Author: aflcoker

In the car yesterday I listened to a CD, The Best of the Tenors, with Carreras, Domingo, and Pavarotti. Among the selections sung in English I heard “You’ll Never Walk Alone.” I don’t know which tenor started off the song, but another joined in to make it a duet when the lyrics got to the title: “You’ll Never Walk Alone” and they repeat the chorus. Stirring performance.

But what made me enjoy the song most was remembering that Bill introduced this song to me when we attended Carrollton Methodist Church in New Orleans, LA. I was a young teen but he thought I would appreciate the song.

“When you walk through the storm, hold your head up high, and don’t be afraid of the dark.

At the end of the storm is a golden sky and the sweet silver song of the lark.

Walk on through the wind. Walk on through the rain though your dreams are tossed and blown.

Walk on, walk on with hope in your heart and you’ll never walk alone.

You’ll never walk alone.”

  These words have new and current meaning for me: “though your dreams be tossed and blown,” for now that’s happening because of aging, physical ailments, and Bill’s dementia. I am confident, though, that we walk together and God walks with us. We have hope that at the end of life’s storm we will see that golden sky together in the East.

I wonder at times if I’m trying to recapture the past with my writing, but I persist and know that God holds our future. He is my hope and stay.

This morning I listened to Susan Boyle sing these lyrics. Such a sweet voice. I recommend the Your Tube for your enjoyment and reflection. Then in the car together with Bill, I played the CD again and told him of my thoughts from yesterday. No comment, only a squeeze of our hands.

First day of school & it’s not even August. Anyway, it reminds me of this story:

  Sometimes a lesson taught is not easily swallowed. Getting ready for school one day my sister and I waited for breakfast and Mother dished up hot oatmeal. My sister ate hers and I played with mine, swimming in milk. Mother could see that we would be late for school if I dabbled too long at the table, so she dismissed us to brush our teeth and head out the door. But before leaving she told me that the oatmeal would be waiting for me after school.

While at school I gave it no further thought. Arriving home I found that Mother was serious. The oatmeal on the table was now cold. Mother told me to eat it all, which I did. Because of that experience, oatmeal was not my choice of breakfast fare. That is, until one morning when I again faced oatmeal and I had no choice but to eat it.

During high school I had some special babysitting customers. One family always booked me for New Year’s Eve and I would spend the night. That particular New Year’s morning the mother prepared oatmeal for her children and called us all to the table. Not wanting to either refuse breakfast or be a bad example, I ate oatmeal with the children. Surprisingly I liked it, but all doctored up as was offered – butter, brown sugar, and a little bit of milk. Today oatmeal is a favorite dish, especially on cold mornings. The lesson – to eat what’s put in front of me – stuck not only in my mind but in my stomach. I could finally say, “Yum.”

+ I did not grow up in a family that teased, but I married into one and our children caught onto the habit. It can be fun most of the time but it can also backfire. Depends on the person and setting. Someone can get hurt by being teased, and it’s usually the one who’s taking life too seriously. Why is it necessary to say, ‟I’m just teasing”? It should be obvious and not demeaning. Just saying. Perhaps you see me or yourself in this thought.

+ My friend Beth calls me her mentor. We met at a writers group here and now we are registered to attend Taylor University’s Writers Conference next month. Mentoring Beth is basically connected with our writing. For example, recently I sent her a template to help prepare a pitch to an agent at the conference. However, the template was sent to me by an author-friend. Mentoring was practiced and promoted in the Bible: Joshua had his Moses; Elisha had his Elijah; Ruth had her Naomi; and Timothy had his Paul. What I receive by mentoring Beth is her respect and friendship, a valuable connection.

+ Throughout the Pentateuch we find offerings made to ‟please the Lord,” and it reminds me of other cultures and their practice of placing food and drink offerings before their stone idols. Perhaps the original status of offerings has been paganized. What I’m most grateful for is that these ‟lasting ordinances” instituted by God for His people the Israelites is no longer functional. That’s because God has given us the once-for-all sacrifice of His Son Christ Jesus. ‟It is impossible for the blood of bulls and goats to take away sins” (Hebrews 10:4). ‟So Christ was sacrificed once to take away the sins of many” (9:28). Praise Jesus! I am included. You are too.

These random thoughts are my attempt to post a blog today.

See the spores on the back of this leaf? This means there will be a new generation coming. It’s a lesson that stuck with me from Biology 101 at Asbury College.

Looking through some stuff, I found this letter written by three of our grandchildren. Enjoy this excerpt, dated April 1999:

Granny, Hi. How are you doing? Dad told me that he was going to see you at the airport so I decided to write you a letter. School is going great, and I am enjoying all my classes. Algebra II is my favorite, and I have an A in the class. Piano is awesome, and I’m having the opportunity to play things I wanted to when I was a kid [she was 15 ½ when she wrote this]. I just finished “Fur Elise,” and am now working on “Moonlight Sonata.” In English we’re doing the Tragedy of Julius Caesar and I wish I could understand it more.

Congratulations! I heard about the filly being born. I’m so excited, a chestnut with one of the hind legs having a white sock. Aaah! I was so happy when Grandpa called and told us. Well, it’s time for me to go get Anna up because I don’t think Nathan is doing a very good job. I’ll talk to ya later. Hope you have a great flight home. Love always, Sarah

Dear Grandma, How are you doing? Soccer season has already started, and it’s going pretty good. This Saturday I am going to be going to Kentucky for Conclave (Boy Scouts). I heard about the horse and I think she’s cute. Let me know when you name the horse. Your loving grandson, Nathan [14 years old]

Granny, Hi! Soccer is going good. I had to play goalie because our 2 goalies didn’t show up. We lost the game, bad! I had fun doing it. I’m pretty sore right now from diving for the ball and running after it. Ouch! We only had 8 people show up for the game when it should’ve been 13. We lost 10–0! I let 8 go passed me and caught 10 of them. Joanne let 2 go by in 2 minutes so I was put back there to kill myself and to have fun.

I’m trying to work on another story but don’t really know what to write about. Just thinking. Well, have a good flight home. Tell Grandpa I said “Hi!” Miss you. Hope the horse is cute. Tell me the name of the horse when you name it. Love always & forever, Anna [12 years old]

Anna, Nathan, and Sarah – much later date

By the way, the horse was a gift from Stan Froderman, but she stayed in Brazil. Trish named her Kindred Spirit because of the connection that another granddaughter, Chrissa, had with the horse. She got the nickname Kenny.

How the brain works is amazing and quite a mystery to me. I wonder why my mind holds such needless and meaningless conversations and events. Why do I recall what my mother said about seemingly senseless phrases or advice? Such as: my mother explained how to unwrap a piece of hard candy, peel a banana the correct way, and which way the toilet paper should be mounted (back to front, over the top). I recall these bits of wisdom at the oddest time—while brushing my teeth, putting on makeup, making up the bed, tasks that take little or no concentration.

These phrases are stored in my mind and return to question me while I’m doing something unrelated. I may be engaged in a conversation with a family member and something triggers a memory that I feel must be interjected into the flow of what’s being said. What starts this is beyond me, and I wonder if others have this exchange between the mind and mindless tasks.

I may be looking at a design on a shower curtain and wonder how someone came up with that. Then as the design may vary and can either be a mirror image or repeats, I look for differences. It’s mind-boggling, for I could be using my mind in more productive ways. Perhaps I’m a loner in this process, but I doubt it. Our minds are active and often go on tangents. So I continue to ponder this and I’m actually grateful for whatever fills my mind, as long as it’s not hurtful or hateful. I give thanks for the good brain that God put inside me and you. Praise Jesus!

ALMIGHTY God, who hast given us this good land for our heritage; We humbly beseech thee that we may always prove ourselves a people mindful of thy favour and glad to do thy will. Bless our land with honourable industry, sound learning, and pure manners. Save us from violence, discord, and confusion; from pride and arrogance, and from every evil way. Defend our liberties, and fashion into one united people the multitudes brought hither out of many kindreds and tongues. Endue with the spirit of wisdom those to whom in thy Name we entrust the authority of government, that there may be justice and peace at home, and that, through obedience to thy law, we may show forth thy praise among the nations of the earth. In the time of prosperity, fill our hearts with thankfulness, and in the day of trouble, suffer not our trust in thee to fail; all which we ask through Jesus Christ our Lord. Amen.

~ From the 1928 edition of The Book of Common Prayer, posted by Tamela Murray, Steve Laube Agency 4/5/2018

We phoned our son to wish him a happy birthday, but we had a bad connection and didn’t talk much. First there was an echo and then we heard no voice on the other end. Disconnected.

Bad connections can ruin more than a conversation. We can have a disconnect in relationships due to circuits being broken, not being on the same wave length, not understanding each other’s message, tone of voice, and their past or present needs.

What causes a disconnect? We too often want to blame the other party. They are not interested; they won’t share the real story; their past hurts are still troubling them. But we can only change ourselves, that bad attitude we have and how far we will go to establish good connections again.

We are responsible for the choices we make. We cannot put blame or shame on others, especially family members. And as relatives or friends, we must not accept blame or shame for others’ actions leading to bad behavior.

Forgiveness is offered by the One who died for our sins. We receive forgiveness when we accept Christ’s sufficient and once-for-all sacrifice on the cross. A forgiving spirit heals our disconnected relationships and reconnects those broken circuits with love and compassion.

I’m testing the waters again, for the following is a page from my proposed book: Journey with Bunyan’s Pilgrim. I need your comments here or on my Facebook page.

‟All their talk at the Table was about the Lord of the Hill” (p. 53).

‟Jesus and his apostles reclined at the table. And he said to them, ‛I have eagerly desired to eat this Passover with you before I suffer’” (Luke 22:14-15).

Pilgrim’s supper time at the house Beautiful resembles the Last Supper and Holy Communion. Their feast proved to be secondary to their conversation about the Lord. Charity posed a penetrating question to Pilgrim about his family and why they did not accompany him. Christian’s explanation was fraught with passion for the souls of his family. He wept. Because Christian did warn and invite his family to join him, Charity assured him that he will not be held accountable for their sin (a reference to Ezekiel 3:19).

They continued to lift up Jesus and how His death released the power of death over us. When we partake of Holy Communion we celebrate our Lord’s death, remembering His perfect and sufficient sacrifice for the sins of the whole world, for you, for me.

Takeaway: When our friend from Germany comes to visit, she anticipates what she calls ‟table talk.” Usually over cups of tea, we gather at the kitchen table, and she gets to ask my husband and me anything she’s been pondering. Her questions are always biblically based, either about a puzzling passage of Scripture, a relationship, or a situation at her university. This Q & A time reveals what’s been on her mind and how dedicated she is to knowing the truth.

Your Turn: How does the Last Supper connect with the time that two disciples watched Jesus break bread in the village of Emmaus (Luke 24:30-32)? ____________________________

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I welcome a guest blog from my grandson-in-law, Ted Voigt. He and Sarah, with my two great-grandkids, are missionaries in Ireland with the Church of the Nazarene. They have started their travels in the U.S.A. this month. He’s a good writer and I couldn’t pass up sharing his reflection here, for it touched my heart strings.

“We have a complicated relationship with the idea of home. The main idea of home for us is of course where we live, but for Sarah and I, where we live doesn’t always feel like home. And then, of course we are traveling around the U.S. and it doesn’t feel like home anymore either, even though what we’re doing is sometimes called ‘home assignment.’

“Having said that: I spent a few days with my parents in a place that is for me more like home than anywhere else. I went swimming in the pool where I learned to swim. I cooked in the kitchen where I learned how to cook. I drove the streets where I learned to drive. I watched a baseball game with the people who taught me to watch baseball. I prayed in the church where I learned to pray.

“If you’ve ever gone back to a place you once knew, you’ve had the experience of being amazed at both the things that change and the things that stay the same. My high school has been leveled and rebuilt, while the dairy where we got milk is completely untouched by the passage of time.

“Most of my meals lately have been more about ‘who’ than ‘what,’ and I think the very best ones have been simple home-cooked dinners. That’s a rare treat while traveling, and I’m always grateful for food cooked by friends and family.

“Spending time in this place is always a reminder to me of who I am and where I’ve come from. So much of my quirks and slants can be attributed to the years I spent with the people and places of my childhood, and remembering that and owning it gives me a new confidence going forward as me.”                                ~Ted Voigt 6/22/2018

I naturally move from love shown by my Daddy to the love of my Father God. My Daddy’s love made it easy for me to see and accept love from God my heavenly Father. My daddy modeled God’s love. Not all daughters have that example and privilege, either because of absence or neglect or worse. I record here some scattered memories of my times with Daddy:

Precious were the times Daddy carved out of his busy work schedule for the two of us to have time together. I know that some of those times involved more than the two of us, times we shared all together as a family, but my take away is how Daddy made me feel special.

Clockwise: Daddy, Martha, Tom, Minnie, Mother, and me in the middle. Photo taken in Mobile, AL in the entryway of my parents’ apartment.

We rode bikes; we have photos of those bikes with baskets. At one time they had bicycles built for two and so my parents, sister and I went on bike rides, as so I’d been told but not remembered. Daddy and I also walked around the neighborhood in the evenings. These were times to talk and I remember most that Daddy spoke to me about Mother, that he wanted me to help her around the house. He taught obedience and modeling love, for my response was to obey and to love.

In those times I understood also that love is active and binds husband and wife as well as parent and child. Mother and Daddy demonstrated the command of Deuteronomy 6 where the parents are to teach God’s Law to their children as they “walk by the way,” as natural as walking and talking together, relating to God and to each other.