Rain in due season

My story is 59 years old.

You may have heard it before.

This week, as I walked with an umbrella and saw this flower growing, my mind returned to an earlier time...

In  April 1967, while Ray Parker and I were engaged—he in Tennessee finishing his sophomore year at Bryan College and I in Jacksonville—I became unsure about marrying him. He wasn't as attentive as I believe he should be.  At the same time, my high school boyfriend, who had broken my heart at the start of our senior year, began reaching out, wanting to return to my life.

I "broke our engagement."

And yet, I still felt called to be a "preacher's wife".  That was far from my high school boyfriend's mind.  But I loved the attention.

I was in a dither.

And one Sunday, I walked into church and was handed a bulletin.  On the front was a picture of a little girl holding an umbrella and a bouquet of flowers.  These words were included:

"If ye walk in my statutes, and keep my commandments, and do them; 4Then I will give you rain in due season (Leviticus 26:3,4).

So I thought on it, prayed about it, and asked Ray if he was willing to get back together.  He was, and we married that summer.

Our 15 years of marriage brought me some ministerial opportunities, but Ray was of the old school—"women in the church should not speak." There were some, but for the most part, my life as a pastor's wife had its drawbacks.  I made an effort to be the best I could be. I continued to believe that God had "called me" to be a pastor's wife.

It was difficult to lose that "calling" now almost 44 years ago.  I am grateful that I continue to have opportunities to minister to others especially through Seniors Helping Seniors. It can be rewarding and yet sometimes I feel overwhelmed and somewhat underappreciated. 

One of my clients lives at Augustine Landing, which is where umbrella in hand, I spotted the flowers and remembered that Sunday when picture of a little girl and an umbrella helped me listen to what God wanted me to do.

And as it happens, Grace Management is the parent company of Augustine Landing.  That's a constant reminder to me that it is by God's Grace that I have this opportunity to serve or to put it in the words of Leviticus, "to keep God's commandments and do them".  

It is also a reminder that I need to give some grace to those I serve.  And that's even when I don't think they are giving me any!

It really is a blessing to serve!

 

                                   May you have enough sunshine in your life 

                                            to help you appreciate the shadows

"on a bus"

It doesn't matter where I am.  On a plane, in a car, on a bus.  I can always find someone to talk with.

For example, my Aunt Ann decided not to go to hear the Jacksonville Symphony recently and offered me her ticket.  Twice.  The first experience was fair.  The second was much better and although the music was wonderful, it was who I met on the Westminster Woods bus that was outstanding.

"My name is Marise", she said, as she joined me on the bench where I was waiting to board.

I quickly heard an accent and said "German" and she said "No, I was born in Holland".

We chatted a moment before boarding and then I happily found an empty seat next to her.  I don't think I asked if the seat was taken.  I just sat down.

And no one will be surprised at this, I began to ask her questions.  She was warm and welcomed my inquiries.

Born in Hollard, Marise came to the United States as a youngster, and went back to Holland for education as a nurse. She met and married the nice man that I saw put her walker on the bus.  She has had MS for more than thirty years.  They have lived at Westminster since 2021.  They have three children (two girls, one boy) 11 grandchildren and one great grandchild.

And her hobby?  She is a sculpturer.  She even teaches it.

I looked forward to the ride back.  And I was not disappointed.  As we made our way back to St. Johns, she told me about her daughter who has homeschooled her 9 children with a goal at finding each child's passion and tailoring the learning process to meet that.

Marise also told me that her parents had hidden Jews during World War II.  I said, "like Corrie ten Boom"? and she said. "Yes, but they were not arrested."  She said she had done sculpture to depict the house her parents lived where they hid Jews. And she also spoke of the experience of writing a book based on the memories that her father shared with her. 

The story is written from the perspective of the house.

The bus was pulling into Westminster when I said, "I must write about you - let's get together". I got her phone number and soon we had made plans to have lunch.

Our visit was outstanding.  I saw her work - in her home, the walkway near the Dining Room and in the foyer of the Health Care Center. This is how Marise believes the Zonnehoek House "looked" based on the stories her father shared.  By the way, the name Zonnehoek means "sunny corner".

I brought home a copy of the book, and you guessed it, I know there's more to write about her.

Marise Rinkel is an example of something I know I must do.  There will be more to tell about this terrific woman and most likely her kind husband, Bert, and their other children. Their story should be told, and I think I know someone who can do it.  From Paula's Pen. . . Have I got a story for you - I haven't given up my dream!

                                May you have enough sunshine in your life 

                                            to help you appreciate the shadows

Sitting by a Laughing Fire

 The Huffingham family is well acquainted with fire.

I'll never forget the phone call in late December 1977.  There had been a fire. A short in the electrical system of the house, built in 1887, and home to the Nesmith and Huffingham families since the mid '30's. My mother was running an errand.  My dad was taking a nap.  The heat of the flames shattered the glass windowed doors and woke Daddy up.

I lived in Tennessee, and I'll never forget that phone call!  Of course, I wanted to come home. But I had three children, 6.3 and four and a half months.  That trip was out of the question.

Fortunately, the tin roof saved the house.

Ruth Bell Graham's anthology of poetry, Sitting By My Laughing Fire, had been published earlier that year. My mother’s copy, borrowed from a friend, was destroyed. Mother purchased a new book and gave it to the owner.  However, that person refused to accept it, and for as long as I can remember, that book was on a Huffingham bookshelf.

Because I like poetry and Ruth Bell Graham has always been one of my "heroines", I loved that book. I wish I knew what finally happened to it.

I do know this.

The house was restored to be a beautiful example of the fact that, sometimes, when bad things happen, good things result. The book of Isaiah includes encouraging words to the Israelites who, after their return from Babylonian captivity, were facing a difficult time.  One verse is a wonderful example of what happened to our family after that fire.

"I will bestow on them a crown of beauty instead of ashes" Isaiah 61:3.

Less than five years later, my children and I experienced the destruction of our family.

The flames of failure were devastating.  There seemed to be no beauty, just ashes.

However, my parents welcomed me and my three children into their home.  My siblings were supportive.  We lived very close to our family's home church, which made it good for us to stay involved in community and worship.

That's been more than 40 years.  Between 1982 and 1996, my children and I were privileged to live in that house.  And one of the things we most enjoyed was when the weather called for a fire.

This weekend, I have had the privilege of sitting by a laughing fire. It's not "my" laughing fire, but I am privileged to enjoy it anyone.  I've watched the flickering flames and remembered... my dad backing up to the fire, my son adding a log, the times we all spent enjoying its beauty and warmth.

And I've once more reflected on the beauty that came from the ashes and been grateful. 

   May you have enough sunshine in your life 

                                            to help you appreciate the shadows

PS I ordered the Graham book.

  

Like an elephant

 I've never really appreciated it.

Being told I have a memory like an elephant.  And how do we know that an elephant has a good memory? I googled that question and could have spent much more time than I want to devote to this column learning all the ways that people who study the socialization of animals have discovered that elephants remember. And since elephants live for a long time, it stands to reason that they remember for a long time as well.

I mean, really, who wants to be anything like a huge mammal, with big ears and a long trunk? I'd rather be. . . well, I don't really know what I would rather be. AND no one said I LOOK like an elephant.

Sounds like someone is being a tad sensitive. However, I do have a good memory.

Sometimes I love that about myself.  Sometimes it makes me sad.  Like everyone, I have good and bad memories.

This week, a friend sent me an encouraging text.  He said that he had read that only one in 100 persons alive today has something called HSAM - Highly superior autobiographical memory. It was further noted that some people can remember practically every day of their lives since childhood.

He ended his text with "you are blessed".

I was reflecting on that several hours later, and I suddenly remembered something I did long ago that will hopefully provide a solution to an issue I am currently facing.

And having a memory like an elephant took on a whole new meaning.  Besides, sometimes elephants are right cute.  I wanted to include a photo of Dumbo - but didn't want to break any copyright laws.

Just use your imagination.

And in the meantime, 

             May you have enough sunshine in your life 

                                            to help you appreciate the shadows

You'll like being a big sister

My mother was the "big" sister to Thelma, Carolyn, Ann, and Beth.  She liked that role for the rest of her life.  And sometime in 1950 she began to tell me that I was going to like being a big sister We have heard her tell about this day many times.  Her trip to the delivery room, daddy's happiness in a second little girl.  And I remember a ride in an ambulance with a baby wrapped in a yellow blanket. 

That baby was my little sister. The one my mother had been telling me about.

I don’t remember being jealous.

However, I know that I wrote on the back of the living room sofa.

That little sister, Cindy, says that her coming into my life was the beginning of my creativity.

We spent the next eight years enjoying life. We did fun things. We did some things we shouldn’t have.

Once, I took her on a walk over to see our grandma. A friend called Mother and told her that she saw us walking on Ryar Road. We would have had to walk across the Glendale Community Church property. We were switched with a branch by the back door step. I would have been 6 when that happened.

It was also about this time that we broke a lamp in the living room. I was chasing her as we climbed across the back of a chair. She’s the one who caused the crash —

Mother was not home. She took me to the bathroom in the middle of the night. I was still snubbing. I asked her if Daddy told her that Cindy broke the lamp.

“Daddy told me that you and Cindy broke the lamp”.    I still say, “She’s the one who went over the chair when the lamp fell.”

Oh well.

We lived in Sans Souci when Cindy fell off her bike and just knew her arm was broken. She came running in, saying, “Paula, pray, pray, pray.”  Of course, it was broken.

For the rest of our lives, when something happens to either of us, we say "Pray, pray, pray".

We have both experienced happiness and sorrow. When something is happening, we always get through it together.

Cindy has been an incredible support to me. When I came home in 1982, she and Robert were amazing in their love and care for me and my children. When I remarried, she and Robert were the witnesses. When Rich died, she came immediately.

In the 27 years since then, she has continued to encourage and help me and most of all pray for me and for others!

That's where she the most like our mother.  Which makes me quite thankful that. . . 

          May you have enough sunshine in your life 

                                    to help you appreciate the shadows

A cup of tea

"You are a caregiver."

I appreciated the words of my friend, the Rev. Joe Gibbes.  

I think I was born to be a caregiver.  My grandparents and my parents certainly were, and most of the time, I embrace it.

However. . .  

No matter how kind and caring a person is, the person who is in the role of "being cared for" reacts...and the caregiver feels like a failure. That's how I felt yesterday when my client told me I talk too much -- I didn't know how to make a cup of tea -- and that she wanted me to leave! Did I learn anything?

Hum

She asked me why I talk so much. I was trying to make conversation - one of the reasons I am there.

I sat in silence and enjoyed my cup of tea - and then she told me I should leave.

I was pretty bummed.

Of course, this morning, my devotional began with "Whatever yesterday held, today is a fresh chance to sing of God's faithfulness. Begin your day with praise—His strength and love will carry you through."

I'm making an effort to find the good in this...rather than be bogged down, feeling like I failed.

Because I was "sent home" yesterday, I had time to finish another project, so my day ended on a better note.

And I have a different client today.  She can't hear, but she loves to communicate, and she has a whiteboard. That's a great reminder of the times we did that with our mother.

I am also going to endeavor to remember that yesterday's client is struggling with the place she is in life today. And I am going to make an effort to remember how pleasant she can be - and was last week as she anticipated celebrating her birthday. 

I do think I have those gifts -- because, despite feeling rejected, I'm thinking and planning for our next visit.

After all  — it’s not about the caregiver!!!  And next week I'm going to ask her to show me how to make a cup of tea.

                    May you have enough sunshine in your life 

                                    to help you appreciate the shadows

 

What are you doing "New Year's Eve'?

 I sing that song every year.

So I finally googled it.  It's an Ella Fitzgerald song that is really asking for companionship on the night that is "out with the old and in with the new".

I suppose it's a love song of sorts.

There's a superstition that says you'll do whatever matters most for the rest of the year - based on what you are doing at midnight.  That's pretty boring in my case.  I'll be asleep.  Unless the noisemakers wake me up and turn the television back on to see the ball drop.

We did not grow up with parents who celebrated New Year's Eve.  That is, unless you went to a church watchnight service.  Mother probably wanted to go, and Daddy wasn't the least bit interested.

And then I married a preacher, and the traditional "watchnight" service became a regular part of our routine.

Forty-three years have passed since I was a preacher's wife. And I can honestly say, the watchnight service is not something that I miss!  

However, I still understand the concept.  Especially because one of my favorite portions of scripture is Philippians 3:13,14 -   “forgetting those things which are behind. . . “.

2025 included some big changes for me.  I said goodbye to my position as Volunteer Coordinator at the Mandarin Museum & Historical Society, a role I had held for 10 years. I also got a new grandson when Troy Craven married my granddaughter, Grace, and my name is on the spine of a book.  An additional plus is that my personal budget is balanced.

“. . . I press toward the mark for the prize of the high calling of God in Christ Jesus.”

Really, my life is good.

So what am I doing New Year's Eve?  'Putting Christmas away; soaking the peas for tomorrow; preparing a quiet dinner for two and thinking and planning for the months ahead and endeavoring to practice "letting the day come to me."

If you think being a planner and learning to let the day come to me is an oxymoron, try walking in my shoes.  My "salvation" in this is that I truly am pressing toward the mark. . ." As I write this, the song my daddy lived by reminds me of what is truly important: Living by Faith.

So on New Year's Eve, I suppose I'm developing a plan...to press on....by Faith...grateful for friends - and companionship!  And making an effort to “let the day come to me.”

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