Tag Archives: Family

Tell Me the Old, Old Story

“Tell me the old, old story … of Jesus and his love.”  – Hymn by Katherine Hankey, 1866

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I’ve been clearing bookshelves, packing up books.  Every piece of furniture – including the bookcases and their contents – must be moved so the floor can be replaced.  We’re using it as an opportunity to thin our library.

The three books pictured came to me from my mother.  Two clearly belonged to her stepfather.  The inscription in Bible Picture ABC Book suggests it was a Christmas gift to him when he was three years old.

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A page from Bible Picture ABC Book by Elsie e. Egermeier.  Illustrated by Charles B. Millar and Ruthven H. Byrum.   Anderson, Indiana: Gospel Trumpet Company, 1924.

The Story of Jesus was also a gift:  “To Arthur for Ideas to Paint  – Mother -“.  Based on the copyright date (MCMXXXIX), the man I knew as Grandpa Art would have been a teenager.  He grew up to be a High School Art Teacher who painted, carved, made pottery and pursued other artistic endeavors.

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A page from The Story of Jesus.  Akron, Ohio: The Saalfield Pub. Co., 1939.

The third book does not have an inscription but considering the topic and the copyright date, I imagine it also came from the Lenz family.  Knowing they lived on a ranch in eastern Montana, I called Mom to ask if they could have afforded books.  Her reply was along the lines of “Oh, yes, Grandpa Lenz came from money.”  She also said that Grandma Lenz was a teacher so having books in their house made sense.

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Title page from Wee Folks Stories from the New Testament in Words of one Syllable by Elisabeth Robinson Scovil.  Philadelphia: Henry Altemus Company.  Copyright 1921 by Howard E. Altemus.

Wee Folks Stories is a wee-sized book that is about the size of my hand – 4.25″ wide by 5.5″ tall.  True to its title, nearly every word in the book is only one syllable!

Rather than keep these books, I think I’ll send them to my Aunt Clara.  She’s just the sort who would enjoy having Bible story books that were used by her father.

Three books I won’t have reshelve!  (Is that three fewer or three less?  I’d look it up, but I’ve already packed the reference book and I don’t want to search the web.)

May you have time to read today!

Photo Challenge: Technology

Last week when Frank’s photo challenge was connections I thought about posting this picture of yesteryear:  an old rotary dial telephone.  It might be old technology but it still worked when I noticed it several years ago!IMG_1045

My mom has talked to her mom on the telephone at least once a week for as long as I can remember.  She used to give strict instructions whenever one of us kids went into the Post Office to get the mail:  leave the phone bill in the mailbox if Dad was in the car.  (We lived in a small town where everyone got their mail at the Post Office.)  Long-distance phone calls added up but she managed the money and always made ends meet!

As a college student I talked to my parents by telephone every Sunday morning.  I’d “one-ring” them from the dorm by calling home and letting it ring just once.  They’d call back immediately.  It was the cheapest way to have a phone conversation.  For years I thought it was Mom who wanted to talk; then one day I was with them when Dad asked Mom to call my sister so HE could talk.DSC01731 (3)The rotary dial was replaced by buttons but the phone was still plugged into a wall socket and still had a twisty, twirly phone cord!  As teens we’d stretch the phone cord as far as we possibly could to get around the corner from the kitchen for a more private conversation!

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My husband and I entered the cordless phone age when we moved into a house with very few phone jacks.  At least two houses later – and in an era where landlines are going away – we still use a set of cordless phones.  Every once in a while the question “where’s the phone?” comes up.

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I resisted cell phones until going away for two weeks of continuing education a dozen years ago.  My husband still uses an old flip phone – although we’ve been talking about getting him an upgrade!  Meanwhile I have a semi-smart cell phone which works just fine for phone calls and text messages; in a pinch I can use it to check my email.

My mom now talks to her mom via telephone every other day or so.  I usually talk to my parents a couple times a week.  When Dad wants to talk he’ll phone (or ask Mom to call) and suggest visiting via Skype.  Being able to see each other while talking means he can show off the latest creation from his wood shop or Mom’s sewing room.

Communications technology.  What will they think of next?

Love does not … Love does …

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Love does not insist on its own way; it is not irritable or resentful; it does not rejoice in wrongdoing, but rejoices in the the truth.  It bears all things, believes all things, hopes all things, endures all things.  Love never ends.  – 1 Corinthians 13:5b-8a  NRSV

Love insists that every way be loving.  A person acting with love – living love’s way – will not insist on his or her own way.  Usually.  Particularly when the other options available are expressions of love.  But sometimes love means speaking up or speaking out or speaking against a way that is not loving.

Love does not believe all things.  Especially if we are talking about believing everything you hear or everything you read.  Real love believes the best about another, looks for the good, seeks out the inspiring.  True love harbors doubts about second-hand stories and rumors that in any way disparage another; love grieves when such stories and rumors are accurate.

Even if we are talking about believing as giving our heart to and orienting our lives toward, then love still does not believe all things.  Love believes – sets its heart on and orients its life toward – all things life giving.

When one is treated without love in the name of love – say, being beaten or belittled or isolated or controlled – love does not bear it or endure it or simply hope for better.  Love leaves.

When you share life – in all its glorious messiness – with one who truly supports you and wants only the best for you, who would do anything to see you smile or hear you laugh, who can sit in the silence with you when there are no words and share your tears in the midst of the heart-wrenching, then love does indeed bear all things, believe all things, hope all things, endure all things.  Whether parent or partner or friend, that kind of love that never ends.

May you love and be loved in all ways life giving.

“The Wonderer” (4th stanza: Brain)

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This is the fourth of a series of posts in response to the poem “The Wonderer” by Robert William Service.  Read the whole poem by clicking hereThe first stanza is in my first post found here; the second is here and the third is here.

Now, the fourth stanza of the poem “The Wonderer” by Robert Service:

Then oh! but how can I explain
The wondrous wonder of my Brain?
That marvelous machine that brings
All consciousness of wonderings;
That lets me from myself leap out
And watch my body walk about;
It’s hopeless – all my words are vain
To tell the wonder of my Brain.

A few observations about how the brain operates.  There is the “Eureka!” sort of moment; a realization of discovery.  There is the “Wow!” of wonder, of being taken aback at how another is thinking.  There is the pondering, the imagining of what might be.

EUREKA!  As a brand spanking new Computer Programmer in the “real world” in 1987 I was amazed at how my brain worked.  Computer coursework in college had not taught me exactly what I needed to know.  But it had taught me how to think to learn what I did need to know for using particular programming languages in a specific computing environment.  I marveled at how my brain made connections.

WOW!  My oldest nephew was about 4 years old when I pulled out the book God’s Paintbrush by Sandy Eisenberg Sasso.  Upon hearing the title, B responded in a matter-of-fact tone, “It must be really big.”  It took me a moment to realize that God, who is pretty big to a preschooler, would have a really big paintbrush.

IMAGINE.  Ponder.  Contemplate.  Wonder.  About a creative endeavor.  About a career move.  About the words of a poem, the lyrics of a song, the phrases in a text.  About a relationship.  About God.

Holy God … assure us again that ear has not heard, nor eye seen, nor human imagination envisioned, what you have prepared for those you love you.   – From Book of Worship, United Church of Christ.

God has prepared things for those who love God that no eye has seen, or ear has heard, or that haven’t crossed the mind of any human being.  – 1 Corinthians 2:9b CEB

 

“The Wonderer” (3rd stanza)

This is the third of a series of posts in response to the poem “The Wonderer” by Robert William Service.  Read the whole poem by clicking hereThe first stanza is in my first post found here; the second is here.

Now, the third stanza of the poem “The Wonderer” by Robert Service:

What of the wonder of my Heart,
That plays so faithfully its part?
I hear it running sound and sweet;
It does not seem to miss a beat;
Between the cradle and the grave
It never falters, stanch and brave.
Alas! I wish I had the art
To tell the wonder of my Heart.

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Hearts at Faith United Church of Christ, February 2013. Photo: TLClark

The wonder of my Heart.  And your heart, too, for that matter.  Working unceasingly.  Beating dozens and dozens of time per minute, every minute of every hour of every day.  Moving blood – nutrients for life – throughout our bodies.

The wonder of big-hearted people.  Loving and generous and kind.  Forgiving and welcoming and encouraging.  Remembering all that is good.  Sharing nutrients for life throughout our communities.

The paper hearts pictured were part of the children’s message one Sunday in early February six years ago.  The scripture for the day was the great love chapter:  1 Corinthians 13.  I invited everyone in the congregation that day – young and old alike – to write something about love on a paper heart.

Love is patient; love is kind; love is not envious or boastful or arrogant or rude.  It does not insist on its own way; it is not irritable or resentful; it does not rejoice in wrongdoing, but rejoices in the truth.  It bears all things, believes all things, hopes all things, endures all things.  Love never ends.  – I Corinthians 13:4-8a  NRSV

img_2601What is written on your heart today?

“The Wonderer” (2nd stanza)

This is the second of what I imagine to be several posts in response to the poem “The Wonderer” by Robert William Service.  You can read the whole poem hereThe first stanza and my first post is here.

Here’s the second stanza:

Then there’s the wonder of my Eyes,
Where hills and houses, seas and skies,
In waves of light converge and pass,
And print themselves as on a glass.
Line, form and color live in me;
I am the Beauty that I see;
Ah! I could write a book of size
About the wonder of my Eyes.

“The wonder of my Eyes.”  Being able to see.

The wonder of my mind’s eye.  Being able to see more than what is seen by the eye.

Looking.  Really seeing.  Appreciating the work of light, the wonder of how light works, the color and design that light reveals. 

And also imagining something more.  Envisioning something, as yet, unseen.

Look around – with your eyes or your mind’s eye.  What do you see?  Possibility?  Hope?  Beauty?  Love?

I have seven nephews and nieces (below).  Each unique and wonderful, seeing the world through their own eyes.  Each with his or her own particular personality and primary interests.  Each growing and learning and exploring the world.  Each beautiful (though the boys may prefer I say handsome).  Each loved – and loving – beyond measure.

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The eyes have it!

Or, in the picture below, his eyes say it.  It’s my favorite selfie with my beloved.  I just see love as he looks at me and, since his cancer diagnosis, I am beyond happy he is still around!

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August 2017. Photo: TLClark.

 

Making Bread

My mother made bread in my childhood.  From scratch.  Using yeast, water, sugar, shortening, salt and flour.  I suspect it was to save money.

My father has taken up bread making in his retirement.  From scratch.  Apparently his first efforts fell a bit flat.  He’s learned to knead the dough more than he thought was needed.  He’ll tell you all about the science of it if you ask.

Mom says Dad makes bread like his mother did – by feel.  There was a recipe in the beginning.  Some experimentation.  Another recipe.  More experimentation.  Some research.  Now he adds an egg and sour cream.  The dough makes great cinnamon rolls; though it’s a bit unorthodox for dinner rolls.

Bread baking.  For the necessity of feeding the body.  For the joy of feeding the spirit.

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Dad with caramel rolls.  Photo:  TLClark.  12/2018