Wit's End Corner

My mother was still in her forties when my father died after being bedridden for a year. My father was a man of strong faith and knew the heartache and possible hardships his wife and children would have to endure after his death.

A few days before Papa died, he gave my mother a poem entitled "Wit's End Corner" he had cut out of a monthly magazine and gave it to Mama and told her to keep it to read. Both my parents were readers. As tight as money was during the depression, they continued to subscribe to publications.

I thought about the poem sometime ago when reading a story about a musician who played keyboard and sang at a Starbucks shop near Times Square in New York.

It was a cold day so a large group had crowded inside the shop to enjoy the warmth and the music. It was a fun time and was beginning to be a profitable day for the musician as his basket for tips kept piling up.

The music was mostly from the 40s to the 90s with a few original tunes thrown in. During an emotional rendition of the classic, "If You Don't Know Me by Now," the musician noticed a lady sitting nearby singing along with him and swaying to the beat.

After the tune was over, she walked over and said, "I apologize for singing along on that song. Did it bother you?" "No," the musician told her. "We love it when the audience joins in!" Then he added, "Would you like to sing up front on the next selection?" She accepted his invitation. She was told to choose a song and asked,"What are you in the mood to sing?"

Finally she asked, "do you know any hymns?" He replied, Hymns sure...I cut my teeth on hymns.. Before i was born, i was going to church."

He said, "How about 'His Eye is on The Sparrow.'" The lady was silent a for a minute and then said, "OK, lets do 'His Eye is on The Sparrow."

She slowly put her purse down, straightened her jacket and faced the center of the shop and began to sing : " Why should I be discouraged?
Why should the shadows come? "

The audience of coffee drinkers were transfixed. Even the noises of the cappuccino machine ceased as the employees stopped to listen. The song rose to a conclusion:
"I sing because I'm happy,

I sing because I'm free.
His eye is on the sparrow
And he watches over me. "

The applause crescended to a roar and continued while the musician embraced his new friend and told her she had "made his day."

She told him, "Well, it's funny that you picked that particular hymn. " "Why is that?" , he asked. "Well ,"she hesitated again, "that was my daughter's favorite song". "She died at age 16 with a brain tumor two days ago."

She smiled through tear filled eyes as the musician hugged her. She said, "I am going to be okay. I'm just got to keep trusting the Lord and singing God's song." She picked up her bag, gave the musicain her card, and then she was gone.

My mother sang "His Eye Is On the Sparrow" and other hymns in the kitchen as she prepared meals and cleaned the house. Her loud and happy singing in the kitchen sometimes embarrassed me as a teen ager when I would have friends over. Today it is one of my happier memories.

The man ended his story by saying, "When you get to your wit's end, you'll find God lives there."
Those were the words my Father told Mama. When she died at age 88, the hand written poem , was still in her box of keepsakes. The poem is in her handwriting and now in my keepsakes. She must have copied from a dog-eyed printed copy frm the church newspaper.

Wit's End Corner
Are you standing at "Wit's End Corner
Friend with troubled brow?
Are you thinking of what is before you,
And all you are bearing now?
Does all the world seem against you,
And you in the battle alone?
Remember-at "Wit's End Corner"
Is just where God's power is shown.

Are you standing at "Wit's End Corner
Blinded with wearying pain,
Feeling you cannot endure it,
You cannot bear the strain,
Bruised through the constant suffering,
Dizzy, and dazed, and numb?
Remember-at "Wit's End Corner"
Is where Jesus loves to come.

Are you standing at "Wit's End Corner"?
Your work before you spread,
A mountain of tasks unfinished,
And pressing on heart and head,
Longing for strength to do it,
Stretching out trembling hands?
Remember--at "Wit's End Corner"
The Burden-bearer stands.

Are you standing at "Wit's End Corner"?
Then you're just in the very spot
To learn the wondrous resources
Of Him who faileth not:
No doubt to a brighter pathway
Your footsteps will soon be moved,
But only at "Wit's End Corner"
Is the "God who is able" proved.

Poem by Antoinette Wilson

Letter to President Obama

Below is an editorial that appeared in the Griffin , Ga newspaper,written by Pastor Herb Flanders of the United Methodist Church. I think the criticism of President Obama, by many who voted for him and were happy to see the first African American as president goes back to his criticism of America when overseas. It said more about him and his many Anti-American friends that it does about America!

Dear President Obama,

As I gather the Sunday before Memorial Day to worship with two United Methodist congregations I pastor in Griffin , Ga , I'll think about some of your recent comments.

I'll be thinking of what you told a crowd of about 2,000 in Strasbourg , Germany , as you spoke of our nation's views of Europe - "Instead of celebrating your dynamic union and seeking to partner with you to meet common challenges, there have been times where America has shown arrogance and been dismissive, even derisive."

The gray, balding heads on the people who worship with me attest to their years of toil and labor on this Earth. They are, as Jesus said, the 'salt of the Earth." They are grandmamas and granddaddies, blue collar folks who worked hard to build a community and raise families, to give to others when they had precious little for themselves. They continue to do these things today.

Salt of the Earth they are and heroes to boot. When this nation called they answered with a resounding 'yes' and went where Uncle Sam asked them. A couple of months ago, we laid John Busbin to rest.

Like you, he visited Europe on behalf of the U..S. He beat you there by 65 years and spent his time marking and clearing mine fields, not giving speeches. Rather than being arrogant, dismissive or derisive, John partnered with the French and others to meet a common challenge. Others did the same, sailing on ships, slogging through mud or soaring through the air because evil and tyranny were well on their way to taking over the world.

I wish you'd come May 24th and sit with these folks as we sing America the Beautiful and America . I'd like it if you could sit up front with me when Maxine Bunn and Jerry Turner do a medley of military service Hymns and the veterans or spouses of deceased veterans stand when their branch's hymn is played. They grab hold of the pew in front of them to pull themselves to their feet. I know I'm in the company of giants.

I'd love for you to meet Janie Worthy and understand those tears that still glisten on her cheeks each Memorial Day Sunday.

Janie married John Pershing Botkin in August 1943. Their daughter Gail was born Aug. 10, 1944, three or four months after John shipped out to Europe . Janie, 19, went to St. Mary's , Ohio to stay with her in-laws after Gail was born. One Sunday afternoon in early December, farm families began to call each other as the postmaster's Model A made its way down the country roads. They knew that car carried news that would shatter a family and were trying to figure out where he was headed. He stopped in front of Janie's in-laws' farmhouse. Her daddy-in-law walked out to meet him and learned that John was killed in action Nov. 11, 1944, serving with the Army in Alsace . Cpl. Botkin never saw, held or kissed his little girl. As a father, you can empathize with Janie's salty tears.

Perhaps if you could come you'd see why your words hurt so many so much. America may be many things and she certainly isn't perfect, but heroes with whom I share my life have hardly been arrogant, dismissive or derisive of Europe . They've given themselves to save Europe when Europe couldn't save itself.

So, Mr. President, get out of Washington for a weekend and take a trip down to Georgia . We'll feed you some barbecue over in Williamson and I'll introduce you to some friends of mine, some everyday giants and ordinary heroes.

God bless,

Herb Flanders

Seven Rules for Daily Living

1. Wake Up !!
Decide to have a good day. "Today is the day the Lord hath made; let us rejoice and be glad in it." Psalms 118:24

2. Dress Up !!
The best way to dress up is to put on a smile. A smile is an inexpensive way to improve your looks. "The Lord does not look at the things man looks at. Man looks at outward appearance; but the Lord looks at the heart." I Samuel 16:7

3. Shut Up!!
Say nice things and learn to listen.
God gave us two ears and one mouth, so He must have meant for us to do twice as much listening as talking. "He who guards his lips guards his soul." Proverbs 13:3


4. Stand Up!!...
For what you believe in. Stand for something or you will fall for anything.. "Let us not be weary in doing good; for at the proper time, we will reap a harvest if we do not give up. Therefore, as we have opportunity, let us do good..."
Galatians 6:9-10

5. Look Up !!...
To the Lord.
"I can do everything through Christ who strengthens me."
Philippians 4:13

6. Reach Up !!...
For something higher. "Trust in the Lord with all your heart, and lean not unto your own understanding.
In all your ways, acknowledge Him,
and He will direct your path."
Proverbs 3:5-6

7. Lift Up !!...
Your Prayers.
"Do not worry about anything; instead PRAY ABOUT
EVERYTHING." God answers Knee-Mail.
Philippians 4:6

Sew and Sew

SEWING IN THE 1920'S ,
Among my early memories of the late 1920's, is my mother sitting at her old Singer sewing machine, peddling away! Sewing was a vital part of her daily chores. She made her clothes, (dresses as well as cotton slips).
Mama also made most, if not all of the dresses and slips my sister Mary and I wore. And early on she has sewed dresses for my two older sisters as well as shirts for my five brothers.

But Mama did not consider herself an accomplished seamstress as was Aunt Cora. It was said that Aunt Cora (Mama's older sister) could go into a dress shop, look at a dress, then come home and make a duplicate.

Mama always said she did just "plain sewing." However,I remember the younger women in the neighborhood would often come to get Mama's help with their sewing.

Mama told me she learned to sew, like Penelope , by "sewing all day and picking out stitches all night." She said she just "kept dabbling with it until I got it right." She did "get it right." The finished dress was well done.

I did not realize this until later in life, but my mother never thought of herself as a pretty woman because her eyes did not focus properly. She was embarrassed that her eyes were "crossed." She always wore glasses, but she had a good figure even into old age.

One of the stories I remember from childhood is that of a neighbor lady who came over one day to borrow a pattern to make a dress like Mama had made for herself. After the lady left with the pattern, my father turned to Mama and said, "She need not think when she finishes her dress like yours, she will look as good in the dress as you do."

Perhaps this helps to explain why Mama never found any fault with Papa! I told this story in a sermon one Father's Day in East Point United Methodist Church to illustrate the fact that Christian men usually know how to love and treat a woman. A few compliments go a long way! Following the Golden Rule would solve many of our interpersonal relationships.

Cotton print dresses were the usual daily attire for women in our small town. These outfits had to be washed, starched,and ironed. No drip-dries nor wrinkle-proof material in those days.

I especially remember Mama working against a deadline to get my Girl Reserve Camp dresses finished. Every year, we made a long train trip to Savannah.

The first time I saw the ocean was on one such trip. The first time I ate in a restaurant was on a Girl Reserve trip to Savannah. (BTW The first time I was served fish with it's head still attached on one of our Girl Reserves trips. None of us little girls would eat it and laughed into the night about anyone "eating a fish while it looked at us.")

These Girls Reserves trips were events that required preparation. Mama was always working with some of the other mothers in the neighborhood to get us girls ready for camp. In my memory I see Mama sitting at the old sewing machine and peddling away with Blanche Fincher and other young mothers in the room consulting with one another about how the Girl Reserve dresses and scarves needed to be fashioned just right for the event. The dresses were shirtwaist pattern. Each little girl was to pack two white dresses with blue scarfs and two blue dresses with white scarfs to wear for the trip.

My Song of Praise

Just a year or so before my husband, Charles, had his first heart attack, we were pulling off the expressway to go to our United Methodist parsonage in Austell where we lived at the time.

We saw a man fall down beside the road. We had gotten past him so we had to get to a place to turn around and drive back. Charles asked me to stay in the car until he talked to the man. The man was on crutches with a broken leg in a cast and was falling down drunk.

Charles put him in the car, took him home with us, put him in the shower and helped him get a bath while I washed his clothes and prepared him something to eat. Later Charles was able to get him into a Christian home for alcoholics.

So it is. We came to Jesus just as we are, clothed in the garments of sin, spiritually starving and sick unto death. We are welcomed by Christ (and hopefully by Christians), accepted just as we are, bathed in God's love and forgiveness…transformed and clothed in his Grace - indeed given a place at His table of Grace.

I heard Dottie Rambo tell of praying for a brother who had become alcoholic. He was finally won to the Lord and was the inspiration of one of my favorites of all of Dottie’s songs:

“He Looked Beyond My Faults and Saw My Need
“Amazing Grace shall always be my song of praise
For it was Grace that bought my liberty.
I do not know just why He came to love me so…
He looked beyond my fault and saw my need…

I shall forever lift mine eyes to Calvary.
To view the cross where Jesus died for me…
How marvelous…the Grace that caught my falling soul:
He looked beyond my fault and saw my need.”

Kudzu is King...Where's the Vine Weevil?

"Cotton isn't king in the South anymore. Kudzu is king!" So said Channing Cope

Is there no Vine Weevil to topple King Kudzu, like the Boll Weevil brought down King Cotton?

There's so much fast-growing kudzu vine in the Southeastern U.S., one would think it a native plant.

Kudzu, growing up and down and all around the power post was introduced to the United States in 1876 at the Centennial Exposition in Philadelphia, Pennsylvania. Countries were invited to build exhibits to celebrate the 100th birthday of the U.S. The Japanese government constructed a beautiful garden filled with plants from their country. The large leaves and sweet-smelling blooms of kudzu captured the imagination of American gardeners who used the plant for ornamental purposes. During the Great Depression of the 1930s, the Soil Conservation Service promoted kudzu for erosion control. Hundreds of young men were given work planting kudzu through the Civilian Conservation Corps. Farmers were paid as much as eight dollars an acre as incentive to plant fields of the vines in the 1940s. I remember , as a child seeing one of our neighbors house had a small vine of kudza vine growing on strings to ptovide shade for on their open porch. Channing Cope was Kudzu's most vocal advocate. Cope of Covington, Georgia promoted use of the vine to control erosion. Cope wrote about kudzu in articles for the Atlanta Journal-Constitution and talked about its virtues frequently on his daily WSB-AM radio program broadcast from his front porch. During the 1940s, he traveled across the southeast starting Kudzu Clubs to honor what he called "the miracle vine." Cope was very disappointed when the U.S. government stopped advocating the use of kudzu in 1953.

The problem for years now is that it just grows too well! The climate of the Southeastern U.S. is perfect for kudzu. The vines grow as much as a foot per day during summer months, climbing trees, power poles, and anything else they contact. Under ideal conditions kudzu vines can grow sixty feet each year. While they help prevent erosion, the vines can also destroy valuable forests by preventing trees from getting sunlight. Researchers at Tuskegee University, has successfully raised Angora goats in fields of kudzu which would otherwise be considered wasted land. The Angora goats serve as a "weevil" to keep the kudzu from spreading further also while producing profitable milk and wool products. Rhoden says constant grazing of the goats there will eventually eradicate kudzu

Uses for Kudzu: Basket makers have found that the rubber-like vines are excellent for decorative and functional creations. Ruth Duncan of Greenville, Alabama makes over 200 kudzu baskets each year and says she doesn't mind that people call her the "Queen of Kudzu." Regina Hines of Ball Ground, Georgia, has developed unique basket styles which incorporate curled kudzu vines. She weaves with other vines as well, but says that kudzu is the most versatile.

Common names for kudzu include,"mile -a-minute vine", foot -a-night vine"

and the "vine that ate the south,"

Southerners just close their windows at night to keep the kudzu out.

Our Parsonage Adventure.

The Parsonage system in the Church has been both praised and negated by pastors and their families as well as by lay people. especially those who have served on their church "Parsonage Committee."
But the advantages outweighed the negative by providing ready housing for itinerant pastors. (The picture to the left is David, Beth, Deborah and Carol in front of Trinity Rome parsonage where we lived for 5 years and 6 months. The picture below was taken in the Living Room of Ellijay Parsonage (Terrell, Charles holding 2 month old David, Ruth, Carol, Deborah, Beth. )The picture on the upper right is Joan holding a rabbit in the back yard of the Mackville- Antioch Parsonage. (Rabbit raised for food but never eaten) ) Below on the right is a picture of Terrell, Deborah (on Rocking Horse) and Carol in the Living Room in Griffin's Midway-Sunnyside Parsonage.
Methodist circuit riders rode West with the settlers and helped to build and settle this country.

There has been at least one Methodist Church in every county in the United States. Methodist pastors, have always been and some still are “itinerants,” traveling from place to place establishing and serving churches.

Soon church lay people started building houses so the pastor and wife and children could live in their community during his stay with them, often just one year and usually not longer than four years in the case of Methodist preachers.
The first parsonage my husband, children and I lived in was in Dunkinsville Ohio while he was a college student pastor, serving three churches in the area.
Charles preached at Cedar Creek Methodist Church at 9 a.m. every Sunday. At 11 O’clock, Charles was behind the Dunkinsville Methodist Church pupit every Sunday morning. His wife and children were usually in the pews, after which we were invited to a Sunday dinner with one of the families in the Dunkinsville church. What a generous example of Southern Ohio hospitality!

These gracious people treated their novice pastor and his family with love and respect and we returned the compliment.

Each Sunday evening, we drove 7 or 8 miles from the parsonage in Dunkinsville to the 7:00 Service at Jackson Ohio where the Jackson congregation graciously welcomed us and Charles preached his third sermon of the day.

Charles developed into a good preacher (I was always blessed and never tired of hearing him) during this three times each Sunday preaching during his student years.

The Dunkinsville parsonage in 1952 had “five rooms and a path.” We had cold water in the kitchen sink when we finally learned to prime the pump. Neither Charles not I had ever lived in luxury but neither of us had lived anywhere before without inside plumbing. But the path to the "out house" was paved.

It was a welcomed adventure. We continued enthusiastic at every opportunity to tell the Good News of Christ. We always remembered with a smile, E. Stanley Jones’ words about all material blessings of life as “too good for a ransomed sinner.”

After a year as a student at Asbury College, Charles was appointed to another pastorate to served two churches; Mackville and Antioch Kentucky. For two years, we lived in Mackville's nice Cape Cod style parsonage in beautiful blue grass Kentucky and worked with some of the finest and hardest working Christian people in the world. Charles preached at 10 at Mackville and drove a few miles to Antioch for the 11 o'clock service. He preached and conducted a service every Sunday night alternating between the two churches.

Charles earned his Bachelor of Arts Degree from Asbury in Wilmore Kentucky in June of 1954, where each ministeral student was required to take New Testament Greek. His Asbury education proved more than adequate when we moved back to Georgia where Charles enrolled at Candler School of Theology Seminary at Emory Universary in Atalnta.

The North Georgia Conference of the worldwide Methodist Church assigned Charles to pastor Midway, Sunnyside- Vaughn, churches in 1954 while commuting back and fourth to Candler three days a week.

The Griffin parsonage was an old house. In fact, while we lived in this parsonage, Griffin High School presented a play about the 1920’s. They put out the word requesting a loan of 1920 furniture for the set. Much of our parsonange furniture was moved to the Griffin High stage!

But it was a wonderful old house with a small building in the back yard called a "Preachers Study." We lived there four years while Charles started and finished Seminary , earning a Master of Divinity degree from Emory and worked with and loved those dear people like family. I still keep in touch with Midway Church people and have been invited back to preach at two of their annual Homecoming Services. Charles was invited back to preach at both Midway church and at Sunnyside many times for Revival and Homecoming preaching.
Since Charles death in 1986, I have been invited to preach at nearly every church where my husband had been the pasor, including Sunnyside United Methodist Church Homecoming as well as the two Homecoming Services at Midway.
It was at the Sunnyside Homecoming service where I had been the invited preacher that an elderly man told me the funniest joke he had ever heard! I was greeting people after the service when he come up with his wife, punched her in in ribs, smiled broadly and said, "This is the first time I have ever heard a woman preach...from the pulpit! " we all enjoyed the laugh!
After Charles was ordained Elder in 1958, (At Glenn Memorial on Emory campus by Bishop Arthur Moore, This was shortlky before Pulpit Robes were worn by Methodist pastors. The men were in dress suits with shirt and tie with each wife standing behind her husband. Dr.Ruth Rogers, also ordained in 1958 as the first in the Methodist Church)

We lived in the spacious and beautifully furnished Methodist parsonage in Ellijay, the beautiful Georgia Mountains. In our 4th year at Watkins memorial in Ellijay, the conference had to make a "middle of the year move" and Charles was appointed to Trinity in Rome in January of 1962.

Although the move from Ellijay to Trinity, Rome included a large raise in pay, we were reluctant to leave the growing Ellijay church family. We served Trinity and lived in their lovely new Trinity parsonage until June of 1968 and was and appointed to Fairburn First. Fairburn also had a beautiful new parsonage and congregation,

Other Atlanta area churches we served and parsonages we resided in were two years at Skyland in North Atlanta. Then four years each at Epworth in the Candler Park area and Park Street in West End Altanta. From Park Street, we moved to Trinity, Austell.

Charles had his first heart attack while serving at Trinity in Austell and a second one two years later at Forest Park , retiring on disability in 1983. (picture to the left is taken ouside the Ellijay Methodist parsonage, showing Ruth, Carol, Joan and Janice dressed for a Wedding Shower for Janice given by the Ellijay WSCS. Notice the white gloves we are wearing. If it had been Sunday, we would probably be wearing hats.)

At our 1968 Methodist General Conference,(meeting every 4 years) we became the United Methodist Church after uniting with the Evangelical United Brethren. In 1968 our family was residing in what became the Fairburn United Methodist parsonage.

After Charles' death in 1986, I was called on to pastor Rico United Methodist Church, a wonderful small church Charles had been serving for over a year after his second heart attack when he had retired on disability. It is a long story told elsewhere, but I served as pastor of Rico UMC while I started and finished work on a Master of Divinity degree from Emory. The Lord, who had called me to preach earlier, had opened this door wide and pushed me through.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. I was able to live in my own home those nearly four years at Rico. One of the most difficult thing I have had to do as a full time pastor was moving into a parsonage alone. But the beautiful and comfortable old parsonage in Grantville Georgia was truly home to me for the three good years while I was pastor there. It was across the street from Grantville First UMC, a stately red brick church.

I lived in the parsonage three years and we all wanted more years added but I reached mandatory retirement age all too soon! As in many churches, I also served as Church Secretary handling all the church correspondence. Every Thursday I typed a three fold Sunday bulletin, on my own computer in the parsonage and took it across the street to the church office and printed and folded it.

Miss Kathleen Ray, a retired Missionary was a valuable part of Grantville church, teaching one of the childrens Sunday School classes. Kathleen was my close neighbor and became a dear friend and often a walking partner for early moring exercise.


Every weekday morning I walked about a half mile to the Post Office to get the church and personal mail and visited with Grantville townspeople including Baptist deacons who welcomed me to town.
Later in the day activity included visiting and praying with those who were homebound or in nurse care as well as time spent in Bible study and sermon preparation.

Many Monday evenings , I walked down the hill to the Town Hall when I was asked by the Mayor to attend to "open the the meeting with prayer." Before I moved the Mayor of Grantville declared a Ruth Shaw Day with special citations and news articles. (Photo on the right is Ruth in doorway of Grantville Parsonage.)

The Parsonage System: In the late 1970's, the Retirement Parsonages that had been available to retired Methodist pastors for many years were sold and before the turn of the century, our country’s prosperity began to trickle down to preachers. Pastor's began to invest in property for retirement as more and more churches decided to get out of the "parsonage business" and budget a "housing allowance" for the pastoral family to rent or purchase their own housing.

A Bit of Methodist History: Christians were instrumental in building, not only churches but the first schools, colleges,( including Harvard )and the first hospitals! Neither the powerful Greek nor Roman Empire ever build a hospital!

The Methodist Church traces its roots back to 1738 where it developed in England as a result of the revival of Christianity under the preaching and teachings of John Wesley and the preaching and hymn writing of Charles Wesley.

While studying at Oxford, John Wesley, his brother Charles, and several other students formed a group devoted to study, prayer , evangelism and helping the underprivileged. They were first called "the Holy Club," then given the "Methodist" label by their fellow students because of the method they used to go about their Bible study, prayer, fasting and work among the poor.
John Wesley had no desire to "start another demonination " but, along with his brother Charles, undertook evangelistic preaching with an emphasis on conversion and holiness. It is said most early sermons were three simple points. 1. Everyone can be "saved." (No one is "predestined to be lost.) 2. Everyone can know they are "saved." (Assurance) 3. Everyone can live like a Christian (not perfection in ability but perfection in love toward God and others.)
Although both Wesley brothers were ordained ministers of the Church of England, they were barred from speaking in many of its pulpits because of their evangelistic methods outside the church and among the underpriviledged. They began to preach in homes, farm houses, barns, open fields...wherever they found people needing the message of salvation. Huge crowds gathered to hear and receive the good news of Jesus Christ they proclaimed.

Wesley did not set out to create a new church, but instead began small faith-restoration groups within the Anglican Church called the "United Societies." However, the Methodist revival spread and eventually became its own separate church when the first conference was held in 1744.

George Whitefield (1714-1770) was a minister in the Church of England and also one of the leaders of the Methodist movement. George Whitfield is famous for his part in the Great Awakening movement in America. As a follower of John Calvin, Whitefield and Wesley had different understandings of some of the doctrines of the church. The doctrine of predestination, for example.

In 1776 America was in war for it’s independence from England. With England and America at war with one another, John Wesley finally realized he must ordained Frances Asbury and Thomas Coke to continue work in America apart from the church of England.
The historic Christmas Conference was a founding conference of the newly independent Methodists within the United States held just after the American Revolution at Lovely Lane Chapel in Baltimore, Maryland in 1784.

Prior to the revolution American Methodism consisted of itinerant preachers commissioned by John Wesley of the Methodist societies in England. Wesley had been sending preacher/missionaries since the 1760s. With the outbreak of war, most of these preachers returned to England, with the notable exception of Francis Asbury, who began to be looked upon as the leader of the groups.

However, Asbury's activities were greatly restricted because, as an Englishman, he was suspected of not being sympathetic to the patriot cause. During the war, he ceased his circuit riding and stayed at the residence of his friend, Judge Thomas White of Delaware. After the war, Francis Asbury was tireless in carrying the Gospel of Jesus Christ to the nation.

A LETTER FROM CAMP GLISSON/

David reached age 11 and was excited to take his place for a week at Summer Camp Glisson in Dahlonega, the family tradiiton his six siblings before him had enjoyed.

As his mother, I helped him pack for the trip. I had bought him new underwear and included the new package of underwear in his luggage. I also added a self addressed card to send to us from camp as a good exercise in writing.

Fortunately David was back home with his head still attached and still "filling good" before the card below arrived.









P.S. Also... his new underwear was still new in the unopened package.

Think About These Things by Jane Merchant

There is not space on any of my many book shelves to hold all the books I already have. Nevertheless, I stopped by one of our Floyd County Library's "Friends of the Library" book sales and bought two boxes of books. It helps that I spent less than twelve dollars. Total.

Because of space, I wavered back and forth before putting some of the books in my "to buy" box.

But I found , tucked down between two larger books, a little book of poems by Jane Merchant. I knew immediately I would have bought that book for many times the price.

"Think About these Things" (Published in 1956 by Abingdon Press) was not the best seller of Jane Merchant 's books, even though both Carl Sandburg and Jesse Stewart endorsed the little book of poems on the back cover. Her prize wining volumn and first book was " The Greatest Of These."

I sat down for just a brief few minutes this morning with "Think About These Things" and read several of her little poems. The poem "Experience" is not the best one but is as up-to -date as the morning newpaper:

EXPERIENCE

What happened today?
The newsmen tell
The tidings so:
A government fell.

A statesmman was killed,
An airplane crashed,
A City cowered,
Hurricane lashed.

But here upon
This quiet street
An old. old lady.
Grave and sweet,

Handed a rose
To a crying child.
And sunlight sparkled
As they smiled.

I must beleive
The clamorous, raw
News; but the smile
Is what I saw.

Jane Merchant? I remember reading about Jane Merchant in a magazine with a picture of her many years ago. She was bedriden and being cared for by her widowed mother. The article said she was a semi -invalid, almost deaf and with poor eyesight. I do not know why but I can still see the picture, her bright eyes smiling while looking through thick glasses.

Jane was from Knoxville Tennessee. She was never able to attend formal school except the Sunday School of Inskip Methodist Church. Her many poems were published in many publication of her day including the New York Herald -Tribune.

In the 96 pages of Jane Merchant's Think about These Things poems, She wrote a prayer at the bottom of each page. On page 19 at the end of Experience she wrote;
"Lord, we would not close our eyes to wrong or be selfishishly at peace while others are beset by disaster. Let not our hearts grow callous we beseech thee, to news of suffering in any place. May we be ever responsive to need, seeking ways in which we can help. But , Lord, in a world where bad news travels faster than good, let us never forget that gentleness and kindness are also true. In Christ's name. AMEN.


Robert Frost was quoted this week: "Poetry is when an emotion has found its thought and the thought has found words. -Robert Frost, poet (1874-1963)

When Cotton Was King.

King Cotton was taken off it's throne in the South by the Boll Weevil before 1922. My cousin Aubrey Simms told me a family story in 1995 about remembering the very evening in 1922 when my father told his father that they were moving off the farm. The boll weevil had destroyed their cotton crop and basically another whole years income.

Aubrey recalled: "Uncle Wilson said to Papa, 'Jay, I've decided to go to Porterdale and get a job in one of the mills there.' " Jason was the son of Papa's sister Margaret (called Maggie) and her husband Ben Simms. They and my folks lived on neighboring farms in the Oak Hill (Georgia) community.

Aubrey said his father replied, "Uncle Wilson, I will never do that. I will go to sharecropping before I will raise my children in a mill town."

Aubrey said that Cousin Jay was very much opposed to them getting a job in the mill and especially living in a mill town. (It was a"step down" in the world of class and race. ) Apparently, Papa thought this his only option. Mama always said that "the boll weevil ran us off the farm."

The farm was in the community of Oak Hill. (Oak Hill is in Newton County near the Henry County line and also near Rockdale County

Cotton had been king in the South, and farmers made their living by raising cotton. When the tiny boll weevil infested the cotton plants, King Cotton forever lost its mighty throne in Southern farms. Many farmers lost their whole year's wages.

My father was in failing health when he got a job in one of the textile mills in Newton County (Porterdale) and moved his family into that “model mill town” in the fall of 1922. I was born the next year.

The first house our family lived in after moving to Porterdale was on Laurel Street which is a street behind the Osprey Mill Plant. However, it had the advantage of being near a lush woods and the Yellow River.

Osprey Mill was a large brick building and one of the three textile plants in Porterdale owned by Bibb Manufacturing Company. One of the buildings was called simply, “the Old Mill” and the other, “The Welonie." I am told my father worked in "the Old Mill."

The Bibb Company also owned the houses in Porterdale and kept them in good repair. They were generally considered “nicer” than the houses in some other “Textile Towns.” It was "parternalistic" but after Sherman's march through the South and the destruction of the Civil War, most of the people in the South (Caucasion and African American) had few educational or economic opportunities.

It was Laurel Street where I was born and where Leon (my three-year old brother) died in a measles epidemic. Leon became sick with measles as did I. I was about 2 months old and had a mild case. Leon's ended in pneumonia and death.

I recently was emailed a copy of Leon Baird's' death certificate by a cousin who does family research. As I read it, I cried for my brother and my parents in their great sorrow over the death of their three year old son. I decided to publish his death certificate in memory of James Leon Baird ( October 4, 1919- April 28, 1923) whose life was short but always celebrated.

We must have lived on Laurel Street several years. My brother Charlie (about 7 at the time) told me he remembered the family's grief at Leon's death and Mama being put to bed (she had a 9 week old baby) and her heart- breaking sobbing.

I have one memory of being in the kitchen of that house on Laurel Street when I heard a crash coming from the front of the house. I remember going into a front room (I was about 2 or 3) and seeing my doll (a doll with a china face and stuffed body) broken on the floor. I looked out the open door to see a little girl, one of my playmates, running across the road to her house.

I do not remember the little girl's name. She may not have been a regular playmate. Apparently breaking the doll was traumatic for her. In my mind's eye, I see her running away wearing a light-colored dress and bloomers. Bloomers were much like some of the playsuits children wear today - a roomy undergarment with elastic not only in the waist, but also at the legs, which came down nearly to the knees with a somewhat shorter dress over it. I do not remember any reaction of the family over the broken doll on the floor on Laurel Street.

I also have a vague memory of walking in the woods behind Laurel Street holding my father's hand and picking wild flowers. Wild flowers were the only ones I would pick.

My mother told me that in our late afternoon walks down the street when I was a tiny child, I would always stop, bend over, and smell all the flowers near the sidewalk but I never picked one. We were taught not pick flowers from gardens not our own.

I suppose I learned then what I was to write about in a poem about flowers later, we do not have to own flowers to enjoy the sight and smell of them. "All that I see, belongs to me."