Once again I am at the internet and have nothing to say. Last time I went into my store of pictures and pulled out a few to illustrate what was on my mind. Guess I'll do that again, only this time, I honestly do not have anything on my mind. So here is what goes through it when there's nothing else to take its place. 

When the world is upside down, don't grin and bear it. Go hide!

Praise is have something to say to God and it's not a request!

Mothers are friends who don't have to be there to understand. They simply do because they're girls, too. (That's my mother closest to the camera, and that's my quilt that she pieced for me.)

Cancer's not as bad as it's made out to be. We all need some down time every now and then.

It's a long road that has not turning.

And now my computer is telling me I have two minutes to log off without losing my work. May all of you have a blessed Thanksgiving week. We plan to spend time with the Knepps on Thurs, plus babysit the grands that live here. Wish we could babysit all of them.

 I never thought I'd see the day when I don't know what to write, but you're lookin' at it right now.

So what do you write when you don't know what to write? You write what's on your heart.

This is what is really on my heart today:

1. Thankfulness in this season of thanksgiving.

2. Grace in this day of grace.

3. Joy in this time of trial.

4. Love in the arms of forgiveness.

5. Faith during this period of testing.

6. Peace during these times of uncertainty.

7. Pain in this day of unbelief.

What is on your heart today?

The Rotten Tree

I’m writing this post for my Aunt Louise (Knepp) Schrock.

She’s actually my aunt from both sides of the family. She’s married to my mother’s brother, Lester.

 She’s also my father’s sister so their four boys are our double-first cousins.

Is it any wonder, then, that we are mistaken at times for siblings, considering that we come from the same gene pool? (Here in xangaland you can find one of her boys here.)

Louise suggested that I write about a tree that has stood on the old Schrock homestead for many years. It was a beautiful tree with an immense “wingspan.”

Several years ago I posted this picture of it and now I am so glad I got that when I did because about three weeks ago it split wide open, revealing a rotten core. About half of the tree is now lying on the ground.

Who wudda thot?

Back in 1959 my grandparents bought this farm on Hwy 14 E from Melvin Tony.

Next door neighbors were Shanklin’s and Bankhead’s and Misso’s and Harvey’s.  My grandmother was terrific about neighboring well and created a comforting home for all of her Schrock’s. She had a wonderfully green thumb and her vegetable gardens and flowerbeds were always neat and productive. She could do it without spending much money, too. I remember her going out into the woods in the springtime when the redbud and dogwood trees were blooming, tying white rags around little tree limbs to mark them so in the fall she could go back, dig them up and transplant them in their yard.

Here is a picture of the children that were attending our church in the early ‘60’s.

Left to right: Titus Schrock (my uncle,) my brother Gaylord Knepp, Nelson Lee, my sister Sharon Knepp, David Yoder, a little boy that I don’t recognize (can someone help me?) Allen Schrock (no kin,) my sister Shirlene holding my hand, behind me is Martha Lee, in front of her is Ruth Ann Schrock (Allen’s sister) holding my brother, Philip’s, hand. There’s a little girl standing behind Sharon but we can’t see who that is. I’m guessing it’s one of the Lee girls, maybe Lois or Barbara. 

My memories of Grandpa Schrock’s farm are of golden days, helping Grandma with the gardening or her flowerbeds, or standing at her side as she took hot cookies from the oven. Her cookie sheets had star-burst patterns on the bottoms so all of her cookies had that design on them, too. She’d take them off the cookie sheet very fast and I’d stand and watch, wishing I could work as she did. It seemed everything she did was done in a fast, efficient way.  But then, before she’d finish the pan full of cookies, she’d slide one right in front of my nose and tell me that once it cooled I could have that one. Ahhhh….. I’d like to be that sort of Grandma.

This picture was taken of Grandpa Schrock’s farm from the air. I wouldn’t be surprised if Oscar Bushwaug, a family friend whom we considered to be quite a dare-devil crop duster, took one of my uncles up for a spin. (I have a whole passel of uncles on Mama’s side of the family; eight of them to be exact. There were actually nine but my Uncle Vernon died when I was too small to remember.)

Beside the pasture where the big tree stood was a graveled lane…

… which came in from the road, crossed a little bridge over a shallow creek, and then curved up toward the buildings. It was in that lane that I learned how to ride a bicycle. There was a slight downhill grade from Pop’s mechanic shop to the bridge, which provided the perfect place to learn to ride a bike. I wonder if not most of us Schrock cousins learned there. We could sort of glide slowly to the bridge on our first “solo flights.” I especially liked Louise’s boys’ small, blue bicycle with the cool banana seat. I liked riding Lester’s boys’ bicycle so much better than ours because our bicycle was a huge Western Flyer (am I correct on that brand or was that a little red wagon?) and a boys’ bicycle at that. Uncle Titus used to tease us about going across that bridge because he said blood suckers lived in the creek and if they got on us they’d suck the blood right out of us. He said blood suckers killed George Washington and they could kill us, too. That gave me the zip I needed to keep peddling once I got to the bridge. My six-year-old heart would pound dreadfully if I’d start to wobble when I’d be close to the bridge.  

This is a picture of Lester and Louise’s family taken around the early 1960’s.

And here’s one of my family, taken on the front sidewalk at Pop’s house. 

Left to right: Sharon, Gaylord, me, and Daddy's holding Philip and Mama's holding Shirlene.

Louise’s thoughts on that beautiful, tall, strong looking - but rotten - tree were about a lesson its downfall can teach us. I told her to tell me what to write and this is what she said.

“It’s so easy to look good on the outside but you never really know what’s on the inside of a person until they are tested. You know, that sort of thing. You just fill in the blanks.”

So here I go elaborating on her thoughts.

 Jesus spoke quite often about looking good to others but being full of deceit and wickedness in our heart. He spoke against “praying on street corners,” and “giving of our abundance instead of from our very living,” and being too holy to help others.

He gave us acid tests to determine how genuine we are: “By their fruits ye shall know them.” And He also said, “By this shall all men know that ye are My disciples if ye do whatsoever I command you.” At another time He said nearly the same thing but added, “…if ye have love one for another.”

Nothing spells a heart lacking the grace of God quite as much as a heart that’s cold toward others or a heart that disregards Bible teachings. We may pray like a Christian, go to church, speak in tongues, give all that we have to the poor, dress piously and modestly, say all the Christian things, read our Bibles until we know every word, and do all that’s expected of a Christian, but life in shoe leather is where the rubber meets the road. Blow an icy, north wind over our picture-perfect vegetable gardens, or throw a monkey wrench into our plans, or stand a beggar at our kitchen doorway, or swerve drunk driver into our lane in the road, and we’ll see how the “tree stands or falls.”

I don’t want to be “a whited seplechr full of dead men’s bones,” or “a china teacup that’s clean and beautiful on the outside but dirty on the inside.” I don’t want to be like that beautiful, extraordinary tree that caught the eyes of passersby but inside be rotting and of no good to anyone.

This is my prayer: Ps. 119:92 – “Unless Your laws had been my deepest delight, I would have perished.” (My translation.) That is my heartfelt testimony. I am only too acutely aware of the fact that my life was so nearly destroyed by my own righteousness to bank anything on them, and only by God’s pure Word was I saved – both literally and spiritually. My prayer is that I can be “like a tree, planted by rivers of water (the Word of God) that bringeth forth its fruit in its season. Its leaf also shall not wither and whatsoever it doeth shall prosper.” Ps. 1:3.

 Back to speaking about the old Schrock farm again: I’m not even sure who owns it now. It’s passed through several hands since Pop had it. The old house has been torn down and I’m not sure which, if any, of the original buildings are still there. Now the beautiful tree out by the road is ruined, too, almost as a sad testimony to the rapid passing of time and to the fickleness of beauty.  Like they say, it’s only skin deep. But there are some things, like memories, that never end and are enduringly simple, and what make the memories so golden in the safe places in our minds is the love that was demonstrated by our ancestors and the willingness to obey and honor our Savior with their lives. For some reason that’s important.

Thank you, Aunt Louise, for this timely lesson of “The Rotten Tree.” 

In the past few weeks several older men in our community (Mr. Cecil Flora and Mr. Sam Vernon)  have died, leaving a huge emptiness behind. This summer we attended the funeral of a friend’s mother in Georgia.

She had 12 children (2 have died,) 48 grandchildren (all but three of them are married) and 72 great-grandchildren, and at the time of her passing there were ten more on the way. I loved her very much and her suffering hurt me, especially when I saw her emaciated body and realized just how terrible her illness had been. There are many days now when my mind travels back in time to her sweet face and how she seemed to understand exactly what I felt, even though we didn’t really say it. 

These three were not people who made their marks in the world in terms of monetary gain, political power, or leadership, but they stood head and shoulders above us in terms of humility, servanthood and love. Their deaths have brought a sort of somber thoughtfulness to me. I’ve been trying to evaluate what made these good people so good. When I think of their greatness I think about how simply they lived, how kindly were their mannerisms, how much they loved and supported their respective churches, how responsibly they cared for their families, their businesses, their livestock and all that fell into their care. In observing their lives I’m inspired by them and wonder why we tend to chase after rainbows?

Why do we wish for more and more (and more) things. What is it about politics that tempt us to pull into it to set things aright? What attracts us to the current trends of our culture, the social networking and online shopping, etc. Do any of these things really matter in the eternal scheme of things? The three wonderful people that I mentioned above seemed unusually free from the pressures of our time; almost quaint in their values. It’s a little difficult to actually lay my finger on their qualities that inspired me, but I think it was mostly the simplicity of their lifestyles, beliefs and spirituality, which makes me wonder why we’re fascinated by super-people when it’s really the quiet, salt-of-the-earth folks who inspire us to greatness? Like I said, I’ve been thinking.  

(And now I think I’ll go outside, sit on the porch and watch the stars fall.) 

Do you ever have dumb days? Days when everything you do is sort of dumb? I had one last week.

It all started when I called nearly all of my brothers and sisters for their opinions concerning having Mama & Daddy fly to Colorado to visit one of my brothers. (We’re scattered far and wide over the U.S.) When I got to the next to the last one, after having spent over two hours on the phone, I suddenly thought, “What am I doing? I haven’t even talked to Daddy to see if he wants to go.” I’d only talked to Mama the night before, and she’d only made an off-hand remark about how nice it would be if they could, and away I went, in orbit like a night hawk on a mission. So I called Daddy before calling my last sister and found out he didn’t even want to go. I mean – he wanted to go but didn’t think it was wise, considering his weakened health condition.

Oh man. I rubbed my hands over my face and chuckled a little because just how dumb was that? Calling five of my six siblings about something that I didn’t even know anything about?

If only things would have stopped right there. But oh no. When you’re having a dumb day the ball keeps rolling.  It’s sort of like Little Black Sambo who started out chasing tigers around a tree and ended up with butter.

That afternoon I went to town and took Merv’s truck because I needed to get gas for the lawn mower. First I went to the car wash to wash the truck, and because I also wanted to wash out the bed I set the gas can just around the corner of the brick wall so it wouldn’t get wet. After finishing there, I left and was about half way to downtown Macon when I remembered that I’d forgotten the gas can. In a small frantic rush I turned around in the first driveway I could find and scampered in a half-controlled panic back to the car wash and there sat my gas can as safe as can be with people all over the place and no one touching it. I was so proud. (Of them.) And proud that I wouldn’t have to tell Merv what I’d done. On the way back to downtown I suddenly came to realize that I’d just gone past the bank, which was my next stop. So I had to go around the block to go back to it. When I left the bank I turned right instead of left and then I had to go around the block again to get to downtown. By that time I was about scared to go into the drug store. I didn’t know what I’d ask for.

I had just stepped up to the counter when a man who had just bought a car from my daughter came up behind me and said, “Hey Miss Jewel.”

I turned around and said, “Hey. So whatchya up 2?” 

That got my attention off my dumb day, and only to make conversation, I asked how he liked his car. Then (of all things!) he began to complain about what a bad deal he’d gotten and thought she should stand good for it and I was incensed because he had gotten a very good deal and the car was beautiful and I knew that he knew it. But I tried not to get my nose too deep into the situation because it really wasn't any of my business and my daughter is very capable of taking care of herself...

and yet (like a typical Mom) had to stick it in at least far enough to get into trouble.  Before I knew it I was standing on the sidewalk scratching my head and wondering what in the world I’d said while inside at the cash register when I was checking out. It’s really hard telling, considering the day I was having. Of course, I blamed that man for messing me up and went back to the truck and got out of there.

The first thing I knew I was clear on the north end of town before I realized that I had passed my turnoff to go home. Like majorly passed it. This time I blamed it on the stick shift because my left leg was getting tired of clutching.

That evening I told Merv, “This was one day that I wondered if you should be getting my head MRI’d. I mean, I did the dumbest things!”

He wanted to know what kind of dumb things. I could feel the apprehension rising in his body temperature so I quickly calmed him down by saying, “Oh, like driving wrong in town.”

He looked at me with this incredulous look in his eyes, which were growing wider by the second, and said, “In MACON??!!”

Macon is a town with a population of about 2000 people and I’ve lived here for over fifty years. I know this town from one end to the other and couldn’t get lost in it if I was blind.

 I said, ’Yeah. Then I’d have to keep driving around the block.”

Thank goodness, he laughed!

Sometimes I know there’s an angel getting squished between me and trouble.