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~ by Pat Luffman Rowland

Prayerful Pondering

Monthly Archives: April 2017

Outside My Comfort Zone

18 Tuesday Apr 2017

Posted by Pat Luffman Rowland in risks

≈ 2 Comments

Tags

camping, courage, memories, nature, new experience, outside comfort zone, rest

Go camping? Me? This was way out of my comfort zone and my Leisure and Recreation professor had just announced a part of our course work would be an overnight camping trip. If we absolutely, positively felt we could not make the camping trip, there was an alternative.  I leaned in to hear his every word. The alternative would be a lengthy and very detailed paper on a subject of his choosing. He promised it wouldn’t be easy, even for those who enjoyed writing.

Camping had never called my name and I knew I had not called out to it. I didn’t like the possibility of snakes that I imagined hanging from every tree. How was I going to get out of this? I wasn’t into roughing it in the woods and especially with people I barely knew.

Right after class, I meandered through the rows of empty chairs to my teacher and jumped right into making my case for why I should be excused. My reasons sounded lame, even to me.

Memphis State University (now Univ of Memphis) Rec and Leisure Professor. Corky was what he went by, can’t recall his last name.

He was a young guy with a PhD behind his name and I was a mid-forties adult just now finishing up what I should have completed long ago–my undergraduate degree. Friendly and polite he was—and unyielding. It looked like I had better start rounding up a tent and bedroll.

We would be camping at Fort Pillow. Though Fort Pillow is a state park, all that came to mind was the state prison bearing that name. This wasn’t getting better. I would be hanging out with snakes and prisoners.

A friend, quite amused at my plight, loaned me his tent. I found my daughter’s old sleeping bag and tossed it in the trunk of the car, alongside the tent. Next went my cooler, and, as instructed, “a minimum of personal needs.”

Setting up our tents

When I made the second turnoff to Fort Pillow Camp Grounds, I caught a view of the prison looming strong and fierce.  I told myself should anyone escape, they would not be looking to share our camping experience but getting far away from the prison. That gave me some comfort.

When I got to the spot our professor had chosen for us, I was wide-eyed with unexpected glee; there were bathroom and shower facilities in easy walking distance! Things were looking up.

That night, as we sat around a campfire and listened to a student strum his guitar, I felt myself beginning to relax. This camping thing wasn’t so bad. Nothing like I had expected, in fact. Neither a snake nor prisoner had appeared so far.

Much to my amazement, I slept well on the hard ground and the occasional night sounds didn’t spook me. I awoke to chirping birds and the smell of coffee and feeling more relaxed than I had in a while. A peek outside my tent showed a fellow student cooking breakfast. I set off toward the restroom facilities for a nice hot shower and the offer of fresh coffee on return. I felt my every resistance to camping beating a hasty retreat. I had stepped outside my comfort zone and lo and behold, look what happened! I discovered I could really get used to this. (As long as bathroom facilities were close by, of course.)

Enjoying the good life

Our Fort Pillow camping trip turned out to be a great adventure for the experienced (there were some) and the greenhorns (fewer of these). It was so successful, in fact, that someone suggested we do it once more before the end of semester. The teacher agreed and off we went into the woods one more time. Camping had turned strangers in a classroom to friends around a campfire sharing stories, songs, and food. And the one who suggested we return for another night of camping? You guessed it. It was me.

Helen Keller said “Life is either a daring adventure or nothing at all.” And I especially love what writer Rachel Cohn said: “The reward is in the risk.”  What about you? Are you staying safe in your comfort zone or “daring adventure”?  If I were doing life over, I would definitely take more risks.

Korkey’s Krew ’87. We posted notes for Corky. Mine said “I’m a believer now!” (I am front row, center.)

My note bottom, left

 

Those Cotton Fields Back Home!

10 Monday Apr 2017

Posted by Pat Luffman Rowland in cotton fields

≈ 11 Comments

Tags

family, field labor, memory, simple times, work ethic

A while back, I mentioned to a friend that I picked cotton in my “growing up” years. My friend was surprised and her reaction was like others I have experienced through the years. I understand that thinking, as you rarely see pictures of white people laboring in cotton fields, though I’m at a loss as to why that is since it was common for northerners to stop alongside the road to get pictures of this southern curiosity. At my friend’s encouragement to tell the story, this blog is about the many fall days I spent in dry and dusty cotton fields. My thanks go to lifetime friend and fellow cotton picker Larry Darby for keeping me honest in the telling of the story.

2cotton field

A field ripe for picking. Courtesy of Morguefile.

Let me take you back to the 1950s and early ’60s to a rural community, my hometown of Medina, Tennessee. Every year in mid-September our school closed for four to six weeks (depending on the need) to help the farmers get their cotton crops in. Mechanical cotton pickers were yet to be had by our farmers–too expensive. I don’t recall the age I began picking cotton, but young enough that my first sack was homemade since the bought ones were too big for me. Some went to the fields at eight years, maybe younger. We were of a practical era and did what needed to be done.

Cousins Judy Gardner (Petty), 10, and Wanda Coleman (King), 8, on the Gardner farm in Medina. My thanks to Judy for the pictures and Wanda for confessing they were posing more than picking that day–thus the big smiles. I knew I could not remember ever looking that happy in a cotton field.

There were a lot of fields, so we didn’t necessarily see many of our friends during the cotton picking season. If you could get with friends, it definitely made the long days go faster. Farmers would come in to get us town people around 6:30-7 AM and bring us home about 5 PM. We rode in the back of the farmer’s truck, equipped with sideboards for taking the picked cotton to the gin.

There was nothing about picking cotton that I liked, and I especially disliked picking the tall, leafy bottom cotton. I think we all hated it. If bottom cotton was the first field of the day, we despised it even more for its heavy dew that had us wetted down in no time. The wet cotton was sticky and harder to gather, and if it was a frosty morning, the dew would make our hands icy cold and less nimble. The only upside to wet cotton was the extra weight it gave (we were paid by weight). And then there were the creatures that could hide better in the tall, leafy cotton: huge black and yellow garden spiders, stinging worms, and the occasional spread adder snake. I learned to pay attention to where I put my hands.

cotton field

A field heavy with cotton and the dry, low kind we preferred picking. Courtesy of Morguefile.

Our pay was $2.50-$3.00 per one hundred pounds. The higher amount was end of season for the second picking. It seemed like everyone was better than I at picking cotton. Up until my senior year, I picked about 150 pounds a day. That last year I determined to do better and finished most days with a little over 200 pounds. The boys tended to out pick the girls and there were women in the fields who could brag of 300-350 pounds a day. Now that was moving!

Girls wore jeans, long sleeve shirts, and something on our heads if our mothers could talk us into it. To protect our hands, we wore brown jersey gloves with the fingertips cut out. You had to be able to feel the cotton to pluck it cleanly from the boll. The women wore bonnets and some wore a dress over their jeans. It wasn’t common then for older women to wear pants.

Those first days in the field were brutal with cuts and scratches around the unprotected part of our fingers and also our ankles if rigid limbs crawled under the legs of our jeans. A hot soapy bath at end of day was bittersweet. It felt so good to the aching body but stung scratched fingers and ankles with a fury.

I eventually graduated to a standard cotton sack. They had brown plastic beads of rubber on the bottom to help prevent the bottom of the sack from wearing through. In one bottom inside corner of the sack a green cotton boll would be secured with wire on the outside. The wire included a loop for help in hanging sacks on the scale.

Everyone’s cotton was weighed at the same time for efficiency.  While at the scale getting our sacks weighed, we took long drinks of ice water in gallon jugs kept in the cab of the farmer’s truck. Cold water never tasted better.

The highlight of the day (other than quittin’ time!) was lunch. We sat on our cotton sacks in the shade, if we could find any, and ate sandwiches out of brown paper bags. Sometimes we spread the sandwiches and homemade pickles in a sharing manner. Larry says that was the first “country buffet.” Most of us had iced tea to drink that we brought to the field in quart jars wrapped in newspaper to keep the ice from melting. Lunch was about a 30 minute break and back to the fields we went.

Medina Senior Royalty 001

Representing Medina in the Humboldt, TN Strawberry Festival in early May. Just six months before, all four of us were in cotton fields. L-R: Larry Darby, Dorothy Jones, me, Linda Piercey

I complained a lot to my parents about picking cotton. Mother never understood my distaste for it because she grew up working in the fields and loved it. But, then, anything outside and to do with the earth, Mother loved. Daddy’s reply was “You don’t have to pick cotton, but you don’t have to have any new clothes either.” What I earned picking cotton bought my winter clothes. I remember well my last day in a cotton field and singing the Hallelujah Chorus all the way home.

There seemed to be a kind of unspoken fraternity with those of us who picked cotton. We understood the language of hard work and respected one another for being part of it. We might moan about those days, but even then we knew they were good for us. We bent our backs and crawled on our knees as we picked. We threw sacks packed with cotton over our shoulders and carried them to the scale. If I couldn’t toss the sack over my shoulder, I dropped the strap to my waist and dragged it in.

Those days played a huge part of establishing my work ethic for life, and for that, I am grateful. Let me say, however, I’m not interested in any of the cotton décor so often found in gift shops. Clearly, those who find it “charming” know nothing of its original setting. Stick some branches in a vase or hang a wreath on the front door? You’ve got to be kidding me!

My thanks to the Davenport and Maddox families of Medina for this priceless photo from 1915. Notice the gloves on the two girls at right and how the fingertips are cut away.

How To Make Your Devotions Come Alive

04 Tuesday Apr 2017

Posted by Pat Luffman Rowland in devotion, earth

≈ 2 Comments

Tags

Bible reading, Bible study tools, church, focus, inspiration, praise, prayer, spiritual giants, Thanksgiving

I grew up in a Southern Baptist home. On Sundays, we checked off our offering envelopes with the following: Sunday School Attendance, Bible Brought, Lesson Studied, Giving, Daily Bible Reading, and Worship Attendance.  Growing up I was expected to do these six things every week to provide a solid spiritual foundation, but it was not until my twenties that I experienced my first “wow” moment with devotion, and it was through the Living Bible.

The Living Bible, first published in 1971, introduced me anew to scripture. When I got mine, I determined to read it through and wasn’t far into Genesis when I began seeing things I didn’t remember reading in the King James Version (KJV). So I would go back to the KJV to be sure this new Bible wasn’t adding things. Each time I checked, the same truth was there, just more clearly spoken in the paraphrased Bible. This new understanding enlivened my devotions. I was eager to learn from this plain-speaking Bible. All this to say, choose a Bible that is right for you, and consider changing translations from time to time. My devotions are always energized by a new translation.

By nature, I am a curious individual and want the details. I keep a concordance, map, and commentary nearby for when I read scripture. A concordance helps to find scriptures easily and most Bibles have them in back. A map brings a visual to the time and place in scripture. A commentary gives information by those who have spent their lives studying and expounding on scripture. You may not use them every day, but if something comes to you in while reading your Bible that you want to understand better, having resources right at hand will enable that. I am presently using Matthew Henry’s Complete Bible Commentary, a favorite of Charles Spurgeon and George Whitefield, with Whitefield saying he read it through six times, the last time on his knees.

Create an environment that welcomes the Lord. I like to begin with worship music. Sometimes I sing along, other times I close my eyes and sit in silence as it penetrates my soul.  If you have trouble with random thoughts intruding on your quiet time, keep a pad and pen nearby for writing them down for later, then get back to the Lord. Welcome His presence by being 100% His!

Inspiration from The Word for Today, the devotional magazine our church graciously provides, will help you get in stride with the Lord as you begin your quiet time. A year-long devotional book I cherish and read over and over is Oswald Chambers’ My Utmost for His Highest. A clergy favorite, one pastor was quoted as saying it was his second most important book–right after the Bible.

Along with those you know to pray for, ask the Holy Spirit’s guidance for any others. When I ask Him who I should pray for, almost always someone unexpected comes to mind.  I trust that prompting even if I never know why. When in prayer, allow God time to speak to you. Someone wrote that most of us rush into prayer, pour out all our needs and wants, then turn and hurry into our day without giving God time to speak to us.

Set aside occasional devotions where you ask God for nothing. Praise Him for the God you know Him to be and thank Him for how He has blessed you. Turn any petition that begins to form on your lips into words of how you trust Him to love and take care of you. If your child came to you in this manner, would it not delight you? Our Father yearns for this, too. Do this and be prepared for an infilling of joy and peace.

Learn about the lives of great servants of the Lord. Did you know George Mueller built five orphanages and cared for over 10,000 orphans on faith alone, trusting God to send the money or food they needed each day? Did you know Mother Teresa came from a well-to-do home and gave it all up to minister to the poor and dying? Did you know that her first patient was a man she found dying on the steps of a hospital and that she gathered him into her arms and refused to leave until the hospital took him in? The life stories of people of great faith will take you up the mountains of praise and worship and encourage you in your own relationship with God.

Keep a journal nearby. Record prayers God has answered and include the details, for it’s in the details that we see God’s hand. When we know His personal interventions, it builds our confidence in trusting Him more.

Devotions come alive when we come hungry, come expecting, and come grateful. If you let these things be the hallmark of your time with God, you will never be disappointed.

“Spend plenty of time with God, let other things go, but don’t neglect Him.”

–J. Oswald Sanders, missionary, evangelist, author

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The fruit of the Spirit is love, joy, peace, patience, kindness, goodness, faithfulness, gentleness, self-control; against such things there is no law. Galatians 5:22-23 ESV

If you confess with your mouth the Lord Jesus and believe in your heart that God has raised Him from the dead, you will be saved. Romans 10:9

God has not given us a spirt of fear, but of power and love and of a sound mind. 2 Timothy 1:7

Enter His gates with thanksgiving and His courts with praise; give thanks to Him and praise His name. For the Lord is good and His love endures forever; His faithfulness continues through all generations. Psalm 100:4-5

If we confess our sins, He is faithful and just to forgive us our sins and to cleanse us from all unrighteousness. 1 John 1:9

© Pat Rowland and Prayerful Pondering, 2010 - 2013.
Unauthorized use and/or duplication of this material without express and written permission from this blog’s author and/or owner is strictly prohibited. Excerpts and links may be used, provided that full and clear credit is given to Pat Rowland and Prayerful Pondering with appropriate and specific direction to the original content.

Hope must be in the future tense. Faith, to be faith, must be in the present tense. Catherine Marshall
Everything over your head is under his feet. Dr. Tom Lindberg
What an excellent ground of hope and confidence we have when we reflect upon these three things in prayer--the Father's love, the son's merit and the Spirit's power! Thomas Manton
Our Christian hope is that we're going to live with Christ in a new earth, where is not only no more death, but where life is what it was always meant to be. Timothy Keller

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