Joy in the Seasons of Life

 I don’t know if there’s anything I enjoy doing in my leisure time more than watching animals in nature. I love to read, but even that takes effort sometimes. There’s something soothing that happens in my soul when I observe animals in their natural habitat. 

Last night we watched two different momma deer with their babies. Both fawns still had spots and stayed close to Mom. The protective relationship made me think back to my time as a young mother. Both moms were on high alert scanning the landscape for danger. They stopped to graze on tasty limbs hanging low, and yet any sound caused them to stop and check for a possible reason to flee. I’ve felt that way in my life. There were times I wanted to cover Andy and Bailey with my rules laced with wisdom. There came a time though that they left my protective covering and made their own way. That will come soon enough to the spotted babies. I wonder if their mom will grieve the loss of that closeness the way I do. Probably not since she will produce another spotted baby in her next season.

I’m sharing my testimony with a group of women at my church in a couple of weeks on joy in the seasons of life. My season of being a young mom is definitely one of the best seasons of my life–hard sometimes, yet filled with joy. The season I’m in now ranks right up there too. The season of being Gigi is sweet and filled with moments of unbridled joy. There’s something about seeing your children parent their own children that is deeply satisfying–a full circle moment. My husband and I are enjoying the season of retirement and the freedom to spend time with the grands.

There are things I’d do differently with my children, but second-guessing your parenting methods never leads to answers that bless those years. The same goes for the rest of the seasons of my life. I have to remember and believe that God ordained all the days of my life. Every single day had already been written for me before I took my first breath according to Psalm 139:13-16. I must choose to find joy in every season since God Himself sifted what came my way. 

My encouragement to you is to look for moments that will bring you joy in whatever season you are in. It may be found in serving someone else, sitting with pen in hand and recording the simple things, or watching deer through your window. Joy isn’t always found in the big adventures of life. I believe true joy is found in finding contentment in the little things that everyone else takes for granted. Call your parents, hug your children and tell them how much you love them, and don’t forget to thank God for the breath He gave you today. He is the truest path to lasting joy after all.

Join me at Concord Baptist Church on Saturday, July 18^th, from 9:00-11:30 a.m. I’ll be sharing my testimony and Becky Walker, Associate Campus Minister for Women’s Ministries at Anderson University, will be sharing about “Joy Through the Seasons of Life.” There will be a delicious brunch served with sweet fellowship around the table. I’d love to see you!

At Home in the Quiet

As a writer, I’m always paying attention to my surroundings. The books I read and places I go reward my inner world with a myriad of thought-provoking topics. I also keep a journal of quotes from authors who speak to my greatest need of the moment.

Wendell Berry is one of my favorite authors. I’ve read many of his books of prose and poetry. One of his most popular books is Hannah Coulter, a simple, yet profound, story of the life of a woman in rural Kentucky. I first listened to this book on Hoopla and loved it so much I ordered the paperback version. I want to share one of the quotes that gives insight to my writing life.

The quote comes on page 87. I’m including a good portion of the paragraph for context:

 

“…That is where I go to rest before I begin my slow climb back home again. I sit and let the quiet come to me. It doesn’t come right away. I have to quiet myself before I can hear the quiet of the place, and a car passing along the road up on the hillside or an airplane flying over makes it harder. But I listen and wait, and at last, it comes. It is an old quiet, only deepened by the sound of the creek, a bird singing, or a barking squirrel.”

 

This passage stirs something deep inside me. I love the quiet times when I sit before the Lord attentive to His voice. There is no way on earth to hear Him in the busy world we live in unless we get quiet, and I’m very much at home in the quiet, but sometimes I must seek it.  And just as Hannah says, “It (the quiet) doesn’t come right away…but at last, it comes.”

Do you run on empty, or fumes at best? If you’re like me, the noise of social media is overwhelming and at times suffocating. As the political season ramps up again, my phone notifications have increased many times over. As a dear friend says, “It’s too much!” Our world is too loud. I run to passages such as the one above to quiet my soul.

Being an introvert, the posture of sitting quietly is enough for me. It awakens my senses to all of creation around me. It slows my pulse to the beat of birdsong and squirrels rustling through leaves. It allows my mind to ponder the thoughts that swirl through my brain, and yet, it slows those very same thoughts and creates wonder and recognition of beauty. 

Sitting outside as a gentle, springtime breeze wafts across my face, sunlight peeking through branches, I'm reminded that light cannot be stopped. It has the power to slip through and cut the darkness like a knife. And one day, the Light of the world will descend on a cloud and pierce the darkness with His presence. I'd miss all this without the stillness.

The ebb and flow and rhythm of life speaks through a megaphone in the quiet corners of my soul and leaves me filled to overflowing with God’s goodness.

Only then am I able to give and serve in the way God created me. If you’re struggling with too much noise, find a quiet place where the sound of a rippling stream transports you to that place of rest and peace that only God can give. He will fill you and strengthen you to live out your calling in a world that needs to hear your voice. 

Quietly, of course.

 

 

Temptation 101

This morning, I read Matthew 4:1-11, the scripture that accompanied my devotional reading for today. You know the passage where Satan tempts Jesus in the wilderness. I’ve read this multiple times throughout my life. This time it hit me differently. No doubt Jesus and Satan knew each other well. They had been adversaries for Millenia since the fall of the angels from heaven’s glory. In this context, Jesus is God/man, and no longer in heaven’s realm. He is fasting and praying in the wilderness for forty days. His enemy is watching and waiting for his moment to strike. He approaches Jesus three times, and three times, Jesus quotes scripture to defend Himself. 

My role as Gigi gives me opportunity and
responsibility to protect, encourage, and teach

Satan recognizes His physical weaknesses and challenges Jesus to betray what He knows is right and follow him. But Jesus responds to this evil being with the power that comes from God Himself.

How much more should we, as humans, respond likewise? Our enemy will take advantage of the weakest place in our personality, physical makeup, family situation, emotional condition, and social standing. His one goal is to destroy you. The Bible says in 1Peter 5:8– “Be self-controlled and alert. Your enemy the devil prowls around like a roaring lion looking for someone to devour.” NIV

It also says in Job 1:7 – Satan answered the Lord, “I have been patrolling the earth, watching everything that’s going on.”NLT

Those are sobering words. In his arrogance, he spoke to the God of the universe with disrespect and contempt. We have a saying in our family, “don’t poke the bear.” Satan was not only poking the bear, he was challenging the only true God who created the very earth he claimed to be patrolling. 

If he will do that to the God of the universe, we mortals are mere toys for him to bat around, confuse, and destroy. He has all the tools he needs to succeed, except One.

The Bible tells us to put on the full armor of God so we may be able to defeat the evil one. 

 

Belt of Truth: Protects from lies and deceptions

Breastplate of Righteousness: Protects our heart

Shoes of Peace: Ready for battle, based on the gospel

Shield of Faith: Extinguishes the fiery darts of the enemy

Helmut of Salvation: Guards the mind with the assurance of faith

Sword of the Spirit: The Word of God – used offensively to combat spiritual attacks

Also with these two cuties

In a world where we will be tempted in every way possible just as Jesus was, we have the solution for battle. He will come at us when we’re weary, when we have family issues, when we’re hungry, when we’re lonely, when we’re scared, when we’re bored, when we think no one is looking, and when we think we’re on top of the world. The blessed peace in knowing all this is that I have a Savior who loves me and wants the best for me.

One of the most tender things about the passage in Matthew 4:1-11 comes in verse 11: 

And these two little loves

“Then the devil went away, and angels came and took care of Jesus.”

The angels ministered to Jesus at the conclusion of his temptations. That spoke volumes to me because I’ve been there—exhausted with fighting an unseen enemy, broken by family dysfunction, sorrowful because of loss (too many losses for one person), and one regret piled on top of the other. But God…. He knows my every need and broken place. He not only sent His angels—at times I felt like it was His very own hand comforting me when all looked hopeless.

That’s what He did for me, and that’s what He’ll do for you. We are targets for the enemy when we’re not protected. Your mind, heart, and body are too important to leave exposed. Guard them wisely. 

And as a closing reminder, if your children are too young to understand the schemes of the evil one, it’s your responsibility to protect them at all cost. The consequences may exact a high cost to you, but God is there to minister to your need, and He will never leave you or forsake you.

2025, You Were A Good Year

 Before we press into a new year, I love looking back at the previous year. I don’t want to miss an opportunity to reflect on God’s goodness before saying goodbye to the memories of 2025.

 

It was a good year for me overall. There were heartbreaking moments, but that’s just part of living in a fallen world with broken people. I’m thankful for good health, a loving family, friends that love and support me, and a church where I serve and grow in my relationship with Christ.

 

Cindy, Katy, Laura
- The Cove

I was able to attend the Asheville Christian Writer’s Conference again in February with my dear friends, Katy and Laura. That weekend in February is sacred time for me. It helps me reset and redefine my goals for writing and gives me time to actually write uninterrupted. This year, I met with Andrea Merrell, who agreed to edit my book. She was excellent to work with and also provided great resources to complete my book for publication.

 

We traveled to Breckenridge, Colorado in March with Andy and his family. We played in the snow, skied, visited a train museum, climbed to the top of Red Rocks Amphitheatre, ate yummy food, and spent quality time as a family. Leaving my luggage at the car rental place didn’t even put a damper on our vacation.

In Colorado

 

Earl and I traveled to Ohio to visit my Aunt Lorse, my mom’s younger sister. I hadn’t seen her in fourteen years. I also visited with her son, Bobby, who I hadn’t seen in nearly 50 years. We had a wonderful time of catching up and reminiscing on memories long forgotten. We left her home and traveled north to Lake Eerie where we spent a few days sitting by the water enjoying sunshine and cooler temps.

 

Life wouldn’t be normal without a few heartaches. In October, Andy’s thirteen-year-old dog, Beau, had to be put to sleep after a few months of failing health. Beau was a special dog – tenderhearted and sensitive. For the first few years of his life, he came to stay with me during the day while Andy worked. He comforted me during some of my darkest days, gently licking my tears as they fell down my cheeks. He’d sit beside me while I lay on the sofa and place a paw across my arm. Once, he even crawled on the sofa covering me with his body. I will never forget him for the way he knew when I needed him most. He will forever be missed when I pull into Andy and Morgan's driveway and silence greets me at the door.

Beau

 

2026 will probably be the year my sixteen-year-old cat, Livvy, meets the same fate as Beau. She's now blind and spends most days circling the house from room to room in a stupor. She allows me to hold her like a baby, which she never did before. I will cherish the time I have left with her remembering all her little quirks and the way she prefers me over anyone else.

 

 

The Broken Road, A Journey to Healing was published in October and is one of the greatest blessings of my life. I will never get over God’s goodness and faithfulness in guiding me in the process. The highlight of my year was the book signing/celebration Andy and Morgan hosted at my church in November. Everything was perfect from the food and flowers, to the tiniest detail in decorations and special touches. I felt loved and celebrated.

 

And to round out the ending of 2025, my husband sold our family business of thirty-seven years and officially retired. He’s already making plans though for the days he’ll go in and work for the new owner, Josh, who’s been an employee for twenty-two years. He also has big plans for fishing trips, woodworking projects, and time with me.

 

As I age, I see the circle of life unfold before me. I’m thankful for my precious grandchildren who bring so much joy, laughter, and love to our lives. God is good and faithful and whatever is ahead of us in 2026, we know He will already be there. His love is better than life and we’re secure in the future He’s planned for us.

 

Many blessing to you and your family in 2026! 

Thanksgiving 2025—Traditions New and Old

 The day before Thanksgiving—I’m reminiscing about long-ago holidays and celebrations with my children when they were still at home. It’s bittersweet, this remembering.

When I was a child, my parents picked us up from school on Wednesday, the day before Thanksgiving, and we headed north to my Aunt Lorse and Uncle Sherman’s house in Ohio. Many times the roads were packed with snow and ice as we traveled the four-hour drive with excitement and worry of getting there safely. Mom and her sister went to work in the kitchen preparing dressing and fruit salad for the next day. Everything was homemade and the aromas from the kitchen had my mouth watering. They laughed and talked and it became a treasured tradition through the years. I played with my cousins without a care in the world.

After my husband and I were married, we ate dinner with his family including aunts and uncles, grandparents and anyone else who needed a hot meal and warm fellowship. Our Thanksgiving tradition changed again after we moved to South Carolina in the mid 80’s. Our pastor and his family invited us to join them on more than one occasion. Andy took his first steps while in their home.

Bailey and Andy - 1991

The memories wash over me as I continue through time. We moved to Anderson, South Carolina in the summer of 1989. We bought a little brick house that sat under a canopy of massive oak trees. Thanksgiving Day became the perfect time for raking thousands of leaves. Earl made huge piles of leaves for Andy and Bailey to jump in while I cooked our Thanksgiving feast in the kitchen. The joy on their faces still brings a smile as I recall their rosy cheeks and clothes plastered with leaves and dirt. Those are treasured memories I ponder when life is hard.

By the time Andy and Bailey were in late elementary school, we built our dream home on Plum Lane. I prepared a festive table in our formal dining room, every chair filled with family and friends. We loved hosting those special holidays, the more the merrier. My dad usually came from West Virginia, and one year, Earl’s parents and sister joined us. There was always room for one more. After Andy graduated from college and began working in the corporate world, he invited his boss, fiancé, and her daughter. A neighbor across the street also sat at our table. The conversation was lively–filled with different voices and cultures.

We make a huge fuss over the food, but ultimately, Thanksgiving is about the people you love and the overflow of a grateful heart. The seats around our table have changed to include my precious grandchildren, the spouses of my children, and family not related by blood, yet just as important. The bond we share is grounded in our relationship with Christ and the love He gives us to set one more place at the table. 

I have much to thank Him for this year, as we all do. When you look around your table this Thanksgiving, don’t be shy in expressing how you feel about those seated around you. Don’t miss an opportunity to say, “I love you, and I’m thankful for you.”

Our tables change every year. Children grow up and begin their own traditions, and you will take a back seat, allowing them the gift of setting their own table. Thanksgiving of 2025 will only happen once, use it wisely and joyfully. One day it will be a memory someone else treasures in their heart.

Happy Thanksgiving to you from My Little Corner!

My Journey Down The Broken Road

 The book God destined for me to write finally became available on Amazon last week. I'm still waiting on my author copies to arrive, but I'm excited about all God is doing with The Broken Road as I wait. 

As I reflect on the journey of the last twelve years, a few things come to mind. If you are struggling with any kind of delayed healing from past trauma, these are the steps I undertook and would highly encourage you to begin your own journey.

1. Don't run from your trauma. Face it head on.

2. Find a qualified, Christian counselor. Don't be afraid to share your junk. They are equipped to handle your pain.

3. Allow yourself to grieve the trauma.

4. Allow the words of scripture to speak into your pain and change your mindset.

5. Find margin in your life. This is not the time to load your schedule with activities. A sabbatical may be necessary. You are worth it.

6. Surround yourself with family and friends who will pray for you, and with you, during this pivotal time in your life. It's hard work and you can't do it alone.

7. Remove anyone from your life who doesn't support your journey. You will recognize who they are by the way they communicate with you.

8. Do something tangible along the way to encourage the healing process. I made a photo album of my mom's life. It's a visual reminder of what an incredible woman she was, and helps me remember how much she loved me, A part of me grieved with every photo and memory.

We are all uniquely made by God and each of our journeys will look different. These are a few suggestions that helped me finally heal after thirty-eight plus years of carrying the burden of trauma, grief, and unforgiveness. 

You can do this. A life of freedom in Christ is waiting. Just one phone call, email, or text will open the door to abundant life. What are you waiting for? 

  

Light at the End of The Broken Road

Sitting outside in our new living space is the perfect place to reflect. I need days like this–days of catching up on minor chores, crossing off long-needed repairs on my to-do list, and time for pondering. Most of my inspiration for writing comes when there’s time for my mind to wander. The flutter of a bird or the rhythm of wind chimes triggers a memory and down the rabbit hole I fall. Next thing I know I’m searching for a photo or date on a calendar trying to piece together the details of my story.

 

It's all good though. I’m not triggered by bad images any longer and memories aren’t as painful as they once were. I’ve worked through mountains of grief and trauma and come out the other side a different person.

 

I’m thankful for every bump in the road, every detour, but especially the broken road I’ve traveled to get to where I am today. 

 

I’m in the final phase of my book, The Broken Road, and I can’t wait to share how God healed me of childhood trauma. It’s really His story of redeeming the broken child inside a grown woman.

 

You may be thinking, “Oh great, another memoir about somebody’s abuse and all the people she blames.”

 

That’s not the goal for this writer or this book. I believe there’s power in telling our stories so it can help someone else find healing. As an introvert who protects her privacy, I have no desire to just be another voice saying, “Me too.” I want to point people to the only true source of genuine healing—and that’s Jesus Christ. If not for Him, and the people He placed in my life, I would be six feet under.

 

For now, I am going to treasure these days of pondering and listen for the sweet nuggets of inspiration. Writing from a healed heart and mind gives me so much joy, but I had to travel the broken road to get here. And because of that, it’s all worth it.

Finding My Place to Be Still

I’m sitting in front of the fire at one of my favorite places on earth. The Cove is a unique place, filled with the best people, and the coziest spaces. 

My writing friends and I come every year in February for a writing conference. This is our place to retreat from the world and focus on the written word. We share our hopes, plans, struggles, successes, and of course good food and conversation. The Cove is known for their delicious meals, and this year is no exception.

This place has a spiritual presence that I haven’t found anywhere else. God’s word is spoken here daily, His name is lifted high in praise as well. It’s as if this is but a glimpse of what awaits us in heaven. It’s a place to meet like-minded believers with a common goal of sharing the gospel through books, devotionals, music, articles, and social media posts.

 

I come to this mountain expecting to hear from God, and He never disappoints. His word says, “Be still and know that I am God…” and this place is the soil where I plant my vision for future words. When I’m finally still, I feel His presence and know He is with me, and has given me a message to share, whether through a book, poetry, devotionals, or blog posts.

 

I pray you have a place where you can be still and know that He is God. You will be filled with such joy and peace that your soul will want you to return year after year. And that, my friends, is something money can’t buy.

When One Phone Call Changed My Life

I woke up very early this morning in a hotel about thirty minutes from my hometown, thinking about the life-changing event that took place fifty years ago today. 

Have you had a before and after event in your life that changed everything? Of course you have, we all have if we’re human. My event occurred on Saturday, December 14, 1974 when I picked up the phone beside my bed. It was a doctor in Morgantown at the WV University Medical Center. Here is an excerpt from the book I’m writing:

     “I was sleeping soundly when the phone beside my bed rang. Assuming it was the doctor calling to say my mom could come home that day, I answered the call, only to hear my dad on the other phone. I hung up and went back to sleep. My brother came into my room, shaking me awake said, “Sissy, Daddy is crying.”

     I moved quickly down the hall to my parent’s bedroom. Dad told us to sit down so we could talk. He said, “Your mommy isn’t coming home, she went to be with Jesus.”

     Shock and disbelief washed over me like a tidal wave. This couldn’t be true, she was coming home today after a two week stay at the West Virginia University Medical Center in Morgantown. The surgery she’d had to deaden the nerves connected to her hip was a success. The excruciating pain she’d endured over the last couple of years was over and now she could come home and get better. These were my thoughts as I tried to process the devastating news that my beautiful mother was gone. Gone, as in never coming home. Gone, as in I would never see her again this side of heaven. Gone.”

The purpose of my trip is to visit the graves of my parents and decorate them for Christmas. I’ve never been able to be here at this time of year because of church commitments as well as the Christmas season in general. This year is different though. I felt pulled here as if by an unseen hand. I felt a need to return on this anniversary to honor her and remember her. She was an incredible woman who loved God first and then her family. I felt a need to return to the place where I suffered so much pain. I want to sit with my fifteen-year-old self, hold her, comfort her, and tell her that everything will truly be okay. She was young and naïve and didn’t deserve all the bad things that happened after that phone call.

My before and after has a happy ending after decades. God stepped in and miraculously healed every broken place, and today I needed to return to the place where my parents' bodies lie side by side waiting for the glorious resurrection when Jesus returns. One day I’ll join them beyond the veil, but until then, I’ll place flowers in the vase and remember. 

A Recipe and a Memory

I was planning my Thanksgiving meal on this quiet Friday morning, after Thanksgiving. While most people are shopping on “Black Friday,” I’m strolling down memory lane by way of my old recipe box. Does anyone still keep a box of handwritten recipes? Probably not, but mine is full of treasures.

 

We're having our traditional meal on Saturday after Thanksgiving due to traveling. I’m feeling very festive and nostalgic at the same time. There are many things to do to prepare for Christmas, but I decided to focus on our meal and add a few extra touches. One recipe led to another, and before I knew it I was searching for a cheese ball recipe with a precious memory attached. 

 

When I was a young bride, I went back home to visit my other mother, Wilma. The local grocery store was a fixture in our community for as long as I can remember. The ladies who bought it from the original Ball family were usually behind the counter making something delicious for their lunch. This particular day, we walked to the store to get a couple of things, and when we arrived, they had made a cheese ball and wanted us to try it. They hadn’t even shaped it into a ball yet, because it was so delicious they were spreading it on crackers right out of the bowl. So, of course we had to have some for ourselves. And let me tell you, it was absolutely heavenly. This was in the early 80’s when cheese balls were generally made with cheddar cheese. This one was different, made with cream cheese, and we were hooked. They gave us the recipe, and we went home and made it that day. Wilma scribbled it out on a card for me, and that’s what I was searching for in my box. I still haven’t found it, but I found many others. That brings me to the point of this blog post. 

 

Do we write things that stand the test of time? Is our handwriting on record for future generations to read and enjoy? As I flipped through dozens of recipes, I see more than a recipe’s ingredients–I see love and attention. I see the care my loved ones took to record delicious food to nourish a family, feed a sweet tooth, or take to a covered dish gathering. When I see the handwriting of Wilma or my mother, it brings back images of how they imprinted my life. Wilma and I sent hundreds of letters and cards to each other, filled with the everydayness of life. She always recorded the date of every recipe, letter, or card. She never missed a birthday of mine from the time I was born until she no longer remembered who I was because of illness. Her letters kept me in her daily life and I will forever be thankful for that, and her.

 

Looking for that recipe caused me to stop this morning and remember someone who had an eternal impact on my life. What words will you leave behind to remind your family and friends of your love? 

 

I’m a word person. I take it seriously because I know the joy of reading something from those I can no longer touch, or talk to this side of heaven. So, on this Thanksgiving 2024, I celebrate and honor the simple words recorded on a recipe card, and thank God for the legacy left to me to continue with my family. 

 

For all the ways she loved me, this post is in memory of Wilma Summers. If there’s food in heaven, I will be first in line at her table.

Barefoot in the Garden

 I spent my childhood in the late sixties playing outside until dark, catching lightning bugs, riding my bike, playing tag and whiffle ball. Television was reserved for the evening, or cartoons on Saturday morning, and we had three channels to choose from. There were no electronics, no Chick-Fil-A playgrounds, no trampoline or water parks. We had the city pool where everyone was welcome. Our family didn’t take major vacations every year, maybe every five years, and those were usually connected to visiting relatives.

There were no “healthy snacks,” unless you count homemade popcorn or cookies, although watermelon and cantaloupe were in abundance during the summer. We drank Kool-Aid, and our source of water while playing outside came from the water hose. 

 

I feel blessed to have lived in this generation. My life was full and contented during these years of early childhood.

 

I helped my mom with cleaning and laundry chores, and anything else she needed me to do. She battled cancer most of those years and my help was necessary. I’m thankful for all she taught me. I knew how to manage a household before I could legally drive a car.

 

As I watched my grandchildren play outside over the weekend, these memories surfaced. There’s something about bare feet in the dirt that stirs heartfelt longings for them to experience a simple childhood.

 

They trudged through Pop Pop’s garden, following close behind him as he dug hills of potatoes. They held their produce up in the air like discovered treasure. They inspected the progress of other veggies, gathering cucumbers and squash as they meandered down the rows. Bare feet squished through the fertile soil leaving prints of ten toes. Their smiles and laughter sprang from the freedom to be in the moment, the joy of being with family while harvesting the bounty of God’s provision.

 

As they wandered out of the garden, little hands picked flowers for Gigi. Dirt-stained hands offered stems of pink and purple, happy to share the beauty of their fun evening.

 

The best memories come from experiencing the simple things. I hope they always remember meals around Gigi and Pop Pop’s table, Mule rides and the silly things we say, counting hay bales in the field, and eating popsicles until they drip red, purple, and orange goodness down their bellies. I hope they remember the prayers we pray, and the songs we sing. I hope one day when they’re grown, they will remember all the love we shared living in the country. I hope the bonds of love made with their cousins bring laughter when they reminisce about their childhood days at Pop Pop and Gigi’s house. Maybe, just maybe, they’ll feel as blessed and happy as I feel writing these words.

The Heart of Appalachia

Growing up in the heart of Appalachia, I didn’t see poverty, and didn’t understand why the world laughed at us. Outsiders defined our language as back woods and ignorant, yet to our ears, we spoke in syllables of kindness, love, and familiarity. A hand shake was proof of your honesty; a wave of the hand on a two-lane, dirt road said “howdy,” even if you didn’t know them.

After a long day underground, face covered in coal soot, a miner could expect a hot meal of pinto beans, fried potatoes, and cornbread, slathered with honey or homemade apple butter.

I grew up going to church twice on Sundays, and Wednesday night prayer meeting. Hymn singing and testimony time were a natural response to our simple way of living, thankful to the God who provided for and sustained us. Neighbors talked over fences, taking a quick respite from hanging laundry on the clothesline, children and meal preparation the most common topic.

Multiple generations slept under the same roof on feather ticks made from yard chickens, snuggled under quilts made of hand-me-down dresses. Nothing was wasted in the homes of Appalachia.

Memorial Day Weekend was a sacred holiday to honor deceased family members. It was a special time of visiting the cemetery, placing flowers on loved ones' graves, and of course picture taking. A picnic sometimes followed, a time of reuniting with those who lived out of state. Oh, how I long for one more gathering with parents, cousins, aunts, uncles, and grandparents, whose graves I now decorate.

Sunday afternoons were made for driving country roads. Weathered barns with Mail Pouch Tobacco painted on the side lined the highway, along with corn fields and vegetable gardens. Families gathered on the porch swatting flies while children played in the yard. Stories abound on those sacred Sundays, no television in sight. It was a tradition, a time of catching up, connecting with your people.

The world sees poverty, I see wealth that money can’t buy. The world sees ignorance, I see wisdom beyond reproach. The world identifies us as the butt of their jokes, somehow invoking permission to humiliate us. 

I identify Appalachia as the breeding ground of humble, hard-working, family centered people who understand the value of relationships over things, a culture tethered to their roots, yet free to fly far and wide, secure in the knowledge that home is truly where the heart is.

Goodness of God

 I was in the choir loft of my church on a normal Sunday morning. We were singing The Goodness of God, one of my favorite contemporary songs. As my eyes scanned the congregation, I found my son, Andy, and his wife, Morgan. Tears welled at the corners of my eyes and slipped down my cheeks as we sang, All my days have been held in your hands. 

Early 90's

My thoughts drifted to nine years of an empty nursery, nine years of longing for children. I pictured my daughter, Bailey, a few miles across town in her worship service where her husband, Cameron, is on staff, and I sang, all my life you have been faithful, all my life you have been so, so good.

 

He is good, and He is faithful, and He loves me as no human could ever love, though I know I am loved by my humans. Sometimes when we’re mired in the darkness of everyday life, we can’t see His goodness, but it’s there, it’s always there.

Israel, May 2019

 

In my darkest hours, and there have been many, He was close like no other. As long as I have breath I will sing of the goodness of God.

 

My children are grown, and yet I will never get over God’s goodness to me. It fell afresh yesterday. 

Rest, Writing, and Thoughts About Aging

A recent afternoon spent at The Cove, in Asheville, North Carolina was nearly perfect. Is there such a thing as perfection? There is, but not in human form. This came mighty close.

 

I’m referring to an afternoon of rest, writing, conversations with friends, and a roaring fire. This doesn’t happen often, but when it does, you stop and take notice. My life is full and fully lived, a fete difficult to achieve. 

 

Growing older is not for the faint of heart, yet it’s also allowed me the opportunity to seize these moments and treasure them. Everyone needs time away for deep thoughts, uninterrupted time with God, and time to ponder life. I’ve been able to reflect on these things and have a few thoughts for those in my stage of life:

 

1.     Enjoy every day; the sun rises and sets the same for everyone. Make sure you spend your time doing something you love.

2.     Stop and play with the grands, they’ll grow too fast and you’ll regret time not spent with them. 

3.     Surround yourself with music. There’s a tune for every mood. Allow yourself walks down memory lane with your favorite oldies.

4.     Never stop learning. Knowledge is as close as your fingertips, and there’s a subject for everyone.

5.     Begin a new hobby, or hone the skills on a hobby you’ve enjoyed in the past.

6.     Nourish your friendships. Make time for those you love through scheduled dates; Lunch, coffee, a visit to a local garden, etc.

7.     Celebrate big. Every birthday, anniversary, and holiday is an opportunity to make memories. 

8.     Invest in a good study Bible, and use it. 

9.     Eat well, and exercise in whatever way your body can endure. Moving keeps you young. 

10.  Serve others. 

11.  Establish a routine that allows you to nourish your soul, body, and mind. Prioritize important things first in your day.

12.  Read, read, and read some more.

I am thankful and blessed to reach this stage of life. Only God knows the truth of this statement. He is my rock, my strength, and the song that I sing, and without Him, I am a weak, frightened little girl. He is the lifter of my head, and healer of my soul. To Him be all praise, now and forever.

On This Mountain

I don't normally post my poetry, but this one inspired me while visiting The Cove this weekend in Asheville, NC. There's something extra special about this place, and the words flowed. 

On this mountain, a place of peace and

respite lies deep in the forest. A place of

comfort with fireplaces and cozy furniture

arranged in a homey atmosphere. A place to

communicate with my Creator without

distractions. A place of quiet contemplation

to hear the still, small voice of Yahweh, peace 

in the midst of the raging storm that 

awaits in the valley.

 

Ancient forest displays mighty oaks, tall pines, 

strong cedars, and native rhododendrons, whose

lily-white leaves dot the mountainside in spring.

Trickling brook snakes its way to the creek over

worn rocks. Deer, turkeys, squirrels, and the local

bears sip from the cold mountain stream.

 

You walk among us on the mountain. Words of

encouragement, exhortation, and instruction flow

freely. May these words cover me as a warm

blanket, may they seep into the broken places and 

bind my wounds.

 

Your Word is better than life, and on this mountain

I am alive.