through the valley last night. I didn't see it.......but it was a bigggg one. I heard it." I can just see my daddy now with the knowing smile on his face. I think he never revealed our secret about the dumb bull and we never did that again. Just so we know.....things are not always what they appear to be.