Letter From God

(I wrote this a few years ago for my 5th Grade Sunday School class at the time.)


Dear Beloved,

Do you know how much I love you? I have loved you since before you were born. I loved you when I formed you in the womb of your mother.

I love you so much that I will never leave you nor forsake you. Do not be afraid, my child, for I am always with you. My love for you endures forever.

Do not lose heart if I rebuke you, because I love you as my child and what father does not discipline the son he loves?

Remember, I am love. And if you live in love you will live in me and I in you. You do not need to be fearful, because perfect love will take away your fear.

So love one another, my child, just as I love you. Love your neighbor as yourself. And if you love me, also love your brother.

And because I love you so much I sent my one and only Son, that if you believe in me, you will not perish, but have eternal life.

Love, God

When I Grow Old....

I recently watched a sweet movie with Betty White entitled "The Lost Valentine." The actress plays a young  bride whose husband is sent off to war. His plane is shot down and he is MIA. The young woman is expecting her first child. She never remarries, but goes on with her life, always returning to the train station each Valentine's Day where she last saw the man she loved.

I know it's a cliche, but I'm a hopeless romantic. I love movies like this, even though real life is seldom as syrupy-sweet as the plot in a Hallmark movie.

When I grow old... I want to be like Betty White.
I want to live life to the fullest.
I want to smile and show my (make-believe) dimples.
I want to laugh heartily and always know what to say.

When I grow old.... I want to be the center of attention
When I blow out the candles on my birthday cake.
I want to wear the color red
And never leave home without my lipstick.

When I grow old ....I want to have lunch with friends
Where we can talk about anything
Except our aches and pains
And the medications the doctor prescribed

When I grow old ....I want to spend time
With my grandchildren as much as I can;
Entertain them with stories and jokes
And love them unconditionally

When I grow old ....I want to keep on learning
And work the daily crossword puzzle in the newspaper;
Keep up with current affairs
And vote on Election Day.

When I grow old... I want to be on good terms with God
And hope that he remembers me,
So when it's time for me to go
He'll be there to welcome me home
When I grow old.

(c) Anita M. Ashworth 2011

Amazing Grace

"Amazing Grace, how sweet the sound,

That saved a wretch like me....

I once was lost but now am found,

Was blind, but now, I see.

My prayer list for January was long. I mentioned it in an earlier blog post. But today I am writing about  answered prayers.

My sister B. had her corneal transplant surgery yesterday. When the doctor removed the bandage from her eye, she was shocked. She could actually see the eye chart and make out the letters for the first time in years. My other sister, C. and I were both teary-eyed to see results this soon. My sister, who is several years younger than me, has had numerous eye surgeries through the years, starting when she was an infant. She was the kid in school with the thick glasses that everyone made fun of. She was the child bumping into things and falling down because of her poor eyesignt. She could never pass the eye exam to get her driver's license and was considered legally blind. B. worked as a Nursing assistant for years and had to quit work because of her eyesignt. So to have some of her vision restored is a miracle indeed.

My sister has the information about the donor. We read it, but she doesn't know the contents of the letter, only that it was a young woman who donated her cornea.  I feel like that young woman gave a gift of sight to my sister and I hope that God blesses her family with peace.

Amazing grace indeed!

Changes

My daughter's house is almost finished. She talked to her Realtor and it looks like she may be ready to close within six weeks. We've been shopping for appliances and housewares. It's fun shopping for a new home, but there are things that I'm going to miss once she and my grandson move out.

No more little feet running to meet me at the door with a big grin and wrapping his little arms around me. "Maw-maw's home!" It makes me feel like a rock star to be given such treatment.

I'm going to miss having a little boy's room in my house, even with toys scattered about. And I'll miss folding his little jeans and screen-printed pajamas, which even a two-year old has favorites. I'll miss the beating of the drum set, stepping over the Legos, and  Buzz Light Year, "From here to infinity!" Can you say that I'll miss "Toy Story" (1,2, & 3). I'll miss playing hide-and-seek, but I can't say that I'll miss all the piggy back rides...there is a limit as to what this middle-aged body can do.

But I will miss my daughter's company and staying up late on a weekend, watching a movie and eating popcorn, even though most of the time we fall fast asleep on the sofa and loveseat.
I'll miss the smell of dinner already cooked when I come home, and groceries already picked up from the store.

Yes, my house has been a little crowded and a little messy with my daughter and her son living here, but I have survived. A new home will be exciting for her, and I'll have them come over on Friday nights, when we can stay up late and watch movies, eat popcorn and listen to Buzz Light Year, "From here to infinity!"

A Mother and Her Son

Here is one of my favorite childhood poems, from a Scholastic book of poetry, now old and yellowed, and here is the pencil drawing I made of Abe Lincoln. I couldn't believe that I saved both all of these years. I still love Poetry, and the beauty of language, and wonder whether children still read and memorize poems in school, such as "Nancy Hanks."

"Nancy Hanks"     by RoseMary Benet

If Nancy Hanks
came back as a ghost,
Seeking news of
what she loved most,
She'd ask first,
"Where's my son?
What's happened to Abe?
What's he done?

"Poor little Abe
Left alone
Except for Tom,
Who's a rolling stone;
He was only nine
The year I died.
I remember still
How hard he cried.

"Scraping along
In a little shack,
With hardly a shirt
To cover his back,
And a prairie wind
To blow him down,
Or pinching times
If he went to town.

"You wouldn't know
About my son?
Did he grow tall?
Did he have fun?
Did he learn to read?
Did he get to town?
Do you know his name?
Did he get on?"

Down a Country Road

 Snow never stays on the ground this long in the South.

It's been a week since the big snowfall of 2011.

Barn scenes are my favorite.

A snow-covered bridge

On heading home, a beautiful sunset. Icing on the cake.

The Beginning of Days

How many days has it been?

How many months?

How many years?

And yet it seems like only yesterday

that you were here

But time has sped by, raced ahead

to fill the empty spaces you left behind

The days have passed into months

The months have passed into years

Like small streams that run into rivers

and empty into the ocean

of our collective sorrows

And days accumulate into Time

And Time is a balm 

like bread to the hungry

and water to the thirsty

Time nourishes our broken heart

By counting the days behind us

When finally, there are so many

We no longer feel the fresh pain

of the beginning of days

(c) Anita M. Ashworth 2011

Daughters

My youngest daughter celebrated her 28th birthday today. It seems like only yesterday when she was born during an icy winter storm in, of all places, El Paso, Texas. We had just moved there two months before, returning from a three year military tour in Germany.
28 years. Where did the time go?
My youngest was always a Mama's girl. She stuck to me like glue when she was little, but became a little social butterfly once she started school.
She loved her naptimes. I would pick her up from school and she was still rubbing the sleepiness out of her eyes. Even in high school, she would come home in the afternoons and take a little nap.
Now, as a full-time mother of two, she could definitely use a nap every now and then, especially with baby #3 on the way.
But she loves being a Mommy. She wouldn't have it any other way.

God bless all of our daughters.

A Child's Manger

My two- year old grandson has been fascinated with my little manger. When I first put it on display he would constantly rotate the figurines around. I let him play with my child-size Nativity, and so far he hasn't broken any of the characters. He was curious. He'd bring them to me, one by one, and ask,
"What is this?"
"The Wise Man."
"What is this?"
"The shepherd boy."
What is this?"
"Mary, Jesus' Mommy."
"What is this?" he asked, as he carried the tiny Jesus, cupped in his little hand.
"Baby Jesus."

But today took the cake. He put one of the Wise Man in his toy police car. I wish that I had taken a picture:).

Merry Christmas!

Going Where?

My daughter shared this cute story about my six-year old granddaughter on her Facebook page.

Erika was reading the Nativity story to her little sister. My daughter laughed when she heard her read about Mary and Joseph and how  "they had to travel to Birmingham".

It made me smile.

Trees of Christmases Past

This was our Christmas tree from 1980. We were living in Germany. My oldest was seven months old, so this was her very first Christmas. We only had one car at the time, so I was a real stay-at-home Mom. I learned how to sew and crochet and made these homemade ornaments just in time for Christmas. I missed my family, but we made some good friends in our apartment building.

This was Christmas 1986. My youngest daughter (pictured here) was four years old. Our living room was warm and cozy, and I especially loved the stone fireplace in our little rental house.

We had moved into our new house by the time this picture was taken in the late 1980's. I was in a country decorating phase. Notice the ruffled curtains in the background. Even if I don't write on the back of my photos I can identify the time period by the decor.

I think that this one was taken the following year (same curtains).

My Victorian Christmas tree.

Christmas at my mother's house. Our family always got together on Christmas Eve. She would make her famous Potato Salad and Bratwurst, along with assorted cold cuts and rye bread. There was always a Stollen, a traditional German bread, and of course, Christmas cookies.

Christmas, 2005

I paid $5.00 for this little tree on clearance the year before.

An old-fashioned Christmas tree, 2009.  

The Other Wise Man

From my postcard collection

One of my favorite Christmas stories is "The Story of the Other Wise Man" by Henry Van Dyke. I first read this story many, many years ago when my parents bought me a small book of short works by this Presbyterian minister. I had no idea who he was, but I loved the stories in this little pocket-sized book.
Artaban, the fourth Magi, is a man of forty when he begins his quest to find the Messiah, the King of the Jews. For years he is on this journey, but his travels do not bring him any closer to his King. Instead, he uses his wealth to feed the hungry, to heal the sick, and clothe the naked. The jewels that he had set aside for the Messiah are used to help ordinary people in need. Many years pass by, and Artaban is now an old man. He has yet to see the face of his King,  Finally, thirty-three years from the time he began his quest, he meets his King.

"Three-and- thirty years have I looked for thee; but I have never seen thy face, nor ministered to thee, my King."

And Artaban hears the words from his King, faint and far away:

"Verily I say unto thee, Inasmuch as thou hast done it unto one of the least of these my brethren, thou hast done it unto me."

He had found Him, at last.

Blessings,

A Long-Ago Christmas

During the first six years of my life I lived in Germany with "Oma," which is what I called my grandmother. We lived in a tiny, picturesque village in a cozy duplex apartment. It was a hilly village and I remember walking down the steep roads with Oma to visit the butcher or baker. At night we could look across our berg and see the twinkling of lights from houses dotting the hillsides, surrounded by thick, wooded forests. At Christmastime, when the landscape was covered in snow,  it was especially picture-postcard pretty.
Oma would start the Christmas preparations in early December, by baking spicy Lebkuchen and the traditional German Christmas bread, Stollen. Everything was then wrapped and put away until Christmas. A freshly cut tree would be brought in on Christmas Eve and set up on a table in one of the two bedrooms. My grandmother, who had lived through two wars, never wasted anything, so wrapping tissue was carefully folded and saved for another use. I usually received a new sweater and mittens, a woolen hat, and other warm clothing. The winters in Germany could get bitterly cold and we stayed warm with the wood stove in the kitchen. Besides clothes, I would also  receive a doll or toy and a bar of Swiss chocolate. What I really adored, however, were oranges. They were a real treat. We didn't have them at any other time of the year.

I remember the excitement of waiting for Christmas and wondering if St. Nicholas would make an appearance. My uncle would often scare us with his loud footsteps and his gruff "Ho-Ho-Ho's". Oma always disappeared around that time, and it was only later that we discovered who played the role of St. Nicholas.

The church bells would ring on Christmas Eve, and we could hear the footsteps of people crunching through the snow, on their way to midnight  Mass. Tucked into bed on a cold and wintry night, underneath the featherbeds, it was truly a 'Silent Night, Holy Night.'