tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-42610830053520661822024-03-12T18:32:15.757-07:00Anita's AdventuresAnitahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12213862245635073343noreply@blogger.comBlogger56125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4261083005352066182.post-81236263509659010882019-07-03T12:53:00.002-07:002019-07-03T13:12:15.181-07:00Here's How We Started...<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
It was Friday, the beginning of the fourth of July weekend. 1958. Jerry wanted to join the rest of his family at the lake for swimming, playing, eating, water skiing, etc. His mother said, "No! If I can't go to camp meeting, I'm staying home!" Jerry finally gave in to her and drove the two of them to Gladwin, Michigan to a campground outside of town. Jerry's dad had died of cancer several years before, and Jerry, being the only child still living at home, worked for Dow Chemical Co. and cared for his mother.<br />
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Anita had completed her freshman year of college in South Dakota and had returned to her parents home in Winona Lake, Indiana. She had a job lined up for the summer. Her parents and brother were leaving on a two-week speaking trip to several Eastern states and ending with the second week of speaking each day at the Gladwin, Michigan camp.<br />
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But alas, her job wasn't ready for a summer worker yet! It would be a couple of weeks before she could start working! Anita quickly packed a suitcase and joined her family on the two-week trip.<br />
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July 3, 1958, Jerry and Anita were introduced to each other by Anita's new friend, Mary Morse. Oh, now Jerry brought his mother to camp every day all day for the weekend and every evening for the next week! And then parting was such sweet sorrow!<br />
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They wrote letters to each other every day, not knowing when they would see each other again! Anita's job started so she was busy every day now. One day in Jerry's letter he said he had a long weekend coming up and would like to drive down to visit! Oh, how exciting! But when Anita told her parents they said, "Oh no. We'll be gone again for that weekend. He'll have to pick a different time." So, in my letter that day I wrote that it wasn't a good weekend for him to come because I'd be home alone. What a disappointment for both of us!<br />
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Then to make things more complicated, I got a phone call from a guy I had dated and had been writing to, before Jerry. He said he was on his way from Seattle to Wilmore, Kentucky, where his parents lived, but was stopping here to see me! Oh oh. His family was driving up from Kentucky to pick him up! Thank goodness I had written to Jerry not to come!<br />
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On the day Burt was to arrive I worked hard and fast to get our house ready for overnight company! I had never been a hostess before but I did what I thought my mother would do! Then I took a taxi to the depot to meet him. He had a huge smile! I admit we made a nice couple. We took another taxi back to my parent's house to wait for his family to arrive. He sat on the sofa beside me and put his arms around me for our first kiss! But I resisted. Oh, "What's wrong?" he asked and then answered his own question. "Oh, it's another guy, isn't it?" My response was, "It's been such a long time, Burt!"<br />
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His parents arrived soon after that episode and I was relieved. I don't remember what I did about supper that evening or even what his parents did for the evening. Burt and Nellie and I took his parents car and had a fun evening.<br />
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The next morning, I woke up very early and began thinking about breakfast. Oh, what was I going to fix for breakfast? I knew there weren't enough eggs for a whole family. There were no stores nearby, but there was the Eskimo Inn Resturant a few blocks away from where I possibly could buy a dozen eggs! I ran a couple blocks, then down a long hill, to the restaurant and politely asked if they would sell a dozen eggs to me. They did! I ran, trudged up the hill, and ran some more to our house. Everyone was still sleeping! Thank the Lord! I cooked a good breakfast of bacon and eggs, toast, juice and coffee! No one even knew I had been in such a panic!<br />
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After breakfast, it was time for them to get on the road headed for Kentucky. Burt began begging me to go home with them for the weekend! I could be Nellie's guest, not his, he said. Nellie and I were very good friends, but somehow I just didn't feel right about it, so I refused nicely but firmly.<br />
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Their car had a problem that morning! It wouldn't start! Burt and his dad worked and worked to start it and finally had to call someone to help them. After several hours it was repaired and they were on their way.<br />
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I was totally exhausted! As they drove off I fell onto the sofa and immediately fell asleep! All of a sudden I woke up to someone knocking loudly on the front door! I jumped up, ran to the door, and opened it, not knowing who it was.<br />
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There stood Jerry! He was grinning! I was in shock! We went into the living room, sat on the same sofa Burt and I had sat on. Jerry put his arms around me and pulled me to himself to kiss me. I eagerly responded!<br />
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What a close call! Jerry had been driving around town, for at least an hour, looking for our street and house! What if he had arrived while Burt and his family were still there working on their car?! Thank the Lord for His Timing!<br />
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We drove to Warsaw, the nearby town and got him a room in a hotel. The next day, Mother was returning home by bus. Jerry and I were there to meet her. She was very surprised! We explained quickly this was his only weekend off work and he had a room at a hotel. Mother smiled and nodded her approval. Later she called some friends about a block away who often rented a room out. Yes, it was available and Jerry could stay there.<br />
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So this was how we started! But, there's more. The summer was flying by. Soon I'd be returning to South Dakota for school. Jerry said if I went there we'd have to say a final good-bye. Oh no. We were both very sad. There was a college in Michigan I could transfer to. Spring Arbor College. So, that was it. I transferred and the rest is history! We became engaged at Christmas time and were married on June 13, 1959.<br />
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Anitahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12213862245635073343noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4261083005352066182.post-78745005918608684312013-03-17T18:01:00.001-07:002013-03-17T18:01:37.788-07:00Happy Birthday Mother<a href="http://animoto.com/play/PoyOPXbbsdcpa00nT0E2Yg#.UUZnZsfZhis.blogger">Happy Birthday Mother</a>Anitahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12213862245635073343noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4261083005352066182.post-51976576630963312262013-01-13T04:18:00.001-08:002013-01-13T04:18:29.711-08:00My Best Friends<a href="http://animoto.com/play/5l8muVEQX3f9pux0TcYSqw">My Best Friends</a>Anitahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12213862245635073343noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4261083005352066182.post-69814090794352345702012-12-27T07:45:00.001-08:002012-12-27T07:45:56.064-08:00My Sister Lorraine<a href="http://animoto.com/play/u52mPglpc9BULSM6v01tLg">My Sister Lorraine</a>Anitahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12213862245635073343noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4261083005352066182.post-62611281465059143742012-10-14T15:02:00.000-07:002012-10-14T16:03:35.421-07:00The Watch Dog<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;">Our city used to do a school census every two years. For several years I was one of their census takers. I had to go to each house in my area, ask how many children, how many babies, were any handicapped, etc. People, for the most part, were friendly. Once in a while I'd meet some one who was in a hurry and didn't want to answer my questions. My area was mainly in the country so I drove from one house to another. I'd often meet dogs and cats, and other pets. </span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;"> One house had a Doberman Pinscher and some geese in the yard. I was very nervous about the dog but didn't bother about the geese. When I was leaving I asked the woman if her dog would bother me She laughed and said, "No, the dog is friendly, it's the geese you need to worry about! They'll attack you!"</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;"> Another place as I drove in the driveway was met by a medium size dog running out to my car, barking loudly. I rolled my window down and said hello. I talked about the weather and what a nice day it was. He stopped barking and just looked at me. I explained why I was there and told him he was a good dog. Then I opened the door and got out. He walked up to the house with me and even up onto the porch with me. I knocked on the door. </span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;"> A man opened the door and looked at his dog. I was explaining why I was there when he interrupted and asked how I got out of my car! I said I just opened the door and got out. </span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;"> "Well," he said, "This is a watch dog. He doesn't let anyone come in my yard. What did you do?"</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;"> I told him I didn't do anything except talk to the dog. Then I said what an intelligent dog he had and that the dog must have sensed that I love dogs and am not afraid of them. He must have known I wasn't there for any 'no good' reason so he let me walk up to the house.</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;"> The man must have accepted my reasoning because he kept the dog with him and let me walk back out to my car. Oh, there were no children living in this house...</span><br />
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Anitahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12213862245635073343noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4261083005352066182.post-3782917430533428122012-10-14T14:31:00.000-07:002012-10-15T14:07:10.323-07:00Storm of 1948<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-large;"> We were living in Covington, Oklahoma in the middle 40's. It's a small town near Enid. </span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-large;"> In the spring of 1948 we were having a normal day of playing. Mother had walked to the grocery store, several blocks away on Main Street. She had given us, children, instructions to stay at home until she returned. </span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-large;"> It was a very hot day, the air was still and sultry. Suddenly the wind began to blow strong gusts. There was an eerie feeling in the air. </span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-large;"> Our neighbor, Mrs. Powell, came rushing in asking where Mother was. We explained she had gone to the store so she instructed us to stay in the center bedroom because a storm was coming. Then she ran home to care for her own family, as the wind picked up speed.</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-large;"> It became very dark from the storm clouds. Lightning was flashing and thunder booming and roaring. It was very scary.</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-large;"> We kids, Richard 12 years, Lorraine 10 years, Anita seven and Billy four, all hid under the bed in Mother's and Daddy's bedroom. Daddy was off holding a revival somewhere far away in another state. But, oh, where was Mother? Shouldn't she be home from the store by now? </span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-large;"> Suddenly she came bursting in the door with her bag of groceries. She had run all the way home, so frightened for her children and for herself.</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-large;"> We were so glad to have her home with us. She immediately said, "Come kids, we've got to pray." We all knelt beside the bed and prayed for God's protection in this very bad storm. Suddenly we heard the living room window blown from the inside out! But we were safe. </span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-large;"> Finally the storm was over. We, along with all the neighbors, went outside to see the damage. Trees were blown down all over. Glass and debris was scattered everywhere. Siding and roofing were ripped off houses, our included. But all the people were okay.</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-large;"> We heard a report of a town, Woodward, that was completely flattened except for a couple buildings. We had experienced the tail end of a tornado. </span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-large;"> To this day, I am petrified of storms. Wind and lightning have a bad effect on me. I'm sure it all comes from the fear of the storm in 1948.</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-large;"> When Daddy came home it was decided we needed to move back to Iowa. We moved that summer but not to Iowa. We lived in Illinois for a year and then back home to Iowa.</span><br />
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Anitahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12213862245635073343noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4261083005352066182.post-43353947398758577762012-10-12T07:05:00.000-07:002012-10-15T10:31:36.889-07:00Our Oklahoma Chickens<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
<span style="font-size: large;">We were living in Covington, Oklahoma. I was about seven years old. My family had little money. We moved to Oklahoma so we wouldn't have the huge coal bills we had in Iowa. Daddy traveled all over North America and sent money home to Mother. He was gone weeks at a time.</span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;">In order to provide meat, for our family of six, Mother decided to raise roosters. She bought 100 cute little yellow chicks. Our garage was changed from a play school to a chicken house! Lorraine and I were disappointed to lose our school but we loved the baby chicks! Our back yard was fenced in so as they grew the chickens could scratch and eat.</span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;">I love hearing roosters crow early in the morning and it probably goes back to our days of raising chickens!</span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;">We were in for a surprise! We began finding eggs! One every day! One of the chickens was a hen! She laid one egg a day except on Sunday! We decided she must be a Free Methodist (the church denomination we belonged to) chicken because she didn't work on Sunday!</span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;">An old couple lived around the corner from us and our back yards butted up together. They had a beautiful garden with all kinds of fresh vegetables!</span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;">Every now and then we'd hear and see the man yelling and waving his arms and then we'd hear chickens squawking! Oh no, our chickens were flying up to the top of the fence and down into the neighbor's garden! He was very angry with the chickens and with my mother.</span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;">Poor Mother. She didn't like upsetting our neighbors but she was committed to providing meat for her family.</span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;">Since Daddy was gone most of the time our pastor came over to help Mother when it was time to butcher some of the chickens. We, kids, stayed in the house during the butchering but then helped out with plucking the feathers. Mother was raised on a farm so she knew how to prepare a chicken for cooking or freezing.</span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;">One day after butchering several, Mother got an idea...</span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;">She carefully cut the chickens in pieces and wrapped them in freezing paper. Then she took two of the packages and walked around the corner to the old couple who hated our roosters. They were so surprised to see her and probably didn't even want to go to the door!</span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;">Mother apologized for the roosters getting into their garden and then held out two packages of freshly butchered and packaged chickens! "I want you to have these," she said with a smile. They were so surprised and gratefully accepted them. They never yelled at our chickens again!</span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;">She didn't just give them one. She generously gave them two chickens! That's my mother! What a lasting impression she made on us children that day and on the neighbors! I still remember it like it was yesterday.</span><br />
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Anitahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12213862245635073343noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4261083005352066182.post-40933290052776668842011-12-22T09:10:00.000-08:002012-10-12T15:40:22.756-07:00Glen's 1st Race<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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<span style="font-size: 13.35pt; line-height: 100%;"> </span><span style="font-size: large; line-height: 100%;"> This was written by my dad several years ago. It's a delightful story. Enjoy! </span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large; line-height: 100%;"> It was a cold winter day in Iowa; snow was abundant,
bobsleds and cutters (all horse drawn) were everywhere. One such vehicle was
gliding recklessly over the icy trail—called by the citizens, of all things,
the turnpike—that led from the village to the farm home of Andrew and Rose
Williamson.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;"><span style="line-height: 100%;"> Rose, at that
moment the mother of six, was waiting most impatiently, for the doctor to
arrive, and incidentally, </span><span style="font-style: italic; line-height: 100%;">Glen too</span><span style="line-height: 100%;">!
You see, the doctor and Glen were racing; Glen’s first race, not the doctor’s.
But practice isn’t everything—Glen beat him! It isn’t everyone that wins his
first race, is it? Poor Rose! At that moment, the mother of seven!<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span style="line-height: 100%;"><span style="font-size: large;"> December 22,
1909, Glen Edgar was born to Andrew and Rose Williamson, their seventh and last
child. </span><span style="font-size: 13.35pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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Anitahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12213862245635073343noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4261083005352066182.post-77716617892095424922011-08-02T17:32:00.000-07:002012-10-15T06:42:40.283-07:00Sisters?<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-large;"> Lorraine and I are only two and a half years apart in age. We've always been as different as night and day! We didn't look anything alike as children. I had dark hair and she had light hair. We have many memories of our childhood. I've written about some of them in another story here on this blog. Lorraine was going to be a teacher and I was going to be a mother! Lorraine was ambitious and accomplished both goals.</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-large;"> It seems that as we've grown older we've also grown alike! Our hair is now close to the same. We've had folks get us mixed up when we've gone somewhere. We've been asked if we're twins if we're at the same place at the same time! It's really quite comical!</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-large;"> Here's a funny experience we had a few years ago.</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-large;"> We were together on a train going from Portland to Seattle. There we rented a car and drove up to Stanwood where our parents lived in a lovely senior community.</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-large;"> We were both dressed for travel. Lorraine had on black slacks and a black sweater with a white shirt underneath, the white collar on the outside. I had on a dark brown pant suit with a white shirt. </span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-large;"> We noticed the women across the aisle looking at us often and smiling. We'd smile back. Then we decided to go get some coffee and a bite to eat. As we stood up the women smiled even bigger smiles and nodded!</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-large;"> We thought this was strange but let it go.</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-large;"> When we went back to our seats one of the women said, "Hello, are you sisters?" </span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-large;"> "Yes, we are sisters." I replied rather surprised.</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-large;"> "We thought so!" She said enthusiastically! "What diocese are you from?" </span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-large;"> "What? Oh, no, </span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-large;">we're not Sisters,</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-large;"> </span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-large;">we're sisters...blood sisters. We're not even Catholic! Oh dear."</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-large;"> The women apologized over and over, but we assured them it was fine. </span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-large;"> We've laughed over this episode so many times. We knew we were perfect (!) but we didn't know other folks thought we were! When we told our dad about this experience he laughed and laughed. Being a Protestant minister, to picture his two daughters as Catholic nuns, was quite a funny sight.</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-large;"> I have deep respect for the Catholic Church as well as my own Evangelical Church. Living according to God's Word, believing that Jesus is the Son of God and accepting Jesus as personal Savior is what matters.</span></div>
Anitahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12213862245635073343noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4261083005352066182.post-67453349211055469382011-07-21T12:23:00.000-07:002011-07-25T10:40:08.859-07:00You Want Me To Do What? or A Seed Planted<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center; text-align: center;"><div style="text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-large;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="line-height: 24px;"><b> </b></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="line-height: 19px;">There were a few years, when my children were young, that I took care of other children in my home. One sweet little girl was Laura. Her mother, Shellie, was a single mom, a school teacher and guardian of her own teenage brother, Roger.</span></span></div></div><div class="MsoNormal"><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-size: x-large; line-height: 100%;"> Shellie brought Laura to my house every morning and picked her up in the afternoon after school. We became good friends, and visited often. <o:p></o:p></span></div></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size: x-large; line-height: 100%;"> After about a year and a half Shellie said they would be moving to Arizona as soon as school was over for the year. I felt bad because I would miss them but knew it was her decision. <o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size: x-large; line-height: 100%;"> One day as I went about my housework I realized that in all our visiting and talking we had never talked about God or Jesus or church, none of the things that really matter in life. I began to feel like God was speaking to me about this. I didn’t know what I could do about it at this point because she’d soon be leaving.<o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size: x-large; line-height: 100%;"> One evening I left all my family at home while I went to buy groceries. As I drove I heard a still small voice telling me to go and visit Shellie before I went home. That was ridiculous and I couldn’t imagine why I felt so strongly that I should go to her apartment. Then the thought came that this was a time when I could talk to Shellie about God and my beliefs! <o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size: x-large; line-height: 100%;"> What? Lord, you want me to do what??? I couldn’t do that. She hadn’t asked me what I believe. We had never gotten that personal in our conversations. <o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-large;"><span style="line-height: 100%;"> The feeling became so strong that I began to argue with God! It was evening, she was probably watching TV. </span><span style="font-style: italic; line-height: 100%;">No, the TV is off. </span><span style="line-height: 100%;">Laura would be up demanding our attention so we couldn’t talk seriously. </span><span style="font-style: italic; line-height: 100%;">Laura is already in bed asleep. </span><span style="line-height: 100%;">Roger would be there too so we couldn’t have a conversation with just the two of us. </span><span style="font-style: italic; line-height: 100%;">Roger is studying in his bedroom. </span><span style="line-height: 100%;"><o:p></o:p></span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size: x-large; line-height: 100%;"> I had to drive past their apartment house on my way home from the supermarket. I was driving slowly, still arguing with God. When I came to her driveway...my car turned in! I prayed as I slowly walked up to the door, “Lord, I can’t believe I’m doing this. You’d better be with me! Please tell me what to say.”<o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-large;"><span style="line-height: 100%;"> I knocked </span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="line-height: 19px;">lightly </span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="line-height: 19px;">on the door. Shellie answered it with a surprised look on her face. “May I come in?” I asked nervously.</span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size: x-large; line-height: 100%;"> As I looked around she invited me to sit down. The TV was off. Laura was already asleep for the night. Roger was in his bedroom studying! There we were, Shellie and me, sitting together in the quietness of her living room.<o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size: x-large; line-height: 100%;"> I began to explain why I was there. She said very earnestly, “I’ve always wondered what your beliefs are! Please tell me.” <o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size: x-large; line-height: 100%;"> For the next few minutes I told her about my relationship with Jesus. He is alive and is a living reality within me! He is my very own personal Savior. She thanked me for sharing with her. She didn’t make any move to ask Jesus into her life. But I feel I did what God asked me to do and perhaps, I planted a seed. <o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-large;"><span style="line-height: 100%;"> Thank You, Lord, for going with me that evening, for giving me courage, for helping me to obey and most of all, for speaking through me. Please help her, in Your Timing, to invite You into her life as her own personal Savior.</span><span style="line-height: 100%;"><o:p></o:p></span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div>Anitahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12213862245635073343noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4261083005352066182.post-28586401496798707792011-06-19T12:30:00.000-07:002011-06-19T12:30:49.244-07:00What More Could Any Little Girl Want? (Repost)<div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-large;"> Through most of my elementary school days it seemed that Daddy was gone away more than he was home. During those years he traveled as an evangelist.</span></div><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-large;"> As I look back, I remember the warm, secure feeling I experienced when he was home for a few days, after having been gone for two or three months---a feeling all warm and cozy as I went to bed at night. After all my Daddy was home! What more could any little girl want?</span></div><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-large;"> Always, on the day of his arrival home, excitement ran high. And always, after things settled down to a fairly normal pitch, he would open his big, black suitcase and take out a present for each of us. He never forgot!</span></div><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-large;"> It's a natural thing to want to share all the days events with the ones we love. I used to store up in my mind all the wonderful, exciting things Molly, my best friend, and I discovered as we played. But, somehow, I never seemed to have a chance to tell Daddy all the things that are so important to a little girl of seven. I still remember the day when it all came to a head.</span></div><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-large;"> Daddy had come home again. My little brother, Billy, was sitting on his lap; my older brother, Richard, and sister, Lorraine, were competing for his attention. I waited for my turn as long and as patiently as I could, but suddenly I could wait no longer. I stomped my foot and shouted, "It's my turn to talk to Daddy!"</span></div><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-large;"> Everyone stopped talking and looked straight at me in complete surprise. I'm still not sure whether I or the rest of the family was more startled. There was complete silence for a few seconds, then Mother came to the rescue.</span></div><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-large;"> "OK," she said. "Everyone be quiet now and let Anita talk."</span></div><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-large;"> But in that very moment, all those big, important, wonderful things I had stored up in my mind to share with Daddy, suddenly became small, and I found I had nothing to say at all. Everyone was waiting to hear what I had to tell, but all I could do was stand there. Two big tears began to trickle down my cheeks. Then Daddy's long arms reached out and folded around me. I began to sob. Tears flowed freely. Then, as he held me close, I stopped crying, and that warm, secure feeling spread through me again. After all, my Daddy was home! What more could any little girl want?</span></div>Anitahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12213862245635073343noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4261083005352066182.post-86295525405554158552011-05-22T19:37:00.000-07:002011-05-23T06:09:18.164-07:00My Own Personal Swami<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-large;"> This goes back to the 80's. I had a friend from India named Chandana. I loved her name and I loved her. I've lost track of her over the years and I'm so sorry. </span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-large;"> She invited me to her house one day to meet with a man who was visiting her family. The man was a Swami from India. She told me he was interested in helping the people who were less fortunate. His interest, of course, was mainly India. Chandana thought it would be good for him to hear of what some Americans were doing to help poor folks in other countries. She knew our church had an interest in Haiti and that many, myself included, had gone there to work.</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-large;"> So I went to visit the Swami. I didn't know what to expect and found him dressed in orange cotton pants with an orange matching cotton long shirt, which hung over his pants. He was barefoot, sitting on the floor, with his legs folded, Indian style. Chandana pulled a chair up for me. Then she introduced us and explained to the Swami why I was there. His English was quite good.</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-large;"> First of all he told me all about the wonderful work he was involved in, in India. Chandana reminded him why I was there. </span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-large;"> He asked me questions about Haiti and our involvement. I tried to answer his questions but they were so cut and dried, I found myself telling him all about Ebenezer Glenn Orphanage in Dessalines, Haiti. It's the most wonderful Orphanage and God is there!</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-large;"> He made a critical comment to me about Christianity. </span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-large;">I explained to him that Christianity is one of the religions in the world but </span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-large;">that while I am Christian, I'm Evangelical Christian. There's a big difference, I said. I went on to explain that I have asked Jesus for forgiveness of my sins and invited Him to live in my heart.</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-large;"> I then told the story in the third chapter of John about Nicodemus going to Jesus at night and asking how to receive eternal life. I boldly said, "Jesus is alive and is a living reality within me!" </span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-large;"></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-large;"> He told me he had talked to many Christian leaders all over the world and he had never heard anything like that before!</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-large;"> He took a paper and pen from his shirt pocket and said he wanted to write down what I had said! </span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-large;"> He was writing in his own language so I have no idea what he wrote. Our visit ended and I never saw the Swami again. Driving home I knew I had just experienced something very special. The Holy Spirit had done the talking, I was just the instrument! What a privilege. </span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-large;"></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-large;"> I have prayed for him over the years. Only God knows the result of our visit that day. </span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-large;">For a while I felt guilty because perhaps I didn't say enough. But, I've left this Swami in God's Hands. I'm hoping and praying that he studied Christianity in a whole different light and that I'll see him in heaven some day!</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-large;"> </span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-large;"> </span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-large;"><br />
</span>Anitahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12213862245635073343noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4261083005352066182.post-87662224066405290472011-05-06T17:34:00.000-07:002011-05-06T17:41:17.365-07:00Homesick<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-large;"> One of my first students as an ESL tutor was a little Japanese boy about six years old, Susumu. He was a delightful boy. We became good friends and he worked hard for me. Children learn to speak a new language so quickly. I worked with him for one hour five days a week, three days at home and two days at school. </span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-large;"> A friend gave me a map of Japan, so one day I took it to school with me. It happened to be all written in Japanese! I couldn't read it. I took it out of my bag and before I could even open it out, Susumu grabbed it! He had noticed the Japanese writing. He ran to center of the room, opened the map out full size, spread it out on the floor and laid on it! </span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-large;"> Then I knew...sometimes he looked so sad, sometimes he looked unhappy. He was homesick! This was as close as he could get to Japan! There he laid on the floor, on the map. I let him lay there. Finally he looked up at me. I smiled. He slowly got up. We folded the map together. We talked about Japan and had a slow relaxed hour. I think he liked that. We bonded that day. </span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-large;"> The family returned to Japan after their five years with the company here. I've lost contact with them. I pray for their well being and safety. </span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-large;"> I wish I knew how they are now.</span>Anitahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12213862245635073343noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4261083005352066182.post-36117338202467650002011-05-03T07:16:00.000-07:002011-05-03T07:16:54.278-07:00My Best Mother's Day Gift<div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-large;">Mother's Day is almost here. I'm writing this story a little early just because I thought of it the other day. </span></div><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-large;"> Our church used to honor a mother for Mother's Day by making her Mother of the Year! Everyone loved it and looked forward to the surprise of whom ever would be honored each year. </span></div><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-large;"> One year I was on the committee to choose the person for that year. We had folks write their candidate on a paper along with why that person was worthy to be honored.</span></div><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-large;"> When we read the sheets one name stood out. It was my job, to find out all the information about her past and present, write a paragraph or two to be read on Sunday morning as they bestowed upon her the honor of being Mother of the Year. I took my job seriously and wrote down all the facts her daughter gave to me, in an interesting way. It was an important job and I loved this worthy lady.</span></div><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-large;"> Sunday morning arrived and I was so excited. We arrived early so I could make sure everything was ready. We had a sash to drape over her shoulder and across her dress and a bouquet of red roses. We had a gold plaque made up with her name printed on it. It was already up on the pulpit. </span></div><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-large;"> Finally, it was time to start. I was sitting where I could see her face. The Sunday School Superintendent got up to make the presentation...</span></div><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-large;"> Wait a minute... My heart stopped! <i>He was reading the wrong name! </i>Oh no! What had happened? All my work and something was very wrong. </span></div><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-large;"> Everyone was looking at me and <i>smiling</i>! Why were they smiling? Everything was going wrong. Then Jerry said, "Come on, they're waiting for you!" </span></div><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-large;"> "What? No, it's not me, it's ... " Oh no, what's happened? I can't be the one...I was on the committee! I'd never been so confused.</span></div><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-large;"> Jerry was pulling me along and we were walking up to the front of the sanctuary! Our children were following. That is, all except my baby who was in the nursery. Oh man! What was I supposed to do: cry, smile, run the other way? (I wanted to run out of there) But I obediently walked forward, with my head down and Jerry holding my hand. (I think he knew I wanted to run.) </span></div><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-large;"> The superintendent was explaining to the congregation why I was so bewildered. To <i>me</i> he explained I had received the most nominations and he had taken them out before I saw them. (Oh, that was not nice.)</span></div><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><br />
</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-large;"> Would you like to know the best part of that mixed up Mother's Day? That afternoon, our children were playing outside in the yard. I went to check on them and what to my wondering eyes...?! My children reenacting the Mother of the Year presentation! I almost cried. To my children I <i>was</i> Mother of the Year! That was the best gift I ever received!</span></div>Anitahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12213862245635073343noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4261083005352066182.post-74000281343178913672011-04-16T09:46:00.000-07:002011-04-16T09:48:27.313-07:00My Friend, Mariko<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;"> </span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-large;">I'm having a hard time writing the continuing story of my friend, Mariko, because of the recent tragedy in Japan. I have so many friends in Japan and don't know how to make contact with them.</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-large;">I'm, of course, praying for them.</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-large;"><br />
</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-large;"> The story continues after Mariko and her family moved back to Japan. We corresponded occasionally. She was growing spiritually. </span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-large;"> The phone rang one day, Hedeki's voice was unmistakable! He was in town on business! Could we get together for a visit? He didn't have to ask twice! </span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-large;"> I went to a shop to buy gifts for the family. I knew he'd have gifts for me! We met in the foyer of my church! He had attended the International Bible study class before they moved so he was comfortable meeting there.</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-large;"> Sure enough, he had gifts for me so we had fun exchanging with each other. We had a good visit and he told me about each one in the family. It was so good to be with him! Then he said, "I must tell you that Mariko is a very good Christian!" I was thrilled. "She wanted me to tell you." I thanked him for sharing such good news with me. Then I said, "But, Hedeki, what about you? Are you a Christian?" </span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-large;"> "Oh, no," he said, "not yet. Someday I will be, but I'm not ready to yet."</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-large;"> I became very bold at that moment and said, "But, Hedeki, what if something happens to you, like an accident or sickness, and you were to die. Do you know where you'd go? I'll be praying for you that you'll believe in Jesus." He thanked me.</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-large;"> A few years after that wonderful day with Hedeki I went to Thailand and had an over night stopover in Japan! I wrote to Mariko and another friend telling them I would be there on a certain day, staying in a certain hotel. I'd love to see them if possible. </span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-large;"> I bought gifts to take with me and at the last minute bought three instead of two...just in case!</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-large;"> After a long flight, I arrived in Japan and finally at the hotel. I was greeted by three entire families! I was so glad I bought that extra gift! One friend called another friend, that I had no address for, but I had tutored their children. It was so good to see them too! Even the husbands were there! I've never felt so welcomed in my life!</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-large;"> What a great visit we had over a meal together! My students had all grown so much! </span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-large;"> When it was time to say good-bye I took Mariko's hand and said softly, "I'm praying for you."</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-large;"> She smiled, "Thank you."</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-large;"> A few years later, I received a note in the mail: "Hedeki and our son are both being baptized!"</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-large;"> What a thrill to receive that message! I'm still rejoicing! </span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-large;"> </span>Anitahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12213862245635073343noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4261083005352066182.post-22670499468945252202011-03-23T17:51:00.000-07:002011-03-26T07:11:28.444-07:00A Love Story<div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size: 14pt; line-height: 100%;"> </span><span style="font-size: large; line-height: 100%;"> </span><span style="font-size: x-large; line-height: 32px;"> I watched as he began playing his guitar and singing. She was staring straight ahead. Then slowly, a smile formed on her lips. She looked at him and he at her. I felt it was a private moment but I couldn't help but watch. Her smile was so sweet. He sang song after song.</span><br />
<span style="font-size: x-large; line-height: 32px;"> Finally the private concert ended and she was taken back to her room. He put his guitar away. I mustered up some courage as I walked slowly to him. "She really loved your singing. Her smile was so sweet!"</span><br />
<span style="font-size: x-large; line-height: 32px;"> "Yes, she used to be a professional singer!" he said proudly. We also used to sing together at weddings, at funerals, at churches! We were always singing!"</span><br />
<span style="font-size: x-large; line-height: 32px;"> She's your wife?" I asked.</span><br />
<span style="font-size: x-large; line-height: 32px;"> "Yes, she's my girl! When our children came home for weekends we'd spend all Saturday evening singing together as a family! It's a wonderful memory."</span><br />
<span style="font-size: x-large; line-height: 32px;"> "What happened?" I boldly blurted out.</span><br />
<span style="font-size: x-large; line-height: 32px;"> "Alzheimer's," he said sadly. "About nine years ago. She's only sixty-three."</span><br />
<span style="font-size: x-large; line-height: 32px;"><br />
</span><br />
<span style="font-size: x-large; line-height: 32px;"> I was visiting my mother in the nursing home when this episode took place. I'll never forget the love I saw in his eyes as he looked at her while singing to her. They were fun songs and she was brought back to recognition as she watched him and listened to him. Some of her smiles were almost sweet laughter!</span><br />
<span style="font-size: x-large; line-height: 32px;"> I thanked him for sharing with me. I put my hand on his arm, "God bless you."</span></div>Anitahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12213862245635073343noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4261083005352066182.post-7466271847220116972011-02-21T17:49:00.000-08:002011-03-10T19:13:44.797-08:00Do I Have To Cry?<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-large;"> I was helping teach adult ESL classes evenings. I worked with the beginners. In the middle of the evening both beginners and advanced classes always stopped for a break. </span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-large;"> One evening during the break I was visiting with a man from Japan who was in the advanced class. We each shared about our families and then I asked if he is Christian. This is an easy question to ask of International people because there are so many religions in the world. His answer was "I am nothing." I replied, "Oh." He quickly added, "Oh, but my wife is Christian!" </span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-large;"> I smiled and asked what church she was attending.</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-large;"> He told me the name of a fellowship that is very humanistic. My heart dropped down to my toes and I immediately began praying for her that she would hear the gospel.</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-large;"> The next week at class this same man asked if I could tutor his little girl in English. She was struggling in kindergarten. </span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-large;"> I was soon tutoring Sawako an hour a day, five days a week, in their home. I became well acquainted with the family and continued praying for them. </span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-large;"> One day Mariko asked me if I ever teach Bible! I told her, I sometimes lead Bible studies. This led to a Bible study in their home once a week, with all different nationalities attending. It was very exciting to me.</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-large;"> During one class Mariko said she wasn't going back to her church any more. When asked why, she told us this experience.</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-large;"> A long, straight line was drawn on the floor with chalk. Everyone was told to stand at one end, Jesus was at the other end. Then they were instructed to move up the line according to how much they believed in Jesus. </span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-large;"> Mariko said sadly, "I didn't know what to do! I believe in Jesus! But no one else moved. I walked half way up the line with everyone looking at me. I'm going to find a different church." We had special prayer for her, that she would find the right church where she would learn about God and Jesus.</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-large;"> The Bible study continued but I was so busy with my family and tutoring I felt I had to change something. </span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-large;"> A class was started for Internationals on Sunday mornings during the Sunday School hour at my church. It was held in the school building next to our church. It was well attended by several nationalities and was very exciting for me to hear questions and answers from the students, both men and women. </span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-large;"> One Sunday, surprisingly, only one person came to class, Mariko. We were very good friends so this gave us a time to just talk. I said to her, "Mariko, you talk like a Christian, you act like a Christian, but you've never told me of how or when you became a born again Christian."</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-large;"> "Oh," she said, "I'm not...I want to be a Christian but I don't know how."</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-large;"> I was very surprised and then suggested we pray together, I would pray a phrase and she could repeat it, then another phrase and another. </span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-large;"> She said , "Okay, but do I have to cry?"</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-large;"> I assured her she didn't have to cry and we began praying a simple prayer of repentance and thanks to God for His Son, Jesus. When we finished and said, "Amen," we looked up and smiled at each other. Then she suddenly burst out in tears! We had a wonderful time of crying together with the Lord!</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-large;"> <i>More to come!</i></span>Anitahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12213862245635073343noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4261083005352066182.post-49353115585477985102011-02-14T10:07:00.000-08:002012-02-23T09:58:56.888-08:00Climbing Mt Sinai<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-large;"> Jerry and I were in Egypt. It was a dream come true. We were adventuresome and decided to climb Mt. Sinai! We were with a group of folks, which turned out to be so important and fortunate.</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-large;"> It wasn't an easy, leisurely trip. We went by bus from our resort, at 1:00 AM! That was hard in itself. When we arrived at the base of the mountain, some went on camels, but Jerry and I enjoyed hiking, so we opted to walk. </span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-large;"> An unexpected blessing was a full moon! We didn't even need flash lights...</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-large;"> I'd better add here that neither Jerry nor I were in physical shape for climbing a mountain. But we were determined! A young boy, with a camel, was following us at a close distance. Every few minutes we'd hear him say, "Ride my camel?" We'd smile and say, "No thanks, we want to walk!" </span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-large;"> Then the mountain began to get steeper. I was getting out of breath. I had to stop and rest every little while. Jerry patiently waited with me. We were at the back of our group...way at the back. </span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-large;"> The boy with the camel came up every time I stopped to rest. "Lady, you ride my camel?"</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-large;"> Then he began to get persistent. "Lady, you <i>must </i>ride my camel."</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-large;"> Finally, he said, "<i>Lady, you can not climb this mountain! You must ride my camel! It is too steep and too far. You can not climb this mountain! You must ride my camel!"</i> I wonder where he learned English!</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-large;"> Anyway, I knew he was right. I could not climb this mountain. I was exhausted, out of breath, ready to quit. Jerry told me to go ahead and get on the camel. </span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-large;"> But </span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-large;">Jerry still insisted on walking. He wanted to be able to say he walked up Mt. Sinai. The camel passed him and I felt so helpless. He insisted he was okay and not to worry about him. </span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-large;"> A friend we met on this trip was also alone and she stayed behind to walk with him! I will ever be grateful to her. Just knowing he wasn't alone was very comforting to me. </span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-large;"> </span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-large;">It was the best thing I did on our trip up the mountain! The ride was so smooth, not bumpy like it might seem! It was very scary when the camel stood up, I felt like I was going to fall forward, right over his head! But the camel's boy helped me and once he was standing I was fine. </span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-large;">To sit on the camel and be able to look out over the mountains, in the moonlight, is a memory I will never forget.</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-large;"> Then when we got about two thirds of the way up the boy and his camel stopped. I was informed this was the end of the ride. There would soon be steps to climb and camels can't climb steps! I paid the boy and waited for Jerry and our friend to catch up.</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-large;"> Then we began the last of the climb. A monk, years earlier, had made stone steps up the last part of the mountain! I became so exhausted again, I had to climb some of the steps on my hands and knees! I couldn't believe it. We finally made it! </span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-large;"> Jerry has the distinction of saying he walked up Mt. Sinai and I say I rode a camel up Mt. Sinai!</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-large;"> It was still dark, only the full moon giving us light. At the top of the mountain was a crude shelter where we could buy a hot drink. We didn't. We were allowed inside out of the wind. </span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-large;"> Finally daylight began to dawn... We watched the sun rise over the mountains! It was beautiful! A sight we will never see again. </span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-large;"> A group of folks from Germany, had also climbed the mountain and began singing The Doxology, in German. It was so beautiful! I stood in awe! </span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-large;"> As we watched the sun rise in the east, I turned around and there was the full moon setting in the west. What a beautiful sight to see both sun and moon from the top of Mt Sinai! God is The Creator. How I praised Him. </span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-large;"> </span></div>Anitahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12213862245635073343noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4261083005352066182.post-60182386790157659582011-02-08T06:07:00.000-08:002011-02-11T12:41:58.454-08:00The most dreaded Disease - Polio<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-large;"> "Parents: don't allow your children to blow bubbles when chewing bubble gum. Let's do all we can to stop the spread of polio germs." I remember hearing an announcement something like this over the radio in the late 40's. I was in 3rd grade. I still remember it today.</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-large;"> Folks were getting desperate to do whatever it took to stop this most dreaded disease. </span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-large;"></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-large;"> In 1949 one of my cousins, Jerry, became very ill. Five days later he died - polio. He was 13 years old. The whole family was devastated. His parents and two brothers, Larry and Jimmy, moved to Wisconsin. I remember his mother, my aunt, saying they would never return to Waterloo, Iowa. </span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-large;"></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-large;"> </span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-large;">I wrote a story about my friend, Eddie, <i>The Most Dreaded Disease</i>. He was an outstanding boy who died of polio.</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-large;"> There were many other cases that affected our family. There were many more that affected many other families. </span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-large;"> Today we still hear of folks who were afflicted back in their childhood. There are folks still living in iron lungs today, from the 40's and 50's suffering from polio.</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-large;"> I have my own story to tell. But luckily my story has a happy ending. Toward evening one day my neck began to feel stiff. Mother gave me an aspirin and I went to bed. In the morning my neck was so stiff I couldn't move my head. </span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-large;"> I was admitted in the hospital and put immediately in isolation. That meant a private room, nurses and doctors wearing a mask when they came in my room. My food was brought on paper plates with plastic fork and spoon and cup, so they could be thrown away when I finished. No visitors were allowed except my parents. They had to wear a white coat over their clothes and a mask over their noses and mouths. It was a very scary time for my family...and for me! </span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-large;"> Then a spinal tap was ordered for me. This would tell the doctor if I had polio. I remember this as a very hurtful procedure, plus I was scared. In my mind I could see a big butcher knife. I'm sure it wasn't...</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-large;"> The results came back and I was no longer in isolation and was released the next day! I had a viral infection and in another few days, I was back to normal.</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-large;"> I found out how scared my neighbors were when the father of my friend, Becky, told me, "go home and stay on your own sand hill!"</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-large;"> Being a sensitive child I went home and stayed home for several days. I don't remember ever going to Becky's house again. </span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-large;"> When my children were small the new vaccine for polio came out. I was so grateful and could hardly wait for it to be available in our town. We stood in line at Cook School, the older children were given sugar lumps with the vaccine in them and the babies received a squirt of the vaccine from an eye dropper. What a miracle! Younger folks today have no idea what it was like having the fear of polio hanging over us. </span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-large;"> </span>Anitahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12213862245635073343noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4261083005352066182.post-78044259902613257482011-02-05T15:22:00.000-08:002015-02-22T17:11:37.966-08:00Swimming in the Creek<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-large;"> Writing about my cousin, Leroy, has put so many memories in my mind, so I'll just keep writing. </span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-large;"> On very hot summer days in Iowa we, kids, loved to walk down the road, across the railroad tracks, under the fence, through a farmer's pasture, to a nice cool creek! It was worth the hop, skip and jump, even in the hot sunshine. </span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-large;"> I loved to dip into the cool water. It appeared to be so clean. But I doubt that it was since it went through a pasture with cows in it! </span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-large;"> This was back in the early 50's and we, girls, at least among my friends, didn't wear swimsuits! The boys wore old cut off pants. Some of my girlfriends wore shorts, but I didn't have any. I went swimming in an old dress! </span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-large;"> Swimming in a dress didn't stop me! I learned to dive down and swim under water. I learned how to float. I loved it, even in a dress.</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-large;"> One night there was a bad storm, trees were blown down and branches and twigs were everywhere. When we went back down to the creek to go swimming, our swimming hole was gone... A tree was stretching across our clean hole and it was now a muddy pit. We were so disappointed and sad, but we didn't give up. We followed the creek down to the railroad bridge and found another place where we could play and get cooled off. </span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-large;"> Life is always changing too, just like our old swimming hole. Circumstances change, but we don't give up...we keep going and adjust to new and better ideas. </span></div>
Anitahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12213862245635073343noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4261083005352066182.post-56386396055390848882011-01-30T13:17:00.000-08:002015-02-22T17:12:33.004-08:00My Most Favorite Cousin in the Whole Wide World<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-large;"> When I was girl living in Elk Run Heights, a suburb of Waterloo, Iowa, we lived in an apartment house behind my cousins, Roy and Beulah, and their family, who lived in a big farmhouse. They had six children. </span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-large;">Roy's mother also lived with them, we called her Grandma. Part of the time she lived in one of the apartments. We all loved Grandma.</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-large;"> The apartment house we lived in was actually a new, long, converted, chicken house! No chickens had ever lived in it! It was now made into three apartments. My parents did not like it when one of us made a remark about living in a chicken house! We were in transition and only lived there while Dad and my older brother, Richard, built a new house for our family. It was just on the other side of a woods. My siblings, our 2nd cousins and I had a lot of fun playing in the woods, hiding out, climbing trees, etc. There was a path going from our apartment, through the woods, to our house.</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-large;"> Dad had bought the land, for our new house, from cousin, Roy. It was a part of the farm land that went with the farmhouse his family lived in. </span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-large;"> On this farm was a very large round barn. We had so much fun playing in that barn. Hay was stored in it and we made hideouts in the bales of hay. Then we made tunnels going from one hideout to another hideout! A bale of hay is heavy but when they had to be moved to make a room or tunnel, it was no problem! I moved many a bale back in those fun years! As I look back I wonder how we managed, to never be hurt, moving those bales around...</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-large;"> I was in 2nd semester of 5th through 7th grades living there. I attended Elk Run Heights School. My cousin, actually 2nd cousin, Leroy, was in the same grade and room as I was. We became best friends. We also attended the same church so we were in the same Sunday School class. We respected each other and had a lot of fun together.</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-large;"> Leroy and his siblings had a pony. One day we were double riding. (The poor pony!) One of Leroy's brothers, Lavonne (now called Chuck), began chasing the pony with a long stick! The pony started running, Leroy couldn't stop him or slow him down! Finally, we came to the fence...the pony stopped!!! Leroy and I went flying! We weren't hurt, except for our pride, but we were really mad. </span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-large;"> In seventh grade, one day, walking home from school together, Leroy told me he wanted a certain girlfriend. We were at that age... I asked him why he didn't ask the girl to be his girlfriend. He looked at me and said, "Because she's my best friend!" I suddenly knew... We were best friends and neither of us wanted to spoil our friendship by making it more than that. I loved him even more after that day. Best friends.</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-large;"> Well, my family eventually moved away. We, of course, were still cousins and best friends, but we lost contact with each other.</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-large;"> Many, many years later...I had my third baby, a boy and named him Timothy Lee. Lee was after my husband's middle name: Leroy. When we decided on Lee I asked Jerry if it could also be after a favorite cousin, Leroy because we had been such good friends as kids. "In fact," I said, "He was my most favorite cousin in the whole wide world!" Jerry said, "Of course we can!"</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-large;"> One day I was talking to my mother and telling her about Tim's middle name being after Jerry and Leroy. </span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-large;"> She asked if I knew about Leroy's baby girl? No, I hadn't heard from him in years. Then she told me he had named his second daughter, Anita! </span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-large;"> Oh! I knew we were best friends! What a thrill! </span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-large;"> I met her once after she was all grown up. What a beautiful young woman! Leroy also met my son, Timothy Lee, once when Tim was a young boy. </span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-large;"> Second cousins and best friends...a wonderful combination. A wonderful relationship.</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-large;"> </span></div>
Anitahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12213862245635073343noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4261083005352066182.post-40721255265424617302011-01-20T08:49:00.000-08:002011-02-03T17:45:25.049-08:00When I was a girl... <span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-large;"> My sister, Lorraine, and I love to reminisce. You see, we're only two years, three and a half months apart in age and we always played together as children.</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-large;"> So? Well, back in the 40's we played...dolls or house, school (Lorraine was always the teacher), jacks (we became pros), jump rope (we knew all the jingles to jump to),</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-large;"> clamping skates onto our shoes and roller skating down the sidewalk, </span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-large;">paper dolls... Oh yes, paper dolls. We would cut clothes from the old Sears catalog, making sure we cut tabs on the shoulders so they would stay on. Sections of toilet paper made wonderful sheets and blankets for their match box beds. Evenings and Saturday mornings we'd listen to favorite radio programs. We had a wonderful childhood. We shared a double bed and were best friends.</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-large;"> We had a ritual we repeated to each other <i>every night. </i>We both still remember it word for word.</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-large;"> </span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-large;">"Good night, Anita." </span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-large;"> "Good night, Lorraine."</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-large;"> "Don't forget to say your prayers."</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-large;"> "Okay, I won't, don't you either."</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-large;"> "Okay, I won't. Good night."</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-large;"> "Good night."</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-large;"> But we didn't stay children forever... Lorraine became a teenager first. I remember one day asking if she'd like to play house with me. I'll never forget the look on her face. It was one of not wanting to hurt me but yet not wanting to play...or maybe wanting to play but thinking she was too old... </span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-large;"> Anyway, that was a defining day in my life. She made new friends and went away to a Christian high school. </span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-large;"> I was also growing up and changing. Dolls and toys were put away. Friends (including boys), cars (even though I didn't drive until after I was married), music, all became my focus. </span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-large;"> Then college, marriage, children, etc. took all my time and Lorraine's too. She lived on the west coast, and still does, I live in Michigan. I'm ashamed to say we seldom ever communicated. Oh, once in a while we did.</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-large;"> Now, we're both getting older, and we love to talk on the phone<i> reminiscing about our childhood</i>, sharing with each other about our daily lives, our mistakes in life, our successes, our hopes and dreams, to brag about our grandchildren, etc. </span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-large;"> When I was a girl life was simple. We didn't have a lot, money was scarce, but we loved what we had. To go back and share our memories is a favorite pastime today. Thanks for the memories, Lorraine...I love you. </span>Anitahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12213862245635073343noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4261083005352066182.post-42743750655834270402011-01-17T09:07:00.000-08:002011-02-03T17:51:16.136-08:00Oh Oh, Someone Is Going To Get It!<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-large;"> I was on my way to have a cup of coffee with a friend, near Clio, Michigan, when I looked in my rear view mirror and saw a police car with the red light flashing. <i>Oh oh, someone is going to get it! </i>I thought and kept driving. I slowed down a little. I soon looked in the mirror again and saw the same police car, red light still flashing! Why doesn't he go around me, I wondered?</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-large;"> Then...the thought came through my brain, in slow motion, that just maybe the car he was going after was mine! Oh, I slowed down and pulled over. So did the police car! </span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-large;"> Oh no, it was me. I wondered what I had done wrong?! I put my window down as the officer came walking over. "Was I doing something wrong," I asked?</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-large;"> "Do you know how fast you were driving?"</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-large;"> "Well, no." I said. "Was I speeding?"</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-large;"> "Yes, you were going 55 mph in a 35 mph zone."</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-large;"> "Oh, I'm so sorry. I didn't realize it." I said apologetically. </span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-large;"> After checking over my license and registration the officer asked, "Are you taking your dog to the vet?" </span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-large;"><br />
</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-large;"> Our little Chihuahua, Pinto, had been lost in our woods for five days and had just found her way back home that morning. Not wanting to leave her home along I had put a little blanket on the seat beside me and she was lying there.</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-large;"><br />
</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-large;"> "Well, no, I'm not taking her now but I may later," I said. Then I picked Pinto up and showed her little feet, cracked and bloody, from running through the woods trying to find her way home. I explained to the officer about her being lost. </span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-large;"> "Oh, well, I'm not going to give you a ticket this time, only a warning. But please keep your mind on your driving and watch the speed limit." The officer even smiled at me!</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-large;"> I was <i>so relieved</i> and said <i>thank you, </i>I'm not sure how many times. </span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-large;"> I went on to my friend's house. I relayed this story to her over coffee and her immediate reply was, "It's a good thing it wasn't a black woman police officer! They are really tough!"</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-large;"> "Oh, but it was! The officer was a black woman!" I blurted out! We both sat there in silence, mulling this over. </span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-large;"> I wanted to write a letter thanking her, but </span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-large;">I wasn't given a ticket so I had no record of her name. Because it was outside the city limits it would have been a sheriff's deputy. I ended up not doing anything to thank her. I have told the story many times so I hope I've somehow helped the reputation of the black women officers in the State of Michigan. </span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-large;"> Today is Martin Luther King, Jr day. He is a man I admire so much, before his death and after. I thought it fitting to write this story today. </span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-large;"> </span>Anitahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12213862245635073343noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4261083005352066182.post-22811102806018544962011-01-13T06:02:00.000-08:002011-02-03T18:09:35.956-08:00Big Bird<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;"> </span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-large;"> "What's this big bird in the tree?" Jerry asked. I'm a bird watcher so I quickly went into the sun room before the 'big bird' flew away! </span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-large;"> Just as I got there the 'big bird' flew down to the ground. It was no more than 10 feet away from the window! "Well," I said excitedly, "It's an owl! I wish it was facing us so I could know for sure..." </span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-large;"> Just as I said that it turned it's head around 180 degrees! It was an owl! A Great Horned Owl! Oh, I was so excited!</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-large;"> Then he turned his head back around. His wings spread out and he flew up into our large White Pine Tree! </span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-large;"> I shuddered. Dangling from his feet was a long snake! The owl sat in the tree eating his lunch. It was probably just a Gardner snake but still, I hate snakes...</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-large;"> But even the snake couldn't dampen my excitement of seeing the owl in my own back yard!</span>Anitahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12213862245635073343noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4261083005352066182.post-88415157077415699382011-01-07T06:29:00.000-08:002011-02-03T18:14:57.058-08:00The most dreaded Disease<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-large;"> The phone rang one day and I heard my daddy say, "No, oh no. When? How long was he sick?" </span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-large;"> I was in fourth grade, we were living in East Peoria, Illinois. The phone call was from Des Moines, Iowa, where we had lived for several years and my daddy was pastor of a church.</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-large;"> In that church was a family with just one son, Eddie. They had lost a daughter shortly after she was </span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-large;">born. </span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-large;"> We waited until Daddy hung up the phone for him to tell us the bad news. Eddie had died of polio, the most dreaded disease.</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-large;"> NO! Not Eddie! Why? Why, God? Why Eddie? </span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-large;"> Eddie was about a year older then I was. He was an outstanding boy. Eddie loved school and had many friends. He loved Jesus and wasn't afraid to tell anyone. In fact he loved telling folks, of all ages, about Jesus! </span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-large;"> I have so many memories of Eddie. One day, playing in a park with friends, a rabid dog began chasing the boys. Eddie ran home, with his arms in the air, praying loudly, "Help me, Jesus, Help me, Jesus!"</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-large;">God did help him run into the house and slam the door shut just as the dog ran up the porch steps. A dog catcher came and retrieved the dog a few minutes later.</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-large;"> Eddie raised money for a children's home, by going door to door, asking for donations. He felt so badly for the children with no parents he often cried as he told of their plight. He raised more money for the Woodstock Children's Home than any other child. (Back in the late 40's and early 50's it was possible to go door to door to raise money.) A prize of a new bicycle was awarded to him, but a better prize for Eddie was in knowing he had helped the unfortunate children who had abusive parents or no parents at all.</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-large;"> We were told Eddie's mother sat beside his hospital bed, crying softly. Eddie reached over and put his hand on her arm, "Don't cry, Mama," he said, "I'm going to live with Jesus."</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-large;"> The next day Eddie did go to be with Jesus. A very sad day on earth...but a day of rejoicing in heaven.</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-large;"> Someday I'm going to see Eddie again...</span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-large;"> </span>Anitahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12213862245635073343noreply@blogger.com1