In Loving memory of Charles Shaw 5-21-19-12--3-86

Today would have been my husband, Charles Columbus Shaw 93rd birthday. I thought it might be a good way to honor Charles today by following the lead of my daughter Joan , (Daddy's Roses ) , Joan helped me set up the Ruthlace Blog moniker back in 2005 and is the family expert in all thing English and Spanish. Recently on Daddys' Roses, she wrote a great post , citing 13 differences in her and her DH. (Darling Husband). In honor of my DH, here are mine:

1…. Movies. Charles loved movies, especially the old cowboy movies. I am not much of a movie fan. I have seen probably less than a half a dozen in a theater in the last 26 years and not many more on Television.

2.... Seafood. Charles and I both liked sea food. We both grew up eating fish caught fresh from the Yellow River.

3.... Sunday School. Like many pastors, he was not a regular in one Sunday School Class. I enjoyed very much being a part of a Sunday School Class from childhood on and have taught classes in all the churches where DH was pastor.

4.... Pets. Neither of us had much time for pets. We did have Hercules, a chihuahua when the children were small and later a German Shepherd who "followed David home" from school. David named the big dog "Rex" (the name of his Dad's childhood dog) as soon as they arrived home. Rex loved to swim in the large lake in the neighborhood in East Point. He was David's dog.

5.... Vacation Spots. We both enjoyed camping and family gatherings. Charles also loved fishing and hunting and once caught an 18 inch Brown Trout in an Ellijay mountain stream much to the delight of our children and some of the neighbor children who were splashing in the water. He had the fish mounted by Rev. Bob Cagle, who had answered the call to preach as a teen ager during Charles ministry in Ellijay.

6.... Temperature. I am the one who now wears long sleeves even in the Summer. This may be an old age thing. I do not remember either one of us complaining about the house temperature.

7.... Time of Day. He was a night owl; I am an early bird. When he was in Seminary at Candler, he would stay up all night writing papers or studying for an exam. On the other hand, I went to Seminary after his death and would go to bed early and get up at 4 to write any paper that required creativity.

8.... Food. We both enjoyed a dinner of fresh turnip greens and cornbread with a glass of buttermilk as a complete meal after all our children were out of the nest. A meal with dried beans cooked from scratch as the main course was also a welcomed meal to both of us. We failed in passing along the love of fresh greens and those wonderful dried beans protein source to our children?

9.... Family of Origin. I am the youngest of nine and the only one still living. Charles was the oldest of five boys. The last of his four brothers died in January of this year at age 85. My father died when I was 9 but Charles and I both had strong family ties with parents and siblings.

10.... TV Shows. He enjoyed the old cowboy and war movies or shows like Gunsmoke and M.A.S.H. I prefer a situation comedy like Designing Women or Matlock. In recent years, I have lost interest in most of the TV offerings.

11.... Health. He had serious hearing and ear problem from World War II experiences. His first heart attack and by -pass surgery was at age 59 and his final one at age 67. Most of my health issues, except for painful TriGeminal neuralgia episodes from 1990 on have been after age 82.

12.... Religion. Both of us very serious, some might say "overly serious" Christians.

13.... Blog. I enjoy all forms of writing and still write as I live! I doubt that he would have gotten into blogging as he left much of the family writing (Christmas letters etc.) up to me. He was an outgoing and charismatic extrovert. I am more introverted. He would sometimes have me edit pastoral reports and letters while he made sick calls. However he read widely books of Theology and the Bible , was good in New Testament Greek and was gifted in Biblical preaching.

Childhood Cancer Research

Every school day in America, 46 children are diagnosed with cancer, the #1 disease killer of children ages 0-15.

When my great-granddaughter, Lily, was in second grade, she began experiencing excruciating back pain. After three trips to the ER and many visits to the pediatrician, Lily was diagnosed with leukemia (Pre-B ALL) on December 1, 2008.

In February 2011, she completed over two years of treatment - including daily chemo. It has been a long road and one that has had its ups and downs. During treatment she was hospitalized numerous times for treatment and infections. She has also been diagnosed with AVN, or bone death, one of the side-effects of the high dose steroids that are part of the protocol for treatment. She missed an entire year of school, but she's now in fifth grade and able to attend school full time again.

Lily is dedicated to raising money to support childhood cancer research because, as she says, "no kid should have to be sick like this." Her long-range goal is to raise a million dollars for childhood cancer research. Picture of Lily and Sophie modeling in a recent Fund Raising Event for Childhood Cancer Research

Lily likes acting, swimming and dancing. She also likes riding horses and playing with her three dogs, Rosie, Bogey and Yogi. She has a younger sister, Sophie, who has been a big support during her treatment. They are truly best friends.

Moo-nure

As I wrote in an earlier post, I started to school in 1929, the year of the "Stock Market Crash." It was also a time of "Class" divisions.

We were taught in school about three classes of people as far as finances is concerned; the Lower classs, the Middle class and the Upper Class. But "bad language " was considered ignorant and "low class'' even if you were high class financially.

I thought of that yesterday when I read about the bags of cow manure being sold for garden fertilizer now being renamed "moo-nure. It is absolutely amazing how much one learns when one has a large family face booking and blogging.

My daughter, Carol wrote on facebook, " So we bought some "Moo-nure" for our garden. They have written on the outside of the bags, "We're number 1 in the Number 2 business." Then my great-nephew Jared wrote back " They stole that motto from my Dad." And I thought, "how clever of Jared's Dad, Warren to come up with that name."

My grandddaughter Larisa replied on facebook, "That must be the standard poop logo. My doggie poop patrol uses that too." So it is not just "cow poop" but all "poop" that are renamed "moo-nure." Note: they have a Doggie Poop Patrol" business in Tennessee.

Those of us who had wanted to have "class" in the 1920-30's did not call them bags of "manure" but bags of "compost" to fertilize our gardens. Manure in my Webster's is defined as "animal encrement or other substance for fertilizer. Compost is a mixture of deposing vegetable and manure.

President Harry Truman became President when Franklin Roosevelt died in 1945 in his fourth term as President of the United States( 1933-1945.)

Truman was known to slip into fowl language at times. He is said to have referred to fertilizer as manure one time and received negative press for his use of English. His wife Bess is said to have replied, "It took me a long time to get him up to the refinement of saying "manure."

Kirstie Alley is said to have dropped "an S-Bomb " when she was on 'Dancing with the Stars' some time ago. It was discussed with the casual remark, "that is what we have bleep folks for. They are to listen and bleeped. Anyone can make a 'slip up' like that...it can be " bleeped out."

Anyone?
The happy picture of Kirstie with her hand over her mouth is above. Perhaps we can educate Kirstie to give up the S-bomb for an M-bomb?

Love Thy Neighbor

Neighbors were an important part of life in the twenties and thirties. Our neighbors were in and out of our home all the time. Sometimes it was to borrow a cup of sugar or an egg to finish out a recipe. Sometimes a neighbor would stop in to share vegetables or cookies.

But often the visits were just to sit and talk. It was not uncommon for several neighbor women to visit with my mother on our front porch late afternoons after a long day of work.

On evenings our front porch seemed to also be the gathering place for men, women and children after the evening meal (referred to as "supper") at night. The porch had several inviting rocking chairs as well as a swing with space enough to seat three adults.

While the adults were talking, the children played "hide and seek" or "kick the can" out in the front yard or on the unpaved road in front of our house.

I have fond memories as a child of being in and out of the homes of the Finchers, the Parnells, the Moores, the Hornings. And they visited with us daily.

Then there was a quaint lady from out of town, who, with her children, would visit us overnight and sometimes for two or three days several times a year. I remember sitting on our front porch (along with various friends and neighbors) near sundown one afternoon.

We looked down the street and saw this lady and her children coming toward our house. I said to Mama, "Here comes Mrs. Johnson (I'll call her)."

Someone asked Mama why Mrs. Johnson and her children often came to our house. They lived miles away. The answer seemed simply enough to Mama. "We were neighbor to them on the farm," Mama said.

As I have told in another post, Papa made the difficult decision to move off their farm into a nearby Textile community after the onslaught of boll weevils that all but destroyed their annual cotton profits as the South was trying to recover from the devastation of the Civil war.

The former neighbor lady, Mrs Johnson was short and heavy. Her dark hair was pulled straight back in a bun. Her only daughter and older child was "Mae." Mae was thin and very subdued. She was even more shy than I! Mae walked just a little behind her mother on the sidewalk as they made their way down our street. The three little brothers followed their mother and sister in a procession.

I can visualize them now as they walked toward our house. Mama welcomed them, gave them supper, found a bed for the lady, and put pallets of folded quilts and a feather pillow each on the floor for Mae (and me). Mrs. Johnson sleep in my bed. Mama also put a comfortable pallet of quilts on the floor for the three little boys.

I do not remember what, if anything, Mae and I talked about before we fell asleep side by side on the floor. The lady had a husband but we never saw him. I overheard someone say her husband was "sorry’ and "no account".

Children were "seen and not heard " in those days. So, of course, I did not ask. But I learned by listening. In these days before Television, this was a mystery somewhat like a soap opera.

While visiting with us, Mrs. Johnson would always get up early, and she would come to the place where Mae and I were sleeping on the floor and say, "Rise, Mae." I thought this was "funny."

Incidentally, we sometimes referred to mentally ill people as someone who "acted funny" or had "gone crazy." I thought the Johnsons "acted funny" and we both laughed at some of their ways and cried for them.

Looking back it may have been wife and/or child abuse that caused them to leave their home so suddenly, walk five or six miles and show up at our house. As far as I know they came and went without explanation. If Mama knew, she kept her own counsel and always treated Mrs. Johnson and her children with respect, preparing food and bedding for them as respectfully as she did when her own sisters visited.

After all, we had been "neighbor to them" on the farm.

How I became a Preacher

How I became a Preacher? I started "blogging " in 2005 and now have over 350 posts on http://www.ruthlace.blogspot.com/. Even so, some of my readers say, "More...why don't you write something more! "

Last night in flipping through the television stations, I ran across, Joel , who told how God used the death of his father, an event he and his family and friends had earnestly prayed would not happen, It put him in the pulpit. His father's ministry had been the forerunner of even greater and unexpected blessings for their Christian ministry.

In my post, One Sunday Morning, I tell in more detail how I became the pastor of the church my husband, Charles Shaw had been supplying as pastor after he had retired on disability.

Charles preached his last sermon, suffering a fatal heart attack three days later. Two weeks after my husband's death, I was told the Rico congregation had made a request to the church cabinet that I be appointed as their pastor. So I stood there to preach my first sermon as a pastor only three Sundays after my husband had stood in that same pulpit to preach his last.

Even though I had been on the periphery of ministry a long time, the role of pastor was a new one! When Rev. Marion Pierson, called and asked me to take on the pastorate; First, I was surprised the people would call a woman pastor. Second, I knew I would continue in ministry in some way as long as I lived because of my strong sense of calling. (My husband an I had recognized my call to preach earlier. He had asked me to preach a couple of Sundays when he was not able) Third, this was the open door the Lord was calling me to walk through!I learned also that the Lord does enable those whom He calls.

The Lord blessed us richly as I continued to serve the Lord in that place nearly four years while I enrolled and finished seminary, (Emory's Candler School of Theology in Atlanta). I drove back and forth the 30 or so miles three days a week for three years to earn the Master of Divinity degree and enjoyed the classes and the learning opportunity. But my love and top priority was preaching and serving Christ and the people in the Rico community.

The Rico United Methodist Church (photo above) is located in the beautiful open countryside and is only a hundred yards or so from Providence Baptist Church, (photo to the right).When I first went to Rico, I was interested to learn that the Baptist and Methodist congregations join together for worship services at least three times a year and also cooperate with each other in other ways.For example, each has an annual homecoming and both congregations come together for the fellowship dinner after the Worship Service. They attend the weddings and “showers” and other special services at both churches. Why so much fellowship across denominational lines? When I read the Rico Church History I found at least one answer.In 1902 when a man by the name of Shannon gave an acre of land adjoining the new Baptist church to build the Methodist Church he said, “The Baptist and Methodists should cooperate on earth as well as in heaven.” Then in Methodists and Baptists cooperate mor between this Baptist and Methodist congregation is a service at the Masonic Hall on the third Sunday of each September. I have not polled “the whole world” but I sus “place on earth” where Baptists and Methodists unite for a Sunday Worship Service in a Masonic Hall.This includes the two pastors preaching on the triangle. The Masonic structure is a little nearer the Methodist than the Baptist, a fact that I understood was pleasing to some of the Baptists who considered the Masonic movement a work of the devil.It was Sunday morning and my turn to preach. I had been a pastor less than a year and was a student in seminary. I had put all the time I could in preparation and felt it was not enough. The Baptist preacher would lead the singing and the pastoral prayer. After Sunday school both congregations walked the few yards to gather for this service. All of our Methodist people were present.One family had even postponed a vacation to “support Ruth” in my first attempt to preach to the Baptists. We had about an equal number from each of the two congregations. They were seated in clusters in what could be described as a “theater-in-the -round.” I do not know if this arena style is typical of Masonic structures.Rev. Glenn Dow, the Baptist minister, was seated on my left on the slightly raised stage at the wall in front of the entrance.We were into the service and our Methodist Children’s Choir was singing. (Yes. We did have a Children's Choir by this time...thanks to Judy Henderson, who with her husband Ernie had joined Rico Church, bringing their three children and also neighborhood children)A man came to the door of the Masonic Building and motioned. Rev. Dow went to the door. It seemed like an eternity before he returned to the platform visibly shaken. He walked to the podium and said, "I have a very sad announcement to make. I wish it could wait until after the service. But in my judgment it needs to be told now. There has been a terrible accident out on Garrett’s Ferry Road. It was Charlene Lewis (a member of Providence Baptist) and her children on the way to church. The children were rushed to Grady...Charlene is dead...it is time for prayer and they need prayer . . .we all need prayer. Let us pray.”There were audible gasps and cries all over the building. I found myself in tears. I had met Charlene and her two young daughters just eight days earlier at a wedding shower at our Methodist church for a Baptist friend. She was young and very much alive.The shock of sudden death is staggering. We were all reeling. My mind was in turmoil as I was bowed low listening to Dow and silently praying for the grieving congregation and for myself. What in the world could I say?Painfully I struggled to remember some of the sermon notes folded in my Bible. Would it be appropriate? The scripture I had asked Dow to read was Paul’s account in Romans 4:1-11 of Abram’s life of faith and a few verses in Luke 15:3-7 about God’s love for one lost sheep. I was to tie them together with the thought that God loves us and has a place and a plan for each of us. God’s laws are not just written in the Bible, but are also written in our bodies and our psyche. When we come home to God we are coming home to Truth.Should I try to explain why an “all powerful" and “all loving God” would allow a young mother to be killed on the way to church? We did not know at the time that the only child of a neighbor had also been in the car and killed. A drunken man had driven his car on the wrong side of this peaceful and picturesque country road.I do not remember Dow’s prayer. I do remember thinking he was handling it well. I had and still have great respect for this man of God. His pastoral care and concern was evident. Rev. Dow finished the prayer and sat down like a man whose sentence was served and looked expectantly toward me.It was all too soon my turn to speak. I could not just “be with the people.” I knew if there were to be any ultimates to be spoken by a human being, for God’s sake and for ours it must be said. I was not adequate but I knew the Eternal God was with me in a powerful way.It was not a funeral. It was a Sunday Morning Worship Service.

But we were crying for Charlene and for our own humanness. I said something like this; “I met Charlene at the shower for Linda last week. I remember her as vivacious and friendly.” I turned to my right where several persons were sobbing. “I grieve with you. I am so sorry…so very sorry. I grieve for all of us in trying to understand how a loving, all powerful God would allow a young mother to be killed on the way to church.“We know, of course, thousands of persons drove to church safely today and every Sunday drive to church without accident, but that does not make it easier today. And in our humanness, we take our safety, our life for granted. We only stop to question God when an accident or sudden death occurs.God has given us freedom. We are in a highly mechanized, fallen world and it seems to me many persons' lives are cut short needlessly. I remember a few lines I read some time ago: “The grass withers, the flowers fade…you and I die. How I wish it were n

Cooking From Scratch in the 1930's

Cooking From Scratch in the 1930's. When one "cooked from scratch" in the thirties, it was from the first "scratch" of a match. We had a large iron cookstove in our kitchen when I was a child. The iron cookstove burned wood. (The picture to the left looks much like the stove in our kitchen in the late 1920's and early 30'except our stove had white metal on the oven door and warming closet doors)

Wood had to be cut in "stove wood" lengths, brought from the backyard into the house and stacked in wood boxes behind the stove. A fire had to be started with crumpled up newspaper and kindling wood. Then the fire was kept burning by the constant additon of larger pieces of "stove wood."

The stove had , what we called "a warming closet" near the top. It had two decorative iron doors to open and place cooked food to keep warm until time to set on the table. A large reservoir was built in on the side to heat water. I remember one of my jobs was to keep water in the reservoir. The "eyes" on top of the stove could be removed to build the fire. There was a little iron utensil to fit into a hole in the stove eye to lift it and then put back in place so large pots of beans or potatoes or meat could be cooked on top of the stove. I remember my mother cooking beef roast, pork roast, and chickens on top of the stove in water. We called them "roasts", but they were sometimes boiled or simmered on top of the stove. This was used possibly for tougher cuts of meat than the roasts we cook today.

Chicken, pork chops, and cubed steak was fried in a large iron skillet. I have seen my mother take a hammer to pound steak to tenderize it. She would then flour and fry it in serving size pieces. Meat was not served every day.

Some kind of dried beans (a wonderful sourse of protein) were cooked almost every day - large butter beans, small limas, pinto beans, navy beans, or black-eyed peas. Salt pork was plentiful and added to the dried vegetables for seasoning. Potatoes were boiled with butter and sometimes dumplings...probably bits of leftover dough from the biscuits that were cooked at every meal. The term "low-fat" had never been spoken!

Large pans of sweet potatoes were baked often. Sweet potatoes seemed plentiful and were sometimes fried or made into pies or puddings. In the summer fresh vegetables were cooked in place of or in addition to the dried beans which were a staple and inexpensive proten food nearly every day, Fresh vegetables were seasoned with fat meat (uncured bacon). Thankfully my mother did not add the fat meat to fresh vegetables as lavishly as some cooks did.

My favorite summer vegetable plate was fresh crowder peas with a few tiny pods of okra boiled on top of the peas, corn freshly cut fine off the cob, and sliced tomatoes. On a cold winter day nothing was better than chicken and dumplings, one of Mama's really great dishes. What kind of bread? Cornbread, of course and hot buttered biscuits.



Mama made great vegetable soup from fresh tomatoes and an assortment of vegetables from summer gardens. She also made soup in the winter using canned tomatoes and canned corned beef with potatoes, rice, or macaroni and any vegetables she had. We had canned salmon made into patties fairly often and sometimes fried fish. The fish meal was often fish that Mama caught from the nearby Yellow River. ( My father died when I was nine after being bedridden for a years, so I was reared by a widowed mother. My two older brothers , Grice and William Bogan...whom we called "Willie B "and two older sisters Louise and Vera (whom we called Sis and Vek) were already married when my father died. I was nine and my youngest brother Jack was 14.)


Cheese and macaroni, rice, and rice pudding were common dishes in the 30's. Grits and eggs were often served for breakfast with fried salt pork or streak-o-lean. Sometimes we had ham to go along with biscuits and butter and jelly or jam that had been prepared and put away in jars in quantity during the summer. It was not uncommon to have pork chops or fried chicken for breakfast along with the regular homemade buttered biscuits. Real butter.

The first margarine I saw looked like a hunk of lard, and, for a long time, tasted like lard to me - as it did to anyone who had been raised on country buttered biscuits. The margarine of the late thirties was white and came with a vial of yellow coloring. To make it look more like butter, the margarine had to be left out of the refrigerator to soften at room temperature. The yellow coloring had to be worked in. I suppose the butter lobbyists mandated this. In a few years the margarine people prevailed and they were allowed to make margarine that looked as yellow as butter.

An after dinner speaker named Baldy White was popular when I was young. He was a big man and used to keep his audience laughing with such comments as, "We were so poor when I was a boy, all we had for breakfast was ham, eggs, buttered grits and hot biscuits with an assortment of homemade jellies and preserves. We didn't know there was such a thing as Post Toasties!"

I remember Aunt Cora bringing her two granddaughters my age, Mildred and Allene, down from their home in Atlanta one week-end and how excited they were to have homemade biscuits for breakfast. I was amazed. I would have been more excited to have cereal and milk or toast made with "store bought" bread. Rare!

ONE SUNDAY MORNING,

ONE SUNDAY MORNING, the Lord opened a door and pushed me into the pulpit! My husband Charles Shaw had been a pastor in the Methodist Church for thirty five years when he had a second heart attack which left him with heart damage. He had to retire from his work as a full time pastor.

About a year later, Rev. Harold Gray, District Superintendent (an Elder who helps with seeing that each church in his district has a pastor) called one Sunday morning and asked Charles if he would go to preach at a small United Methodist Church, whose preacher could not continue.

Charles, having "rested" in a pew for nearly a year, was more than happy to say "yes." He and I drove about 22 miles to the beautiful Rico United Methodist Church in Palmetto Georgia where only about a dozen members were present, not knowing whether or not they would have a preacher with them that Sunday.

Neither the Church nor the Bishop ever sought a replacement so Charles continued to pastor and preach at Rico for over a year. Attendance and membership grew with Charles as their gifted preacher and loving pastor. The First Sunday in Advent in 1986, Charles preached his last sermon, suffering a fatal heart attack three days later.

Two weeks after my husband's death, I was told the Rico congregation had made a request to the church cabinet that I be appointed as their pastor. So I stood there to preach my first sermon as a pastor only three Sundays after my husband had stood in that same pulpit to preach his last.

Even though I had been on the periphery of ministry a long time, the role of pastor was a new one! When Rev. Marion Pierson, called and asked me to take on the pastorate; First, I was surprised the people would call a woman pastor. Second, I knew I would continue in ministry in some way as long as I lived because of my strong sense of calling. (My husband an I had recognized my call to preach earlier. He had asked me to preach a couple of Sundays when he was not able) Third, this was the open door the Lord was calling me to walk through!

I learned also that the Lord does enable those whom He calls. The Lord blessed us richly as I continued to serve the Lord in that place nearly four years while I enrolled and finished seminary, (Emory's Candler School of Theology in Atlanta). I drove back and forth the 30 or so miles three days a week for three years to earn the Master of Divinity degree and enjoyed the classes and the learning opportunity. But my love and top priority was preaching and serving Christ and the people in the Rico community. (1)

The Rico United Methodist Church (photo above) is located in the beautiful open
countryside and is only a hundred yards or so from Providence Baptist Church, (photo to the right).

When I first went to Rico, I was interested to learn that the Baptist and Methodist congregations join together for worship services at least three times a year and also cooperate with each other in other ways.

For example, each has an annual homecoming and both congregations come together for the fellowship dinner after the Worship Service. They attend each others weddings and “showers” and other special services. Why so much fellowship across denominational lines? When I read the Rico Church History I found at least one answer.

In 1902 when a man by the name of Shannon gave an acre of land adjoining the new Baptist church to build the Methodist Church he said, “The Baptist and Methodists should cooperate on earth as well as in heaven.” Then in 1954 in an updated history this story is re-told with the comment, “It is said that there is no place on earth where Methodists and Baptists cooperate more than in the Rico Community.” So, at least for the old timers in the area, they took pride, perhaps even “un-Christian pride” in recounting their history of cooperation.

One of the joint ventures between this Baptist and Methodist congregation is a service at the Masonic Hall on the third Sunday of each September. I have not polled “the whole world” but I suspect there may be no other “place on earth” where Baptists and Methodists unite for a Sunday Worship Service in a Masonic Hall.

This includes the two pastors preaching in alternating years. The Masonic Lodge is equidistant from the two churches, in a triangle with the three buildings near one point on the triangle. The Masonic structure is a little nearer the Methodist than the Baptist, a fact that I understood was pleasing to some of the Baptists who considered the Masonic movement a work of the devil.

It was Sunday morning and my turn to preach. I had been a pastor less than a year and was a student in seminary. I had put all the time I could in preparation and felt it was not enough. The Baptist preacher would lead the singing and the pastoral prayer. After Sunday school both congregations walked the few yards to gather for this service. All of our Methodist people were present.

One family had even postponed a vacation to “support Ruth” in my first attempt to preach to the Baptists. We had about an equal number from each of the two congregations. They were seated in clusters in what could be described as a “theater-in-the -round.” I do not know if this arena style is typical of Masonic structures.

Rev. Glenn Dow, the Baptist minister, was seated on my left on the slightly raised stage at the wall in front of the entrance.

We were into the service and our Methodist Children’s Choir was singing. (Yes. We did have a Children's Choir and Children's Sunday School Class by this time...thanks to Pat Foster and Bobbie Edge who worked with our children on Wednesdays and Sundays, along with Judy Henderson, who with her husband Ernie had joined Rico Church, bringing their three children and also neighborhood children.)

A man came to the door of the Masonic Building and motioned. Rev. Dow went to the door. It seemed like an eternity before he returned to the platform visibly shaken. He walked to the podium and said, "I have a very sad announcement to make. I wish it could wait until after the service. But in my judgment it needs to be told now. There has been a terrible accident out on Garrett’s Ferry Road. It was Charlene Lewis (a member of Providence Baptist) and her children on the way to church. The children were rushed to Grady...Charlene is dead...it is time for prayer and they need prayer . . .we all need prayer. Let us pray.”

There were audible gasps and cries all over the building. I found myself in tears. I had met Charlene and her two young daughters just eight days earlier at a wedding shower at our Methodist church for a Baptist friend. She was young and very much alive.

The shock of sudden death is staggering. We were all reeling. My mind was in turmoil as I was bowed low listening to Dow and silently praying for the grieving congregation and for myself. What in the world could I say?

Painfully I struggled to remember some of the sermon notes folded in my Bible. Would it be appropriate?

Should I try to explain why an “all powerful" and “all loving God” would allow a young mother to be killed on the way to church? We did not know at the time that the only child of a neighbor had also been in the car and killed. A drunken man had driven his car on the wrong side of this peaceful and picturesque country road.

I do not remember Dow’s prayer. I do remember thinking he was handling it well. I had and still have great respect for this man of God. His pastoral care and concern was evident. Rev. Dow finished the prayer and sat down like a man whose sentence was served and looked expectantly toward me.

It was all too soon my turn to speak. I could not just “be with the people.” I knew if there were to be any ultimate to be spoken by a human being, for God’s sake and for ours it must be said. I was not adequate but I knew the Eternal God was with me in a powerful way.

It was not a funeral. It was a Sunday Morning Worship Service. But we were crying for Charlene and for our own humanness. I said something like this; “I met Charlene at the shower for Linda last week. I remember her as vivacious and friendly.” I turned to my right where several persons were sobbing. “I grieve with you. I am so sorry…so very sorry. I grieve for all of us in trying to understand how a loving, all powerful God would allow a young mother to be killed on the way to church.

“We know, of course, thousands of persons drove to church safely today and every Sunday drive to church without accident, but that does not make it easier today. And in our humanness, we take our safety, our life for granted. We only stop to question God when an accident or sudden death occurs.

God has given us freedom. We are in a highly mechanized, fallen world and it seems to me many persons' lives are cut short needlessly. I remember a few lines I read some time ago: “The grass withers, the flowers fade…you and I die. How I wish it were not so. How I wish things were different. But if things were different, it is entirely possible that we would not possess whatever it is...we wish would never die.” (that phrase had stood out in my reading a few days earlier and seemed important to me)

Moses wrote in Psalm 90, “A thousand years in God’s sight are but as a day when it is past and as a watch in the night.” It seems to me that measuring the length of life in the light of eternity - whether we live a hundred years or just twenty or thirty years - we have only a brief time. This is why it is so important to learn from God. The eternal God is our dwelling place and underneath are the everlasting arms. This is why what we do at church is of supreme importance.“

Before beginning the sermon, I also said a few things I had planned about my respect for the Baptist church and a few words about my call as a woman. Very few! When faced with the mystery of death, the disputes between denominational understanding and between the place of men and women in the church seemed insignificant. This Baptist pastor invited me to speak at his church and we had Bible studies with both churches participating. When I finished seminary and was sent to another community as a full time pastor, I had the same type of relationship with the Baptist pastor and his congregation. God bless these dear men and women of God. They may have a different understand of the Lord's call for Chrisitan women in the church but were respectful and loving.

BTW, I have observed that in churches where Christian women are not allowed to "preach," they preach and call it "Bible teaching" or "speaking" or "witnessing." In churches where women are allowed to preach, we teach the Bible and speak and witness and call it "preaching." Churches that preach that women should not preach, allow women to "witness, speak and teach" on the mission field. Hopefully we, as Christians, can continue to love and respect one another and fight our common enemy and not one another.

It has been one of the heartwarming and faith building experiences of my life to look at the message the Lord gave me during that week. I did not know what would be happening on that Sunday morning but it seemed evident the Lord did. From the opening story to the final illustration, the sermon spoke to all of us in the crisis situation in which we found ourselves that day.

Everyone stayed to complete the Celebration of Worship until the last amen of the benediction. Then they came forward in tears to put arms of love around Dow and around me and each other and to say affirming things about the service and about their faith.

Notes
1. I am not downplaying the opportunity and great privilege of attending seminary at Candler. It was a wonderful and valuable experience for me! But I was 63 years old and was not "preparing" for ministry but was already "in ministry." I would reach mandatory retirement age in 7 years. It was good preparation that I had spent years as a student of Bible, Church and Methodist history. It turned out helpful also that at Georgia State I had been certified in Gerontology.

The Giles Girls

When I think of quilts, I always think of the Giles sisters.

My mother had cousins she and her siblings called the "Giles girls." Three of the girls never married. One of their specialties was quilt making. In one of the bedrooms in their country home (near Fayetteville) there was a stack of beautiful quilts that reached all the way to the ceiling. Not just an eight foot ceiling, but a country ceiling! And the platform that held the quilts was just a few inches off the floor.

When I went with my family to visit as a child, we were always awestruck to see such a mountainous stack of quilts. And they were folded only once, and the corners matched perfectly

Whenever anyone mentioned the Giles sister, someone would say, "I wonder whatever happened to all those quilts." I do not know. With no children nor grandchildren to wear the quilts out sleeping on the floor, they may be heirlooms in some home.
Hopefully some of the nieces or nephews have them.

Mama loved and respected her Giles cousins and had played with them as a child so we visited as often as possible even though we lived some distance apart.

I remember them in our home a few times. The family lore is full of stories of the perculiarity of the "Giles girls." On one of their visits to our house, we were all sitting around at bedtime in the "sitting room - bedroom."

The slop jar had already been brought in. I do not remember all the circumstances but my four year old nephew was asleep on one of the beds. Lula said to Mama, in her slow speech typical of the Hollywood stereotype of the Southern drawl, "Eula do you think it would be alright for me to use the slop jar with that little boy in the room."

The Giles sisters were perfect housekeepers. Their country house was said to be so so clean one could "eat off the floor." I am sure no one ever did!

Annie (1885-1975) and Lula (1882-1956)were in charge of the cooking and Pearl (1888-1978)did much of the work in the large garden. They raised their own vegetables for year round use. They canned vegetables and dried fruits for winter use. I remember sitting at their table one time as a child with bowls of vegetables and a huge platter of fresh sliced country tomatoes. I do not remember much about the rest of the menu, but no doubt they also had fried chicken and perhaps another meat dish as a typical "company" dinner in the rural South.

Their mother, Aunt Elmira (Elmira Mask Giles 1854_1940)) was a sister
to Mama's mother, Elizabeth Mask Dick. Elmira and Elizabeth were the daughters of the properous (for the times) farmer and Methodist preacher Bogan Mask. They could (and did ) trace their (our) family history back to the Revolution. Family history was important as "Class" was valued in the South with so many other things "gone with the wind" after the Civil War.
One of the Giles daughters had married, and their only brother had married; but Annie, Pearl, and Lula never married. When Mama and her sisters, Aunt Molly, Aunt Cora and Aunt Fannie visited together, they sometimes remarked about how "pitiful" it was that the Giles girls had never married. Marriage for women was considered of utmost importance then. So it follows that some of the Women's liberation generation rebelled in the opposite direction.

Aunt Cora pointed out that the reason the Giles girls did not marry was because their papa, Uncle William Giles )1859-1826) was so "peculiar." They said Uncle Bill Giles was "curious".

This did not mean the dictionary reference for the word as eager to learn or inquisitive.
Uncle Bill, they reported was " flat out cure-rus" which meant strange.. He would never let his daughters date. It was said that he "ran off" every man who showed an interest in courting one of his daughters.

It seems that the youngest daughter, had "run off and got married."

It is strange and of little importance to me now but my mother told us on more than one occasion, when we were "poor as church mice" during the Great Depression, "we came from good stock.
.But life goes on. God bless the memory of these dear Giles sisters who were such a fascinating part of my childhood.

Happy Mother's Day 2012

Happy Mother’s Day! We are all either the son or the daughter of a mother. So in that capacity all of us fit into a Mother’s Day Celebration.

As a Mother myself, I have had a difficult time with some of the sermons I have heard on Mother's Day, They make us all …all mothers “angels.” One would get the idea that to become a mother is to become a saint.
We all know there are loving, hard working, good mothers and there are also selfish and neglectful and not so good mothers. Most of us as mothers find our place somewhere in between.

But there is something about motherhood that tends to bring out the best in us. In spite of the seemingly endless nausea and misery of pregnancy and pain of childbirth, the incredible love that we have for that helpless and amazingly beautiful baby when it is finally born is awesome. Our love for our children is amazing.

Erma Bombeck said, “The easiest part of being a mother is giving birth. The hardest part is showing up on the job every day." And I might add it is showing up 24/7.

Most of us as adults have an emotional attachment and love for our mother. In cases where the mother has such personal problems as to neglect, abuse or abandon the child there is always unbelievable sorrow.

Just the thought of "mother" brings about great emotion in many of us. I remember one Saturday before Mothers Day when I was sitting in the sanctuary with our church music director. We were discussing the music for the next day and got into conversation about some of the old Mother's Day hymns. She mentioned two old gospel songs, "That Silver Haired Mother of Mine" and "If I Could Hear My Mother Pray Again." We both choked up.

It seems to me that mother love is more nearly like God's love...unselfish love...agape love, than any other human love. Mother seems to see possibilities in us that other people seem not to notice. Just as God sees possibilities in us that we do not see in ourselves and others fail to see.

Charles Swindoll's book entitled, Living Beyond The Daily Grind has a chapter, The Grind of Motherhood. Is there any one of us who will not agree that in addition to the many joys of motherhood and the endless rewards, motherhood is a four letter word called "Work." Swindoll puts it this way; "the daily mounds of laundry, ironing, folding, cleaning , cooking, car pooling, being a referee, a coach, and encourager, a counselor, a cop, staying pretty, remaining tactful, loveable, compassionate, cheerful, responsible, balanced and sane..."


My daughter, Deborah Lewis wrote a book in 1990, later put out in paperback which I think is the best on the subject; "Motherhood Stress." On the cover of "Motherhood Stress" is a woman stretched out across two mountain peaks, with children walking across her, and the sub title is "Finding Encouragement in the Ultimate Helping Profession." Motherhood is the ultimate helping profession and parents are encouraged to realize the importance of the job.

I was in my early fifties when my mother died at age 88. Even though I had a husband and seven children, I will never forget the sense of loneliness and loss I felt to realize my mother was no longer in my world.

The above photo is of my mother with her youngest grandchildren and some of her great grandchildren made at her home in March of 1960 or 1961 at our annual homecoming which we celebrated every year near her March 6 birth date. Until the last few days of her life, she lived in her own home and took care of herself. I am old enough now to realize it was not an easy thing to do. (The three youngest Shaw children are seen in the photo above. The two girls standing behind the sofa are Deborah Ruth Shaw Lewis and Jane Ann Baird Lathem. Four of the children in the part of the photo seen are great gandchildren. Far right (the his arms crossed) is David Baird Shaw. Next is Charles "Chuck" Jerry Baird , son of Jerry and Pat Baird and grandson of Ruth and Charlie Baird. Don't write it in stone but I think next little boy is Danny Loyd, the son of Benny and Evelyn Loyd (the grandson of Pelham and Vera Loyd. Sharlyn Beth Shaw Roszel is sitting next to her grandmother and the little girl next to her is Diane Loyd Gage, daughter of Benny and Evelyn Loyd.)

My mother had a philosophy of life as a Christian, not to worry about things that “could not be helped” and to take each day as a new beginning. In honor of my mother, Eula Ann Dick Baird (3-6-1885- 12-7-1973) I wrote a ballad in 1985.

A BALLAD FOR MY MOTHER
1. My mother grew old. . . had lines etched in her face
Worked hard all her life. . . with uncommon grace
She lived by the Bible. . . Each day and each mile.
She taught me her secret. . . of life with a smile.

Refrain: She said. . . Today is the first day. Of the rest of your life.
Don't borrow trouble, With yesterday’s strife.
Take time. . . Smell the flowers.
It makes life worth while
Then pick up each new day.
With love and a smile!

2. Widowed while young. . . Mama worked in a mill.
Washed on a scrub-board. . . Brought wood up a hill.
She sang as she labored… to stay out of debt ,
She taught me a lesson. . . I'll never forget.

Refrain: She said. . . Today is the first day. Of the rest of your life.
Don't borrow trouble, With yesterday’s strife.
Take time. . . smell the flowers.
It makes life worth while .
Pick up each new day With love and a smile!

3. One day I said, Mama,. . . Your life has been hard .
You've buried two babies. . . Out in the church yard.
You've known all the heartache of struggling for bread,
She smiled through her tears and these words she said:

Refrain: She said. . . Today is the first day, Of the rest of your life.
Don't borrow trouble, With yesterday’s strife.
Take time. . . smell the flowers.
It makes life worth while.
Pick up each new day. With love and a smile!

Her old fashioned teacakes? We ate the last crumb!
Her old fashioned flowers? She had a green thumb!
She lived by the Bible. . . Each day and each mile.
She taught me her secret. . . of life with a smile.

Ruth Baird Shaw

Happy Birthday Dear David on May 9!

Happy Birthday to David Baird Shaw, a good and talented man! My husband and I brought David home from the hospital to 333 South Ninth Street in Griffin Georgia on Mother's Day in 1958.

David's may 9th birthday falls on Wednesday before Mother's Day this year 2012! (The picture to the left is David happily holding his day old grandson, Alexander James Rogers. Alex was born April 6, 2010.)

David was born on a Friday afternoon at 3:00 p.m. the seventh child and the of a Methodist Pastor and his wife. This was at a time when pastors salaries were low even though ordination required 3 years of Post Graduate Seminary education.

David was welcomed as enthusiastically as if he was an only child. We brought him home from the hospital on Mother's Day over 50 years ago and I am still proud to be his mother.
David was a bright and happy boy who took seriously the fact that in the Bible "seven" is the number of perfection as well as completion.

As a boy, David preferred peanut butter sandwiches to vegetables and tried to live on them. This fact caused his Daddy to consult with a doctor friend. The doctor said he had heard of children who tried to survive on worse and David would grow out of it.

So he continued to push his veggies around on his plate and drop as many as possible on the floor thinking his mother would not notice.
His sisters like to tease him at all family gatherings to this day that David never made his own peanut butter sandwich. They report he enlisted one or another of his indulgent siblings to do it for him. Even my granddaughter Lyn tells me she was enlisted to made him sandwiches. As Carol said, "He was just so cute."

So David never needed "self esteem" lessons nor "diversity" training. He played the guitar and drum in the RSV (Revised Standard Version) Youth Group at church, so he was popular with his classmates and especially the girls as a teenager.
David is now a hard working business man and and lay leader in his church.

David is married to his lovely childhood sweetheart and the proud father of three beautiful daughters and now a son-in'law (in small picture below) and Grandfather to almost two year old Alex.