NEWNESS OF LIFE

by Danna Shirley

            I received a call from my niece, Rhonda, this week. I could hear the excitement in her voice as she related to me her first visit to church in thirty-four years. She had not attended since she was six years old and walking into the “unknown” can be pretty frightening. As she described the service, she must have seemed like that little girl again, looking around and marveling at the wonder of it all.

            As I listened, it took me back to my own experience as a visitor in this “newness of life.” I was thirty-two years old when I walked back into a church for the first time since my teens. It wasn’t the same experience that I remembered but a different denomination with a different style of worship and beliefs. It was 1980 and as I looked around the huge sanctuary, I also felt small and insignificant. When the service began, I know my eyes must have been as big as saucers as I observed the people lost in the presence of God, totally oblivious to anyone else around them. It didn’t take me long to become very comfortable in those surroundings as I also surrendered myself to God.

            Rhonda told me she understood nothing in the sermon but when the preacher gave the altar call, she expected him to say, “Now Rhonda, come on up here and receive Jesus as your Savior.” I asked her if she went up but she exclaimed, “He didn’t call my name!” I told her that she didn’t have to walk the aisle and shake the preacher’s hand to become a Christian as is often misunderstood. She could accept Jesus right there on the phone with me. She chose to wait. There is an urgency that the Holy Spirit makes known to us when the time is NOW. I prayed that Rhonda would indeed make that decision soon.   

            The next day I perused the shelves at the Christian book store looking for a book that would help Rhonda get started on a sure footing as a new creation in Christ Jesus. I bought several booklets and a devotional for new believers. I read each one for myself before mailing them on to her. It was a refreshing experience to look at the materials through eyes as a new Christian. Although I’m 25 years old in the Lord now, sometimes it’s just good to begin from the beginning . . . and return to your First Love . . . afresh and anew!

MY WEDDING DAY

by Danna Shirley

            Ronald Kline Shirley was one of those shy, intelligent, hands-on kinds of guy.  He was a high school dropout not because he couldn’t cut it but because school didn’t challenge him enough to keep his interest.  He had places to go and things to do; Alabama wasn’t the place and high school wasn’t the thing!  He received his GED with ease and worked for a hotel parking cars at night while attending trade school during the day; he rested somewhere in between.  With an education under his belt, he joined the Navy to see the world.  At age 18 he was the only ET (Electronics Technician) on his first ship, the USS Merrick.  If he had to tell the captain that some particular electronics repair couldn’t be done, on Ron’s word the captain would pull into port to get it done.

            At the same time, I was working for the Atomic Energy Commission and shared an apartment in San Pablo, California with Linda Autrey.  Ron’s ship came into dry dock for three months and he rented an apartment with five other sailors across from us, although there could be any number of guys living there at any given time. 

A couple of the sailors asked Linda and me if we would fix them a home-cooked meal if they bought the food. We fixed fried chicken with all the trimmings. After that we dated a few of them but after I met Ron, we dated each other exclusively.  Before the ship was to leave for Ron’s third tour in Viet Nam, he proposed saying that he wanted to look across the kitchen table at me every day for the rest of his life.  So what else could I do? I waited for him!

            It happened like this . . . when the ship returned to southern California after an eight-month deployment Ron got leave and hitchhiked to the Bay Area to see me.  We knew we were going to marry eventually but no plans had been made.  We had not even discussed when, where, what, or how; we only knew who.  When he arrived at my door and asked me to go to Alabama to meet his parents, I agreed and was ready to leave immediately.  He said, however, they wouldn’t understand if we traveled across country before marriage (much different than today’s couples), so we were Reno bound within hours.

            Ron got a buddy off the ship, George Fedderke, to be his witness.  Unfortunately, my best friend Cathy couldn’t take off work.  Leaving late on a Wednesday afternoon, we drove over Donner Pass through the northern Sierra Nevada Mountains.  At one point the weather was such that we had to purchase chains. Ron lay in the snow wearing only a sweater to put them on the tires.

            I was dressed in a two-piece cream colored suit (it was hard to find white in December), which my mom and I had bought in anticipation of my getting married soon.  If she’d only known I had planned to wear it to Reno, I’m sure she never would have bought it for me.  I was her third daughter to elope, even after promising that I would not follow in my sister’s footsteps. 

            We arrived in the wee hours of Thursday morning and waited for City Hall to open so we could get our wedding license.  Our next stop was a jewelry store for wedding bands and our final stop was Chapel of the Bells.  We said our vows, and with the marriage certificate signed and in hand, we drove back to the Bay Area.  It was December 19, 1968. 

            We spent one night together before Ron returned to San Diego and I to work with a plea to my boss to take two weeks off—at Christmastime—to meet Ron’s parents.  My supervisor in Visitor Control, Florence Morrison, already had a trip to Hawaii planned so my next boss up, Robert M. Geffel, relinquished his personal secretary to move over to our department and handle our work load with only two days training.  

            Friday night my parents put me on a plane to meet Ron in San Diego.  It was my very first plane ride…my “first” of a lifetime of “firsts” as Ron’s wife.  I remember crying the whole flight down.  Why?  I guess because I knew this was the beginning of leaving my parents, my safety net, my comfort zone and the only life I had ever known.  I also had the thought, “MY GOD, WHAT HAVE I DONE???”

            Thinking about it now, I know we were very young, 20½ and almost 22, but I would elope with Ron all over again.  For thirty-four years I was just as happily married as anyone who ever had a church wedding; probably more so...

MY NIGHTLY ROUTINE

by Danna Shirley

            Does an examination of one’s bedside table reveal the type of person they are or just their daily . . . or nightly needs? 

            Of course there is my lamp, telephone, and glow-in-the-dark clock. A wicker holder is at my fingertips for my pens and pencils, a screwdriver, a lint brush, a pair of scissors, a ruler, and a magnifying glass. Beside that is a box of Kleenex for all things from the sniffles to dusting my tabletop when necessary.

            I also have my daily container of pills for a two-week stretch and my nightly pill bottles as well. On the floor beside my nightstand is a big plastic container holding my entire assortment of pill bottles that I keep in reserve until its time to fill my two-week pill box. A small hand towel lies on the corner of the nightstand to absorb the condensation from my nightly glass of water, which has been brought in from the kitchen to take my nighttime pills.

            The top drawer holds my “bedroom office” supplies:  a stapler, scotch tape, more pills that are only needed occasionally, throat lozenges, and scratch paper for writing down those thoughts and dreams that I don’t want to lose in the middle of the night.  

            In the bottom drawer are winter gloves, hats, scarves, a fanny pack, and a blood pressure machine to monitor my ups and downs.

            On the bed beside me is Petey, my Teacup Poodle, and the only male who sleeps with me. Between us are three remotes: one for the television, one for the DVD/VCR player, and one for my Tempur Pedic bed which raises and lowers the head and the foot and turns on the massage for my back and legs. Next to all of the controls are two ace bandages for wrapping my hands so they won’t fall asleep on me in the night.  On the floor next to the bed is my CPAP machine that goes over my head and up my nose so I can sleep without snoring.

            After the usual face, teeth, floss routine, I turn off the lamp and listen to the droning of the television, which I’ve been going to sleep to for thirty years. Sometime in the night I wake up to an infomercial praising their great product. I hit the ‘off’ button and hopefully go back to sleep. 

            Petey is now my alarm clock. He wakes me anytime between 5:30 and 7:00 a.m. Up we get and off to the back door where he scoots out and under the deck and appears back in a flash for his breakfast. Sometimes I go back to bed but usually when I’m awake, I’m awake, and no amount of lying in bed will give me any more rest.

            All in all, my routine can be a pretty scary thing.  How about yours?

(October 2008)

Addendum:

I have since had carpal tunnel surgery on both my wrists so I no longer sleep with my hands wrapped. Thank you Dr. Jay Saenz of Tabor Orthopedics, Bartlett, TN.

(March and December 2011)

MERRY CHRISTMAS vs. happy holidays

by Danna Shirley

What is all the controversy about? If someone tells me Happy Holidays, I respond with Merry Christmas. Its semantics—potato, potato; tomato, tomato. I am not offended with Happy Holidays and none should be offended with my Merry Christmas. We live in America, sought out and settled for religious freedom. Other religions have the freedom to exist in America because America gave it to them but JESUS CHRIST WAS HERE FIRST! So MERRY CHRISTMAS! Let freedom ring, or is it reign.

MY FIREMEN

by Danna Shirley

I was the “girl Friday” at the Ocean Springs Fire Department (MS) and was just as excited when the tone would sound as any firefighter that responded to the call. I had been a secretary all of my adult years but the fire department was not like any “office” job I had ever held. Everything was new and different; everything was on a daily, weekly, monthly, or yearly schedule and most had the potential of life or death. 

I considered myself an essential part of the workings of the department because, among my office duties, I scheduled ladder testing, hydrant flow testing, annual pumper testing, S.C.B.A. testing, turnout gear inspections, and anything else that might deal with a safety issue—for the men and the public. If any of these failed it could be detrimental to the firefighter or to the extinguishment of the fire they were fighting. 

Since I was the first woman in the department, never mind that I was in the office and not pulling hose, it took t-i-m-e for the crews to accept me, especially knowing that I was within ear shot of their conversations. I was told later that they had been informed (warned) to watch their language.

Most of them I won over pretty quickly but there were a few that were very reserved around me. One captain in particular was down right rough, gruff, and gave me a cold chill whenever I invaded his domain, which I had to do to get to the restroom. I dreaded having to approach him to discuss department business. Sometimes I would ask my chief to relay a message if I knew he was going into the dayroom. One day, after asking this favor one more time, my Fire Chief said, “You know you’re going to have to deal with this eventually, you might as well work it out now before it gets any worse.”     

The opportunity presented itself when the captain was standing outside my door going through some papers. I asked if he could come in and talk with me. Over the course of this cool conversation I discovered that he misunderstood a comment I had made about some of the firefighter’s equipment. I explained what I had meant and apologized that it had put us at odds.  It seemed to satisfy him and things began to warm up immediately, as I would make my way down the hall thereafter. I knew I had arrived when this shift played a practical joke on me. My last holdout in the department was a Firefighter named David. When he called me by my first name, instead of her, I knew I had finally been accepted by all.

Two events stand out in my mind. The first was a controlled burn that got out of control. The local wildlife preserve was burning off underbrush at the sparse end of town but unexpected winds had picked up and the fire was coming our way. At the instruction of the Fire Chief I called in our off-duty firemen. When one of them came back to Central station to get the reserve pumper, he invited me to come along. He knew he wasn’t going to be driving into the thick of things but would locate along the perimeter and wait with the reserve water tank. I could see off in the distance the black smoke hanging in the sky. I knew there were a few homes in that area and I prayed for their safety. Nothing was lost but trees and underbrush, and whatever animals that could not escape. 

The second was very emotional for me. The tone had sounded just prior to my getting off work one day so I decided to go by the scene and watch my guys at work. It turned out to be an exploded carburetor which caught a shed on fire located close to a house. The victim was severely burned on his face and hands. I hadn’t expected to see someone injured. I thought it was just a shed fire. After that I wasn’t so quick to go to any scene unless I was called upon to take something that was needed.

I understand now why the adrenaline flows when the tone goes off. Firefighters never know what situation they will face or if they will need to attempt a search and rescue. They place themselves in harms way to take victims out of harms way. 

It is funny how a job can begin as just a job, a paycheck and benefits, but very quickly it becomes a lifelong love. Even though I am no longer working with my firemen due to relocating in another state, I still keep in touch with them. They are very special to me . . . some as brothers, some as sons, all as family.

MY FATHER'S ANVIL

by Danna Shirley

Do you ever not notice something that’s been around for years, sitting over in the corner collecting dust, well-used but of no interest to you?  I’m sure I would have known what it was called, an anvil; and maybe I would have known its purpose, but my eyes were on other things…always more important things in my life at any given time.

Many years later on one of my visits home I spied the old anvil sitting on a stump out in the yard near my father’s workshop.  I casually asked Pa where he had gotten it and when he told me it was his grandfather’s, I began to have a new-found interest in this implement.

Abe Goines, his Grandpa, had brought it with him from Tennessee to his new home in Spiro, Oklahoma.  Pa didn’t know when exactly, just that it had been in the family that long.  It later was handed down to his father, Big Pop, who moved it to Arkansas, along with his family, around 1930. 

Pa remembered as a little boy turning the blower to heat the plowshares, while Big Pop held the blades with tongs and beat it with the hammer to sharpen them on the old anvil.  The blades had to be razor-sharp to cut through the grass roots and persimmon sprouts that hindered the plow from cutting deep and true.  Pa was a dependable and faithful worker on the farm but he made no bones about letting Big Pop know that when he was grown, he would be gone.  Farm life was not the life for him.

Big Pop died a young man under a bogged down tractor that had flipped over in the mud.  It was his fifty-first birthday.  Our family drove from California to Arkansas for the funeral. 

Years later Pa’s brother, Jerrell, asked him if he wanted the old anvil.  It was 1980, it weighed 80 pounds, and Pa drove it back to California where it now sits on the stump out near the shop, no longer used to sharpen plowshares, but it still has a purpose.  Pa is a master restorer of antique cars.  It seems like a good marriage…the old anvil holding the old car parts, both from the same era.

          I have a new appreciation for this family heirloom and I’ve asked Pa to tell whoever gets the anvil, to please keep it in the family.  It would be nice to have it someday, to bring it back to its roots, back to Tennessee.

July, 2005

MY DREAM JOB

by Danna Shirley

All through my childhood I believed I would be a teacher just like my mother. She taught second grade and as I grew older, I would help decorate her room, get bulletin boards ready, line desks in neat rows, and make name cards for each student . . . always feeling like I was the teacher. Throughout the year I would grade papers and help make plans and prepare for special activities. My father even lined the walls of our garage with blackboards and I “played” school downstairs in my imaginary classroom.

Yes, I always wanted to be a teacher. That is, until I sat down behind a typewriter in tenth grade and took my first typing class. I excelled on this instrument. It was as if I was a musician sitting behind a piano playing a beautiful song. 

Of course, in 1964 all typewriters were manual so I had to have strong fingers as I banged on the keyboard striking each letter soundly to make sure it printed on the page. My typing speed increased steadily. I entered a typing contest in my senior year and came in third place typing 64 words a minute—on a manual typewriter.     

Upon graduation I thought I would do the expected and attend junior college but when I got my first job with the Atomic Energy Commission right out of high school, my fate was set. My first paycheck insured that I was happy and satisfied. This job required using a typewriter and teletype machine, which I mastered quickly.

When electric typewriters came along, they took some getting used to but saved your fingers. Then correct-o-ribbons were added and I was in heaven. When my own trusty typewriter began to fail me, I asked my husband for a new one and he said it was time to get a computer.  I freaked!

“No,” I said, “all I want is an electric typewriter with a nice correct-o-ribbon. I don’t want to learn the computer!” He promised that he would show me how to do just one thing at a time . . . that I would not be overwhelmed. He brought me kicking and screaming into the computer-age and I am so thankful he did. 

I’ve worked with wonderful people doing wonderful jobs because I learned the computer. I’ve been able to volunteer at church, with the Red Cross, and several club organizations because I have computer skills.

As I look back on what I could accomplish with a manual typewriter and what I can accomplish today, they are worlds . . . no galaxies apart.  I’m so glad, for it has made my “Dream Job” easier and more enjoyable as time goes on.

MY CHRISTMAS PRAYER

by Danna Shirley

          I have reached that age in my life when material things go by the wayside and my wish . . . my need . . . MY PRAYER is that I will have tranquility in my heart and mind; that anxiety will be far from me and I will reflect a quiet calm in all my thoughts and in all my relationships. It is unrealistic to desire world peace but I desire peace in my world. 

My prayer is to see my children’s lives set on a good path that will lead them to Jesus Christ; that will keep them in the palm of His hand, and that will secure their faith and their future.

My prayer is to look at my grandchildren and know they will have a future and a hope in God and in this country of ours and that that freedom will never go away.

My prayer is that the United States will forever remain “One Nation Under God” and that our Christian heritage will never be diminished, distorted, or devalued.

My prayer is that I will fall asleep and slumber my way into my Father’s arms and that He will say to me, “Well done, good and faithful servant . . . Enter into the joy of your Lord.” (Mt 25:21)

MY BUCKET LIST

by Danna Shirley

I saw the movie, “Bucket List,” recently which made me think, “What exactly would my Bucket List include?”  Oh, I thought of all kinds of frivolous things and even some dangerous things, none of which I would ever consider doing . . .

• White water rafting
• Nose piercing
• Skydiving
• Bungee jumping
• Riding in a hot air balloon
• Going on a helicopter ride
• Traversing trees on a zip line
• Seeing the Titanic up close and personal 

Then there are the “doable” things . . .

·         Losing weight and getting healthy

·         Learning to swim

·         Taking piano lessons

·         Visiting the Holy Land and walk where Jesus walked

·         Going on a carnival cruise

·        Visiting NYC (Ground Zero, Statue of Liberty, Empire State Building, Time Square)

·         Going on a fabulous train ride across country

·         Seeing the Grand Canyon, the Painted Desert, Carlsbad Caverns, the Meteor Crater

These things would be fun and even adventurous, but the bottom line is that I don’t much care to go anywhere or see anything without my husband, Ron, who died in 2003. Sure, I can do some things by myself or even with a friend but without him, I don’t desire to do any of them.

What I would love to accomplish, though, is to be a published writer. Published in the sense that I would have an agent and my books would be found on the shelves at major book stores, that I would be able to touch the lives and hearts of the reader and inspire them to be an exceptional person, to have a happier life, and to live that life for the betterment of those around them. That we all would give back more than we receive and that. . . 

“. . . [we] may be filled with the knowledge of His will in all wisdom and spiritual understanding; that [we] may walk worthy of the Lord, fully pleasing Him, being fruitful in every good work and increasing in the knowledge of God . . . ”  (Colossians 1:9-10)

MEETING THE IN-LAWS (1968)

by Danna Shirley

            I did not meet my husband’s parents who were from Alabama before we married nor did I know that he hadn’t mentioned a girlfriend to them, much less a fiancé, until he sprung the news that he was bringing home a California bride for Christmas. A quick trip to Reno took care of the nuptials. It was December 19, 1968 and I was 20 ½ years old. A few days later we were on a plane headed for his hometown. 

            Scheduling problems gave us a layover in New Orleans where we spent a nice evening in the French Quarter and a meal at Pat O’Brien’s. I remember the “entertainment” asking if there were any newlyweds in the audience. 

            “Yes,” I answered thinking that would be the end of the matter.

            He asked, “How long?”

            I held up two fingers.

            He said, “Two months?”

            I shook my head.

            “Two weeks?”

            I shook my head.

            “Two days???!!!”

            I nodded.

            He responded with, “It’s nice to see you up and around so quickly!” which brought gales of laughter in the room. I could have sunk into the floor. The next morning we continued our trip to Montgomery. 

            I knew Ron was the oldest of four boys but he hadn’t told me much about his parents. I didn’t know if I should call them Mom and Dad or the more formal, Mary and Kline. He told them we would be arriving sometime Sunday so his dad met every plane coming in that day until we finally touched down. I assumed I would be able to comb my hair and put on some lipstick in the airport but as we departed the plane and were walking though the gate, Ron announced, “There’s my dad!” 

            Before I had time to think about how I would greet him, Kline was in front of me. I stuck out my hand to shake his and said, “It’s nice to meet you.” He responded likewise. As Ron made small talk on the ride home, I felt like I had a very awkward beginning with my new father-in-law. When we pulled into the yard, Ron’s mother and three younger brothers ran out of the house and into my arms; Kenneth was 15, Jackie was 12, and Wayne was 9. It seemed I had passed the test and was welcomed into the family. Little did I know there was a bigger test waiting for me?

            Three days later the whole family was invited to Christmas dinner. The whole family numbered about sixty people and consisted of aunts, uncles, cousins and paternal grandparents, Daddy Jack and MawMaw. I met them all my first week in the family because they all wanted to see this California girl who had won Ronald’s heart. I was on display as we sat on the couch by the front door. Ron never coached me or gave me any indication of how I should act with his family. Each made their way inside and over to me for introductions. Then they would move around the room and into the kitchen to get MawMaw’s “say-so” before they made any judgment. I didn’t know this at the time but I had already won her blessing by offering to help in the kitchen. She told Aunt Marie, “Well, he done a good job.” I don’t know what the verdict would have been had I stayed out of the kitchen but I guess I passed the test.

            My accent, I’m sure, was a topic of conversation. Wayne was fascinated the most as he would sit for hours and just listen to me talk. The feeling was mutual, however, for his southern drawl and pronunciation fascinated me, too, especially using the word “own” for “on”…like “on the table.”

            Two of Ron’s cousins, Sherry and Sandra, also told me at a family reunion years later that they were impressed with my go-go boots and mini-skirt. I didn’t think I was all that fashionable; in fact, I thought I was a little square by California standards, but I must have been “hip” for Montgomery, Alabama. 

            With our visit over and Ron and I saying our good-byes, Kline confessed that he was very disappointed when I shook his hand at the airport instead of hugging his neck. I told him he took me by surprise but I would take care of that right now and I reached over and gave him a big hug. I was the first daughter-in-law and I gave them their first granddaughter as well. 

            Ron and I had many cultural obstacles to overcome. He operated under southern conservative roots and I was a liberal Yankee. I couldn’t understand his way of thinking and he sure couldn’t understand mine. Eventually I came to my senses, though, and am now a conservative Republican.

            We almost didn’t make it through those early years…but that’s another story…  

MARY HAS CHOSEN THAT GOOD PART

by Danna Shirley

For a long time now my life has been into much busyness. I am a person with a strong Martha nature; always in works mode, always living on performance and details.

But Martha was distracted with much serving, and she approached Him [Jesus] and said, "Lord, do You not care that my sister has left me to serve alone? Therefore tell her to help me."  And Jesus answered and said to her, "Martha, Martha, you are worried and troubled about many things. But one thing is needed, and Mary has chosen that good part, which will not be taken away from her."                                                                  (Luke 10:40-42 NKJV)

Knowing this, I was so dramatically touched by the Holy Spirit through the sermon preached that Sunday night (5/24/09). With it God literally changed my life. How can I now be satisfied as a Martha when I want to be a Mary and sit at the feet of Jesus!

The deliverer of the message was a young man, Jason Inman, who is over our Van Ministry. If you were to classify him, you might say he is low man on the totem pole of the church leadership, but thankfully, God is no respecter of persons (Acts 10:34). My following notes don’t do him justice:

Jason’s message:

WHY WE NEED GOD’S RAIN

To maintain our spiritual lives                           

To spring forth with the fruit of the Holy Spirit

Rain breaks forth life                                                        

To provoke spiritual growth

For abundance of peace, faith, favor                              

To soak in God’s presence

To be restored, refreshed, purified, cleansed . . .

We need to be SOAKED, SATURATED, and INVADED with God’s presence;

to be MARKED and IDENTIFIED as His child.

            These Showers of Power bring results to impact those we meet because of God’s presence in our lives.  Sometimes, unfortunately, we raise an umbrella to God’s rain and say, “I don’t have time today, Lord; I’m too busy, or I’m too tired, or I’m too whatever.  We raise our umbrellas of fear, pride, doubt, busyness, unforgiveness, etc.  We don’t let God’s rain wash over us to cleanse and refresh us.  We walk around dry, dirty, in a desert place.

            Jason concluded with this challenge:  Put your umbrellas down and soak up God’s rain!

The Spirit broke me and revealed that I may have thought I was doing ‘okay’ as a Martha but I had not chosen that good part that God desired for me. The message Sunday night started a chain reaction of prayer, coupled with tears and a tugging at my heart as I heard God’s ‘still, small voice’ begin to plant something new in my spirit. Jason laid a good foundation Sunday night; God built on it Monday morning in prayer time and again Tuesday morning when I attended our weekly prayer meeting at church. I’ve shed a lot of tears these last few days as I feel a calling to move out in a different direction. 

Thank you, Jason, for your obedience to preach the Word . . .

MARBLEGATE

by Danna Shirley
Short story for Creative Writing Class, Bartlett Senior Center, Bartlett, TN

            Mrs. Prayder drove through the gate and up to the biggest house I’d ever seen, a mansion for wayward wards of the court.  How ironic. If I’d known this was how I could have been living, I would have run away from my three-room slum long ago. We parked under a tree and walked a long path that was dotted with flowers up to the front door. Across the expanse of the property were all kinds of different colored azalea bushes in bloom.  “Well, here we are,” Prayder announced. “I think you’ll like Marblegate.  Miss Crowder is very nice and I’m sure you’ll get along just fine.”

            “Yeah, I’m sure we will,” I lied. I could just see me having to scrub this place down from top to bottom like Cinderella with her ugly stepmother. Prayder knocked. I expected some cold, cross, matronly old woman but Crowder was young and beautiful and greeted us with a smile. She seemed even happy to have me come and live with her.  What a crock! I bet she’ll lock me in my room tonight.

            “Oh, hello,” she said. “I’ve been waiting for you. Please come in,” and she showed us into a front room with couches and chairs and bookshelves full of books. There was no television in sight. Boring!!!

            “Miss Jeannie Crowder, I would like you to meet Miss Alexandra Summers,” said Prayder. “She’s fourteen and will be going into the eighth grade this fall.”

            “Hello, Alexandra. Do you have a nickname or should I call you Alexandra?”

            “Just call me Alex. Nice ta meet ya.” I lied. I was good at lying.

            “And you can call me Miss Jeannie.”

            Miss Jeannie!  She’s got to be kidding! What a crock!  

            “Would you like to stay for tea, Angela, before you return to town?” So that was Prayder’s name, Angela.

            “No, I have a desk full of cases that I must process but thank you anyway.”

            Boy, weren’t they the polite ones! Please and thank you! I could just puke!

            “Alex, I just know you’re going to have a wonderful time staying out here at Marblegate,” Prayder said and she reached over and hugged my neck. 

            “Yeah, right!”

            Miss Jeannie followed her out on the porch and said goodbye.  Then she returned all smiles and asked me, “How about we tour the house, Alex?” She was too, too sweet and friendly. I know she was trying to get me off guard but I’m never off guard!

            “Yeah, sure, why not? Might as well see the lay of the land.” I needed to plan my escape route anyway, when the time was right. The place was huge and Crowder rattled on and on about the house being built in 1858 by her great-great-grandfather. It had a parlor, whoop-de-doo, and a music room, a study, and blah, blah, blah. She sure was impressed with herself. I guess she had something to be impressed about, though. It was a pretty nice place—but it didn’t have a T.V. room! That didn’t matter to me anyway ‘cause I wasn’t gonna be here long enough to miss it.

            “Would you like to go upstairs, Alex, and see your room?” she beamed. 

            Why was she being so nice to me? Didn’t she know foster kids were rebels who could care less where they are today ‘cause they’d be somewhere else tomorrow. 

            Crowder opened the door to a beautiful yellow bedroom filled with fancy, frilly things and sunlight streaming through the windows. I felt a warmth I’d never known before. Funny, it seemed to be on the inside of me! Course, it was July so why wouldn’t I be warm? Except I didn’t know what warmth was—not on the inside. I had always felt cold and dark and miserable about my life. What life? Mom was an alcoholic and I was her booze runner. I can’t believe how I fought and fought to stay with her but I had to, she had no one else to take care of her but me. I loved mom and I wasn’t complaining but my life could have been better. 

            “I’ll let you get settled,” she said. “You might even want to take a nap before dinner or you can explore the house and grounds and I’ll meet you in the dining room around six o’clock. We’re having fried chicken tonight but we’ll go grocery shopping tomorrow and get whatever you like.”

            “Whatever?” I said sarcastically. I was trying to be laid back about the place but I was warming up to Marblegate pretty quick—and Crowder, too. 

            I decided to explore the second floor. Two doors down the hall I found the bathroom. Now I know it didn’t look like this in 1858. Didn’t they have outhouses back then? Everything was marble; the shower, the bathtub, the sinks, even the floors. Well, I hadn’t had a good bath in a long time so I looked through all the cabinets until found some bubble bath. Then I filled the tub all the way to the top. It felt so good. All warm and scented. I soaked for the longest time and then dried off and dressed and went back to my room for that nap. Now this is the life.

            When I woke up about four o’clock, I decided to go downstairs and check out that sitting room with all the bookshelves. Now I’m not that good with schoolwork and such but I do like to get lost in a good story. They always have a happy ending, not like my life. Crowder had history books and mystery books; she had cookbooks and how-to books.  Then there were the fiction and romance books. On the bottom shelf I saw a few dusty photo albums.

            I decided to take a look at her family pictures and have a good laugh. The first one was way back when; I guess when they first took pictures. The paper was real thick, almost like cardboard. The women wore long dresses with their hair piled up high and the men had mustaches.  Nobody smiled! How dull was that? The next album was a little better. The skirts were shorter and the hair was shorter and the women wore lots of long beaded necklaces. There were a few smiles now and then, too.

            Then I finally noticed something that looked familiar. A family on the front steps of Marblegate, two little girls standing behind their mom and dad who were sitting on the steps. I turned the pages and saw the sisters get older and more grownup. One of them was Crowder. She got prettier and prettier. There was something familiar about her sister, though, like I’d seen her somewhere before. The next picture made my heart stop. That was my mother! My mother was in that picture! She was young and fresh and happy; not like now. I dropped the album and looked up. Crowder was standing there watching me. How long had she been there? Finally, I squeaked out the question, “Is this my mother?”

            “Yes, honey, it is. That’s my sister, Janet, and I’m your Aunt Jeannie.”

            I stared in disbelief. “I didn’t even know I had an aunt. How did you find me?”

            “I’ve prayed that I might find your mother for a very long time. I didn’t know she had a daughter either until Angela started investigating your background and located me. We didn’t want to shock you with the news so we decided to just let you come here and get to know me a little bit first. Of course, I didn’t think you would find out your identity so quickly.”

            “So now what?” I said still dumbfounded.

            “I would like to help your mom go into rehab and I hope you will consider staying with me indefinitely, if that’s something you want to do. She will be welcome here as soon as she’s able.” 

            “Mom sure needs some help—and I guess—,” I tried to hold back the tears, “—I guess I need some help, too.”

            The dam finally broke and I cried like I had wanted to for so long. I cried for my mother and what I couldn’t do to help her. I cried for me, too, like I had never cried before in my life.  I was tough!  TOUGH!!!

            Crowder grabbed me up and hugged me tightly. I hadn’t been cared for like this in I don’t know when—maybe never. I was warm all over, warm on the inside and warm on the outside. 

            “Do you think we can make it work, honey?” she asked as she stroked my hair.

            “Yeah, sure, I’ll do everything I can to make it work!”  We stood there and just held onto each other. I had finally found someone to love me.

             “Welcome to Marblegate, Alex,” she said smiling through her tears. 

MAKE THE MOST OF . . .

by Danna Shirley

Make the most of your five senses:

. . . enjoy every breeze that kisses your face ~ touch

. . . savor every bite that pleases your palate ~ taste

. . . breathe in every aroma that graces your senses ~ smell

. . . regard every symphonic note that plays on the strings of your heart ~ sound

. . . return every smile that greets you from a friendly face ~ sight

Make the most of the seven heavenly virtues:

. . . let every thought be pure and honest ~ chastity

. . . let every action be just and honorable ~ temperance

. . . let every gift be generous and benevolent ~ charity

. . . let every undertaking be approached with determination and zeal ~ diligence

. . . let every conflict be resolved in peace, grace, and mercy ~ patience

. . . let every attitude be shown through compassion and friendship ~ kindness

. . . let every deed be selfless, respectful, and reverent ~ humility

Make the most of heart-felt passions:

. . . births, graduations, and baptisms

. . . wedding days and 50^th anniversaries

. . . first smiles, first steps, first words

. . . hugs from family and friends

. . . a belly-laugh at a good, clean joke

. . . a picture is worth a thousand words

. . . pride in our military heroes who keep our freedoms intact

. . . answered prayer

. . . the love of GOD and knowing HEAVEN is our home

Make the most of the Fruit of the Spirit in your life:

. . . For God so loved the world that He gave (Jn 3:16)                 

. . . The joy of the Lord is your strength (Neh 8:10)                                   

. . . The peace of God . . . will guard your heart and mind (Phil 4:7)         

. . . Let patience have its perfect work (Js 1:4)                                           

. . . When the kindness and love of God appeared, He saved us (Tit 3:4)

. . . Surely goodness and mercy shall follow me (Ps 23:6)             

. . . Trust in the Lord . . . feed on His faithfulness (Ps 37:3)                      

. . . Let your gentleness be evident to all (Phil 4:5)                        

. . . Make every effort to add to your faith . . . self-control (2 Pet 1:6)

           MAKE THE MOST OF . . . 

                                              JESUS CHRIST

MACKENZIE RAE

by Danna Shirley

            I met my granddaughter, Mackenzie Rae, for the first time today. She is four years old.  I was totally surprised and thoroughly pleased. She had also met her daddy, my son, for the first time just the weekend before. I guess learning about a brand new family can be a bit overwhelming for a little girl; aunts, uncles, cousins, grandparents and great-grandparents, but she took it all in stride.

            It could have been an awkward beginning but God made the road to this meeting short and very sweet. Forgetting the past and looking to a bright future, Mackenzie is a beautiful child with a loving disposition. She ran up to me with a big hug and called me Grandma. I told her I was called Mimi so she quickly changed my name. She sat with me at the restaurant across the table from her mother and little brother and sister. I would find her smiling up into my face every time I found myself smiling down into hers. It was love at first sight.

            Mackenzie looks just like her daddy. I learned she is in the gifted program at her school . . . Aaron was in the gifted program. I learned she plays T-Ball . . . Aaron played T-Ball. I learned she made the All-Star team . . . Aaron made the All-Star team every year. I brought a picture of her daddy when he was her age and a picture of him in his T-Ball uniform. Her fascination brought a big smile to her face.

            I picked up Mackenzie the next morning for Sunday School and church. It was a special Sunday so there was a potluck dinner after the service. Because I was in travel mode and could not cook (ha, ha), my contribution to the dinner was a bag of grapes which Mackenzie and I took off of the stems and washed. She was concerned that she wouldn’t get any with all the people there so I made sure we were first in line. She ate two pieces of fried chicken, NO VEGETABLES; a piece of icing, NO CAKE; and two helpings of grapes. When we left, we wrapped up the remaining grapes and she took them home with her. 

            I was saddened to have missed the first four years of her life—all the birthdays and Christmases, all the first steps and first words; the hugs and snuggles and “I love yous.” No matter the past, a love affair began that day and I know it will continue for life. 

            Oh, yes. My middle name is Rae. Her mother didn’t know that when she named her. That’s okay. I accept that as God’s blessing to me.

LONGEVITY AIN'T FOR SISSIES

by Danna Shirley

            My paternal grandmother lived to be 93. My father lived to be 89. My mother is still living at 95. I am 66 and I’m already worn out. Longevity can be wonderful if your mind and body can keep up with the years but what if they’ve already checked out and your years keep on ticking. The older I become, the more I realize that longevity isn’t for the weak.

I have a hiatal hernia, high blood pressure, and dry eyes. I have carpal tunnel in my wrists, a degenerative disk in my neck, pain across my shoulders, arthritis in my lower back, and bursitis in my hips. My feet have never worked right.

I've gained a lot of weight and I can't exercise or even walk to take it off because my body hurts so much. I joined a Zumba Gold class at our senior center and only lasted a few weeks . . . my hips only lasted a few minutes.

I signed up to receive Dr. Oz’s “RealAge®” emails. They are very informative but how can anyone afford to follow his advice, especially on a fixed income. If I bought every supplement and all the food he recommends to keep healthy, I would be broke in a month, plus I would probably have indigestion to boot.

·     What happened to that natural blond teenager who could dance the twist and the jerk and the pony all night long and not even breathe hard?

·     What happened to that wrinkle-free, enthusiastic newlywed just getting started in life?

·     What happened to that box-blond young mother raising three children?

·     What happened to that volunteer-minded woman who could juggle marriage, work, church, school activities, and still come home and have a meal on the table for her family?

·     What happened to that middle-aged widowed grandmother who had come through the grieving process and made it to the other side with her heart and mind intact?

·     WHAT HAPPENED TO ME???

So what is the answer?

Our bodies are the temple of the Holy Spirit (1 Cor 6:19-20).

God made them and He knows how to heal them.

Therefore, I hereby resolve to practice . . .

moderation!              restraint!                    self-control!

discipline!                 willpower!                 determination!

strength!                    endurance!                patience!

AND A WHOLE LOT OF PRAYER!!!

AMEN!!!

LIFE and DEATH in MY REARVIEW MIRROR

by Danna Shirley

            I was a new widow choosing to remain in the house that my husband, Ron, and I had built. There was no question that I would continue working as Admin Asst to the Fire Chief at the Ocean Springs Fire Department (MS) and also attend Vancleave Assembly of God Church. I was numb and couldn’t make any decision to do otherwise.

            It was fourteen miles from my front door in Vancleave to the front door of Central Fire Station. Part of those fourteen miles included a stretch of sparsely inhabited two lane road that commuters traveled, exceeding the speed limit, trying to make time when they were late for work in the morning or anxious to get home at night. Traffic was usually light and, as a rule, there were no delays until you reached Vancleave.

            On one particular trip home from work, I was taken off guard when I noticed a school bus in front of me with about four cars behind it. They were at a dead stop and I had to slam on my brakes. We sat there for quite awhile waiting for the traffic to move.

            When I looked up in my rearview mirror, I saw a big, black, pickup truck barreling down on me. I gripped the steering wheel and waited for him to notice that we were all stopped ahead of him. HE DIDN’T NOTICE! He was still coming full speed. All I could utter was, “Oh, God...Oh, God...Oh, God!” as I stared in my rearview mirror and braced myself for impact. It was one of those moments when you can’t watch but you can’t look away either. I just knew I was going to die right there on Highway 57 in south Mississippi!

            When the truck driver got close enough to realize that traffic was stopped in front of him, he slammed on his brakes and pulled over into the ditch finally stopping three cars in front of me. When I think of where he would have stopped if he hadn’t pulled over, I get goose bumps. 

            Soon the bus began to move and all of us pulled forward as if we hadn’t just escaped death. I drove past his truck and looked over at him thinking, I should stop and check on him; maybe say something but there was nothing that could have been said. He was sitting there staring out his front window and I’m sure contemplating his narrow escape from death as well.

            Later that night the event became more surreal to me as I relived looking in my rearview mirror. What if I had died? I thought of being in heaven with my husband, Ron, and how that would have been perfectly fine with me. I was lonely and ready to go. Then I thought of my loved ones that I would have left behind; my daughter, Kristen and granddaughter, Emma; my sons Russell and Aaron, and I decided that I did want to live.  I wanted to live to see many more grandchildren.

            Thank You, Lord, for saving me that day so I could be Mimi to . . .

MACKENZIE RAE 

EMMA KATHERINE and 

ISABELLA REESE.