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.