Compassion or Enabling

Recently, I had someone tell me that requiring drug testing for welfare recipients was a human rights violation. The conversation that followed caused me to begin to ponder about the welfare system and its effect on the recipients.

I began to remember all the talk about "the War on Poverty" which was supposed to end all poverty in the U. S. The idea was that if people were poor all their financial needs (medical, food, housing) should be given to them with few or no strings until they could provide for themselves. The result was welfare checks which split families, removing the father from the household; food stamps which could be used (at first) to purchase anything a grocery store sold; and Medicaid which provided free health care. Interestingly, the number of successful "graduates" from the program is minimal.

Perhaps one of the most vocal "graduates" is Starr Parker who got off the system, got an education and now is a columnist. Her columns make more sense than any of the programs' ideas. She is very much opposed to the idea of lifelong recipients. She recognized the difference between compassion for the poor and the enabling of bad habits and poor life choices. Prior to reading her column, I had had only two encounters with the effects of our welfare system.

The first was the family of a student I taught years ago. He was one of six children in a single parent family. The mother had worked at night in a local restaurant until the father abandoned the family. Because two of the children were teenagers, she had quit her job to be at home to supervise her children. She was embarrassed that she was the only person in her family ever to have to accept welfare.

Her children were scrubbed within an inch of their lives, well mannered, always on time to school and always had their homework. She and her family participated for six years in a program our church provided for "striving poor." She made a garden every year, canning and drying food for the winter. Though they lived in a house with no running water and (when we first met) had no electricity; her children had grateful hearts. Her greatest fear was that her children would be "sucked into living like this." She need not have feared.

Years later, I encountered one of her daughters who updated me on the family. All six children and the mother were fully employed, buying their own homes (not one of the government programs which later sucked low income people into homes they could not afford), and active in food and clothing programs in their own churches. All had pursued post secondary training to equip them for the work world.

The second encounter with the effects of the welfare system was through a student I taught in a teacher education program. He already had a BS in social studies but had decided he wanted to teach. So, he had abandoned a very successful career as a professional bass fisherman to enter a post bac teacher preparation program. He was attending class at night and supporting himself with multiple part time jobs including being a substitute teacher. He was one of, if not the, most talented "natural" teacher I've ever known.

One evening he came to class visibly upset. When I opened up the class with my usual question: Does anyone have anything we need to deal with before we begin?

"I sure do!" he exclaimed. "You lied to us! You told us how wonderful teaching was but you didn't tell us how awful it can be!"

It turned out he had subbed in a math class that day. To make the lesson more interesting, he had combined the math skills into a real life application: the planning of a Super Bowl party. He had brought in the grocery sales sections from local stores. The premise he proposed was that each small group should use the papers to plan a party within a $25.00 budget. How many people could they invite? What could they afford to serve? How much would they need?

One young woman was totally disengaged with her group. When he tried to engage her, she informed him that she didn't need to know all this math stuff. He tried to coax her.

"When you're out of school and working, you will need this math to be sure your employer pays you correctly. You don't want people taking advantage of you."

"I don't have to worry about that stuff! I don't plan to go to work and, if somebody cheats me, I'll just tell the social worker and they'll go after them." He said her expression was smug and arrogant.

"If you don't work, how do you think you will eat?" he asked.

"Easy! First off, when I get me a baby, I get a check and housing and food stamps. I'll just stay home and watch my soaps. Then, anytime somebody messes with me, I just tell the social worker and they have all kind of ways of fixing it." He said she "positively sneered at me."

He told us, "I lost it. By that time, the whole class was paying close attention. I told her, 'Look around this room and point to the young man you think is dumb enough to give you a baby knowing his only value to you is as a stud.' Here I was trying to help her have a better life than her parents only to find out that's where she learned an alternative lifestyle that didn't value earning their way. Her dad had moved out so his wife and children could qualify for the welfare programs."

A few short months later, he left the program just months from graduation. He had lost the conviction that he could change lives.

Ms. Parker was my third encounter with the effects of the welfare system. She articulates a very convincing case that our War on Poverty programs are better examples of endenturement rather than compassion. She says they are "enabling" self-destructive behaviors.

As I once again pondered these things, I had to agree with Thomas Sowell (an incredible economics professor and columnist who worked his way up from poverty). He sees welfare programs as a modern day form of slavery. The government removes all adult responsibility from recipients, reinforcing negative self-image of themselves as dependent, incapable persons, destroying families and individuals alike.

Somehow, I can't convince myself that any of that is compassionate.

Family

The first time I heard David Yeoman tell the "Booze Yacht" story, I knew I had found my heart's home in the Down East area of North Carolina. I grew up in Georgia (not my fault but my mother's migration) with a family of storytellers differing from liars in that their stories were real events that actually happened. All the older generation seemed to "own" a story and pity the poor soul who tried to retell a story they did not own!

If the owner of the story was present, the pretender was toast!

Everyone gathered round would drown them out with cries of, "That's Susie's story! Nobody tells that story like Susie!" And, of course, Susie was then obliged to retell her story. If Susie was not around, others could retell her story without being shouted down as a fraud if they introduced it with the proper respect. For example, "I know no one tells this story like Susie" or "I always loved to hear Susie tell the story about ......" (fill in the blank). Then, the story could be told to be best of the recounter's memory though woefully aware that he or she was not up to Susie's caliber.

In the winter, on Friday nights or Sunday afternoons, we would visit someone's home who had a fireplace. We would sit around the fire eating popcorn and drinking hot chocolate. Just the thought of that combination now makes my stomach rebel but, as a child, I thought it was great.

In warm weather, we gathered where there was a large porch (front or back, it didn't matter). If we were lucky, there would be churns of homemade ice cream. The alternative was someone's signature pie or cake. As with the stories, if you didn't "own" bragging rights to the pie or cake, you'd best not try to serve your attempt at one of these gatherings. There was no such thing as serving cookies.

The annual alternative to these gatherings was the family reunion...almost always held in August with "dinner on the ground." No one ever explained to me why the hottest month of the year was chosen for the family reunion which, quite often, was held at the Roe home place with dinner on the ground. For that one day, we were all one big happy family unless and until someone tried to "steal" another's story or recipe! The children had a choice on that one day of either listening to the storytellers or playing ball in the adjoining pasture.

On one such day, I remember asking (don't ask their names, I only saw them one day a year and at funerals!) why everybody sat around telling the same old stories every time they got together. I got two answers. The first was, "It's family history. You need to know it." When I protested, "But, we have albums for that" I was told, "Pictures fade. Memories don't." My IQ dropped about thirty points with that person because of the question and her face showed it! The second answer was, "When we were growing up, we were so poor, the only toys we could afford were words." I liked that answer.

Decades later, in my first year teaching, I was appalled to find that many of my fourth graders could not even sequence the events of that day let alone the events of a story they had been assigned for the night before. I was further appalled to find that many could not even make up a story of their own even with prompts!

I've noticed, over the years, that storytelling seems to be a regional thing. That came to my notice as I got a different response from friends north of Mason Dixon or west of the Mississippi. Their eyes glazed over as a story sprang forth from my lips. But, I also noticed that, if those same friends had a close relative from south of the Mason Dixon or east of the Big Muddy, they responded just like my mother's family.

The Power of Language

Words have power.


Consider which you would rather be known as: famous or notorious. Both mean approximately the same thing: being widely known for a trait, a skill, or a characteristic. Most of us would prefer famous to notorious though my grandmother would probably have told you that her preference depended upon who was offering the descriptor. That was not my first acquaintance with the power of language though.


My mother's family was known for their ability to tell great stories and conversation was a form of entertainment. The easiest way to start a brouhaha was to try to tell a story for which some other member of the family was known. You would be given an immediate invitation to repent: "Nobody tells that story like Bob does." Failure to repent would result in specific instructions to "get your own story."


Even before I was exposed to the family's stories, my fourth grade teacher (Miss Eva Saxon) really focused my attention on the power of words. One of my previous teachers had described me as "chatty." Miss Eva saw me as having "strong verbal skills which we need to channel to her advantage." Decades later, when I taught, I tried to emulate her focus on the positive. In the younger grades, when a parent would apologize for their child talking too much in class (a description they shared with me from previous teachers), I would tell them how important a child's oral language was as a foundation for learning to read.


Miss Eva was one of three maiden sisters who taught in our district. One had already retired and the other taught me in high school. All three sisters were known for their no nonsense demeanor and their wardrobes. They wore business suits in rather drab colors with a single splash of color.


Miss Annabelle (the algebra teacher) always wore a very colorful blouse or it may have been just a dickey. We never knew which because she never removed her jacket. The oldest of the sisters wore a business suit and a bright scarf the only time I ever saw her (in the grocery store). Miss Eva had a plethora of colorful handkerchiefs, one of which she pinned with a cameo on her left shoulder when she entered the school building and removed when she left.  The one time I saw her outside of school was in the grocery store and I didn't recognize her without the handkerchief.


She also taught me how to use the words "acceptable" and "appropriate" in the classroom. When we broke a rule, she would quietly say, "That's really not acceptable behavior at school." If our behavior didn't break a rule but did disrupt class, she would sweetly say, "That's not appropriate here or now." The way she said it was enough to make the devil himself repent. Neither of the sisters I knew ever raised their voices. I followed that lead in my classrooms as well.


My junior year of high school, I had two great language masters as teachers. Miss Ethel Thompson taught English literature. The summer before she taught me, she had broken both hips but she insisted upon teaching that last year to match her mother's and her sister's record of 60 years of teaching. Her dresses came almost to the floor and her shoes were clunky, chunky two inch heels. Her walk was very stilted with tiny little steps. Only years later did I realize why.


Every day she met us at the door and welcomed us in. She would then shuffle over to the straight backed wooden chair by her desk. Our class assignment was on the board when we entered as was our homework assignment for the next day. She would sit in her chair, back ramrod straight, both feet firmly on the floor, hands clasped gracefully in her lap. As soon as she did that, everyone sat absolutely still and every mouth closed. She would take out her grade book, look around the room, noting who was there and who was not. Not a word was spoken. She would look up at the class, seeming to make eye contact with each of us.


Then, without a book in hand, she would say softly, "Let us begin" and she would conduct the entire class sans book quoting whole chapters it seemed. No one dared make a move or a sound for fear of losing some pearl of knowledge from her lips. Well.....not really. It wasn't so much the pearls of knowledge we feared to lose.


There was a legend that a few years before, a class clown had not been quiet during her class. After several glances of reproof, she had stood up and carried her chair to the hallway, closing the door behind her. She returned to the class five minutes before the end of class and  replaced the homework assignment with "Prepare for an exam over chapters 3-5. "


When the class erupted in protest, she held up one spindly little hand, smiled sweetly, and said, "I know you are already prepared since you did not require instruction today. Good day." She walked to the door, opened it, and dismissed class.


Clyde went to her that afternoon, after having been harassed by his classmates for most of the day,
and begged her not to give the test. She firmly held her ground. She gave the test and no one knew until they got their final grade that it had not counted. But, none of us wanted to take any chances.


The second great language master was Miss Sandra Worthington who taught speech and drama and coached the debate team. She looked like a fashion model: tall, slim, skin like porcelain, and always elegantly dressed. She also wore the tallest heels of the day. Her Introduction to Public Speaking class was a requirement of ninth grade English. She taught us diction, enunciation, and pronunciation.


Diction, according to her, was the "elegant choice of just the right word or phrase." Enunciation was the "proper execution of each sound" in the word and pronunciation was the combination of enunciation and proper accent in the word. As Henny Youngman might have said if he had known her, "She could tell you to go to the privy and make it sound like such an elegant place to go." The combination of the three, according to her, would result in eloquence.


Besides being a stickler for details, she also expected hard work of the debate team and drama casts and crews. We did not get Christmas holidays off  if we were members of the team, cast, or crew. Instead, the debate team met weekly to turn in assignments and receive new ones. The drama casts and crews had three rehearsals a week. None of us did much dating during the season. I was very grateful my senior year when she allowed me to take a four day trip to Virginia with my father and his wife to visit my grandparents and brother. Never mind that she gave me double assignments.


In addition to the hardships, she kept a sharp eye for talent. No matter how meager one's natural attributes might be, she always made time to discuss our "strengths and needs." We never had weaknesses. We just "needed some work." Because of her, my scholarships to college were delivered to me in January before I filed my application to the college in August.


In each of these instances, I learned the power of language. Words can break a spirit or foster a dream but, either way, the power of language is exhibited. These three teachers healed my broken spirit and made me believe I could do anything I set my mind to and I have.

The Double-edged Sword of Rote Memory

While there are those who would disparage the use of rote memory in worship, there is evidence that memorization can play an important part in worship. There is a notion that every time rote memory is engaged, it devalues that worship to mindless ritual. But, what neuroscience has discovered about the types of memory and how each is acquired tells us differently.

Unless you are one of those people who has a photographic memory, establishing a rote memory requires multiple recitations. Each recitation stores only a fragment of the whole of the targeted information, thus creating a sort of concordance. That concordance is important because it makes the essence of the memory available under different circumstances and for varied purposes.

For that reason, Scriptures and prayers that are memorized become available in varied situations for varied reasons. That knowledge helped me to understand the difference between suffering the loss of rote memory and enduring that loss.

The loss of rote memory happened to me, as it does to many people, as the result of a closed head injury. Although my therapist had assured me that I would eventually be able to access the memory, though not in whole, I panicked in disbelief. After several years of working to re-establish the mundane items one normally knows (mathematical items such as telephone numbers, social security numbers, and basic math facts), I found I was able to access Scriptures, poems, and prayers using the essence of the meaning of those data. Words to songs are less easy to access. I've learned to use my “personal concordance” to help me access information memorized decades ago.

Fortunately, I was trained by my Sunday School and VBS teachers to memorize Scriptures. We were also taught to “pray the Scriptures,” using them as the basis of prayers. An interesting outcome of this is the Gloria Patria which I memorized in the 1970s. I still can access that prayer in only one circumstance. When I am praying fervently for some emergency or in such emergency, the Gloria comes to me in whole when the prayer is being answered. I have learned, when that happens, to act on that assurance as though I can see it with my natural senses. I find that fascinating but reassuring.

Having shared these circumstances, I'll share also the plight of those with photographic memories. Though they are able to recite passages (prayers, poetry, Scriptures), those passages have no meaning except the sequence of the words and, so, no “personal concordance” is built. How sad that the great truths and the great beauties of all those memorized passages are lost to them!

One of the best things that happened to me in my doctoral studies was the course on Neuropsychology which transformed what I had considered suffering into enduring. At the time, I thought the course was useless but the Lord had other Ideas and I'm so glad He did.

Parenting

 
Parenting is the only job you will ever have where ALL the training is "on the job." Some technical schools call it "just in time training." I wish I could assure you that your parenting training will always be "just in time." However, there is a way to beat that problem. Look at the parents and teachers you have known whom you admired. Since parents are the first teachers a child has, I copied, without apology, the positive examples and learned from the negative examples.

I had a wonderful fourth grade teacher who saw "Chatty Cathies" as children with "strong verbal skills which should be channeled to their advantage." Research decades later supported her supposition that "strong verbal skills" contribute to becoming good readers. She saw stubborn children not as willlful but as persistent and said that made them be "persistent to task." Again, research decades later supporter her. Miss Annabelle would probably have seen children whom others call "stupid" as "having undeveloped potential." To this day (60 yrs later) I still appreciate this woman and, when I parented and when I taught, I tried to emulate her. 

Another great teacher I had was my Sunday School teacher, Mrs. Anita Garrison. She taught us that obeying our parents was training for obeying God. She taught us that obeying them was not a one at a time decision but a commitment. She explained that if we just made the decision that we would be obedient, we would have a much easier time obeying them than if we looked at everything they told us to do as a decision we had to make. I didn't understand that for a very long time. But, when I made the commitment to follow Jesus, I didn't have to make a decision for every choice (or temptation) I faced because I had already made that decision once and for all time. Once I made the decision to "do it as unto the Lord," that all made more sense.

When we got our first foster children, those discussions came back to me. That's when I realized what an awesome job parenting is. It's up to parents to deal with their children with the same consistency that God deals with us. That's how we train them to expect consistency from God and that helps them to know how to recognize temptation.

It's a lot like using a yardstick to measure inches and feet. The distance between each inch and the number of inches in each foot and the number of feet in each yard will always be the same. That's how it is with God's expectations of us. They are consistent and knowable and reliable.

Why are all these lessons so important?

Every interaction a parent has with a child is a lesson we are teaching. That means what we do as well as what we say is a lesson for them. When our actions don't match our words, that too is a lesson. It's a lesson in unfaithfulness. They may never process it in that manner but they will imitate it.

Each of us battles our own personal hypocrite

When I worked with children and young adults with disabilities, I had one iron clad rule. Never avoid or accommodate limitations which should be confronted. And, yet, recently I found myself doing exactly the thing I forbade them to do.

A little over three years ago, I took a hard fall on my right arm on a tile floor. For a few days, it was just sore. Then, it became sharp stabbing pains. As I relinquished to it, the pain dulled. After several months, I asked our parish nurse to recommend an orthopedist. She gave me the name of several. When I asked her to tell me about them, I quickly realized they were orthopedic surgeons and, just as quickly, I crossed them off my "to do" list.

As time went by, I began to limit more and more activities as each one became either more difficult or more painful. It wasn't until we had returned to our former house in NC and needed help dressing that I realized I needed help.

Fear of the likelihood of its being a torn rotator cuff drove me to an orthopedist up here whom I already knew. His office referred me to the sports medicine specialist there. He gave me a shot and scheduled me for physical therapy three times a week. The therapist group are very good. They have "homework" assignments.

Yesterday was a milestone! I took my pea coat on and off without any help! Not once but three times! This was the first time in well over a year that I had been able to do that. In fact, I have only two blouses with set-in sleeves that I can put on alone.

As I mentally congratulated myself on my progress, I realized that all those students whom I had held to that higher standard now had every right to call me a hypocrite. I had expected them to confront their limitations before avoiding or accommodating them but I had not.

Lesson learned. If confrontation does not produce success; then, and only then, should we try to avoid or accommodate the limitation. I put this in writing so I will be reminded and, if it aids you, even better.

Our Value in God's Eyes

This morning in Sunday School, our teacher Theresa Z Arnold was teaching from Psalms and she reminded me of something I heard when we were at Bethany Christian Church.

 A preacher named Tommy Oaks was talking about our insignificance in the broad scheme of things. He told us to imagine a thick black line all the way around the ceiling of the room. (For BCC members, we were in the original sanctuary before it was expanded.)

He said, "Now, imagine that line is printed in dot matrix. For those of you who are not into computers, a dot matrix printer prints what looks to the human eye like a solid line. But, it's not. It's really thousands of tiny dots crammed together so close that the human eye can't perceive the individual dots. Each of us is but a dot on a dot on a dot within that line. As insignificant as each of those dots is, we are even less....except in God's Eye. And, yet, to Him we were important enough for Him to sacrifice His Own Son for our sins."

 His use of the word "perceive" reminded me of something that had happened several years before when we lived in Marietta. Renee Wright was visiting us and we were all three in the front yard looking up at a beautiful starry sky.

It was such a bright night that all three of us lay in the grass looking up. David pointed out various constellations. And, then it hit me!

I said, "Before the light from the fartherest of those stars left on its journey to where we now stand, God already had a plan for our lives and wanted to know us and see us fulfill that plan." As I think about it now, I know that before God set that star in its place, He already knew me and that takes my breath away.

Guarding our Eyes

We have had two pastors who talked a lot about "guarding" our eyes. This phrase certainly came to mind last night as the half time show of the Super Bowl was aired. That, in turn, reminded me of a book by Albert E. Day: "Discipline and Discovery." I have had an outline of that book in the front pages of every Bible I have owned since I read the book. [Note a previous posting: "Six steps to Purity."]


Two of the major premises of that book came to mind: (1) Set a watch on the door of your eyes, and (2) Guard your imagination. That, in turn, reminded me of King David and his experience with Bathsheba II Samuel 11 ff.


"One evening David got up from his bed and strolled around on the roof of the palace. From the roof, he saw a woman bathing-a very beautiful woman. David send someone to inquire about her and he reported, "This is Bathsheba, daughter of Eliam and wife of Uriah the Hitite. David send messengers to get her and when she came to him, he slept with her."


Notice the progression:
(1) mindless idleness (He got up from bed and began to stroll aimlessly around.)
(2) he turned his eyes where he should not
(3) he pursued the object of his attentions
(4) he used his authority to engage her
(5) he sinned
(6) he engaged others in sinning to cover up his own sins.


The story goes on. The outcome of what began as aimlessness soon became focused. First, he focused on how he could cover up his sin by blaming the outcome on someone else. Then, he added murder to his cover up abusing his authority to get the deed done.


The Lord told David that his entire family will bear consequences from his sin. They were not being punished for David's sin. Instead, they were caught up in the natural consequences of being related to a sinful father. To David's credit, he recognized his sin, repents, and sought to serve the Lord for the rest of his days even while continuing to bear the consequences of his sins.


And, it all started when he failed to guard his eyes.

Out of our Comfort Zone

The way it came to me was as David and I were driving along the beach road talking about all the extraordinary events we have experienced together and the wonderful people we have met along the way. At almost the same time, it hit both of us that none of that began until we were willing to "step out of our comfort zone" and leave Rome where we knew so many people and were well known, trusting that God was indeed leading us to do that.


We drove on for several minutes pondering what we had just realized. The ferry came to my mind's eye and I described it to him. Later as I was talking with one of our pastors about this epiphany, he pointed out that the part of the ship under water is that which causes it to float and to move. He suggested I bring it up at house church, which I did.


One of our members is a lifelong sailor (as in sailing ships). He pointed out that not only does flotation and mobility come from below the waterline but so does stability in storms (because that's where the ballast is). So, as we have shared this with prayer partners (remember the part about "withstands the scrutiny of other prayerful Christians" as being a part of testing decisionmaking for God's Will as contrasted with our own), more of the meaning has been revealed.

Lessons From The Roman Circus

As I watched the Opening Ceremonies from the 2012 Olympics in London, I was reminded once again of the Roman Circuses. For hundreds of years, the Roman Empire dominated the world, bringing back more and more exotic animals and foreign customs. In spite of the contributions the Empire gave the world (the Appian Way, aquaducts, a uniform highway system, "representation" in government and a universal currency to name only a few), other contributions were not so positive.
As the cost of all this centralization rose, "representation" became more focused on the elite than on the common citizen and taxes became more repressive to the poor. The elite became so wealthy and their appetites so excessive that soon they were jaded. The circuses were the answer both to the oppressors and to the oppressed.


The circuses began with displays of conquered people and the native animals of exotic lands. The spectators soon tired of these so gladiators were added. While the gladiators added to the excitement and offered an adrenalin rush, they were also a subtle reminder of the "might that was Rome." The elite became jaded quickly and unrest about a strange new religion called Christianity fueled the fires of an unhappy populace. The official religions of Rome were not sufficient as more and more people began to adopt Christianity and, in so doing, developed a peace that was not the Peace of Rome. Emperors added Christians to the gladiators' battles but they proved to lack the excitement since the Christians were willing to die rather than kill. Lions soon replaced the gladiators and the gore they produced as they tore the Christians apart titillated for a while until the observers began to wonder why these victims looked more like winners. Not long after, the spectacle of the Roman Circuses no longer distracted the populace from their oppressions.
The same pattern was repeated in China, Russia, Germany, and others. Even England was not immune as the landed gentry's excesses grew. The Magna Carta and later the addition of a Parliamentry government were the first attempts to hold down the masses. World War I and World War II both helped to provide England with a reprise from unrest.

Six Generations of Gardeners

The women in my mother's family are known for their gardens.I am (at least) the sixth generation of gardeners in my mother's family. I've only known three generations other than myself and each of us has a different philosophy....or maybe just a progression of philosophies.

My great grandmother and grandmother lived with us for about six months before Granny decided she wanted to spend her final days at her son's farm. So, she and Bebe moved to the farm. I spent my weekends, holidays, and summer with them on the farm. I learned a lot from Granny about plants. She would describe a plant to me and tell me how to look for it. I would then spend hours looking for it and take her the leaf to verify my find.

Granny said you could look at a person's yard and tell the condition of that family. If they grew vegetables, she said they had hope. If they grew fruit, they had a sense of permanence. If they grew flowers, they had joy. I think of that so often when I drive through an area of homes.

After Granny died, Bebe moved back in with my mother and me and lived with us until I married. Bebe's philosophy had a bit different focus. She was a very practical person and her philosophy reflected that. She said it was a foolish person who would buy commercial fertilizers when God gives us so much natural fertilizer. I never heard her use the word compost. Instead she used the verb forms: composting, composted, composts. When I complained once that I couldn't grow ferns, she said if you want to have a green thumb, just learn what you can grow well and grow lots of it. Then, people will think you have a green thumb and before long, so will you.

My mother always said only edible plants should be brought inside though she made exception for Christmas cactus, one of her favorites. She also had a soft spot for amaryllis and mandevilla. She had an eight foot by four foot window installed in her basement so she could bring them inside for the winter. Until her eightieth birthday, she refused to have cut flowers in the house. A friend, at her eightieth birthday party, violated Mother's ban against cut flowers and brought her a dozen red roses. Mother accepted them graciously, later saying she wondered why she had never like cut flowers. I didn't remind her that she had always equated them with funerals.

My philosophy toward gardening includes some of their ideas with a twist of my own. I have a very obedient garden. When I plant a seed or a plant, I lovingly put them in the ground and then I say, “Live or die, durn you!” And, they always do....one or the other. If they live, they become a plant. If they die, they become compost. Either way, they add to the success of my garden and give me the feeling I might actually be learning something about gardening!

So, my dears, ponder how you feel about gardening. Is it something other people do? If you do garden, what do you grow and why?

"Of an age"

We have just returned from the memorial service for Abbie Anderegg (brother Jim's widow) out in Tucson, AZ. The service was truly a celebration of her life. All four children, two of the three grandchildren, David, and I were in attendance. Brother Richard had come to see Abbie a few months ago when his wife was in better health. Unfortunately, Abbie probably was not certain of who he was.


It was noted during one of our meals together that David was the patriarch of that gathering. That reminder made me think of a phrase which my great grandmother, grandmother, and mother were all fond of. They would say, "You are now of an age" to do whatever the new task at hand was. That memory made me think that, indeed, it was appropriate that we make every effort to celebrate the passing of each of our generation.


That is important because it is one of our dwindling opportunities for passing to the next generations an oral history of our generation. During the meals together, we were able to share stories of our generation to the next generation and their children. Those experiences reminded me of when I was growing up when family members would gather to break bread together and afterwards to hear the generation ahead of relate stories of their youth.


Another aspect of those gatherings is the ability to celebrate the Salvation we share with them through the Lord Jesus Christ. Because of that sharing, we can celebrate their life on this earth and their victory over death because of Jesus' sacrifice for us. Having known people who died without that assurance, I am struck by the contrast between their memorials and those of believers.


That brought back a memory of Josh's preschool years. We had taken Josh to VA to meet my grandmother in her last year of life. He had heard stories of her beautiful blue eyes which had closed due to ptosis when she was in her early sixties. When Josh met her, she was blind, almost deaf, and partially paralyzed from a stroke. Despite that, she was cheerful and funny.


When we got the news of her death, I wondered how to break the news to him. I started by reminding him of his meeting her. He contributed the things he remembered from that meeting. Then, I said, "I'm glad you got to meet her but I'm sorry to tell you but Granncie has died."


His reaction was unexpected and one I think I shall never forget. "Hot dog!" he said. "Now, she has her new body and she can see and hear and she can go anywhere she wants to without Miss Katherine's help!"


I was so taken aback! He had grasped the reality that death of the body is a victory if we know Jesus.  He knew, as only a child can, that we were being selfish in our tears because we were thinking--not of her but--of ourselves and the loss we were experiencing.


Dad and I are "of an age" to be able to celebrate that victory for those we love and for ourselves. God is still in control. Our salvation through Jesus supercedes all other events and the separation from our loved ones is only temporary. We will rejoin them in worship of our God in what, in the face of eternity, is a short time.


Love and blessings to all of you! We pray you will celebrate when we come of that age to go to be with Jesus.

God Does Not Make Mistakes

This Youtube shows the perfect love that we should exhibit to each other. It shows a mother Lab interacting with a beautiful Down Syndrome child.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=JA8VJh0UJtg

My First Job

Everyone remembers their first job and mine was memorable. I was not even six years old.

My mother and I lived in a second story apartment in Wilmington, NC. Our landlady (a Mrs. Davis) lived downstairs. Both the upstairs apartment and the downstairs had a back porch which ran the entire width of the house. Judging from what I now know as an adult about the space required for certain pieces of furniture, I would judge the depth of the porch to be about eight feet. Ours had a wide staircase that went down to Mrs. Davis' porch. I used to lie across one step to talk to Mrs. Davis as she watered her plants. Both the upper and the lower porch was enclosed in white lattice.

One day, as Mrs. Davis was preparing for the summer canning season, she offered me the job of washing her canning jars. She set up a work station on her porch under the steps. She gave me a galvanized tub of warm soapy water and one of warm clear water. Behind that was a long narrow table which she covered with fluffy cotton towels. I remember being impressed with how fluffy her towels were because ours were so thin by comparison.

I sat down on the floor and filled the soapy tub with jars. I took each out and scrubbed it, then laid it in the clear water to rinse while I repeated the process with the next. When the rinse tub was filled with jars, I called her out to "inspect" my work. I can still see her holding each jar up to the sun to see if it was clean. If and only if it was spotless, she stood it upside down on the towel to drain and dry. When all of them met with her approval, I got paid.

She paid me a penny each. I was so proud of the quarter she gave me though there were some smaller coins as well. This was 1947 or 48 and it was the first quarter I had ever owned.

She taught me something important that day. In my desire to hurry and finish, I had to rewash several jars until I slowed down and paid attention to the work at hand. She taught me that, if I had time to redo the work, I had time to do it right the first time. That lesson has stood the test of time. I also remember the last tubful. That one, she did not refuse a single jar!

What I am learning from the Lord's Prayer

Early morning ponderings on The Lord’s Prayer

Jesus gave us an example of prayer (Adoration, Confession, Thanksgiving, Supplication) which is more than an example of prayer. It is also instruction in our relationship with the Triune God.

“Our”

Jesus used the equal possessive pronoun. He did not say “My” thus subjugating our (we humans’) claim on The Father. Many times the “number one son” in birth order) can be heard to say to younger siblings, “He was my father first!” Jesus did not do that. He brought us into the family of God with equal claim on His Father’s affections.

“Father”

What are the expectations of a father? Protection against harm, unconditional love, sufficiency to provide for our needs and wants subject to his wisdom and his responsibility and authority over us, authority over our behavior with the expectation of discipline to help us grow in wisdom and discernment, commitment to bringing us up properly, setting limits beyond which there is a consequence, intimacy between a father and child which gives the child security and a sense of acceptance and well-being. The Fatherhood of God sets an incredibly high bar for earthly fathers. The relationship between a human father and a child will form the foundation for the child's relationship with God. What they see in the human father is what they will expect from their Heavenly Father and only Holy Scripture can make the corrections and repair the damages from that foundation.

“Who art in Heaven”

Where is Heaven? We talk about going there but where is it? Well, Jesus was “taken up into the clouds” beyond our ability to see. Since none of the satellites scientists have sent up into the inososphere have ever seen Heaven, it must be beyond what we call the ionosphere. The men who walked on the moon didn’t see it so it must be beyond our moon. We see stars in the sky that are beyond the moon so Heaven must be beyond those or It would obscure our view of the stars. That’s incredible that a God who is involved in our daily lives is in a place beyond the fartherest stars we can see. How incredibly awesome is that God!

“Hallowed be Thy Name”

“Hallowed” means set apart. So, if even God’s Name is expected to be hallowed, how much more must He be. The Jews left out all the vowels in their words for God so that His Name was totally unpronounceable by human tongue. We spell it Jehovah or Yahweh but think what that would look like without any vowels: Jhvh or Yhwh….totally unpronounceable. Yet, in today’s society, we do not hallow His Name. Even small children use It in vain.

“Thy Kingdom come”

God’s Kingdom is one in which there is no sorrow, no loss but there is also no sin. So, we are asking for a Kingdom to come in which we are freed from our sinful nature.

“Thy Will be done”

Another indication that sin will not be there.

“On earth as it is in Heaven”

All the inhabitants of the earth (as we now know it) will be sin free. We have no understanding of how that could happen. The best we can comprehend such a kingdom is to picture no more war or crime or sorrow. We cannot even comprehend a kingdom without evil.

“Give us this day”

From trying to picture a future with God totally in charge and all evil discharged, Jesus returns to His here and now. We’re basically taught to trust God completely for this day’s needs. This reflects what Jesus said about not worrying about tomorrow.

“Our daily bread”

Every culture has a form of bread as the staff of its diet. In some cultures, it is wheat, in some rice, rye, etc. This is daily sustenance the source of which is God.

“And forgive us our trespasses”

When I taught small children, I used to tell them what their consequence would be for having exceeded the boundaries of acceptable behavior. Then, after the consequence was completed, I would tell them, “You made a mistake. Now, you have paid the consequence, you have repented of your behavior so I forgive you. When I forgive you, it means it’s as though it never happened and it never must again. You need also to forgive yourself so that is is as though you never did it and you are determined never to do so again.” My idea was if I could teach them in human terms what forgiveness was, when they heard the Gospel, they would understand better what it meant for God to forgive their sins.
But, the term trespass (some translations use the word debt) is important, too. Both mean to violate an established boundary willfully and without respect for the person who set it. In property, trespassing refers to the boundary established by a deed which is recognized by some legal authority. The legal authority in this prayer is the Omnipotent, Righteous, Omniscient God.
A debtor can also violate a boundary set by a legal authority set in the mortgage instrument. Our sins are our mortgage instrument with God because He established the boundaries of our behavior, the limits we are expected to obey. Jesus cancelled that mortgage, removed the boundary that was set by God for sin and that leads us to the second part.

“…forgive us our trespasses as we forgive our trespassers”

Woops! Just like the wicked servant whose master forgave him, we must forgive those who trespass against us….who “owe” us. We cannot validly ask for forgiveness unless we have willingly offered it to others. We’re admonished if we come to the Communion table with any unforgiveness in our hearts, we must leave the table to go to that brother and forgive him before we can “worthily” (to the extent that we can be worthy) part take of the Lord’s Supper and accept His forgiveness for our sins. We have not limited God's Forgiveness. We have simply limited our own access to it. We have erected a barrier of unforgiveness between ourselves and our loving Father.

“lead us not into temptation”

God’s Word assures us that He will never tempt us but this supplication goes beyond His tempting us and asks Him to restrict our access to temptation. It also supposes surrender to whatever means is necessary for Him to lead us away from temptation. Sometimes we don’t much care for that because it means He says “no” or “wait” when we want to hear “yes.”

“Deliver us from evil”

Not only are we asking God to help us to avoid evil but to deliver us away from any evil which might seek us out. We’re told that Satan wanders the earth like a roaring lion seeking whom he might devour. We’re asking God to help us to escape from the clutches of Satan when he is successful in catching up to us and to take us away from his presence.

“For Thine is the Kingdom and the Power and the Glory”

All the things we have asked God to do in our lives from providing us with daily sustenance to forgiving us our sins to delivering us from evil….all these are done in acknowledgment that only HE can do it because all things are subject to His Kingdom and His Power and all Glory is His.

“Forever and ever”

Eternity is a ring with no beginning and no ending. Only the God of the universe who created all that is or ever shall be understands forever. When God began the creation, He looked upon a void, without form, without content….a vast nothingness the outer boundaries man still has not explored even with all our satellites and astronauts. He looked at it and He divided it into its opposites: the land and the seas, the light and the dark, plants and animals, male and female. He separated the opposites within the realm of forever. Forever by itself speaks to eternity. To repeat the ever is to emphasize the neverendingness of God’s Kingdom, His Power and His Glory.

“Amen”

Amen means “so be it.” It’s a proclamation of absolute agreement with no limitation from anything or anybody. Even very primitive cultures recognize the power of the spoken word to affirm an event, to establish a precedent. Sometimes, I wonder if perhaps the more primitive cultures with their restrictions on what can be spoken and what cannot understand better than we the power of the spoken word. “Amen” means the requests, assuming we have stayed within the boundaries God established, are hereby spoken into being.
WOW!

The Real Strength of Women

The following is a conversation which a friend and I had by email which began when she sent me this link:

http://www.ted.com/talks/tan_le_my_immigration_story.html

She suggested I share it with my granddaughters and this is the best way I know how. I've separated the emails with ----------------. Enjoy.

Gran

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This woman's talk inspired me. I hope you willl find it worthy of a listen.

Love,

Lark

“Dear friends, since God so loved us, we also ought to love one another. No one has ever seen God; but if we love one another, God lives in us and his love is made complete in us.” 1 John 4:11-12 NIV

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Dear Lark,

Notice that she went to Australia as a refugee...not as an illegal. The differences are subtle but powerful. I have been blessed to know people who came here as refugees from Hungary, France, Austria, Germany, and Cuba. They have blessed my life by convincing me that "hardship is your friend." It is a "refiner's fire." They also taught me that "entitlements are slavery."

mla

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Entitlements are slavery is a huge statement and absolutely true from where I sit today having worked for the federal government and now working part-time at Wal-Mart as a cashier. I have seen entitlements from the perspective of the over-paid and pampered government employee who believes their position should be a guaranteed position simply because that is what they have come to expect and I see the entitlement of people in our communities who believe they must be supported by the government despite their obvious ability to work and care for themselves and their ability to care for their family members as they age and need the care. The prevalent belief system is that somone owes them something.

On the flip side I now work for a company that underpays their employees when there would be no harm to the company if they paid a living wage. This creates an environment in which many people at the Wal-Mart where I work are working two jobs to make ends meet. Interestingly enough they are not angry at Wal-Mart in particular. I think they are simply too busy and too tired to spend time discussing their plight. In fact, the women I know who are working two jobs are also raising families and often have handicapped and disabled family members yet do not even seem to have resentment. I just realized that when I started replying to your e-mail. They talk about their feet and legs hurting or their backs or how exhausted they are but they don't seem to connect that to the fault of anyone else. Believe me these are not saints. They just don't seem to be caught up in the blame game. Explain that one to me,please, Mary Lena!

Love,

Lark

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Dear Lark,

They have assumed responsibility for the choices they made earlier in life which brought them to this stage. I worked with ladies very like that in the shirt factory the first summer after high school. We were paid on production and they very generously taught me how to increase my pay knowing all the while that it would mean more "time studies" as more of us made minimum wage. After each time study, the number of bundles we had to inspect, fold and pin to make minimum wage ($1.00) was increased. BUT, we lived where just having a job at all was a blessing and they were too responsible to sit on their backsides and whine. I never heard a bitter word from them.

When they learned (the day I turned in my notice) that I was headed for college, they treated me (out of their meager salary) to a bought lunch and then each gave me a bundle of their shirts to claim pay for. Each Fri, we would go to a cafe nearby. They each would buy one of the $1.25 lunches (meat, two vegies, bread and dessert and tea). Each Fri, I took my brown bag and bought tea. Because I was the only one at a table for 8 who brown bagged, the cafe owner let me sit with them.

During the months we worked together, they taught me much more than how to increase my output. They taught me gratitude for my opportunities and the value of education. They taught me to be generous with others however little I had. They taught me to think carefully about the unintended consequences my decisions might have. They taught me to take responsibility for ALL the consequences of my decisions. (This is one of the traits I must admire in our youngest son.) They taught me to have a grateful heart and a generous spirit. One of them told me, "You're never too poor to help someone else. When you think you are, you teach yourself to be helpless." It reflected my Grannsy's philosophy.

The first ten minutes after we clocked out each day, we had to get down on hands and knees and pick up all the pins we had dropped. Because they were silk pins, we weren't allowed to use magnets to pick them up for fear we might scratch the surface (they were bought in 20 lb boxes) and then we had to sweep the floors. We let the older ladies sweep because it was so difficult for them to get down on their knees. To prevent overtime, the owner would have us work 39 1/2 hours in three or four days and then "lay us off" for the rest of the week.

One of the ladies was 19 (two years older than I was). She had three young sons and had worked there since she was 14. She had a Jim Walters' home and her goal was to pay it off so she could save for a screened porch along the backside. Her only extravagance was the Fri. lunch. Another was 21, had worked there since she was 16 and had had to have a hysterectomy the year before because of the damage to her uterus from standing on concrete floors. Her goal was to pay off her new car so she could (surprise, surprise) buy another. Another was in her sixties and was working to help her grandchildren finish high school. None thought they would ever be able to retire voluntarily.
Another lady (50-60) was paying off medical bills from her husband's final illness.

We were always laughing or singing as we worked. We had to keep our voices soft because the owner's son would come over to "encourage" us to work harder. The lady who hired me was threatened with being fired for having hired "an upstart who thinks she can go to college. She'll be back in six months wanting her job back."

mla

What I knew then and what I know now.

When I was in high school, it seemed that everyone wanted to "have a steady boyfriend." I was fortunate in that my immediate friends shared with me the desire to grow into the woman we believed God wanted us to be. But, many of our classmates looked down on us as not sophisticated. Still, with our group, it was not accepted to have a steady until we were at least seniors. Even then, we had our doubts. The two girls who had a steady boyfriend had known them for several years before they went on the first date. Single dating just wasn't something we were ready for.

Although many people would laugh at this today, I can remember my first date's parents went with us. We went to their family reunion up in the mountains of Northwest Georgia. Another fellow I dated several times took either my grandmother or my first cousins with us. Every date we had except for two were to go to church. One of the non church dates was to a basketball team with another couple. The other was to the preacher's home.

Every Friday night, our parents took turns hosting a party for us at the community center. The parents whose turn it was to chaperone provided refreshments and we played board or card games or danced. The dances were very sedate and the slow dances looked nothing like what passes for slow dancing now. It was great training for the requirements of living at Shorter College just a couple of years after it went co-ed. What is there now does not even resemble our experience.

The rules at Shorter did not allow holding hands while walking. You could not sit closer than six inches. You could get a peck on the cheek at the Town House door under the watchful eye of the Dean of Women or Assistant Dean. Slacks and shorts were allowed outside the dorm under only two conditions : participation in a sport or under a full length raincoat with the top button fastened.

If the sports event was not participatory, the raincoat was required and NEVER could we wear slacks in public transportation. Slacks could be worn in the dining hall for Saturday morning breakfast or Sunday night dinner but only with the raincoat. Monday through Saturday evenings, Saturday noon and Sunday noon were seated meals with "Sunday best" and stockings and heels.

Gloves were worn to church and to formal receptions of which there were many. "Eats" (beverages or snacks) were never consumed while walking. One was seated to "take eats." Curfews were strict as were study hours. Cars were for upper classman unless (a) one had a part time job in town or (b) one's parents lived more than 200 miles away.

I do not recall finding these restrictions ornerous. It taught discipline and respect. I rather enjoyed them though we all laughed at some of the more extreme expressions.

Later, when I joined the financial community, I found that small towns expected the same respect and discipline of ladies who worked with other people's money. I recall one Saturday afternoon running to the local quick market to get eggs when I was baking a cake. (I had dropped two on the floor and lacked enough to finish.) I wore walking shorts to my knees and a sleeveless t-shirt and sandals. On Monday morning, I was reminded by my employer that such attire could cause clients not to take me seriously as a person managing their assets. I never did that again. To this day, I do not leave the house in bare arms.

So, what I knew then was that the Lord lends His Authority to the persons He permits to have authority over us. That meant that honoring the authority over us, regardless of whether we thought their rules had no meaning, was a way of showing our respect for the Lord. Those authorities included parents, other adults (teachers, policeman, neighbors and the like). What I learned later was how much easier life is when one does not rebel against the Lord's Authority. I learned that from discipline grows confidence and self-respect.

The Difference in Families

I was reminded today of three generations of mothers in my family.

An ad on tv was urging people to contact their Congressmen to ask them not to reduce the amount of Medicare costs for hospital stays. The tone indicated that the government, not families, should care for aging parents.

When I was in third grade, my grandmother and great grandmother moved in with my mother and me. They lived with us until the very last months of Granny's life. She had had multiple strokes and, in her last months, wanted to move back onto her son's farm since, "I don't need doctors. There's nothing more they can do. I never lived in town before and I don't want to die here."

I missed her so much that I spent that last summer with them on the farm. Every Sunday night, we turned the lights off and turned the radio on. We propped Granny up in the bed, I took down her bun and brushed her long white hair and massaged her scalp. We both looked forward to listening to our favorite radio dramas together. It was a special time.

Another special time was breakfast. I have never liked breakfast so I spent breakfast "mushing up" her food and feeding it to her spoonful by spoonful, dabbing her chin when her lower lip drooped and spilled it out. I can still feel her chin under my fingertips.

During the day, I wandered the woods and the fields, bringing back leaves and small plants and berries to show her. I never found one she could not tell me about. She told me about home remedies and homekeeping (she never used the word housekeeping).

When she died, we rejoiced at her liberation even as we grieved our loss.

Her daughter moved in with us and, except for a couple of years when she wanted her "own place," she lived with Mother for the rest of her life.When Bebe became ill, my mother did the same thing for her that Bebe had done for Granny. When my other grandmother became ill, her daughter Katherine and husband Rueben took her into their home. Katherine was a nurse and no patient ever had better care.

As my mother's body failed her, her independence never did so we found ways to support that feeling of independence. She would allow no one to live with her and she would live with no one. So I traveled back and forth every four or five weeks to spend a week (sometimes more).

David and I had a system worked out that would allow me to be on the road to GA within a half hour of learning of the need. He was such a wonderful support for me and for her. It never occurred to him that she should go to a nursing home against her will. During our entire marriage, he did most of the maintenance on her home. He cojoled, scolded and teased her. He was the grown son she never had.

Mother and I talked everyday. I had two other people who either talked with her or went by everyday. If they questioned anything, they called me. I called Mother and headed down. One of them was available to check on her anytime I heard anything untoward in her voice or message. Everytime David and I took a trip anywhere south of the North Carolina line, we went by to see her. Some of our schedules got changed because she wanted us to do something before we left. We adapted.

We had errand runners who bought her groceries when she was not able. In the last year, they even took her to the hairdressers (one of Mother's lifelong treats for herself). Her church family "loved" her right into the gates of Heaven.

Mother kept every receipt and, if a check was written, she noted the number on the statement. Every month, I checked her receipt box, balanced her checkbook and wrote her checks for the next month, lacking only her signature and the amount. All the enveloped were addressed, stamped and ready to go.

On those trips, we sat up late at night in only the light from the streetlamp outside. And, we talked, flitting from one topic or another. We talked about the inconsequential, the essential and the important. Nothing was off limits.

She retained her independence and her spunk (sometimes more spunk than was necessary).

Then, one morning she called to inform me that she was going to hospice that afternoon. She was tired of taking "dozens of pills everyday just to push back the day." She was failing so quickly that she knew she would soon have to have twenty four hour care at home or elsewhere.

The home nurse had told her she should go to hospice for a few days to "get built back up." Mother informed me she did not intend to "bounce back." She proclaimed, "I'm no fool and I have no intention of coming back. As soon as the cleaner finishes here, we're on our way." She did not want me to have to clean the house. On all the prior trips, everytime she had caught me cleaning, she had sent me home.

She instructed me to get a good night's sleep and come the next day.

I left that afternoon and was at the hospice bright and early the next morning. We had some interesting talks. She asked me to pray for her and we prayed together.....all things we would have missed had she been consigned to a nursing home during those last months.

No government program can replace these multi-generational experiences. Someone needs to tell younger generations that old age is not contagious.

I am posting an article by our assistant pastor

"Life After Training Wheels

by Peter Weeks, Assistant Pastor of Zion Lutheran Church

The stewardship campaign for this year will be Life After Training Wheels. It compares the process of learning how to use God's Time, Talent and Treasures to learning how to ride without training wheels.

It is human nature to fear the unknown and few situations in life embody this as well as a child learning how to ride without training wheels. Int he first stage, the child totters along, both wheels firmly planted on the ground where the bike is a glorified tricycle. Then as their confidence grows they go into the next stage, where the wheels are slightly off the ground and they learn they can balance but they don't lean over far at all before the wheels touch the ground. Slowly the adult raises the training wheels until they get to the third stage when the wheels are as high up as they can go. The child is essentially riding without training wheels and has most of the balance skills required but still is holding onto the comfort of knowing they are there. Eventually time comes for the final stage--the big leap of removing the training wheels entirely.

That journey is much like our own journey of using God's time, talent and treasures. The first stage is when we are going along comfortably. We may use God's time, talent and treasure a little but in such a way that it doesn't "interfere" with any other area of life. As we find out about the Spiritual gifts, or devote time to an Advent devotion or take one step toward tithing it's like going to the second state where the training wheels are just barely off the ground. This is progress and should be celebrated but soon we learn that we really can use God's time for devotions and still have time for everything else, we can use the spiritual gifts God gave us and it actually makes life more fulfilling and we can give more but still make the budget work.

We want to grow in using God's gifts because of how much He loves us. God gave His only Son that whoever believes in Him should not perish but have eternal life. Greater love has no man than this that He lay down his life for His friends.

As God encourages us to grow, eventually we need to take that giant leap. We need to experience Life After Training Wheels. We regularly use our time to do devotions by ourselves or with our family. We regularly use our Spiritual gifts and we give a tenth of our income. This is when life really gets fun. Just like the big grin that spreads across the kids' face when they realize that they can balance their bike and it's even more fun than ever, when we experience Life After Training Wheels, we never go back. Let's follow God on this journey so we too can experience Life After Training Wheels."

I was so impressed with this article that I did not even think like an editor as I read it. I hope you are equally blessed. mla