Happy New Year!

Happy New Year! I love to quote the eight lines of poetry below to illustrated the fact that God often uses the difficulties of life to teach us important lessons ! I have certainly learned important lesssons in my life in times of disappointment and sorrow I would never have learned other wise.

It began at the age of nine, when I stood at the bedside of my dying father and witnessed the Christian peace and love that, not only sustained him , but gave him joy in the midst of death.

"I walked a mile with pleasure
She chatted all the way.
But left me none the wiser,
For all she had to say.

I walked a mile with sorrow
And n'er a word said she.
But Oh the things I learned from her,
When sorrow walked with me."


A few years ago a piece with a similiar theme passed through the internet entiltle "I wish you Enough."

Something to think about as we began a New Year,
"I wish you Enough".
"Recently I overheard a mother and daughter in their last moments
together at the airport. They had announced the departure.
Standing near the security gate, they hugged and the mother said "I love
you and I wish you enough." The daughter replied, "Mom, our life together has been more than enough.Your love is all I ever needed. I wish you enough, too, Mom."
They kissed and the daughter left. The mother walked over to the window where I was seated. Standing there I could see she wanted and needed to cry.

I tried not to intrude on her privacy but she welcomed me in by asking
"Did you ever say good-bye to someone knowing it would be forever?".
"Yes, I have, "I replied. "Forgive me for asking but why is this a
forever good-bye?". "I am old and she lives so far away. I have challenges ahead and thereality is - the next trip back will be for my funeral" she said.

"When you were saying good-bye, I heard you say 'I wish you enough'. May I ask what that means?

"She began to smile. "That's a wish that has been handed down from other generations. My parents used to say it to everyone".
She paused a moment and looked up as if trying to remember it in detail
and she smiled even more. "When we said 'I wish you enough' we were wanting the other person to have a life filled with just enough good things to sustain them". Then turning toward me she shared the following as if she were reciting it from memory --

I wish you enough sun to keep your attitude bright.
I wish you enough rain to appreciate the sun more.
I wish you enough happiness to keep your spirit alive.
I wish you enough pain so that the smallest joys in life appear much
bigger.
I wish you enough gain to satisfy your wanting.
I wish you enough loss to appreciate all that you possess.
I wish you enough faith in God to get you through the final good-bye.

TAKE TIME TO LIVE.....
To all my friends and loved ones: A HAPPY NEW YEAR OF GRACE AND PEACE.

Christmas at a Children's Home

It was Christmas Eve. A minister named Henry Carter was working feverishly on a Christmas sermon. He said Christmas is a hard time of year to find something fresh to say. So much activity! People also so tired with all the commercialism of Christmas to really listen to a message from God.

Carter said the house mother of the Children's Home he supervised appeared at his door with yet another crisis.

Christmas Eve is a difficult time for emotionally distrubed children in a Children's Home. Many of the children had gone home, at least over night. The childen who were left in the home reacted to the empty beds and the changed routine.

The pastor went upstairs chaffing at the repeated interuptions he had had all week. This time it was Tommy. Tommy has crawled under his bed and refused to come out.

Pastor Carter said the House Mother pointed to one of the beds in the room but not a hair nor a toe showed. So he addressed himself to the cowboys and bucking broncos on the bedspread. He said he talked about the lighted tree in the church vestibule next door. He talked about the packages underneath the tree and all the other things waiting for him out beyond the bed.

There was no answer from under the bed. The minister finally dropped to his knees and lifted the bedspread and was still fretting at the time all this latest interruption was costing him.

Two enormous brown eyes met his. Tommy was eight but looked like a frightened five year old. It would have been no trouble to simply pull the child out from under the bed.

But Tommy did not need pulling. The pastor felt like Tommy needed trust and he now needed a sense of deciding things on his own initiative.

So the pastor got down on his all fours beside the bed. He told Tommy about the stocking with his name on it that the church women has made just for him. Still here was silence. There was no sound that Tommy heard or cared.

At last, because he could think of no other way to make contact, Pastor Carter got down on his stomach and wiggled in beside Tommy, the bedsprings snagging his suit jacket. For a long time he lay there close beside Tommy.

He told Tommy about the big wreath above the altar and the candles in the windows. He reminded Tommy of the carols he and the other children would sing. Then the pastor just waited quietly beside the child.
As he waited, a small chilled hand crept into the large hand of the pastor. In a little while Carter said, “It close quarters under here, let’s you and me get out where we can stand up.

As he stood up, he saw again the wonderful truth of how God came down at Christmas. Because flattened out there on the floor, the pastor realized anew he had been given a new glimpse of the mystery of Christmas.

God had called us from far above as the pastor had called Tommy. God had called with his stars and his mountains. God had called us to enjoy His whole majestic universe. And when we would not listen, He had drawn closer. He sent prophets with words about God.

But it was not until that first Christmas when God Himself came down with a baby in His arms. It was when God Himself stooped to earth and took our very place and came to dwell with us in our loneliness and alienation that we, like Tommy dared to stretch out our hands and take hold of God’s love.

“The WORD was made flesh and we beheld His glory, the glory of the only begotten Son of God. (John 1:1-15)

The birth that is Christmas does not orbit history. History once looked forward and now looks back revolving around this historical birth that is Christmas...a birth that changed the course of history; B.C…before Christ and A.D. Anno Domini (In the year of our Lord).

The magnificent incarnation which challenged flesh to contain God has challenged our most luminous orators, writers, artist, poets and composers to contain it with words and music. It is a challenge that has produced some of the world’s greatest music and poetry. And it has always stretched language to it’s breathtaking limits.

A Christmas Story

Pa never had much compassion for the lazy or those who squandered their means and then never had enough for the necessities. But for those who were genuinely in need, his heart was as big as all outdoors. It was from him that I learned the greatest joy in life comes from giving, not from receiving.

It was Christmas Eve 1881. I was fifteen years old and feeling like the world had caved in on me because there just hadn't been enough money to buy me the rifle that I'd wanted for Christmas. We did the chores early that night for some reason. I just figured Pa wanted a little extra time so we could read in the Bible.

After supper was over I took my boots off and stretched out in front of the fireplace and waited for Pa to get down the old Bible. I was still feeling sorry for myself and, to be honest, I wasn't in much of a mood to read Scriptures. But Pa didn't get the Bible, instead he bundled up again and went outside. I couldn't figure it out because we had already done all the chores. I didn't worry about it long though, I was too busy wallowing in self-pity.

Soon Pa came back in. It was a cold clear night out and there was ice in his beard. "Come on, Matt," he said. "Bundle up good, it's cold out tonight." I was really upset then. Not only wasn't I getting the rifle for Christmas, now Pa was dragging me out in the cold, and for no earthly reason that I could see. We'd already done all the chores, and I couldn't think of anything else that needed doing, especially not on a night like this. But I knew Pa was not very patient at one dragging one's feet when he'd told them to do something, so I got up and put my boots back on and got my cap, coat, and mittens. Ma gave me a mysterious smile as I opened the door to leave the house. Something was up, but I didn't know what..

Outside, I became even more dismayed. There in front of the house was the work team, already hitched to the big sled. Whatever it was we were going to do wasn't going to be a short, quick, little job. I could tell. We never hitched up this sled unl ess we were going to haul a big load. Pa was already up on the seat, reins in hand. I reluctantly climbed up beside him. The cold was already biting at me. I wasn't happy. When I was on, Pa pulled the sled around the house and stopped in front of the woodshed. He got off and I followed. "I think we'll put on the high sideboards," he said. "Here, help me." The high sideboards! It had been a bigger job than I wanted to do with just the low sideboards on, but whatever it was we were going to do would be a lot bigger with the high side boards on.

After we had exchanged the sideboards, Pa went into the woodshed and came out with an armload of wood - the wood I'd spent all summer hauling down from the mountain, and then all Fall sawing into blocks and splitting. What was he doing? Finally I said something. "Pa," I asked, "what are you doing?"

You been by the Widow Jensen's lately?" he asked. The Widow Jensen lived about two miles down the road. Her husband had died a year or so before and left her with three children, the oldest being eight. Sure, I'd been by, but so what? Yeah," I said, "Why?"

"I rode by just today," Pa said. "Little Jakey was out digging around in the woodpile trying to find a few chips. They're out of wood, Matt." That was all he said and then he turned and went back into the woodshed for another armload of wood. I followed him. We loaded the sled so high that I began to wonder if the horses would be able to pull it.

Finally, Pa called a halt to our loading, then we went to the smoke house and Pa took down a big ham and a side of bacon. He handed them to me and told me to put them in the sled and wait. When he returned he was carrying a sack of flour over his right shoulder and a smaller sack of something in his left hand. "What's in the little sack?" I asked. Shoes, they're out of shoes. Little Jakey just had gunny sacks wrapped around his feet when he was out in the woodpile this morning. I got the children a little candy too. It just wouldn't be Christmas without a little candy."

We rode the two miles to Widow Jensen's pretty much in silence. I tried to think through what Pa was doing. We didn't have much by worldly standards. Of course, we did have a big woodpile, though most of what was left now was still in the form of logs that I would have to saw into blocks and split before we could use it. We also had meat and flour, sonwe could spare that, but I knew we didn't have any money, so why was Pa buying them shoes and candy? Really, why was he doing any of this? Widow Jensen had closer neighbors than us; it shouldn't have been our concern.

We came in from the blind side of the Jensen house and unloaded the wood as quietly as possible, then we took the meat and flour and shoes to the door. We knocked. The door opened a crack and a timid voice said, "Who is it?" "Lucas Miles, Ma'am, and my son, Matt, could we come in for a bit?"

Widow Jensen opened the door and let us in. She had a blanket wrapped around her shoulders. The children were wrapped in another and were sitting in front of the fireplace by a very small fire that hardly gave off any heat at all. Widow Jensen fumbled with a match and finally lit the lamp.

"We brought you a few things, Ma'am," Pa said and set down the sack of flour. I put the meat on the table. Then Pa handed her the sack that had the shoes in it. She opened it hesitantly and took the shoes out one pair at a time. There was a pair for her and one for each of the children - sturdy shoes, the best, shoes that would last. I watched her carefully. She bit her lower lip to keep it from trembling and then tears filled her eyes and started running down her cheeks. She looked up at Pa like she wanted to say something, but it wouldn't come out.

"We brought a load of wood too, Ma'am," Pa said. He turned to me and said, "Matt, go bring in enough to last awhile. Let's get that fire up to size and heat this place up." I wasn't the same person when I went back out to bring in the wood. I had a big lump in my throat and as much as I hate to admit it, there were tears in my eyes too. In my mind I kept seeing those three kids huddled around the fireplace and their mother standing there with tears running down her cheeks with so much gratitude in her heart that she couldn't speak.

My heart swelled within me and a joy that I'd never known before, filled my soul. I had given at Christmas many times before, but never when it had made so much difference. I could see we were literally saving the lives of these people.

I soon had the fire blazing and everyone's spirits soared. The kids started giggling when Pa handed them each a piece of candy and Widow Jensen looked on with a smile that probably hadn't crossed her face for a long time. She finally turned to us. "God bless you," she said. "I know the Lord has sent you. The children and I have been praying that he would send one of his angels to spare us."

In spite of myself, the lump returned to my throat and the tears welled up in my eyes again. I'd never thought of Pa in those exact terms before, but after Widow Jensen mentioned it I could see that it was probably true. I was sure that a better man than Pa had never walked the earth. I started remembering all the times he had gone out of his way for Ma and me, and many others. The list seemed endless as I thought on it.

Pa insisted that everyone try on the shoes before we left. I was amazed when they all fit and I wondered how he had known what sizes to get. Then I guessed that if he was on an errand for the Lord that the Lord would make sure he got the right sizes.

Tears were running down Widow Jensen's face again when we stood up to leave. Pa took each of the kids in his big arms and gave them a hug. They clung to him and didn't want us to go. I could see that they missed their Pa, and I was glad that I still had mine.

At the door Pa turned to Widow Jensen and said, "The Mrs. wanted me to invite you and the children over for Christmas dinner tomorrow. The turkey will be more than the three of us can eat, and a man can get cantankerous if he has to eat turkey for too many meals. We'll be by to get you about eleven. It'll be nice to have some little ones around again. Matt, here, hasn't been little for quite a spell." I was the youngest. My two brothers and two sisters had all married and had moved away.

Widow Jensen nodded and said, "Thank you, Brother Miles. I don't have to say, May the Lord bless you, I know for certain that He will."

Out on the sled I felt a warmth that came from deep within and I didn't even notice the cold. When we had gone a ways, Pa turned to me and said, "Matt, I want you to know something. Your ma and me have been tucking a little money away here and there all year so we could buy that rifle for you, but we didn't have quite enough. Then yesterday a man who owed me a little money from years back came by to make things square. Your ma and me were real excited, thinking that now we could get you that rifle, and I started into town this morning to do just that,but on the way I saw little Jakey out scratching in the woodpile with his feet wrapped in those gunny sacks and I knew what I had to do. Son, I spent the money for shoes and a little candy for those children. I hope you understand."

I understood, and my eyes became wet with tears again. I understood very well, and I was so glad Pa had done it. Now the rifle seemed very low on my list of priorities. Pa had given me a lot more. He had given me the look on Widow Jensen's face and the radiant smiles of her three children.

For the rest of my life, Whenever I saw any of the Jensens, or split a block of wood, I remembered, and remembering brought back that same joy I felt riding home beside Pa that night. Pa had given me much more than a rifle that night, he had given me the best Christmas of my life.

The Difference Between Men and Women.

There was a best seller a few years ago entitled, Men are from Mars. Women are from Venus .(by John Gray). None of us who are married or have ever been married will disagree. We are facinated with one another but men ands women certainly do not always understand one another. The current story making the email rounds illustrates this well.

Let's say a guy named Roger is attracted to a woman named Elaine. He asks her out to a movie; she accepts; they have a good time so a few nights later he asks her out to dinner.

They continue to see each other regularly, and after a while, neither is dating anybody else. Then, one evening when they're driving home, a thought occurs to Elaine, and, without really thinking, she says it aloud: "Do you realize that, as of tonight, we've been seeing each other for exactly six months?"

There is silence in the car. To Elaine, it seems like a very loud silence. She thinks to herself: Gosh, maybe he's been feeling confined by our relationship; maybe he thinks I'm trying to push him into some kind of obligation that he doesn't want, or isn't sure of.

Roger is thinking: Gosh. Six months.

And Elaine is thinking: But, hey, I'm not so sure I want this kind of relationship, either.Sometimes I wish I had a little more space, so I'd have time to think about whether I really want us to keep going the way we are, moving steadily toward. I mean, where are we going? Are we just going to keep seeing each other at this level of intimacy?

Are we heading toward marriage? Toward children? Toward a lifetime together? Am I ready for that level of commitment? Do I really even know this person?

And Roger is thinking: So that means it was ... let's see ...February when we started dating, which was right after I had this car at the dealer's, which means...lemme check the odometer. Whoa! I am way overdue for an oil change here.

And Elaine is thinking: He's upset. I can see it on his face.
Maybe I'm reading this completely wrong. Maybe he wants more from our relationship, more intimacy, more commitment; maybe he has sensed-even before I sensed it-that I was feeling some reservations. Yes, I bet that's it. That's why he's so reluctant to say anything about his own feelings. He's afraid of being rejected.

And Roger is thinking: And I'm gonna have them look at the transmission again. I don't care what those morons say, it's still not shifting right. And they better not try to blame it on the cold weather this time. What cold weather? It's 87 degrees out, and this thing is shifting like a garbage truck, and I paid those incompetent thieves $600.

And Elaine is thinking: He's angry. And I don't blame him. I'd be angry, too. I feel so guilty, putting him through this, but I can't help the way I feel. I'm just not sure.

And Roger is thinking: They'll probably say it's only a 90-day warranty. Scumbags!

And Elaine is thinking: Maybe I'm just too idealistic, waiting for a knight to come riding up on his white horse, when I'm sitting right next to a perfectly good person, a person I enjoy being with, a person I truly do care about, a person who seems to truly care about me. A person who is in pain because of my self- centered, school girl romantic fantasy.

And Roger is thinking: Warranty? They want a warranty? I'll give them a warranty. I'll take their warranty and ...

"Roger," Elaine says aloud. "What?" says Roger, startled.

"Please don't torture yourself like this," Elaine says, her eyes beginning to brim with tears. "Maybe I should never have... Oh God, I feel so..." (She breaks down, sobbing.)

"What?" says Roger.

"I'm such a fool," Elaine sobs. "I mean, I know there's no knight. I really know that. It's silly. There's no knight, and there's no horse."

"There's no horse?" says Roger.

"You think I'm a fool, don't you?" Elaine says.

"No!" says Roger, glad to finally know the correct answer.

"It's just that ... it's that I... I need some time," Elaine says.

(There is a 15-second pause while Roger, thinking as fast as he can, tries to come up with a safe response. Finally he comes up with one that he thinks might work.) "Yes," he says. (Elaine, deeply moved, touches his hand.) "Oh, Roger, do you really feel that way?" she says.

"What way?" says Roger.

"That way about time," says Elaine.

"Oh," says Roger. "Yes."

(Elaine turns to face him and gazes deeply into his eyes, causing him to become very nervous about what she might say next, especially if it involves a horse. At last she speaks.)

"Thank you, Roger," she says.
"Thank you," says Roger.

Then he takes her home. Ealine lies on her bed, a conflicted, tortured soul, and weeps until dawn.
Roger gets back to his place, he opens a bag of Doritos, turns on the TV, and immediately becomes deeply involved in a rerun of a tennis match between two Czechs he never heard of. A tiny voice in the far recesses of his mind tells him that something major was going on back there in the car, but he is pretty sure there is no way he would ever understand what, and so he figures it's better if he doesn't think about it.

The next day Elaine will call her closest friend, and they will talk about this situation for six straight hours. In painstaking detail, they will analyze everything she said and everything he said, going over it time and time again, exploring every word, expression, and gesture for nuances of meaning, considering every possible ramification. They will continue to discuss this subject, off and on, for weeks, maybe months, never reaching any definite conclusions, but never getting bored with it, either.

Meanwhile, Roger, while playing racquetball one day with a mutual friend of his and Elaine's, will pause just before serving, frown, and say, "Norm, did Elaine ever own a horse?"

And that, Ladies and Gentlemen, is the difference between men and women!

Semper fidelis:Always faithful

The United States Marine Corps Birthday has been celebrated every year since the 10th of November 1775! My husband, Charles Shaw, like most Marines, as the Marine hymn states, was “proud to be member of the Unted States Marines.”

He served in the Marine Corps, Semper fidelis in World War II. “Always faithful“ was more than a motto to him and to his buddies and also to the wives and widows of these men, who do not question that they were indeed the “greatest generation.”

But my grandson, Captian Joshua Hearn who recently was stationed at Fort Benning in Georgia after serving over a year in the U.S. Army in Iraq and anotehr year in German. He and his generation are also “the greatest generation."

They are struggling daily and honorably with new enemies as we saw clearly on September 11, 2001 after years of more minor attacks on Americans.

Then the vicious killing of thirteen and the injuring of over thiry more at Fort Hood in Texas a few days ago is another wake-up call.

In my house there is one room I call my “study.” It has my desk, and two walls lined with bookcases filled to overflow with books.

My granddaughter, Amanda, when she was small liked to come in here, fill our cards for her younger cousins and called this room “the library.” I spend a great deal of my time in here reading as well as writing.

Family members, including children when they visit are welcome and usually make a least one stop in here to check email or just “putter around” looking at pictures when they visit. The young children usually ask for and receive a supply of paper and pencil to write or draw and make themselves at home in “the library.”
On my hallway wall just outside my study is a gallery of family pictures that fascinate the younger children when they are here. They love to find pictures of themselves on Grandma Ruth’s wall.

The large bookcase near the doorway inside my study has a group of pictures above it. This one wall contains almost exclusively, photos of my husband Charles or the two of us together.

Shortly before Charles died in 1986, he had framed a Semper fidelis emblem. It now hangs in my study.

Unlike the Abu Ghrabb case with it's 24 hour a days news broadcasts, most of us were slow about hearing that Dellon Tyler Ward finally pleaded guilty to two counts of "knowingly and willfully making false, fictitious and fraudulent statements" to federal agents last year… allegeding members of the Marine Corps committing murder on Iraqi soil.” The investigation of these false charges ended up costing $193,000 and involved pulling U.S. Marines out of combat zones in the spring of 2007.

Dellon Tyler received only 15 months for this kind of treason against the United States of America and false changes against our Marine Corps ?

USS New York Commissioned 11-7-2009

Here SHE is, the USS New York, made from the World Trade Center!
USS New York. It was built with 7 and 1/2 tons of
scrap steel from the World Trade Towers.

Steel from the World Trade Center was melted down in a foundry in Amite, LA to cast the ship's bow section. When it was poured into the molds on Sept 9, 2003, 'those big rough steelworkers treated it with total reverence,'recalled Navy Capt. Kevin Wensing, who was there. 'It was a spiritual moment for everybody there.'

Junior Chavers, foundry operations manager, said that when the trade center steel first arrived, he touched it with his hand and the 'hair on my neck stood up.' 'It had a big meaning to it for all of us,' he said. 'They knocked us down. They can't keep us down. We're going to be back.'

The ship's motto?
'Never Forget'

How old is "old"?

How Old Is ‘Old.’?

A few years ago, two of the teenaged girls at Open Door Home in our city needed to interview an older person for a school assignment. Open Door is a welcome home , since 1927 for children whose parents cannot or will not care for them.

I, not quite 80 at the time, met the criteria for "older person" so the Director at Open Door (who happened to be my daughter, Beth) called me and asked if I would mind stopping by so the girls could interview me.

When I went to Open door Home, Beth introduced me to the girls. One of the girls was a 14 year old I will call "Sarah." Beth told me, in Sarah’s hearing, how proud she is of Sarah for making good marks in school. I congratulated Sarah and expressed interest so she immediately got her report card to show me. We had a nice visit.

When we started the interview, the first question Sarah asked me was a question usually reserved for people who have reached the century mark, "To what do you attribute living to such a long old age?"

Later when Beth was showing me out, she said she hoped the girls did not hurt my feelings by making such an issue of my "old age." Of course, Beth knew as well as I that it did not bother me.

When I lived in the Atlanta area, I was not as ancient as I am now but I often spoke to Senior Citizens groups on subjects related to aging as my undergraduate degree included a certificate in Gerontology.

One of the persons I love to quote when I speak to a civic or church group about "aging" is Madeline L’Engle. L’Engle said,"One of the nice things about growing old is you do not lose any of the other ages you have been." Wow! Think of that!

It is true. Like Sarah, I know what it was like to be 14 and think 30 is old. I know what it is like to be 30 and think 50 is old. I know what it is like to be 50 and think 80 is old. I know what it is like to be 80 and know that 80 and even 100 is just a number. I know also it is a number nearer the end of the counting . But at the end of the counting, as Christians we know a new day will dawn and the counting will start over.

We gather in church every Sunday to celebrate the truth that what we call "time" does not have the last word over what God calls eternity. What we call death does not have the last word over what God calls life.

I like to quote the poet and Nobel Laureate, Rabindranath Tagore who said, "Death is not extinguishing the light, it is simply putting out the lamp because the dawn has come."

Zinnias

When Wendy, a young friend and neighbor asked if I would like some fresh cucumbers from the garden she and her husband Wade had planted, I answered with an unqualified "yes."

Sunday afternoon, she brought over to my doorstep, cucumbers, tomatoes and a bouquet of zinnias!

Have you ever eaten a simple fresh tomato sandwich made with two slices of bread covered with nothing but mayonaise and slices of tomato? A feast!

It is OK to add meat and/or cheese sometimes. But a plain tomato sandwich Sunday evening was great eating!

And Zinnias! Wendy could not know and I doubt that my children know how much I enjoyed that bouquet of zinnias, which remind me of a small garden of zinnias my husband and I planted seventy years ago.

Charles and I planted zinnias in the first garden we ever made! It was a small plot at the back door of the first house we lived in after our marriage.

News Flash: Current Health Report

I always wanted a secretary. All the years I was in Grantville and East Point Avenue I had to do my own Sunday bulletins and Church News Letters,

This week I have had two efficient secretaries. Joan (Daddy's Roses) was my secretary for my Veterans Day post. Today I'm dictating to Carol (The Median Sib) to let you know that I'm getting better.

I still have a droopy eyelid, and a swollen side of the face and lips, but I definitely look better. (Maxilliary Sinus at Emory in Atlanta). I'm not getting much sympathy now so I might as well get bettter.

Carol is making me write a post because I don't look as sick as I've looked all week. She has stopped all sympathizing with me. (Note from Carol - That's not true.) I appreciate all the visits I've had.

Last night we had Gil and Naomi and Lewis and Mark from Alabama. We had all our Alabama relatives -- David and Vicki, Jessica and Haley, too. Katie was at camp. Debi, Gregg, Jonathan, Beth, and Carol were the others here last night.

This morning I got a really nice note from Galen and Brenda Foster with a picture of our house on 97 Elm Street in Milstead. It's the house we bought when Charles came home from World War II. We lived next door to Charles' marine buddy, Grover Foster.

His wife, Myrl, and I became good friends and were pregnant at the same time.

Our son, Terry and their son Galen were both born in March of 1947 and played together, had their own language and chatted with each other. It was so cute. They remained good friends until we moved a few years later. Galen is the child in the photo. The picture is at the end of this post.

So I'm getting better every day. My right eye actually opens now, my voice sounds normal again, and the swelling is going down. I had hoped the surgeon would do a little plastic surgery and make me look better and younger. Unfortunately, I'm afraid I look older and grayer. I'm happy to be alive after that amazing surgery. I appreciate all the tender loving care and the prayers and cards and thoughts of so many of you - including many friends.

Crabby Old Man

What do you see nurses?... What do you see?
What are you thinking ...when you're looking at me?
A crabby old man... not very wise,
Uncertain of habit ...with faraway eyes?
Who dribbles his food ... and makes no reply .
When you say in a loud voice..."I do wish you'd try!"
Who seems not to notice... the things that you do.
And forever is losing . . . a sock or a shoe?
Who, resisting or not ...lets you do as you will
With bathing and feeding ...the long day to fill?
Is that what you're thinking? ...Is that what you see?

Then open your eyes, nurse . . . you're not looking at me..
I'll tell you who I am... as I sit here so still,
As I do at your bidding...as I eat at your will.
I'm a small child of ten... with a father and mother,
Brothers and sisters...who love one another.
A young boy of sixteen...with wings on his feet
Dreaming that soon now... a lover he'll meet.
A groom soon at twenty...my heart gives a leap.
Remembering, the vows... that I promised to keep.
At twenty-five, now...I have young of my own.
Who need me to guide...and a secure happy home.
A man of thirty... My young now grown fast,
Bound to each other...With ties that should last.

At forty, my young sons... have grown and are gone,
But my woman's beside me...to see I don't mourn.
At fifty, once more... babies play 'round my knee,
Again, we know children...My loved one and me.
Dark days are upon me...my wife is now dead.
I look at the future...shudder with dread.
For my young are all rearing... young of their own.
And I think of the years...and the love that I've known.
I'm now an old man...and nature is cruel.
Tis jest to make old age...look like a fool.
The body, it crumbles...grace and vigour, depart.
There is now a stone...where I once had a heart.
But inside this old carcass...a young guy still dwells,
And now and again... my battered heart swells.
I remember the joys...I remember the pain.
And I'm loving and living... life over again.
I think of the years, all too few... gone too fast.
And accept the stark fact... that nothing can last.
So open your eyes, people...open and see.
Not a crabby old man. Look closer...see ME!!


NOTE: CRABBY OLD MAN poem was passed along to me by my good friend Rev. James Sanders.

When an old man died in the geriatric ward of a nursing home in North Platte, Nebraska, it was believed that he had nothing left of any value.Later, when the nurses were going through his meager possessions, they found this poem. Its quality and content so impressed the staff that copies were made and distributed to every nurse in the hospital.One nurse took her copy to Missouri . The old man's sole bequest to posterity has since appeared in the Christmas edition of the News Magazine of the St. Louis Association for Mental Health. A slide presentation has also been made based on his simple, but eloquent, poem. And this little old man, with nothing left to give to the world, is now the author of this 'anonymous' poem winging across the internet.
Remember this poem when you next meet an older person who you might brush aside without looking at the young soul within .. . . . we will all, one day, be there, too! PLEASE SHARE THIS POEMThe best and most beautiful things of this world can't be seen or touched.. They must be felt by the heart.