Hop in the Truck...We Need You in the Field

While this video was created as a recruitment tool for my Children's Ministry, it can be a "mini-lesson" for anyone interested in tobacco farming in central North Carolina in the 

70s and early 80s.

Hop in the Truck....

We Need You in the Field

Click Here for the Video: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=7XogisLuPXM

Herald of Springtime

The Herald of Spring

About the time that winter has

brought me down with dreary blues

I see the first signs of springtime

in the softest yellow hues.

While all around the South still sleeps

in the grip of hibernation,

the first born heir of flowers

greets the world with salutation.

With joy I spy his golden crown

for hope is what he brings,

that soon the dark, cold winter

will step aside for spring.

No other blossom holds my heart

or gives my soul a thrill

quite the way that this bloom does,

this splendid daffodil!

I Was Fed

I Was Fed

I slowly walked back home from the lake, surrounded by the voices of the people spilling out all around me.  Mama met me in the street, two of my little brothers clinging to her legs.  I could tell she was frustrated.  She thrust the empty water jug into my hands with the implied command to go to the well and fill it up immediately.  As she walked back into the house I could hear her call back to me. She said:

“I’ll never understand

what you see in that man.”

In reply, all that I said

was that,

“I was fed.”

I wish that she had gone with me.  Then she would have seen what I saw.  That man took a few loaves of bread, blessed them and broke them.  He handed the pieces to his men to distribute to us.  There was scarcely enough bread for one family, yet I watched as thousands of men, women, and children received a share.   I had not been aware of my own hunger until I held that fresh bread in my hands, smelled its sweet aroma.  When I ate it, my body was satisfied.  So when I heard Mama say:

“I’ll never understand

what you see in that man.”

Smiling, all that I said

was that,

“I was fed.”

Oh that Mama could have heard what He said to us!  That man explained things in a way that I could really understand them.  Ideas that were once too difficult for me became clear in the stories that He told.  In the midst of His tales about everyday life, I gained clarity on God, man, sin, and love.  As I listened, my mind became contented.  I had so much I wanted to tell Mama that I scarcely knew where to begin, but when she said:

 “I’ll never understand

what you see in that man.”

All that I said

was that,

“I was fed.”

If only she could have sat at His feet.  Just being in His presence seemed to make time stand still.  While He taught, my worries melted away, my hope renewed.  That man addressed my spirit.  He made me desire to please God now, and serve Him for eternity.  While He uncovered my sinful heart, He also offered the balm of forgiveness.  Guilt vanished with His words and tenderness for my neighbor was cultivated.  My very soul was satiated.  I wanted to express to Mama all of the reasons being with Jesus had meant so much to me.  So when she said:

 “I’ll never understand

what you see in that man.”

All that I said

was that,

“I was fed.”

Glory of a Glitch

Glory of a Glitch

When little girls have a sleepover, the topics they cover before they close their eyes run the gamut. From boys to volleyball, God to ponies, the subjects touched upon know no limits. How it was that night in Pinehurst, in a bedroom belonging to Wendi’s grandparents, she ended up singing Loch Lomond to me I cannot recall. But I remember the tune, the melody….I even remember many of the lyrics. More importantly, I remember how Wendi sang it.

My father was a musician, a good one. To me, when he played, the music was flawless. After all, he had been practicing for years by the time I came along. The members of his band were also able to perform without detectable (to me) flubs. Guitars, mandolin, drums, and piano together with a singer, they presented a radio-worthy performance.

But, Wendi’s rendition of an old folk song, was different. What I heard when she sang was unique in my experience because it was imperfect. She knew the words. She knew the refrain, however her voice couldn’t deliver the lyrics smoothly. It cracked a little. It didn’t always find the correct octave. I was transfixed! As far as Loch Lomond was concerned, never again would I appreciate a polished version. It was Wendi’s adolescent, non-professional delivery of the song that set the bar for me.

As the years went by, I began to realize that in a world infused with synthesized, heavily edited, faithfully practiced music by a gifted minority, it was the ultra-rare slip or gaffe that caught my ear and made me take notice. For me, it was akin to finding a hidden gem, an unexpected, delightful surprise.

I grew up in the same little Methodist church my father attended his entire life. The church pianist/organist, Johnsie, was the only one I had ever known. When the doors to the church were open, Johnsie was in it, bottom on the bench, fingers tickling the ivories. Sunday after Sunday Johnsie played each hymn beautifully while the congregants did their best to bring glory to the Lord in song. Johnsie was nearly flawless. If she “messed up” it was rare. But, as with us all, a time came when Johnsie’s health began to decline. Heart willing or no, her fingers would often fail her at the keys. Hymns she’d played since childhood, now altered in a way that frustrated her. She no doubt began to feel let down by the very digits that had performed for her faithfully for decades.

For me, standing in the pews, singing the same songs I’d sung for over 30 years with the same organist, the experience was edifying. Johnsie was a human… a loving, devoted, Christian woman. She was the one who played “O Come All Ye Faithful” when I was Mary. She was at the organ on Easter mornings when I sat in pretty (pretty uncomfortable) dresses. She played during homecoming Sundays, baptisms, and communions. She was “our” Johnsie. When her performances began to have more slipups, more “oops” moments, I loved her music all the more. It was raw, more vulnerable. It spoke more clearly of allowing God’s grace to shine despite our human weakness. As a congregation, we would sing on through as her fingers caught up and found sure ground. I learned more from her tenacity to serve the Lord in her time of poor health than I could have learned from the minister expounding on the concept in a twenty minute sermon. With her flaws I gained spiritual understanding.

This past New Year’s Eve, the town of Cameron gathered around a little flagpole in the park where an enormous dewberry was suspended awaiting its drop to signal the New Year. That event is worthy of more than a paragraph, so I reserve the right to go into detail at a later date. But, for now, I wish to bring your attention to the musical conclusion to our New Year’s celebration there in that little town. As the dewberry was lowered to the ground, a gentleman raised a lone slide trombone and performed  Auld Lang Syne.

Was he a professional? I have no idea. My guess is no. He had no mike, he had no back up. It was freezing cold and we were in the dark. His circumstances were less than ideal. His music was not “good enough” by the modern mass media standards, because it was not without defect. But, there I stood listening to him play, opening himself up to potential critique in an environment where he had little control over what actually met his audience’s ears. Yet, he played for us. He gave us his very best. Around his feet swirled little sugar fueled children in need of sleep. His sheet music dimly lit by impromptu lighting. I felt as though at any minute Andy and Barney would show up with a “Happy New Year.” I was smiling from ear to ear and had a full heart. No, the music would not have even been acceptable (to the world) for a commercial during TV’s New Year’s Rockin’ Eve, but I wouldn’t have had it any other way! The fact that is wasn’t a heavily orchestrated event reminded me that I was in an intimate setting that emphasized celebrating life together rather than perfection. I will forever remember the New Year’s Eve of 2013 because of that unrehearsed performance.

I am such a flawed individual. I scarcely know where to begin. Any ability to sing left me when I suffered vocal cord paralysis. I am awkward at times and clumsy. I claim to be a Cajun cook because my family has so many “blackened” meals. I too often let my passions express themselves verbally and I cannot coax even one beautiful song from an instrument. If I didn’t find joy in the fallibility of life, I would have to rely on others to hand me my joys after heavy editing. Sad, but true. Instead, I have chosen, without even realizing it at first, to grasp upon those raw moments of humanness when the foibles are exposed. I pull them in to my mind to be mined of every gem.

Thank you, Wendi, for singing me to sleep as only a friend can do. Thank you, Johnsie, for serving your God when your fingers wouldn’t serve you. Thank you, man in the park, for playing your instrument to a motley crew of friends and family in Cameron despite the rustic surroundings. Thank you all for showing me the beauty of sharing and serving others even when it has meant being vulnerable. Any time God asks me to do something and I offer Him excuses, all I have to do is look back on the lifelong examples of people who set their excuses on a shelf and gave of themselves despite the deficit and I yearn to join their ranks.

Exodus 4:10-17

New International Version (NIV)

10 Moses said to the Lord, “Pardon your servant, Lord. I have never been eloquent, neither in the past nor since you have spoken to your servant. I am slow of speech and tongue.”

11 The Lord said to him, “Who gave human beings their mouths? Who makes them deaf or mute? Who gives them sight or makes them blind? Is it not I, the Lord? 12 Now go; I will help you speak and will teach you what to say.”

2 Corinthians 12

9 But he said to me, “My grace is sufficient for you, for my power is made perfect in weakness.” Therefore I will boast all the more gladly about my weaknesses, so that Christ’s power may rest on me.
10 That is why, for Christ’s sake, I delight in weaknesses, in insults, in hardships, in persecutions, in difficulties. For when I am weak, then I am strong.

My "Epistle" to Hurting Friends and Family at Christmastime

          To My Friends and Family that are

               “Hurting For the Holidays”

12/20/2013

Dear Friends and Family,

It is my intent in this letter to express to you all two very important statements…the first is that “I know that you are ‘Hurting for the Holidays’” and the second is that “I care about your pain.”

While I know much that has befallen you over the years, I am even more keenly aware of it this time of year, in particular, during the days surrounding Christmas.  I know that along with Christmas carols, festive packages, and seasonal radio and television programming, along with church activities and shopping adventures, there also comes a great deal of sadness for many of you.

For some of you, there is the painful new reality that someone (or more than one) that you love with your whole heart will not be able to smile at you this Christmas, won’t be there to give you a hug, and will not be there to share with you those same old stories you’ve heard year after year.  That precious someone, in some cases, went home to be with Jesus this past year or in recent years.  In other situations, that loved one now has obligations out of state or out of the country that will keep them from your side.  Perhaps a change in family status will put them at another table this holiday.  No matter the reason, your heart aches for the way it used to be.

Many of you face a difficult Christmas due to an isolating illness.  The abundant energy you once had has now been drained.  Where you could once move about pain free, there are now limits.  The excitement of the Christmas hustle and bustle is now replaced by dread.  Some of you are healthy yourselves, but have a family member that struggles with extreme poor health.  No matter the condition, or who has it, your heart aches for the way it used to be.

In the continuing wake of the “Great Recession” many family and friends struggle financially. Jobs that were once secure vanished overnight.  Businesses that once thrived, fizzled out.  Nest eggs that once sat proudly in the bank were spent for survival.  Where Christmases past always featured a tree surrounded by a bounty of gifts, more recent Christmases have replaced presents with disappointment and discouragement.  No matter where or why the money went, your heart aches for the way it used to be.

For a variety of reasons, many of you find yourself in the midst of a painful, seemly unrelenting trial.  Perhaps a previously obedient child is now following a troubling path.  Maybe you have had to move due to altered circumstances into a new home, a new neighborhood, and near new neighbors.  For others, a recent change in a relationship status brings pain…a disagreement with a friend or family member has broken fellowship and their absence has left a void in your life.  Sometimes there is no one particular situation that has caused your holiday blues, but rather a more general nostalgia for the past.  No matter the cause of your discontent, your heart aches for the way it used to be.

For me, this Christmas season has been bittersweet so far.  In just three days it will have been a year since my own father left us to go home to be with his Father in heaven.  Because he passed away just two days before Christmas, it will be forever difficult for myself and my family to separate his earthly death from all the familiar holiday sights, smells, and sounds.  Daddy bravely battled a cancerous brain tumor for many years.  Thinking back over my forty-five years, I am grateful to God to have had my father in my life as long as I did.  No matter, though, how long I did have him before he went away, my heart aches for the way it used to be.

It is in our nature to look about at the life experiences of others and measure our circumstance by their example.  The results of our findings, though, are rarely satisfying.  It is bewildering to try to understand how we have fallen on hard times when others appear to go unscathed.  We long to know how we could have avoided our misfortune, as they have done. After all, if it were always a case of 5-3=2, we would hold onto 5 by not doing whatever it was that cost us 3!  What we find instead is this, while we are sometimes in the midst of a trial of our own doing, (or undoing) that is NOT always the case.  In Beth Moore’s “Get Out of That Pit” teaching, she reminds us that we may find ourselves in a “pit” (difficult situation) due to #1 Something that we did, or # 2 Something that someone did TO us, or #3 No one’s “fault.”

Often we seek the input of others.  Dependent on how carefully we select our counsel, we can come away from the experience with a mixed bag of warranted advice, comfort, and/or condemnation.  We must carefully and prayerfully chose those to which we share our deepest concerns.  Too often, well-meaning friends and family will offer “insight” into how we found our way into the throes of a trial of our making when in reality we are experiencing a test not of our own creation.  The guilt that can come as a result exposing ourselves and our family to the “blame game” often prevents us from seeking input in the future.  When sharing your pain with others, select those that you can trust to give you sound, Godly advice when needed, strength in the face of persecution, and comfort in situations where the genesis of our trouble is not as clearly seen.

No matter WHAT the source, no matter what the reason, if you are hurting over the holidays, it is adversely affecting your life.  It is most likely also affecting the lives of those closest to you.  Without a doubt, today’s pain has made you all nostalgic for the carefree days of the past.

Many of us are hurting these days.  Are we the first to hurt on this level?  Are the trials that we face unique to our generation?  No, of course not.  The Bible is filled with stories of men, women, and children….rich and poor…that have already faced very similar (if not the exact same) situations themselves.  Rachel struggled for years to have a child.  At the Pool of Bethesda a man was burdened with a crippled body.  Ruth lost three sons and her husband.  Hosea had an unfaithful wife. The list of those that suffered then as we do today goes on and on.

It is difficult to think of suffering in the Bible without thinking of Job.  Job, who was so blameless that even God Himself mentioned his name as an example of righteousness.  The devil, with God’s permission, sought to prove that Job would turn on God during the midst trials.  At no fault of his own, Job was subjected, by satan, to a series of horrifying trials that adversely affected him in nearly every aspect of his existence.  Job was devastated.  He sat in rent clothes and dust and bemoaned his lot.  Never once, though, did he blame His God for what satan had done to him.  It is clear by all that is attributed to Job that his heart ached for the way his life used to be.

Job 3:  24-26

i.    “For sighing has become my daily food;

my groans pour out like water.

²⁵ What I feared has come upon me;

what I dreaded has happened to me.

²⁶ I have no peace, no quietness;

I have no rest, but only turmoil.”

I mention again, though, that Job sat.  He was careful not to blame God, but he also didn’t get up and do anything to rise above his situation.  But, understandably so.  In his place it is doubtful that any of us could have functioned even as well as he did.  Let us think a moment, though, of another person in the Bible that faced a series of trials that were not of his doing….a person that didn’t sit, but rather kept going honorably despite his circumstance:  Joseph.

Joseph, as you will recall, angered his brothers and piqued their jealousy by being father’s favorite and for being too young and naïve to sense to their feelings.  As a result of their distaste for Joseph, they tossed him into a pit and sold him into slavery.  Worse than that for Joseph was the knowledge that he was betrayed by those he would have previously claimed loved him.  At no fault of his own, he lost his home, his little brother, his possessions, his freedom, and decades of time with his beloved father. As if all of the events of his teen years were not bad enough, the years that followed found him imprisoned though he was guilty of no crime.  I wonder how many nights sweet Joseph slept on the ground in coarse clothing, his heart aching for the way things used to be.

(Joseph’s trials begin.)

Genesis 39 Now Joseph had been taken down to Egypt. Potiphar, an Egyptian who was one of Pharaoh’s officials, the captain of the guard, bought him from the Ishmaelites who had taken him there.

² The Lord was with Joseph so that he prospered, and he lived in the house of his Egyptian master. ³ When his master saw that the Lord was with him and that the Lord gave him success in everything he did, ⁴ Joseph found favor in his eyes and became his attendant. Potiphar put him in charge of his household, and he entrusted to his care everything he owned. ⁵ From the time he put him in charge of his household and of all that he owned, the Lord blessed the household of the Egyptian because of Joseph. The blessing of the Lord was on everything Potiphar had, both in the house and in the field. ⁶ So Potiphar left everything he had in Joseph’s care; with Joseph in charge, he did not concern himself with anything except the food he ate.

(Joseph’s trials continue.)

²⁰ Joseph’s master took him and put him in prison, the place where the king’s prisoners were confined.

But while Joseph was there in the prison, ²¹ the Lord was with him; he showed him kindness and granted him favor in the eyes of the prison warden. ²² So the warden put Joseph in charge of all those held in the prison, and he was made responsible for all that was done there. ²³ The warden paid no attention to anything under Joseph’s care, because the Lord was with Joseph and gave him success in whatever he did.

Had Joseph decided to give up and give into his pain…had he become bitter and without purpose, who could have blamed him.  But, that isn’t the account we are given.  Instead, no matter what happened to Joseph, no matter whose fault it was that he was hurting, Joseph rose above despair and DID something with his life to benefit himself and others by allowing God to work through him.

In Job’s situation, he justifiably groaned in pain.  Because he was careful not to accuse God, he was blessed for his faithfulness.  I can learn a great deal about not allowing myself to lash out and blame God in my pain from Job’s example.  But, it is in Joseph’s that I feel I can create a game plan for what to do to make the most of where I find myself instead of ripping my clothing and sitting in dust.  Those actions will not help me, nor benefit anyone else.  It is my hope that many of my friends and family can become inspired by Joseph as well.

While it is not going to be easy, many of us that are “Hurting for the Holidays” still have something of value we can share with others.  Some of you are living with once robust health that has been replaced in recent years with severe illness and disability.  It has brought a smile to my face hearing that you spend many hours each week making phone calls and writing letters to encourage others in pain.  You have made the most of your circumstance by helping your sisters and brothers in distress.

To those of you that I have watched deal with very sick children, please know that every effort you make for that child is noticed.  Oh, how I admire your strength!  You haven’t had a minute’s rest!  Even exhausted, you smile and make every moment as good as you can for your child…for your family.  I know it cannot be easy, but those around you marvel at how you handle each day…. How you treasure each second.  We care about what you are going through and notice how you squeeze the essence out of every good day to make the most of it for your child. You have a tough situation….yet, you are making the very best of it.

My friends and family that have been drug over briars in this recession:  I know your pain all too well.  Your fears echo in my mind.  The nights you have lost to concern about your future, you have not been alone.  I applaud you for your tenacity.  I have watched you as you have used your time and limited funds wisely.  I know the enormous effort you put in to the job application process and countless interviews…the days you also spent in volunteering in school and in church. I know, too, of your losses…possessions that had to be “thrown off the ship” in order to stay afloat.  It wasn’t easy, I know, to have to hit “restart”, but you did so with no complaint. I took note that in most cases, what you lost in material goods, you more than gained in spiritual and emotional treasures.  Your efforts, your conscious decision not to fall apart but to begin again, are to be commended.

Marriages and various family bonds have been strained in recent years, too.  Many of you reached out to pray and to ask for prayer.  Your choice not to give up…not to just walk away…but rather to let the wounded emotions slowly heal as you await God’s timing for a reconciliation is a testament to your character and to your ability to humble yourself before the Lord.  I have watched, too, you reach out to others in similar circumstance with dinner invitations, encouraging cards, and shoulders to lean on.  Your insistence on keeping it together for yourself, while benefiting others is inspiring.

We read of Joseph, how he took each seemingly bad circumstance and served the people about him with honor, in a Godly manner.  Because of his efforts, he was blessed and those affected by him were benefited.  I have seen many Josephs over the past few years.  When I thought your burdens would take you to the ground, you stood, gave thanks to God, put a smile on your face, rolled up your sleeves, and cared for someone else’s needs.  Truly the best way to ease the fire of our pain is to smother it with the blanket we are using comfort others.  I have seen this with you.

For my friends and family that are not quite ready to lift from the dust of despair.  Please, please do not think what you are experiencing is too horrible, too complete, too overwhelming to permit you to overcome it.  Think of those before you that have been able to find healing in the days, weeks, years following a series of especially difficult trials:  Corrie Ten Boon, Darlene Keebler Rose, Nick Vujicic, Horatio Spafford, and many more.  As quoted in The Edge, “What one man can do, another can do.”  With God’s help, you too can have hope for a better future.

I have said ALL of the above, to say this once again…..  “I know that you are ‘Hurting for the Holidays’” and “I care that you are in pain.”  God is giving, and will continue to give you the strength you need to get through your trials.  Your acceptance of the offer of His hand and your offer of an outstretched hand to others is a glorious thing to behold.

I wish you a Merry Christmas and a 2014 full of blessings from the Lord and a time of rest and healing.  May we all find more pleasure in the days God has given us, and have fewer longings for “the way it used to be.”

With Love,

Marlene

2 Corinthians 4:16-18 So we do not lose heart. Though our outer self is wasting away, our inner self is being renewed day by day. For this light momentary affliction is preparing for us an eternal weight of glory beyond all comparison, as we look not to the things that are seen but to the things that are unseen. For the things that are seen are transient, but the things that are unseen are eternal.

Christian Charity At Work

A few years ago, I shared a message about Christian charity with the children of Beaver Creek Baptist Church.

   Click Here for Video:    Christian Charity At Work

Wintertime Whisperings

                      Wintertime Whisperings
                                                     ~For Tramway Elementary 3rd Graders~

 I am a DixieDingo.  As such, I am accustomed to and appreciate the way our southern summer season spills beyond its borders.  I like the fact that temperate mornings, hot middays, and sultry evenings mark most of our days from May to November.  In fact, if it weren’t for the brilliant color change of the leaves, I would scarcely recognize the arrival of fall.  But winter, when it comes, I notice right away.  It seems to arrive overnight.  One toasty afternoon I’m frolicking with Daddy in the yard; the next morning I awake to a sharp nip in the air that takes my doggy breath away. While the day before seemed filled with light, the one that follows turns to twilight just hours after sunrise!   It takes me a few days to fully accept the reality that warm weather and long days have been fully replaced by cold and darkness.

            But, you know me; I always look for the upside to everything.  Despite my initial reluctance, I have to admit winter has its pleasant aspects.  While I love the rich hues of the foliage, grasses, and flowers of summer; there is a striking beauty to the stark leafless braches etched across an overcast sky.  Even the now barren park takes on a certain charm when the landscape is dotted by people wearing the bright colors of coats, mittens, and scarves.

            And, no one can deny the splendor of a clear night sky in wintertime.  Is it just me, or do the stars sparkle with more brilliance this time of year?  Dingoes are often called, “upside down dingoes,” and it is from this perspective that I take in this spectacular view.  I can get so lost in the Milky Way that I forget the frigid temperature for a while.

            It is also on these clear, cold nights that I realize that even sound is more crystal clear.  I enjoy hearing the train as it rumbles trough Cameron miles away from me.  I close my eyes and try to imagine who might be traveling this night and to where.  I wonder if there is a little doggy like myself going on an adventure with his or her people.  I smile when I picture them all cozy in their boxcars.

            The low temperature of winter is not my favorite.  While I am not a fan of the frost-covered fur, I do like the way mama’s warm puffy coat envelops my whole body when she hugs me.  And, nothing is as relaxing as being curled up beside a crackling fire.  Surely dingoes in this region have sought out spots beside human hearths for thousands of years, napping in comfort and companionship.  Early explorers in this area noted the presence of my canine ancestors in the camps of Native Americans here.  No wonder I love people so; they have always shared their love and warmth with my family!

            Wintertime even boasts its own wonderful smells and tastes.  I can’t explain it, but I love the smell of smoke curling off a burning pile of leaves or billowing out of a chimney.  It has that homey, rustic kind of scent.  My people smell good, too.  I’ve noticed that Mama smells of holiday candles and fresh cedar lately.  I like that!  Brother Tommy and Cousin Cody have the scent of Christmas cookies on their breath.  I especially like that smell when they share.  After all, cookie breath is best when I’m the one that has it.  The glorious tastes of the season include not only baked goods, but the scrumptious meat scraps that inevitably follow big family get-togethers.  I’m smiling, and drooling, just thinking about it.

            No commentary on winter would be complete without reference to frozen precipitation.  I love to pounce and snow is the perfect substance for that activity.  Not to mention how it can transform a brown, bare landscape into a magical wonderland in just a few hours.  I am even mesmerized by the beauty left in the wake of a freezing rain.  I am able to appreciate all this, of course, because I cannot drive.

  Mama says she counts the first daffodil she sees every year as her “herald of springtime.”  Admittedly, I plan to help her keep a lookout for one.  But, for now, I am content to concentrate on the unique experiences of this time of year and embrace them.  Summertime shouts, “Enjoy life!”  Wintertime whispers it, but I hear it just the same.

Define "Good"

                         Define “Good”

                        ~Christmas 2011 for Tramway Elementary 3rd graders~

              Right this minute, at the North Pole, the elves are putting the finishing touches on my toys.  Their busy little hands select the most delicious treats for my stocking.  A red and gold sleigh is carefully being loaded with innumerable goodies.  The very thought of their activities makes me giddy with excitement!  There is, however, one activity going on up North that honestly has me a little nervous.  I get butterflies when I think of it:  Santa checking his list not once, but twice, for who has and who has not been good.

             Don’t get me wrong, I want to be good.  I try really hard to be good.  Many, many times I actually am good.  I wish I could say that I am always good.  In fact, no other time of year do I wish this more sincerely than in December.  

            For the past few weeks, I’ve racked my brain trying to recall all my past deeds.  I frown when I think of the times I’ve been naughty.  I get warm and fuzzy all over when I think of the times I’ve been nice.  While I feel certain the nice far outweighs the naughty, it could be that I’m inclined to be too lenient with myself.  I cannot be certain that Santa will be quite so indulgent.

             For example, yes I know that trying to pounce on my granny’s cat, Pete, could be judged as wrong in Granny’s eyes; however, Pete doesn’t always have the best social skills himself.  I think Pete had it coming.  Perhaps Pete has benefited from being taken down a notch or two.  So, would Santa see things Granny’s way, my way, or Pete’s way?  At the time I felt I was in the right, now I’m not too sure.

             And then there was the little incident with Cousin Cody’s elbow.  I was a little excited that he went with Mama and me on our walk at the park.  Despite being told repeatedly not to jump up and grab his arm, I just kept doing it until my teeth pinched him a bit.  Cody said it didn’t hurt, but Mama was disappointed in my “choice.”  I’m pretty sure Santa won’t be happy about it either.

             But, then there are the times I make good “choices.”  Like letting men and women I’ve never met before pet my head without offering the slightest resistance.  I always give people the benefit of the doubt.  I treat them as friends from the moment I meet them.  Surely Santa smiles on this.

             Other times that I am nice include when I sit on the bench at the park with Mama because she’s tired when what I really want to do is run, run, run!  I love on Mama and sit on her lap.  She smiles and laughs so I know it does her a world of good.  Wouldn’t Santa count this in my favor?

             The holidays are a magical time of year.  I see wonderment all around me.  Approaching winter has caused the pecan trees in the park to rain down treasure for us to find.  The shops in Cameron glow with Christmas nostalgia and customers.  The streets of Sanford sport beautiful holiday decorations.  People generously lavish each other with gifts.  Children’s spirits are light and filled with happy expectations.  I am swept up in excitement of it all.  It is just too difficult not to give into optimism!

             So, Santa, here’s hoping you put more checks in my nice column than in my naughty column on your list.  This is one little dingo that is looking forward to your visit!  I didn’t get to sit on your lap this year, but I hope you got my letter.  I really need more chew toys, a ruby necklace, bones, cookies, blankets, a ball, a flying disc, a minute alone with Pete…….

Mama’s Notes:  Ruby has basically been a good girl.  I fully expect Santa to visit her on Christmas Eve.  She makes mistakes now and then just like we all do.  But, her love, her joy, and her smile more than make up for her occasional episodes of mischief. 

Eleventh Hour Rescue

  

                   Eleventh Hour Rescue

~Written for the 3rd grade students of Tramway Elementary

There I was... on Halloween night, sitting in a crowded animal shelter in the eastern part of the state.  I had no name.  I had no family.  Even worse, from what I was hearing, I was running out of time.

A shelter volunteer took pity on me and many of my cellmates and placed our pictures and a plea for help on an internet site.  She hoped to find families for us before our time was up.  It seemed like a long shot, but I had nothing to lose by trying.

 Just by chance, my future mother was miles away on that very night searching the internet for an American Dingo to join her family.  She happened across my picture and read of my urgent need for a home.  Mama tells me she was “smitten” when she saw me!

My mother quickly emailed the volunteer who got her in touch with another volunteer that offered to rescue me from the shelter for her; however, the day she was to get me, a local Humane society picked me up and took me away!  Mama was heartbroken.  She was glad that I was safe, but sad I wasn’t going home with her.  So sad, in fact, that she began sending out emails trying to locate me again.  With the help of several people she was able to track me down.

Within a few days, I was on my way to meet her, my new daddy and brother, granny and grandpa, aunts, uncles, and cousins!  I saw my new home.  I saw my new yard! I saw birds, grass, trees, sky, and water.  I felt the indescribable joy of freedom.  I could run anywhere that I wanted to, but found that I liked it best when I was beside my new family and being smothered with kisses and hugs.  I even got my own name finally…..Ruby!

My days began to be filled with happiness and love and long walks in the park.  Thinking back, it was hard to believe that just a week before, I was a nameless, homeless dingo with only hours left on this earth.

If you think that it looks like I’m smiling in my pictures, you would be correct. I smile because someone took the time to help me find a family and I smile because that family took the time to find me.

Mama’s Notes:  The American Dingo is also known as the Carolina Dog and the Yaller Dog.  These Southeastern United States pariah dogs have been studied in great depth for the past forty years.  Their history extends back thousands of years and connects them to primitive canine relatives throughout the world.  They may have even arrived in America via the Bering Land Bridge.  Despite their “wild” dingo look, their intelligence and loyalty make them excellent family pets.