"Let there be peace on earth"

We lit the second candle of Advent this weekend.  It is the PEACE candle. 

My typical modus operandi, a few days before lighting the candle of the week, is to let the word we are concentrating on ruminate. I look for songs, scriptures, and times in my life that include the word or bring it to mind.  And usually I end up singing the music (as I did last week with Dusty Springfield's "Wishin' and Hopin'").

So, as you might guess, this week I've been singing the oft-used, "Let there be peace on earth", written in 1955 by Jill Jackson Miller (1913-1995) and Sy Miller. (1908-1971).  I googled the song and found that Jill Jackson was a film star whose life had been one of struggles.  After her first marriage ended in divorce, she contemplated suicide. Fortunately, she experienced a spiritual awakening that she described as the tie that connected her to God's unconditional love and to the realization that she was on earth for a reason. She married Miller, and they co-wrote the song, which has now become almost a Christmas carol.  At least, we hear it often at Christmas.

"Let there be peace on earth, and let it begin with me".

Peace

"For to us a child is born, to us a son is given, and the government will be on his shoulders. And he will be called Wonderful Counselor, Mighty God, Everlasting Father, Prince of Peace." Isaiah 9:7

This week I have also been thinking of some friends who are struggling to find peace: one had recently fallen in love and her beloved lost his life to cancer; another looked so forward to the birth of her first great grandchild, only to hear the sweet baby girl is in Heaven, rather than her granddaughter's arms, and still another is having such difficulty understnading why her children left her in a lovely nursing home.

And I, always the 'Mary Sunshine', can glibly say, "God has a plan." knowing full well the unrest that comes to a single mother at Christmas, the sadness when the love of your life dies a month before Christmas and the empty feeling in the halls of a "not so lovely" nursing home where an old friend is alone except for my occaisional visits.

Each week during Advent, my friend Joe and I read a Scripture verse and a prayer as we light an Advent Candle. This was our prayer for Advent Two.

"Heavenly Father, You are the God who gives peace. May your peace fill our hearts and our world. Help us to be peacemakers in our relationships and communities".  

Which made my mind go to:  Make me a channel of your peace (the prayer of St. Francis of Assisi) and especially these words:

Make me a channel of your peace; Where there's despair in life, let me bring hope. Where there is darkness, only light And where there's sadness, ever joy.

So I have a plan of action. I'm praying for opportunities to offer peace to those who are seeking it (some might not even know the source of their unrest), hope to those who have seemed to have none left, and joy - That's next week's candle.

May you have enough sunshine in your life to help you appreciate the shadows

Wishin' and Hopin'

Advent.

That's the current season in the Church and even in the marketplace.

I did not grow up in a liturgical church. Today, that seems strange to me because Glendale Community Church is an outgrowth of Love Grove Methodist Church.  It's odd to me that the Glendale founders did not bring Advent with them. 

Note: if you don't know what I mean by a liturgical church, it is a church that follows a customary public ritual of worship, or the Liturgy.  In a way, it's a call-and-response activity that reflects praise, thanksgiving, remembrance, supplication, or repentance.  Most importantly, it is an opportunity to express one's relationship with God.

And if your next question is, "What is Advent?" It is a season observed in most Christian denominations as a time of waiting and preparation for both the celebration of Jesus's birth at Christmas and the return of Christ at the Second Coming. And it is the beginning of the church year.

Advent begins four Sundays before Christmas.  Each week, there is the lighting of a candle. There are five candles (either purple or blue), each recognizing a principle to follow: Hope, Peace, Joy, and Love. In the center of the wreath is a white candle, its flame unlit until Christmas Day.   

So with that little teaching opportunity behind me.

This year's first Sunday of Advent was November 30. I thought of this over the weekend, but here I am on Monday, December 1, 2025, endeavoring to get my thoughts into words, sentences, paragraphs, and this blog.

My initial exposure to Advent was in the mid-80s when my children and I worshipped at the University Blvd. Church of the Nazarene.  That was the first time I witnessed a family light a candle, read from Scripture, and offer a prayer.  For a long time, I was a bit resentful -- always a mother, dad, and children.  My family did not have a dad, but we were indeed a family.  I am happy to say that by this time in my life, I often see family represented in different ways.

I suppose my resentment was rooted in the fact that I was 'wishin and hopin' that someday I would once again be a part of a traditional family

.

While that did not happen, I am happy to say that all three of my children have that kind of family. That's what I was most thankful for this past Thursday when we celebrated Thanksgiving.

But am I still wishin' and hopin'?  Do I wish for anything?  Not really.  Do I have hopes and dreams?  Sure.

 

And about what I consider the commercialization of Advent.  It's certainly out there.  I asked for Advent gifts on Amazon and found about 50 suggestions per page, totaling more than seven pages.  I'm not going to Bah Humbug that, because I believe that anything that can turn one's thoughts toward what the Church represents -- especially Peace, Joy, Love, and Christ-- is a good thing!

May you have enough sunshine in your life                                                                                 to help you appreciate the shadows

Connections

Have you ever played a game called "Connect 4"?

I have not.

That is because I have absolutely no coordination when it comes to games that require the use of arms and legs. I do, however, really like the word "connections."  And I play the New York Times Game, Connections every day.

I really like it when people, places, or things "connect".

This print is hanging in my living room.

It came to me via the Silent Auction at the annual Mandarin Museum & Historical Society Fundraiser.

And it will be a constant reminder of the way our lives connect, even though many years have passed.

In 1986, my eldest child, Becca, started high school.  She had always been a good student, especially in math.  Her Algebra II teacher was Jane Cooksey.  She was a wonderful encouragement to Becca and I think remains one of Becca's favorites, and perhaps one of the reasons she went on to become a teacher.

I met Jane and her husband, Bryan, when I began attending the Episcopal Church of Our Saviour.  They became very dear to me.

When I met Joe Walsh, I learned that his mother, Mary, had encouraged Jane Cooksey to teach full-time when her children were in school at St. Joseph's, where Mrs. Walsh was the principal.  That's the same Jane Cooksey who taught Becca Algebra.

By now, John Cooksey and his wife, Leyda, are friends.  At the fundraiser, I learned that this print had hung in his parents' dining room and he had donated it for the Silent Auction.

And so it is.

But there's more.

It is a C. Ford Riley print.  I knew Ford's dad, Clayton, when he frequently visited the Here's Life Jacksonville office while I worked there as a secretary from 1982 to 1987.

This past Saturday, I attended a writer's workshop.  I was curious about other writers who might be there.  I was delighted to be with a 1960s Englewood teacher, a friend from Youth For Christ, and another who was a member of Seekers, the ministry for single adults I appreciated in the late 80s and early 90s.

I also met the daughter of Jody Brandenberg, who was instrumental in making Hardage-Giddens the funeral home it is today.  I still hope to work for Hardage before my employment days are over.

This concept illustrates that almost everyone we meet will likely have a connection to someone we know (or have known), and sometimes we will meet someone who can help us in the future.  It pays to mind our p's and q's.  

Hum - maybe we could help someone like that as well.

   May you have enough sunshine in your life,  to help you appreciate the shadows

Daddy's Shepherd

16 years!

It was 16 years ago today that we stood by daddy's bedside -- knowing he would soon take his last breath. 

After battling Myelodysplastic Syndrome for seven years, he had chosen to no longer receive the blood of a donor.  He had told my son, Tray, that he had been hearing about Heaven his whole life and was anxious to see it for himself.  

He also wanted to see his Shepherd.

And so it was that we were now awaiting that - 

Father John Palarine had prayed and thanked the Lord for the life daddy had lived and the loving care he had given our mother and us - and our children and theirs.

And then Rev. Kevin Pound prayed- His words reflected daddy's favorite portion of Scripture, and he personalized them, saying that he knew the Lord is Earl's Shepherd, that Earl knew he lacked nothing, that there was a place for Earl at the table - and that Earl was on the way to live in the house of the Lord forever.

I had often read about people dying.  Our family had stood around the bedside when daddy's brother, Ted, died in 1985.  I had not been sure about how I would take it when it was my daddy.  In fact, I had told him I didn't want to be there.  I was sure I would not know what to do.  Fortunately, the wonderful Hospice staff had helped me prepare, and although I was heartbroken, I was ready.

I don't think I've ever really gotten over daddy's passing, or mother's, for that matter.  I know that to be true because I talk about both of them ALL THE TIME.  I'm sure those I  spend time with wonder if I will ever not have a story about Earl the Pearl or Iva Lou.

However, I do believe in Heaven, and I know that both of my parents are there, along with the Shepherd.

A few weeks ago, after almost 24 years of knowing that cancer was a part of his body, my dear friend, Ron Allen, took his last breath.  A short time later, Ron's wife, Bonnie, who has been my close friend since childhood, brought me this photo.  Ron loved going into the homes of shut-ins to play and sing.  The date on the photo is August 22, 2009. It's a little hard to see, but on the table by daddy is a shepherd.

I used that photo in a Facebook post when I was remembering Ron's life.  And, as it sometimes happens with a computer, the image occasionally appears on my homescreen.  It makes me smile.  

Because I know that daddy - and mother - and so many of my loved ones who have now gone to Heaven - are there with their Shepherd.

             May you have enough sunshine in your life,  to help you appreciate the shadows

Note: The Huffingham family appreciates those who are blood donors.  Once, daddy saw a note on a car in the church parking lot that indicated a blood donor owned that vehicle.  He waited to see the person so that he could personally thank her, and she became a friend.  I'm sorry, I don't know the person's name, so I can't express our thanks. If you are a blood donor, please know othat you are appreciated.

So what do you write???

About four months ago. . .

I watch her in our line dancing class with envy.  She can move much faster than I can.

I should get to know her better.  Maybe she could teach me a thing or two."

I'm glad when there's an opportunity for us to chat. We both see these words on a woman's shirt.

"I'll think about it."

I tell her that my first husband would always cringe when I said, "I've been thinking..." because he knew it meant a project, and she laughs.  Then I say, "I once wrote a column called, 'I've been thinking, ' and she said, "What do you write now?"

And I answer, "a blog that  I call Sunshine and Shadows."  

Later that day, I opened that blog.  My last entry was in October 2024.

What happened to me?  Too busy???   Or thinking about other things???  And what have I thought about?

Faith - I've been a believer since I was a small child.  I faintly remember copying my preacher granddaddy one morning, shaking my finger and saying, "Sinner, you need to repent".

Family - upcoming college graduations for granddaughters; one is also getting married; a grandson is about to go on a mission trip to Mexico.

Friends - spending time sharing joys and sorrows

The words above this sentence were written on March 11.  I now know more about the woman I chatted with.  I wouldn't say we've become friends, but I can tell you that we share a few things in common. The main thing is that we are both widows.  

Fast forward a month.  On April 8, I was enjoying a visit with my cousin, Rick, and his wife, Cheryl.  He asked me, "Do you still enjoy writing?  I nodded affirmatively.

"What have you written? Don't you have a blog?"

Later that day,  I opened my blog and found the beginning of this entry.

Now, it is more than two months since I wrote those words.  Have I lost my penchant for putting my thoughts into words and my words on a page???

Life has happened.  Two granddaughters graduated from college; one granddaughter is married.  A close friend passed away, and my time as the Volunteer Coordinator at the Mandarini Museum & Historical Society came to an end. The position has grown into a full-time role as Operations Manager.  I need to work, but not full-time.   I'm going to need a part-time position (approximately 20 hours a week) that involves serving others, utilizing my creativity, and my love for others ...that's how I make my house payment.

And --- I'm going to be serious about 

I don't know how this will end.  But I am sure it will be an adventure figuring it out!  I do want to write a book.  

And as always. .  .  

May you have enough sunshine in your life,

  to help you appreciate the shadows

"Tell me a story..."

There's a little song that goes, "Tell me a story, tell me a story, tell me a story before I go to bed.  Tell me about the birds and bees; tell me what makes a chicken sneeze, tell me a story before I go to bed".

We never needed to sing that for our daddy.  He could always tell us a story - for Cindy and me, it was about life when he was a child, and then when the boys were born, it was about life on the ball field or basketball court and the war.  He never told Cindy and me any of the stories that Jonathan and Lester heard - and he loved telling those stories to his grandsons.

When I think of my father, I think of a man who made fudge (with his eyes closed) loved God, Golf, and the Florida Gators. 

But above all, he cherished us - his wife, his children, and later, his grandchildren and great-grandchildren. We were his world.

I often say that I inherited my writing abilities from my parents.  Mother wrote beautiful notes, and daddy was a great storyteller.

This is the 15th Father's Day that Cindy, Lester, and I have experienced without our daddy.  We still miss him so much.  However, as I thought about him and what he meant to all of us, I remembered that he left some stories about his growing-up years for us.  We are fortunate that mother encouraged him to tell her some of them, and they are in a notebook that I helped them write.

I am happy that some of his stories made it into print.  And there are some that we all cherish.

Daddy was the second of five children born to Lonnie Burton Jones and Theodore James Huffiingham.  His brother, Ted Jr., was just 19 months older.  They lost two brothers, Donald as a small child and Charles, who was 16 when he died of nephritis.  They all adored their sister, Gloria Faye.

Ted Huffingham, Sr., always had a job but never made enough money.  Daddy remembered going to the end of Arlington Road and meeting the ferry when his dad worked at Ford Motor Company.  He did not always work there.  At some point, he began working for General Outdoor (a sign company that later became Lamar Dean Outdoor), but I'm getting ahead of my story.  They lived in a small house on his grandparents' property, located between University and Beach Boulevards.

The memories daddy had about not having enough money include the fact that his mother made soda bread (a type of hard biscuit), and that's what she would make into a sandwich for him to take to school.

That embarrassed him.

So, he often watched as others ate sandwiches made with  "store-bought" bread.  He would be starving as he walked up the lane to their house after getting off the school bus.  He remembers the smell of French fries, biscuit bread, and milk gravy that his mother was preparing for her children.

The Huffinghams attended the Methodist church in the community.  Daddy's grandfather, John, and his grandmother's father, Louis Savery, had given the money to build the church and a school. It was also the church where the family of Ellie and Pauline Nesmith worshipped.  That's how it happened that it was the place where daddy met the girl who would later become his high school sweetheart and his wife.

He loved visiting his maternal grandparents.  They would go and spend the day with Grandma and Grandpa Jones, and every time he was there, his grandpa made sure that they had "store-bought" creamed corn for Earl.  That was still one of his favorites when he died in 2009.

One of mother's favorite stories is about daddy and a baseball glove. He was in grammar school when he saw a glove in the window of a hardware store.  He saved every penny he could get his hands on.  

"I'll never forget the way I felt when I walked out of that store with my glove in my hand." I was so happy to have it - I slept with it under my pillow."

Mother always said that was a sign that he would take care of things that he loved - and that's precisely what he did for his wife and their children.

Daddy loved sports - he was too small (130 pounds) for football, but he excelled at basketball and baseball. He played right field and was offered a baseball scholarship to Stetson, but he declined it.  He was supposed to graduate from Landon in 1939. Instead, he convinced the coach that he should stay in school for another year.  He enjoyed running the gym classes while the coaches were gone with the team to an away game.

On daddy's 20th birthday, he gave our mother an engagement ring.  He had already volunteered for the armed services and knew he was headed into the war.  That summer, they were married and had seven weeks together before he shipped out to the Philippines.

The war ended, and he came home, beginning the life they shared for more than 67 years.

One of my favorite stories about daddy is one that I have only heard of.  When grandma Jones died in 1956, there was not enough money to pay for her burial. Funeral homes and cemeteries were different then.  They would handle all arrangements and then ask for payment. My grandmother's sisters, brother, and many of their children were at one of the sisters' homes after the service and her burial at Greenlawn.  As they visited, daddy spoke up.

"We all loved our grandparents," he said. "And there's not enough money to bury grandma."

And so, to use an old-fashioned term, Daddy "passed the hat" and in a day or so, went to Naugle and paid the bill.

As Father's Day approached, I heard a few people answering a question: "What's one word to describe your father?"

I pondered that question and thought of many words.  I couldn't think of just one.  And then I reread daddy's story in their book.

Caring.

May you have enough sunshine in your life,  to make you appreciate the shadows

Yes, daddy - the flag is up!

 

My parents hadn't lived with me very long before there was a flag post in my yard - proudly holding a flag that had flown in Iraq, where my nephew Brad Williams was serving our country as a member of the Army National Guard.  Daddy had instilled a strong sense of patriotism and service in the lives of Brad, his twin brother, Chad, and my son, Tray.  He was so proud of all three!

Daddy had served in the Philippines in World War II.  My sister, Cindy, and I knew very little about his service there.  We knew he was the first "boy" from South Jacksonville to enlist - just a few days after December 7, 1941, and two weeks before he gave mother an engagement ring. He was off to Shreveport, Louisiana, before she graduated from Landon High School and wrote her when he got promoted to sergeant in mid-June.  He told her to plan a wedding.  She was all for that!  They were married just 7 weeks, still honeymooning in Shreveport, when he got on a train headed west and her train was on the way to Jacksonville.  The next time they saw each other was in December 1945.  

We did know about mother's brother, Ellie Rudolph Nesmith who was killed over Germany in 1944.  He had been one of daddy's closest friends, and his picture was on the piano at my grandparents' home for much of my growing-up years.  There was also a room called "The Prayer Room" at  Glendale Community Church that was a memorial to the only son of my grandparents.  And I've often wondered if that loss contributed to the wonderful care they gave to others.

As the years passed and two little brothers came into our family, daddy seemed to talk more about his life as a soldier. He was of the old school, and you didn't talk to your little girls about that.

We were grown with families of our own when he started hearing about some squadron reunions. That became very important to our parents, and they so enjoyed the times they shared with his old friends. Once, it was in Jacksonville, and our whole family participated in welcoming this group.  We loved it!!!

By 2005, when my mother and dad moved in with me, daddy's patriotism had become one of the most important parts of his life. At first, he made sure the flag was up at daybreak and took it down at sunset. And then there came a time when the "chore" became mine.

One thing I heard almost every morning in the summer of 2009 was, "Is the flag up?".

After daddy died, I began to take flowers to Greenlawn Cemetery at least four times a year.  Our family plot has grown.  This year, we added Uncle Bill Weitzel, and when the marker arrives, we will add Uncle Howard Beardslee. Daddy's brother, Ted Huffingham, Jr. is buried close by. They all served - as did Uncle Henry Capp.  And Rich Suhey served - he's buried in our family plot (my name is already on the marker).

I have a flag that stays up all the time now  (not to worry, I have an outdoor light that is always on).

That way, each morning when I start my day, I know that daddy would be pleased.  

Yes, daddy, the flag is up.  And tell mother I've added a birdhouse - you all would have loved watching for birds to come for a treat!

May you have enough sunshine in your life,  to make you appreciate the shadows