I arrived to today’s topic by several paths. One is a pronouncement I made after moving to a smaller house.  No gifts that require display space, or hang on walls, or fill bookshelves.  My plan is not to leave sorting requirements to my heirs.  Sideways, another  path is my continued digging in Spanish.  Like many an 9th grader, one year of Spanish was enough for me because I didn’t like the teacher.  (Consider this a belated apology.) After going to Peru, I started doing little bits, and what I really do well with is cognates – words that tie to another language’s word.  Not really close, yet regalo meaning gift made sense to me – something regal and special. Then I thought of what around me is a delight because of matching what I am, or its amazing usefulness, or just being quirky enough to bring a smile.

The matching me gift is a two plant greenery that was sent three years ago after David’s death.  It was from a teaching friend with a card that said, “I know you like things that grow.”  It just fit on the corner rim of my bathtub and has created a daily spa atmosphere. The amazing usefulness gift is the yellow plastic.  My son drawn to gadgets saw this on a TV ad.  It helps pop vacuum lids on various jars.  It is a real boon for arthritic older hands. Though not used daily, I still reach for it several times a week.   The quirky take on a strawberry appeared in the lunch box of a tutoring student.  She would place the prongs over the hull, push down the green stem, pull up and have a strawberry ready to pop into a waiting mouth. I thought it would be useful.  For me, a knife works better, but I smile every time I open the drawer.  

The best part of these mentioned is the call to mind of the giver as I notice or reach out to use.  So it is with my day of gratitude.  I live in a neighborhood of easy outdoor walking, I have children on the block to visit with even if six feet away, my needs are easily met, and daily, my health is still a gift.  All of these were provided by the One who has known me before I was born, who has provided the desires of my heart, and who gives the surprises that create joy in my day.

Every good gift and every perfect gift is from above and comes down from the Father of lights.  James 1:17

A real truth is all of us are different, thank goodness.  Some of us see more problems than solutions.  Some forge ahead, maybe causing confusion, yet feeling better for making progress.  Some whine, and some find rainbows. In history, times have been demanding, and some have survived:  God’s intervention, blind luck, grit and determination. My hold on to is my daddy’s life.  He was born in 1894 in Zwolle, an almost town in Sabine Parish near the Texas border.  Stories abound.  I just want to share barebones, and you review your history or your right now and find the hand holds that today needs.

Zowelle was about as backwater as one could get.  The family was four boys and three girls.  The mother and two girls died in the 1904 flue epidemic and the last sister in 1912.. Sabine Parish had no high school, which began in 8th grade at that time, so Joe went to DeSoto parish taking his 8 year old brother with him.  He milked cows to pay for their room and board. When he went to LSU, Horace came along and went to the lab school. Joe had a job as a waiter in the cafeteria.

The decades of the twenties and thirties were up and down – maybe more down.  He served in WWI, came back, married.  He managed to go back to LSU and get a Master’s Degree in Agriculture.  I roamed the stacks of LSU library and found his thesis. Through the Depression, he and my mother moved four times as schools where he was principal failed.  There was the flood of 1927 that wipe out belongings and a fire that was the only incident my mother would never talk about. A dear story is Horace’s illness after a botched appendectomy and how the family cared for him over distances and time until he died. Finally they came with me to Southeastern College in Hammond.  We rode out WWII with rationing and no car.  The salary wasn’t much, but “payment in kind ” was part of the package, so we always had meat and a vegetable garden.  After his retirement at 65, he worked at a sporting good store to earn enough quarters for Social Security.

What do I distill from this life?  You might as well be truthful about hard times.  I know these stories because they were interspersed with tales of joyful occasions. Make a budget.  Not having the money was never taken as failure.  We could or could not do whatever depending on cash on hand. Keep family ties strong. Even if long distance calls cost, Sunday nights were a time to check in and family visits took precedence over all trips. Do good to others as you can.  The Homer story will take a full blog.  Less long are memories of meals, a place to stay, an offer of time to help. Joseph Alfred Wedgeworth took what life offered, dealt with what came as was needed, trusted God to be with him, and left a shining inheritance.

If a man dies and has no son, he shall cause his inheritance to pass to his daughter.

Numbers 27: 8

and the next word is “helps.”  I believe because I am of the generation who carefully peeled aluminum foil from gum wrappers, rolled into balls, and turned in for the “war effort.”  In 1948, thousands of Texas school children donated nickels and dimes to moor the Battleship Texas near San Jacinto Park.  Granted it recently was moved on for one more reconstruction, but it wouldn’t have reached this point without help half a century ago. So, in the backwaters of this virus, volunteers are doing their part to help, unbeknownst to most and only a sentence in a paragraph as recognition.

Let’s start with me.  Like most of us, I am very aware of food and financial crisis, more than any one person can solve.  Our church, though, offered to take part in a larger effort to make masks to hand out to whoever needed one.  Sure, I can do that.  I have a sewing machine, years of experience, and another group was doing the little bit of cutting and delivering.  Well, it turned out to be a nine step process that took longer than I planned.  I finished my thirty-five yesterday.  The grand total, though, was 10,000 from me and a few others.

In various places, volunteers have put on their masks, gone out in public, and contributed their efforts.  Some have sorted cans for a food panty while others have stood behind card tables at a drive through delivery of that food.  Being paid does not make any easier the task of teachers moving into a new mode of educating children who have been thrown into a new way of learning. As her gift, my cross the street 6th grade neighbor spent all afternoon drawing pictures and writing encouraging words in the street for passing cars to read.  Blessings on the meme creators who in the midst of a stressful day cause me to laugh.

In the mix are those who write notes, send e-mails, and encourage those who can’t be with quarantined loved ones. This doesn’t even touch those who by their professions have given more than a little bit.  Their dedication and efforts have saved lives and, hopefully, bought containment time while other search for a vaccine. If we all served alike, many tasks, large and small, would be left undone.  And thirty five people would be maskless without me. Find your bit!

^” But that doesn’t mean you should all look and speak and act the same. Out of the generosity of Christ, each of us is given his own gift. ” Ephesians 4:11 The Message

Back in the far reaches of your mind is a small almost atrophied brain cell holding a memory of “The Lady or the Tiger”  Do you remember now? It’s the one where the prisoner must choose a door to open.  Behind one door is a tiger ready to spring. The other door if chosen correctly will reveal a beautiful woman.  At that point the story ends and an adept English teacher would start a what will happen next discussion. A satisfactory solution has never been reached.  That reminds me of this week.  In some places by various orders life will be resumed in some form.  Whether that proves a good decision or not remains to be seen.  So, just crack your door and consider.

I feel a little like our cat Ferdinand as a kitten.  An open door was a call to freedom.  Once    out,

danger lurked and people were calling his name, and he would end up climbing a tree for safety.  If I wear a mask, options are available. I can eat out in some places instead of pick up if I still distance myself.  Maybe I can go to Walgreen’s or Office Depot. After all they have been texting me daily so I will know what deals I am missing. I keep thinking, there are no guarantees. So, I’ll just cautiously go for my usual walk and let some one else experiment.

Life needs us to be in the midst of it  Various workers will prepare themselves and return to a sanitized office. Any chance of a paycheck for some will over ride that fear of infection. Stress and unknown still exist for children and school and who will care for them if both parents work. Knocks on the door and a call to open up come from many sources.  Only one I trust.

Behold, I stand at the door and knock; if anyone hears my voice and opens the door I will come in to him and eat with him and he with me.  Revelation 3:20

You do realize this could go on forever.  A gentle reader’s response to last week was about his perceived idea of Louisiana fare, and he felt some favorites were left out. This won’t make amends, but will broaden the base.  Noted, in my family of origin, the one I joined by marriage, and the six individuals that comprise our core now, food is an engaging topic. The meal of the moment is prime focus sprinkled with memories of past successes and suggestions for the future.

First, like most states, Louisiana has a variety.  North Louisiana had dirt farmers living o garden fare.  The ankle of the boot nearest Mississippi had “soul food” with maybe a coon thrown in after a night of hunting in the Catahoula Swamps. I grew up in the Florida Parishes, a mixture of Spain from the east and creole from the west.  We had Italian settlers with St. Joseph altars and spreads laid out as thanksgiving for deliverance from famine. Do your own drooling over New Orleans favorites before moving to the Atchafalaya Swamp with maybe an alligator added to the mix. I didn’t know what a brisket was until I moved to Texas, but I knew how to cook a venison backstrap.

The question was asked about coffee, obviously not by a local.  Tea was offered only iced.  The choices were sweetened or not. I had my first cup of coffee when I was seven and at home with the flu. Dr. Gautreaux made a house call. After he listened to my chest, we sat around the kitchen table.  “Give that child a cup; it’ll loosen that cough.” Our house wasn’t a chickory fan.  Community Dark Roast was made in an eight cup drip pot that was always on the stove. Mother boiled water in kettle and poured it in the top over the grounds a cup at a time.  It was then heated before serving.  Lukewarm coffee was an anathema to hard core drinkers, good only for pouring down the sink and trying again.

The discussion could go on.  Would that I could hear each of you tell your favorite, your “comfort food” that brings the warmth of smells and taste, and the sounds of convivial laughter. Three courses or a bowl of soup, coq au vin or cinnamon toast, each creates longing for the being together where and with whom it was served.  The Israelites were rescued from slavery, drudgery, and lashings.  Yet, all was forgotten for what they remembered of Egypt.

Would we have died by the hand of the Lord in the land of Egypt, when we sat by the fleshpots and ate bread to the full.  Exodus 16:3

There’s not a way to spell the syllables to make “met” and “me” rhyme.  The sentence though is the story of my food career, and I owe it all to my mother.  She spent her whole life with what to cook was either grown in the back yard or raised in the back pasture. The offerings were to be seasoned with salt, pepper, onions, garlic, and bacon grease.  The bacon grease was generational and sat on the back corner of the Chambers range in a stainless steel special can with a sieve to catch brown bits and a lid to protect from dust.  In case there is a cardiologist among you, she lived to 101 1/2 and my dad to 96 on this diet and did not die of heart problems.

Mother’s first dictum was to have plenty.  She was raised in Mississippi by a widowed grandmother who still had four sons living at home.  Meals were mashed potatoes or rice, vegetable of the season – always fresh – , and a variety of meat from animals killed locally, caught, or hunted.  Hot bread was part of most meals as rolls, biscuits, or cornbread.  We’ll discuss dessert later. My dad was an ag teacher and had scholarship boys who had to stay on campus even if all else was closed. It the cafeteria wasn’t serving, our house was. The most heard phrase was, “Would you have some more….?”

Dessert came in six choices:  two pies, two cobblers, and two cakes.  Apples pie was number one, of course.  Close behind was lemon meringue, my favorite.  Cobblers with biscuit dough to absorb juice were peach and blackberry made in a large iron Dutch oven I still have.  Maybe the cakes were three.  A chocolate and an oatmeal sheet cake and one that appeared only for SPECIAL occasions, so I almost forgot it.  It was three layers of a white cake mix with 7 minute icing – no mean feat- and coconut pressed into the top and sides.

I learned by watching and absorbing.  Mother knew how to plan time and what she wanted to happen, and she couldn’t guarantee I would do it correctly.  I was given the task of setting the table and be ready to “Put this on” when the command was given.  No matter who was there, the meal didn’t begin until all were seated, and she pronounced, “Now, honey.” Breakfast was more individual, but for two meals a day, my dad would offer, “Thank you for the food we eat and the hands that prepared it.  Bless it to our bodies and us to thy service.”

I may have gone beyond her recipes, but for a foundation I can make rolls and a blue ribbon peach cobbler. Basically, I want plenty to go around that a table full of men would enjoy.

She rises early while it is yet night and provides food for her household.

Provides 31:15

A story I heard maybe in my college days.  I have no idea if it is true, but I would like to believe it is.  I can envision the scene and would like my voice to be in the response.

In the days when the Russian government was closing down churches and declaring religion to be inferior to the state, the leaders held an assembly in one town.  On the podium were Communist leaders and the local priest of the Orthodox church.  After the Communist had made his speech about churches no longer being open, he called the priest to the podium to announce the closing of the church in that town.  The priest walked to the podium, raised his hands, and his voice rang out.  “Christ is Risen!” The crowd arose and with one voice responded.  “He is risen indeed.  Hallelujah.”

Therefore God has highly exalted him and given him  the name that is above every name, that at the name of Jesus every knee should bow, in heaven and on earth and under the earth, and tongue confess that Jesus Christ is Lord, to the glory of God the Father.   Philippians 2:10 – 11

 

You know what the grumpy cat looks like. He is cocooned in his blanket, nose barely out, and determined not to face what Monday demands.  I didn’t plan on starting that way.  I rose with a determined list, much like one you probably have.  I would have breakfast and look at the parts of the paper I could live with.  My daily Mini Crossword – maybe a whole blog on that – would wake up my mind. Like you who work from home or even keep a home running from where you are, I started the process of washing sheets and cleaning kitchen counters.  I had one issue to tend to and would go forth for a morning walk.

Disruption began with a small crack in the wall.  The CPA wrote he thought he had figured out why the IRS has disliked me to the point of not paying for two years.  Hooray for that.  However it involved putting all on hold while I dug around and contacted third parties to find papers that would validate the claim. Like dominoes waiting to fall, steps two and three are on hold until step one reports back.  Scratch the walk.

John Donne wrote, “No man is an island.” Being sheltered in place for me does not mean I have become invisible.  I had a plan for the week about contacts I wanted to make in an acceptable manner. You know, be a helper.  Someone decided they wanted to revise and expand that plan, and suddenly I had a deadline. All morning I have shifted file cards:  call person A, respond to e-mail B, search for the piece of paper from 2018. Whoops, listen to the voice mail.

Now it is a day half gone.  Thank goodness! Thomas Moore, the 20th century priest, uses the word re-collect as that time to draw back all that has been scattered. I have taken this time to look at where I am, and how you have been a help by listening visually. I have a good story next week about my mother and me and cooking.  Our pastor has a devotion I can join at noon. A tasty left over awaits for lunch.  And, tomorrow is Tuesday.

 I have made myself calm and content like a young child in its mother’s arms. Deep down inside me, I am as content as a young child. Psalm 131:2 

On one hand, my age puts me in the get the virus, move to pneumonia and no more worries stage.  On the other hand, I am responsible for only me, enjoy cooking, am in good health, considering, and live only a door away from the outdoors. Walking at a leisurely pace is my exercise of choice. I did try to rev up to the 10,000 steps a day at the first of all this spare time.  Three days and my body spoke loud and clearly, “What are you thinking of?” Now I have a moment of thankfulness that I am not in a residential home lock down and clock around the block or its equivalent four times a day as enough to stir the blood, as husband David used to say.

Outside with purpose opens more than a wooden door.  Speaking contact with people is readily available.  One family with three children on bikes and a jogging dad speak or wave a hand as they pass.  The nanny of a preschooler down the street brings him and his snack to have a morning break at my Little Free Library bench.  From the 6 feet requirement he and I discussed the literary merit of Learn Your Colors. A teenager I don’t know evidently had mowing the lawn added to his free time.  His mother sat on the house steps to evaluate the process. Oh, I could use an Identify Your Dog book. Big ones, little ones, voiced trained, and on a leash.  When had they all been walked three weeks ago?

If I am the only one out, there is still that amazing varied nature.  I need to be careful not to trip, so I watch my feet and the roots.  Oak trees reaching out can raise a sidewalk and evidently will continue to do so.  A crepe myrtle spreads to the side or underground to appear like a snake across a yard.  House to house the yards can be divided into those cared for with colorful beds or free growing ones that have never known an edger.  Motion of leaves and a slight sound come from March breezes or winds, depending on the day.

In other places, workers without my blessing of time choices are rushing, saving lives, holding danger at bay.  I wish I could offer them a reprieve, Just a moment to notice that spring has come again, that dogs chase squirrels, that children squeal at the flight of a butterfly. Even where we are now, signs of the Creator still point to love and care. I chose a song this week and found there is no way I have the skill to add a link to open. Select your favorite from various This is My Father’s World offerings. I found one from Cedarmont Kids Praise Music Video where the pictures give vistas  leading to the words “ne’er forget that though the wrong seems, oh, so strong, God is the ruler yet.”

 

 

 

 

 

 

I don’t want to minimize any of the current disaster; however, choose what you want to know.  I almost didn’t write this week.  (Gasp!) Every medical personal, judicial decider, educational expert, economic guru, psycological adviser, meditation expert, and even an interior decorator have a piece in the morning paper to provide important information to re-explain the dangers and offer suggestions on how to survive. A few of them contradict each other.  So, how do you react?

Last night was the overwhelming fear night. I have a good friend, home from her job, with two elementary students not in school.  Her doctor husband goes forth to deal with what an emergency facility demands of him.  The daily decision is whether his life is in danger or whether he is bringing danger home with him. You may match that with your own story that is breath catching.

At some point the demands and problems change to just me and my reactions.  Money is less than I might need to meet what life wants:  food especially and a few entertaining moments. The tipping point for me is no flour in the grocery story.  Come on, are all these stay home people taking up baking bread.

See what is happening?  Introspection can lead to being selfish and sarcastic. I need to refocus.  The word is STOP! By next week all that upsets me may still exist, yet I am going to move on.  I have a word to share on little yellow flowers in the front yard, and maybe a report on children’s sidewalk art.  I’ve started a pandemic diary because putting words on paper forces me to sift wheat from chaff. I promise to pull up my bootstraps and carry on…..and to check on you if you need the cheery person I plan on becoming.

Therefore do not be anxious about tomorrow, for tomorrow will be anxious for itself. Matthew 6:34