Brenda Knight Graham's Blog, page 9
July 25, 2023
A Sunday Afternoon
My sister Suzanne and I were collecting cicada shells off pine tree trunks competing to see who could find the most. The growl of a vehicle approaching up our long driveway sent us both diving for shelter under the abelia bushes. It was a perfect hideaway for two little girls. We could see out but not be seen, like deer in the forest. We watched as the vehicle, a pickup truck, rocked around a nearby curve. It was Uncle Henry and Aunt Joyce! For them, we would leave the seclusion of our hideaway leaving the cicada shells behind, and show ourselves at the house.
Uncle Henry and Aunt Joyce had a farm near Commerce, Georgia, about thirty miles away. He and Dad talked about what was growing, about who might run for president, about how high taxes were and the price of hay. Aunt Joyce and Mamma caught up on what vegetables they were canning, the scandalous short hems, and who was getting married. Sometimes Uncle Henry brought his two daughters the age of our older siblings. We had a great time playing lawn games when Barbara and Miriam came. But even if it were only adults, as it was today, we liked to listen to the conversation.
But one of the reasons we loved for Uncle Henry to come was our fascination with his pickup truck. Our brothers thoroughly inspected the truck, kicking the tires, and all but looking under the hood. As on this particular Sunday afternoon, our hope was always that we would get to ride all the way to the highway in the back of Uncle Henry’s truck when he left. It had happened before. Maybe, again, he would invite us to ride down the hill. It was so much more exciting than riding all cramped up in Daddy’s Packard, not that we rode anywhere very often.
After Mamma and our sisters served cookies and tea, and after the adults had laughed about things that really weren’t funny to us–our guests stood to leave. Uncle Henry retrieved his hat and Aunt Joyce straightened her skirt as we all gathered around to say goodby. Then it happened. Uncle Henry winked at us and said to Daddy, “How about letting these youngsters ride down to the highway in the back of the truck?”
The driveway was rocky and rough so Uncle Henry couldn’t go very fast but I think he drove even slower than he needed to in order to give us a longer ride. There were five or six of us in the back of the truck jostling and giggling, reaching up to pick low brushing leaves, squealing with delight when Uncle Henry swerved adventurously. There were several curves in the half mile stretch of road, some gentle, some pretty tight. I watched our familiar slopes of lawn, the pond, Daddy’s studio, and the guest cottage go by. Everything seemed to look a little different, as if we were on a long, marvelous trip.
As we neared the highway, crossing a little bridge over the brook and driving past a stone retaining wall, I wondered what it would be like just to drive on off with Uncle Henry and Aunt Joyce. Our older sisters had once spent a week on the Dunsons’ farm and came home talking about baling hay and making hand-cranked ice cream.
But now as Uncle Henry pulled to a stop, I was suddenly very glad to clamber down with the rest and wave goodby. There was still time to collect more cicada shells and then later, in the dusk, we could catch fireflies. We might even talk our siblings into playing “Rover, Red Rover” or some game like that.
It was a wonderful Sunday afternoon. Now I’m wondering if Uncle Henry had any idea how much pleasure he gave us with that short ride.
July 18, 2023
Moose By the Road
When we began our camping trip across Canada, I was sure I would see a moose. We saw plenty of mosquitos, black squirrels, tiny chipmunk-like picas, all kinds of birds, but days had gone by and we hadn’t seen one moose, not one. I so wanted to see one with its huge funny ears and its somber face. I had taken pictures of a cottonwood tree, of beautiful wildflowers, the picas and the shores of Lake Superior. But no picture of a moose.
Then one day as we were about to enter Saskatchewan, there he was. A moose, large as life, grazing in a watery ditch right beside the highway. We eased to a stop only feet away and I scrambled to get the camera and focus in on him. He was totally unperturbed by our presence, interested only in eating.
I snapped a picture, or tried to. With a sinking feeling, I realized I’d come to the end of a roll. I reached in my camera bag for another roll but there were none. We sat and watched that moose for fifteen minutes or more before he lumbered off. I could have taken a dozen pictures if I’d had the film.
The moose picture is still in my head. He was so absorbed in eating grass in that water-logged ditch that he never even looked at us. I studied his big head, his strange ears, his strong sturdy legs. But I have no picture to share.
We never saw another moose on our long trip all the way to British Columbia. We camped in provincial camps in our tent. We trekked across long lonely stretches where it seemed there should be a moose or his cousin, the elk. But, though we restored our inventory of film, we never saw another moose.
Looking back on it, I’m struck by the truth that we need always to be prepared for the opportunities that come. They may never come again. I was sorry not to get that moose picture. But I’m even sadder thinking about the many times I’ve failed to share gospel truths because I was unprepared or didn’t grab the opportunity.
…Be ready always to give an answer to every man that asketh you a reason of the hope that is in you…I Peter 3:15
July 11, 2023
Parental Protection
I was walking past a large camellia bush when I heard the chip-chip-chipping of a nervous, maybe even angry bird. I soon glimpsed an auburn-feathered brown thrasher hopping from branch to branch as he fussed. It wasn’t hard to fill in the blanks. The bird was protecting his or her young with God-given fierceness.
Growing up at Pinedale it was so very exciting to find a Carolina wren’s nest down under low huckleberry bushes. The nest was built so cleverly of leaves and straw like a tiny cave, so well hidden it was a rarity to find one. If we did find one we only wanted to peer in at the eggs, never to do any harm. But we were faced with the imaginative and perilous actions of a mother wren. She would hop along (away from her nest) looking for all the world as if she had a broken leg. When she saw we weren’t fooled she’d come flying back to her nest ready to fight.
Have you ever seen a hen fluffing her wings over her fuzzy newly hatched brood? Or a sow like a well-equipped pirate ship bearing down on the enemies of her young? Or a bunny rabbit, usually so quiet, squealing in righteous anger when her babies are discovered? Or a nanny goat “planting” her babies beside a tree while she grazes nearby?
If parents of birds and animals are zealously protective, how much more so are human parents when they recognize their children are in danger. And those dangers are not necessarily just physical. It may be social media dangers or even false teaching in the schools or churches. Parents have to be as fierce as that little Carolina wren in trying to keep their children safe.
As parents protect their children, so God protects us. He hovers over us like a hen over her brood. He makes us to “lie down in green pastures” of peace. He hems us in like a mother rabbit or a sow saying “No way!” to the evil that threatens us. He even gives us full assurance that “though we walk through the valley of the shadow of death” He will never leave us.
As a father pitieth his children, so the Lord pitieth them that fear him. Psalm 103:13.
July 3, 2023
Fireworks
John Adams wrote of future celebrations of Independence Day in a letter to his wife Abigail: “It ought to be solemnized with Pomp and Parade, with Shews, Games, Sports, Guns, Bells, Bonfires and Illuminations from one end of the Continent to the other from this Time forward forever more.”
The date of Independence Day in John Adams’ mind was July 2, 1776 when the Continental Congress ended its lengthy debate and resolved to be “free and independent States…absolved from all allegiance to the British Crown…” The fact that the document, the Declaration of Independence, was not signed until July 4 was immaterial to John Adams; the actual vote happened on July 2. But whatever the decided date, John Adams was ready to celebrate and yearned for it to be a great day of celebration from then on.
Throughout our tumultuous history we have celebrated our nation’s birthday in many different ways: concerts on the Mall in Washington; parades in little towns all over the US; businesses and all government offices on holiday; picnics, displays of flags and bunting; special patriotic hymns in our worship services; political speeches; watermelon cuttings; wearing red, white, and blue–and, true to John Adams’ hope, illuminations or fireworks, fantastic fireworks!
Our neighborhood has been bursting with pre-Independence Day fireworks since the last of June. Every night the explosions begin about 9:00 and can be heard till midnight. I wonder if there will be any left to light the skies on July 4th! On July 1 I went to bed to the sounds of celebration popping from one direction and then another. The bursts of sound didn’t bother me since our old dog who was so terrified of fireworks and thunder is long dead. I lay there being thankful for my country and praying God would come to the rescue and restore our divided nation. Gradually I began to realize that the tremendous claps and booms were not all caused by fireworks. Lightning flashed again and again silhouetting tall pines against the sky. The neighborhood fireworks came to an end but God’s fireworks got louder and brighter. I went to sleep to the sound of a brisk rain.
We look forward to a seniors cookout at our church at noon on the Fourth. Cairo’s fireworks show will be tonight. We can watch from our car in Tractor Supply parking lot. We always look forward to the concert and celebration in Washington on television. I think John Adams would be appalled at many things happening in our country. But he’d be pleased to see the “illuminations” in the sky, the cookouts, the elaborate shows. Our country’s freedom is worth celebrating with all the stops pulled out.
Happy Independence Day, Everybody!
June 27, 2023
Who Made the Monkeys?
My son, Will, always good to share his travels with me, sent me this selfie of him with a head full of monkeys. He knew it would make me smile or even laugh. Which it did.
Will and his family encountered these monkeys while vacationing in Dominican Republic. They enjoyed feeding them, talking to them, playing with them and even having them climb on their heads. There were monkeys everywhere, they said, on that preserve. Visitors were given a container of monkey food. The monkeys came after that food, clamoring up bodies and along arms, sometimes squealing in sheer delight. I think the humans were squealing too!
Will’s daughter, Mattie, said the monkeys’ feet felt so funny on her skin. Their webbed feet felt a little, she thought, like frogs’ feet, though she’s never had that many frogs scrambling up her body making her giggle. This funny feeling may be caused by the fact that these tiny fellows sweat through their feet making them clammy and cool. The feeding of squirrel monkeys was as short as it was hilarious. They assailed a visitor with a cup of food until that food was gone, then headed to the next guest.
Mattie and I agreed that, however cute the squirrel monkeys are, we’d rather play with them in a preserve than have one as a pet. I was reminded of a time years ago when I dropped by the animal hospital. The whole staff was frantically trying to corner a very fast, extremely agile squirrel monkey for some kind of treatment. I decided then that a monkey could be as difficult to contain as a flying squirrel and I would just laugh at the antics of someone else’s monkey.
The picture of Will reminded me of the time when we were vacationing in England and the pigeons took me over. We were in Trafalgar Square where hundreds of pigeons roosted, fed, and played. We read a plaque about Lord Nelson at the foot of his lofty statue. We took pictures of our children climbing on one of the four huge lion figures. All the time I was wishing just one pigeon would light on my shoulder. That would be so exciting, I thought. Suddenly it happened. One pigeon landed on my shoulder, another on my head; they lit on my arms and literally covered me so that the picture my laughing family took hardly shows my face at all. Maybe pigeons aren’t quite as funny as the monkeys but they are certainly lively and dramatic!
Have you ever considered, or heard someone else comment, that God is stern, condemning, and against anyone’s having fun or laughing? Then take a look at the monkeys and the pigeons. Or read about the platypus or a baby elephant taking his first bath. God, who made the monkeys, surely enjoys our laughter. He made these creatures for our well being and enjoyment. One way we can say thank you is with our laughter.
Then was our mouth filled with laughter, and our tongue with singing: then said they among the heathen, The Lord hath done great things for them. Psalm 126:2
June 21, 2023
Let The Flags Fly
It does my patriotic heart good every time I see a flag unfurled, whether at an auto dealership, the post office, the courthouse or in front of private residences. We keep a flag flying high at our house, regardless of the time of year. I enjoy the sound of it playing with the wind and the energetic shadow it makes outside my office window. But one of the best flag displays I’ve ever seen is the Wootens’ pickup trucks and flag on the Barnetts Creek curve between Pine Park and Thomasville, Georgia. At the risk of being hit from behind we stopped and took a picture of the scene yesterday. Three pickup trucks–red, white, and blue–are parked between pine trees under a huge American flag.
The Wootens use the advantage of their large yard on the curve to make wonderful displays year-round–pumpkins at Halloween, snowmen and shepherds at Christmas, an empty tomb at Easter. Summertime is flag time: Memorial Day and Flag Day are followed by Fourth of July and then Labor Day.
It is so good to see the flag honored instead of being totally disrespected by a radical few. At our family’s Memorial Day cookout we had a flag burning ceremony. Since we do fly a flag year round, they become quite ragged. We know we should never carelessly discard an American flag, pile it in the trash bin or leave it lying in the attic. So Charles asked our grandson, Charles Reeves, a former avid student of Cairo High’s ROTC and lover of the flag, to be in charge of burning two faded old wind-torn flags. He and my visiting nephew, Lt. Colonel Nathan Knight of the National Guard, very respectfully and gently folded the flags as if they were being presented to a veteran’s widow. Then they laid them one at a time on the fire pit flames. We all stood back and saluted, watching silently. Our ceremony also included a reading of the poem “In Flanders Fields” by John McCrae and a very brief history of the tradition of passing out paper poppies on Memorial Day, honoring our fallen war heroes.
Why do we so honor the stars and stripes? Because, in the words of Michael J. Cusick, Member of Assembly, “No other symbol captures the power and glory of our nation like the American flag. It has flown as our national emblem in some form without interruption since 1777.” To dishonor the flag is to dishonor the United States as well as all the brave men and women who have sacrificed everything for our freedom.
The history of our flag is an integral part of the history of our country. Here’s a very brief account.
Contrary to old word-of-mouth stories, Betsy Ross probably didn’t really make the very first flag. However, reports seem true that General Washington, for whom Betsy had sewn cuffs and more, commissioned her to make a new flag, distinct from the British Union Jack. In early battles of the Revolution the flag flown had a small rendition of the Union Jack along with stars and stripes causing serious confusion to friend and foe. When General Washington showed her what he wanted her to do her response was something like “I’ll try.” She was not only a seamstress, but an upholsterer. She supposedly advised Washington that he needed five-point stars instead of the six-point stars used at the beginning.
At first the pattern of stars on the flag was circular symbolising each state’s equal rights. Then it was decided that the stars should be arranged in rows and each new state would have its star added. Some thought the stripes, too, should equal the number of states but the concensus of thought was that they should be left at thirteen representing the thirteen original colonies.
If your eyes have filled with tears at the singing of the national anthem, if you have felt a thrill at the sight of a color guard marching smartly on the field before a football game, then you will want to preserve all that our flag stands for: freedom of religion, speech, and the right to bear arms and more. If you are touched by the stories of men and women who sacrificed life, limbs, and health for that freedom, then you will want to pray for our country.
The snapping of a flag in the breeze can remind us to pray for our country and to praise God who has brought us thus far. And every time I pass the Wootens’ flag display I’m encouraged to pray for our dear and wonderful country. Thank you, Wootens!
June 13, 2023
Blueberry Blessings
The blueberries themselves are wonderful–colorful, sweet, bursting with flavor. But there are more blessings than the delightful sight and taste of this crop.
Years ago, another time and place, Charles, who was usually working, didn’t get to be part of harvesting blueberries as much as I did. He was always the one, though, who pruned, fertilized, and watered our few bushes. After-hour emergencies–delivering calves, suturing a horse’s wounds, or saving a dog from parvo–consumed his time. But I didn’t mind picking the berries. In fact, I loved doing it, especially early in the morning or late afternoon.
Sometimes a mockingbird dive-bombed my head trying to drive me away from his bushes. In those days, before a nearby forest was scathed for building houses, I could hear quail making their distinct “bob-bob-white” call and nearly always another quail answering. Mourning doves, too, called to each other. Sometimes I talked the children into helping me, mainly because I didn’t want them to miss the fun. They enjoyed mimicking the doves and quail so that the birds answered them instead of their mates.
Our roles have changed in many areas including the picking of berries. Charles now picks most of the berries. We have figured out how I can snug my walker close enough to pick but I pick no more than a third as much as he does. I hang a bucket over one handle of my rollater and take joy in finding limbs that are heavy with fruit. What fun to hear the berries ping into the bottom of my bucket! Even better is the dull sound of berries piling up! The very act of plucking the sweet blue orbs from the bountiful branches is a blessing!
Family members have helped us pick, some of them considering it special entertainment, others just determined to help these old folks. Trails are developing between the bushes. There’s something friendly and bonding about picking berries together. Interesting topics of conversation germinate into full discussions. Other times all is quiet. In the quietness punctuated by grunts of pickers reaching high and low, we sometimes hear Canada geese flying to a nearby pond. The cats meander under the bushes wondering, I imagine, what these humans find so absorbing.
We’ve learned we can pick berries when still purple, not wholly ripe, and in just a day or two, sitting in containers on the kitchen counter, they will ripen ready for the freezer. Picking them just before they’re fully ripe gives us a better chance to harvest them before the birds take snips at them.
Baking with fresh berries or fresh frozen ones is a joy. The berries are also wonderful on cereal, in a smoothie, and to eat straight from the bush! One need not feel guilty about eating blueberries. They are not only good, they are good for you! Antioxidants give blueberries their beautiful color, antioxidants that fight inflammation and protect cells from cancer. And–get this!–blueberries, as sweet and delicious as they are–have almost no calories. Here’s one more plus about eating blueberries: supposedly they are good for your brain. I’m hoping!
The blessings of blueberries? The very sweet privilege of picking them; the beauty of the berries nestled amongst green leaves as well as accumulated in a bowl or bucket; the fun of sharing berries and berry products like muffins, pies, and bread; early morning picking with the songs of birds high in the pines.
Psalm 145:7 They celebrate your abundant goodness and joyfully sing of your righteousness.
Psalm 103:5 Who satisfieth thy mouth with good things; so that thy youth is renewed like the eagle’s.
June 8, 2023
Questions For God
God told us everything we needed to know in His wonderful guidebook, the Bible. But we have many questions that seem to have no answers. If we listen to children we hear their repeated questions about creation and heaven. My grandchildren and I talked one day about what we might ask God when we get to heaven. Here are some of our questions with a few others thrown in.
How did You make so many stars? Why did You make gnats and why did You say that they were good? What was it like before You made the world? Why did Jesus curse that poor fig tree for not having figs when it was not the fig season? Why do so many really good people die even when they are young while really bad people live on and on? How did Jesus make 5,000 people hear Him when He spoke from that boat? How did You talk Noah into building a boat when he’d never even seen rain? How did You make every zebra with a different pattern, and every leaf unique? Does everybody have an angel? Why did You have to sacrifice Your only Son so our sins could be wiped out? Wasn’t there any other way?
Understanding that before God there was nothing, that nobody made God, is hard. Understanding that God literally spoke the stars into being is equally difficult. Unless one has faith in God Who is beyond our understanding all of creation is unfathomable. Repeatedly I have told children that if we could understand everything about God, we would be God–and that isn’t going to happen. Some things we simply cannot know or understand this side of heaven. I think we may not completely understand even then. Our God is so very big and awesome.
We should encourage questions. God is large enough to take all our questions, just the way He did Job’s. It’s been said that one who questions God, in his heart believes there is a God. The best place to go for answers is the Bible, His revelation to us with truths deeper than the ocean. But sometimes it can be so confusing! It’s good to be able to hear Christians explain passages to us. They have the Holy Spirit to guide them. Sometimes, like Job, we have to accept that God is God and we cannot understand everything.
Billy Graham, Charles Spurgeon, Billy Sunday, Beth Moore, Charles Stanley, John Wesley, Jonathan Edwards, George Whitefield, Mary the mother of Jesus–all have or had questions that were not answered. Franklin Graham recently, while urging us all to read our Bibles, said that no, he does not understand it all, but he believes it all.
What are your questions? Don’t be afraid to ask God.
Ask and it will be given to you; seek and you will find; knock and the door will be opened to you. Matt. 7:7
May 31, 2023
Tree Team
It wasn’t our first tree felling. There had been other trees riddled with pine beetles, ravaged by tornado, or struck by lightning. But this was the first time we’d both been able to sit on our front porch and watch the whole show from the arrival of equipment to the very last twig cleanup. It was an interesting drama of teamwork.
I grew up on what could be called a tree farm. Every few years Daddy cut timber on a few of the 150 acres. In the case of beetles in a pine, that was an emergency. The tree could not be left for the timber cutting crew. Dad set some of us young ones to work painting all the ugly sticky eruptions on the trunk with creosote. Sometimes we actually saved a tree and we were very proud of that. But it was exciting when Daddy decided to cut a diseased tree.
We were automatically released from studying history, math, or literature when a tree was to be cut. We watched from a safe distance and yelled “Timber!” with all our might when the tree fell with a huge swish and a thud like a dull clap of thunder. If no one set us back to school work immediately we played on the fallen trunk while Daddy and the boys sawed off the upper limbs. It might take days of scrubbing with kerosene to get all the pine tar off our legs and hands. But it was worth it to have that joyous few minutes balancing along the log, jumping over it, or studying the rings in the end of the log to see how old the tree was.
There wasn’t much similarity between that tree felling and the one in our current front yard. But one thing was the same. We watched the operation from beginning to end.
The team set to work with vigor and decisiveness. Each man knew his role. One situated the truck that would anchor the tall crane with its bucket as it went up into the top of the tree. Another collected power saw and other tools he would need and climbed nimbly into the bucket. Up went the bucket into upper branches. A man on the ground was in charge of ropes. He deftly threw a heavy rope up to the man in the bucket who then looped it around a limb before he cut it from the tree. As the limb came down slowly the man on the ground directed it to the exact spot he wanted it, then threw the rope back up.
At the base of the tree a man began organizing the brush. Everything was done in perfect coordination, the men yelling signals back and forth. Never was a rope dropped or a limb fallen astray. In minutes the tree was stripped and ready for log cutting from top to bottom. We were amazed at the skill of the man in the sky with his saw, how he maneuvered the bucket to the best advantage, how he dropped the logs so accurately. But also the men on the ground were precise in their movements.
By the time the equipment left and we had our final talk with the captain of the team, everything was neat, stump had been ground, limbs all removed, logs hauled away. All that was left was a pile of sawdust and the fresh pungent aroma of fresh cut pine.
We paid Danny Thomas, the cheerful tree service owner, and went inside. I considered in awe the skill and teamwork of the men, how each did their job, from the guy in the sky down to the one raking up pine needles. In life, I thought, there are so many different jobs to be done, some seeming more lofty and deserving of praise, others just grunt work, but all equally essential. Those who accept their place of work, whether high or low, with a sense of self esteem and responsibility to the team are truly blessed. As are those recipients of their skills!
In writing to the church at Corinth Paul wrote “There are different kinds of service, but the same Lord.”
May 23, 2023
Woven Threads of Friendship
Several of us were enjoying an intimate ladies’ luncheon. Conversation turned to when and under what circumstances each of us had come to our small town or if we had always lived here. From there we began chatting about various people in our church and community who had made lasting impressions on us. We sipped coffee and waxed enthusiastic about the Mott sisters, Mr. and Mrs. Harris Jefferson, Mr. Ben Mauldin, Dr. Singleton, Bonnie Manry, Mr. Cuy Broome, Norman and Minnie Pipkin, Madge Clark, the Askews and many more.
I listened to the stories about this one and that one learning new things about people I’d known for years. It was fascinating to hear the many different ways members of this one little group had been affected by so many mutual friends. Phrases like “Oh, you knew her?” and “Did you know he…?” or “Remember when…?” were tossed around with a mix of merriment and sadness.
Several mentioned the one who had invited them to First Baptist Cairo, others recalled a Sunday school teacher who had meant so much to them raising responses like “Oh, yes, I was in her class one year.” We talked about those who had faithfully cared for our babies in the nursery and others who had been there as a strong shoulder when disappointments and sorrows hit. We remembered fondly folks who kept things going like Raymond Hurst who claimed the ministry of keeping the First Baptist chimes playing, and “Miss Wessie,” librarian at Roddenbery Memorial Library who might call individuals to alert their attention to some book she knew they needed to read. “I’ll have it ready for you at the front desk,” she’d say positively. We laughed at many a funny tale including some interesting matchmaking endeavors, some that failed and some that were a great success.
After everyone had gone home, I thought about what a huge difference any one person can make in another’s life without even realizing it. What a witness Mr. Pipkin was in simply coming to church when he could no longer hear. When we opened a bank account, what if the clerk, Mrs. Jefferson, had not warmly invited us to her church?
Is it possible we, too, might make a difference in someone’s life as our friendships weave together like a colorful afghan in progress?
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