Tag Archives: memories

The Best Christmases of All

15 Wednesday Dec 2021

Posted by in Celebrate Christmas

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Mama and Papa 001There was only one thing my grandparents wanted each year for Christmas—for all their children to be home at once. That was the gift that brought tears to Papa’s eyes and radiance to Mama’s face. All seven children home with spouses and children. I think it was what gave all of us the best of Christmases.

DAY_DADDY_CAME_HOME_FROM_SE - Copy

Their house was humble in appearance. A white frame house Papa had built onto as need required. My mother and I were the reason for one addition. When Daddy went to war and I was just months old, Papa brought us there to live with them. It was a house made for practicality and not show.

At Christmastime, the multi-colored lights on the tree shone through the living room window, beckoning us home. Cars parked on the narrow street up and down both sides for a block. Neighbors never minded; they were invited to join us and some always did. 

Each time the front door opened laughter and greetings of welcome rang out. It was good to be together again. Mama and Papa would stand just inside the door waiting to embrace every family member and friend. Papa would chuckle with delight because his “chillun” had come home. Christmas with Papa 1979 001

Packages were stowed under the tree and dishes of food taken on to the kitchen to help Mama feed the multitude. She had cooked for days and if no one had brought a single thing, there would still have been plenty. After the tree and kitchen visits there was one more stop before joining the men for talking or the women for getting the food ready. That stop was to find Mama’s large blue granite roasting pan. For in that pan would be the one dish we had looked forward to all year—Mama’s cornbread dressing. I guess we just needed a little reassurance that it was there waiting for us.

Christmas at the Spencer’s was for love and sharing and the larger the crowd the better. Boyfriends, girlfriends, in-laws, great aunts and uncles, our pastor and his family, our small town’s highly revered doctor and his wife. Everyone was welcome. We sat everywhere, even in the bedrooms. And the food was like the loaves and fish that Jesus blessed, it seemed to keep replenishing itself.  JIM_AND_DULCIE_SPENCER_001 - Copy

One thing always happened in that house before any meal was had and that was a prayer of thanksgiving. At Christmastime, everyone migrated to the spot where Papa and Mama stood and a hush fell over the house. If Papa said the prayer he thanked God for every person there—and he cried. Papa couldn’t pray without crying because his heart was ever grateful to God for His blessings, and when Papa spoke to the Lord, his love for Him spilled out emotionally.

Money couldn’t buy the blessing of having been born into the family of Jim and Dulcie Spencer. I am indeed rich in heritage. I thank God for giving me two of His finest creations as grandparents and for the many memories of Christmases past on Campbell Street in Medina, Tennessee.

Mama and Papa 1977

Jim and Dulcie Spencer (Papa and Mama) at their house on Campbell Street in 1977. The place we all called home and would rather be than anywhere else.

The seven Spencer children, mid-1980s, probably.
L-R (standing): Tera, Betty Jo (Replogle), Bluford
Front: JB, Louise, (Luffman), Evelyn (Barnes),
Cornelia (Cagle)
Spencer children standing in birth order. The picture was probably made about 1938 or ’39. Louise (my mother), JB, Bluford, Cornelia, Tera, Evelyn, Betty Jo. All deceased except for Cornelia (94) and Tera (92).

This was first published in 2014. I have added a few pictures and am posting it again today in honor of the 30th anniversary of my grandmother’s going home to Jesus. There was never a better woman than Dulcie Cotton Spencer. She witnessed her faith and love for Christ every minute of her life.

Thanksgiving 1982 at my house. She was 82.

Looking Back at a Memorable Patient

15 Monday Jul 2019

Posted by in healthcare stories

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There’s so much bad news today, I thought a little sharing of personal heroes might be in order. During the years I worked for Methodist Healthcare (1983-1998), my primary responsibilities were to patient concerns, patient rights, and medical ethics. I got to know some terrific individuals and wrote about many of them. I believed the sharing of patient perspectives helped us react more like a small community rather than a large hospital. Everyone does better when they understand another’s perspective. The stories were first shared internally and then with the medical community at large through my column, “Patient Perspective,” in the Memphis Healthcare News. I’ve pulled a few stories, in no particular order, to share with you. This one is very dated, but our need to understand and respect one another never changes. This couple taught us a lot about that. It was written in December of 1988. 

There are those particular patients whose stories we file away in our memory book. Then, from time to time, we draw on the lessons they taught through their demonstration of great courage, kindness, or even wit. There is one patient I remember who met all those qualifications.

I first became involved with him due to his extreme fear of contracting AIDS. He and his wife came to our hospital armed with their own can of disinfectant, and his wife cleaned the bathroom and telephone again – just to be sure.

The patient and his wife, both in their late 60’s, enjoyed one of those marriages that was a sheer delight to observe. As we got to know each other, his wife told me they had both had previous marriages that came apart in the early 1940’s. She said her first husband left to get a haircut one day and just never came back. So, for six years, the second husband made her go with him every time he got a haircut! Then she laughed that happy, throaty laugh of hers, and you could imagine the whole scene taking place.

There were a number of hospitalizations and other visits to our hospital. One day, the patient had been in to get blood and I met him and his wife as they were leaving the hospital. They stopped to speak and give me a quick hug, but then said they had to hurry along. “I’ve just been given the blood of an 18 year old, and I want to get my wife right home” said the patient.

During the time of one hospitalization, the patient decided he would leave a little test for the housekeepers: he put one tiny piece of paper in each of the four corners of his bathroom. The housekeeper passed the test, but one of the patient’s daughters said the housekeeper should have left them where they were with one word written on each paper scrap: (1) I’ve (2) cleaned (3) this (4) bathroom.

The most memorable happening of all, though, came in his first hospitalization. This beautiful human being, full of love and wit, called in all of his grandchildren to talk to them. (As I recall, their ages ranged from about 12 to mid-20’s.) He told them he wanted to be serious just for a minute and then he explained his condition and that he knew his long years of smoking were to blame. He said “Granddaddy should be up playing with you now, and not lying in this bed. If I had taken care of my body, that’s what I would be doing. So I want you to promise me, while each one of you still has a healthy body, to respect it and take care of it. Don’t ever be foolish enough to put yourself where I am now.” With that, he dismissed the time for serious conversation, and became, once again, the life of the party.

Yes, there were times when the patient and his wife might have been seen as ‘difficult’ for staff as they struggled to hold on to the months of life he had left. But surely, there’s not a one of us that felt we could ever put a mark against such a courageous couple.

This was a man and woman who helped us laugh when their hearts were breaking; who held close to each other and taught us lessons about love and left us with memories that bless our days of reflection. The patient was one of those individuals who lives on in each and every person he ever touched, and if there were a hall of fame for patients, we would place his picture there.

 

Peaceful Sleep

06 Thursday Dec 2018

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For most of us, that time of turning in for the night is when our minds accelerate. We think of the decisions we made that day and whether they were wise, many times wishing we could do them over. We think about things that may happen in the near future, things that may be life changing, problems we face — both big and small. We think about our children and our concerns for them. One thing I think about every night is whether I did anything kind for anyone. It bothers me to think I’ve closed out a day without a single act of kindness.

For some who live alone, there are thoughts about safety. Was everything that needed to be turned off, turned off? Did I lock all the doors? Did I arm the security system? If I fall during the night, will someone know to check on me relatively soon the next day?

In the last year of my mother’s living alone, I prayed a lot about her safety.  I prayed against fire, against a predator realizing that she lived alone, that she wouldn’t fall or get sick or become frightened during the night.

Psalm 4:8 says “I will lie down and sleep in peace, for you alone, O LORD, make me dwell in safety” (NIV).  I have a friend who prays this every night over family and friends who live alone, calling out each name and asking that they will know God’s protection. What a beautiful gift!

Proverbs 3:24 says “When you lie down, you will not be afraid; when you lie down, your sleep will be sweet” (NIV). Psalm 127:3 reminds us that the one who watches over us never slumbers or sleeps.

I especially love this word from Psalm 3:3-6 (NLT):  “But you, O Lord, are a shield around me; you are my glory, the one who holds my head high. I cried out to the Lord, and he answered me from his holy mountain. I lay down and slept, yet I woke up in safety, for the Lord was watching over me. I am not afraid of ten thousand enemies who surround me on every side.” I love it because it begins with recognizing and praising God, saying to Him that we know He hears us when we call out to Him. Those words of David say that we know God in Heaven sees every threat that might come our way. It encourages us when it says we slept in trust and woke up without any trouble coming upon us through the night. The last sentence rightly gives God praise again, following the Lord’s instruction to begin and end our prayers with praising God. In that final praise, we affirm our confidence that we are protected on every side and from every danger.

Do you have trouble falling to sleep? Do you replay all the day’s woes? Do you angst over children or parents or other loved ones? Maybe one of these verses can help you to let go and sleep peacefully. Or, you can check your Bible’s concordance or “google” for other verses on peaceful sleep. I encourage you to choose a scripture and commit it to memory, then let it be your last thought of the day. And as Proverb 3:4 says, may your sleep be sweet.

Chloe skeeping

My Chloe sleeping peacefully. Not a single worry or care!

 

My Grandmother’s Simple Heart

01 Monday Jan 2018

Posted by in giving, grandmother

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Pastor David Cross’ lesson for our Sunday school class yesterday was from Proverbs 4:23: “Above all else, guard your heart, for everything you do flows from it” (NIV). He explained how God wants us to walk with integrity and uprightness, to have a heart undivided—a simple heart. That is, a heart that is honest and full of devotion to God.

My grandmother, Dulcie Pauline Cotton Spencer 1900-1991

My grandmother had that kind of heart—a heart that was simple and honest and fully devoted to her Lord.  I could never say enough good things about Dulcie Pauline Cotton Spencer, for everything that is good will find itself back to her eventually, describing her in some way.

I was reminded of Mama Dulcie’s simple heart recently when a cousin and I were reminiscing about our grandmother. Cindy Barnes Wilson’s mother and my aunt, Evelyn Spencer Barnes, the sixth of Jim and Dulcie Spencer’s seven children, helped Mama manage her money in her later years of life. Cindy said Mama Dulcie would frequently ask Evelyn “Did you send the children their money?” The children were the children of St. Jude Children’s Hospital and the money was Mama’s monthly check to those children sick with cancer. And don’t overlook that she categorized the money as belonging to the children; it wasn’t hers.

Some things hang on in our minds and linger for further pondering. Such was this small piece of information Cindy passed on while we were remembering our grandmother and her simple and upright heart. In my seventy plus years, I’ve never known anyone godlier than Dulcie Spencer.  One thing I know for sure, giving to a charity would never have been about some way to receive a tax deduction. For Mama, it would have simply been for sick children who needed help. It would be what Jesus would want her to do.

Dulcie Spencer was never a woman of means and her monthly check to St. Jude Children’s Hospital was most likely of a small amount, yet I put Mama in the category of the poor widow of Mark 12:44 where Jesus said “They all gave out of their wealth; but she, out of her poverty, put in everything–all she had to live on” (NIV). Mama didn’t give all she had but she did give with that same kind of abandoned devotion to God. And if she had thought for one minute Jesus was asking her to give all she had, she would have and without a second thought.  She was 100% the Lord’s. Her trust in Him was complete.

This past Saturday we had a Spencer cousin reunion with nine of the sixteen grandchildren there. Each grandchild’s life has been touched and formed by Dulcie Spencer in some way. We each have our own treasure box of Mama Dulcie Memories. And though we didn’t think to talk about this on Saturday, I believe it safe to say we would all agree on this descriptor of our grandmother:  She loved God and she loved us—in abundance on both counts.

spencer cousin reunion

Spencer cousin reunion 12/30/17. Brad Replogle (Betty), Paul Spencer (Tera), Lori Owrey (Evelyn), Bruce Replogle (Betty), Cindy Wilson (Evelyn), Tommy Cagle (Cornelia), Steve Spencer (J.B.), Walter Luffman (Louise), Pat Rowland (Louise)

Mama died when she was 91. Her life here was doing just what Proverbs 4:23 said, for she guarded her heart and the flow from that good and simple heart benefitted us all.

Mama and me 001

My grandmother and me, 1982. Mama walked and talked with Jesus every day. She was the best person I’ve ever known.

Outside My Comfort Zone

18 Tuesday Apr 2017

Posted by in risks

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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

 

A Ministry of Prayer

19 Monday Sep 2016

Posted by in prayer

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Yesterday, in our Sunday morning message, Pastor Tom Lindberg promised four things from First Assembly Memphis. He said:

  • We will help you focus on God.
  • We will help you fortify your faith.
  • We will help you face life’s problems.
  • We will help you fulfill your purpose for living.

I would add yet another benefit. First Assembly will pray for you, over you, and teach you more about prayer than perhaps you’ve ever known. At least that has been the case for me and I have 70 plus years of experience.

I joined First Assembly Memphis in 2008. pic-of-first-assemblyDuring these eight years, I have been prayed over more than all my time in other churches combined. That is not in any way meant to be a criticism of other churches. I have learned, grown, and received from every church on my life’s journey. I have needed each church at particular times in my life. But at First Assembly, there is attention to prayer like none I’ve known before.

It began for me in 2004. In deep heartache over my daughter’s declining health, I needed a pastor to pray with me. I needed someone that believed God still wants to heal today like He did when Jesus walked this earth, for that is my belief. I knew no one at First Assembly, but I felt that was the church I should call and ask for a meeting with any available pastor. I was immediately granted time with the senior pastor, Dr. Lindberg. He, in fact, got on the phone and encouraged me to “come right on.” Of all the times people have prayed for me, perhaps this time stands out most. My daughter has not yet received the healing we prayed for that day, but I knew the presence of the Holy Spirit in an extraordinary way that afternoon. As Pastor Lindberg prayed, the Holy Spirit came strong into the room, surrounding and embracing me.

I began visiting First Assembly and made many trips down the church aisle for prayer and I met God at that altar every time. One Sunday morning at the altar, I asked a man I recognized as sitting near me to pray and he quickly did. I thought he was one of the church leaders Pastor Lindberg had called to the front to pray with those who needed prayer, but he had gone there for prayer himself. Such was the makeup of the church. Everyone seemed to know how to pray fervently and without hesitation.

I joined First Assembly in 2008. Immediately, I found my way to the Hour of Power, a Tuesday morning prayer group for ladies. The very first time I attended, the leader asked if she could pray over me. She came and knelt before me and prayed for me and my leadership in the church. I was nothing short of amazed since she didn’t know me, just said she felt led to pray as she did. Over the past eight years, these faith-filled ladies have prayed me through illness and heartache; I can’t imagine my life without them.

I’ve known many different hands on my shoulders as prayers have been spoken on my behalf–and it would be no different for you. If you mention to anyone at First Assembly that you need prayer, in all likelihood you will receive prayer right then and it will be a prayer that blesses you.

Churches can have different strengths. A church near us has an outreach to the Memphis community and communities beyond that is extensive at the time of disaster. I have known them to house and care for people in their church building when they have lost their homes. They shelter, clothe and feed them.

God has anointed First Assembly Memphis to be a praying body of people who believes God is still in the miracle-working business. If you want a church that is mighty in prayer, then we may be your church. Learn more about First Assembly and how to find us at http://www.famemphis.net. pastor-and-quote-on-prayer

 

A Day of Giving Thanks

13 Tuesday Sep 2016

Posted by in communication with God

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Last week, I wrote on the benefits I reaped when I took a day to pray with no petitions, just thanksgiving.  At the close of my blog, I encouraged readers to give it a try. Sally Chambers took that challenge and sent me this message:

 Pat, I just wanted you to know I read your blog post today and accepted your invitation to choose this day to turn my usual asking prayers into thanksgiving prayers. This afternoon I am amazed at how alert I was, through God’s grace, to have stopped my “Lord, please” prayers and say “No, not that way,” and change my words into prayers that were prayers of thanks. At first, I really did have to concentrate and be deliberate and think, “Now how can I change ‘please’ into ‘thank you.’ ” And I sit here typing this, amazed at how much closer I sense His presence, how at peace I feel, and at how much more successful I’ve been today in everything I set out to do. It has been a sweet experiment that I’m going to do my best to continue.

I love that Sally took the challenge and reaped its benefits. I hope others of you will set aside a day to pray like this (and if you do, please let me hear from you). Throughout the day, thank God for the things He has done for you. If you begin to think about a need, rather than asking God for it, tell Him that you are thanking Him in advance for how He will handle your need. Believe in all the things you expect of Him and thank Him that you can count on Him with all your concerns. Let your words of thanksgiving embrace the Lord in love.

Gratitude journals are popular ways to focus on our blessings. I don’t have a gratitude journal, but I do journal when I see God intervening in my life in ways that can only be Him. When I re-read my notes on these times, I am always surprised at how much God did that I had forgotten. Having those specifics of God’s personal grace will lead me into prayers of praise every time and I recommend this practice to you. You must write it down while you are fresh on all the details; it will be those specifics that you will cherish and will build your faith.

A.J. Gossip, a Scottish professor and preacher, called thanksgiving the language of heaven and recommended we become accustomed now to speaking that language. Great advice! If you need a little help beginning, click on this link https://youtu.be/f1E_4ooa8bo  and listen to Andre Crouch sing “My Tribute.”

Studies are being done on the positive things that happen physically to people when they keep themselves in a gratitude mode. That is good information to have—and important. But, as a Christian, the biggest reason I know to be lavish with your thanks to God is to give Him the honor and recognition He is due. There is no way on earth we could ever get close to thanking Him enough. “With His blood He has saved me” sings Andre Crouch. That alone is reason to thank our God all day, every day.

___

Find Sally Chambers’ blog, Everyone Has a Story to Share,” at sallychambers.com

Sundays of My Childhood

29 Monday Aug 2016

Posted by in Memories

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In the sweltering heat of southern summers, there was somewhat of a Sunday afternoon tradition at my grandparents’ house of putting small children down to nap on a pallet. A pallet was a homemade quilt folded over once or twice, depending on the number of grandchildren needing rest. Nearby, would be an oscillating fan, giving off a cool breeze as it turned your way. And while children napped, grownups would spend the afternoon in conversation until time for supper.

The Sunday noontime meal usually included both fried chicken and country ham. Mama and Papa had chickens and a smoke house where Papa cured hams. The table was heavy with bowls of vegetables from their garden. Desserts came in threes and you didn’t have to choose. Mama brought you a plate with some of each one; maybe two kinds of pie and a slice of cake. Once when Mama proudly brought a plate of desserts to a guest eating with us, he shook his head and said he couldn’t possibly eat all that and to please just give him one of the desserts. I can still see Mama’s face as she looked from him to the dessert plate in puzzlement. Foolish man to turn away the wares of a champion baker!

Before nap time and conversation, the table was cleared and the food carried from the dining room back to the stove. There it would be covered and put in the oven or left on top of the stove with the pot’s lids covering the “vittles,” as my grandfather called them.That wonderful repast would wait there for us to enjoy again for supper. And we didn’t always warm it up; rather, it might be spooned onto plates and eaten at room temperature. There was Sunday night church to attend, you see, so tasks were kept to a minimum. Mama’s cooking had gone on the day before or very early Sunday morning.

The memory of my grandparents’ table groaning with food and a fan cooling children on pallets are treasured memories. If I close my eyes and listen intently, I can almost hear the hum of that fan as it traveled from left to right and feel the cool breezes it provided on a hot Sunday afternoon.

As children of the 40s and 50s, we enjoyed simple pleasures and much security. We felt with our parents and grandparents in charge, no harm could come to us. We were protected from things we did and did not know. We played uncomplicated games of jack rocks and marbles, hop scotch and jump rope. We might search for four-leaf clovers or make necklaces and bracelets by typing clovetogether the long stems of the white clovers. My grandparents had an elephant ear plant that was profuse with huge leaves and long stems. Mama would break one off for each of us and we would pretend the leaves were umbrellas to fend off the sun or rain. Imagination in that day was a part of every game we played.

I think we need these memories as we age and that accounts for why we reminisce so much in our senior years. Rituals like Sunday family dinners and naps on pallets gave us uncomplicated days. Their recall brings smiles and appreciation for what we then took for granted.

Whoever thought things would change like they have? Ours was a world that made sense and gave hope for our futures. Maybe it is sheer foolishness, but somehow I believe that if we could take our children and grandchildren back to the way things were when we grew up, they would actually enjoy and want it. What do you think?

Live so that when your children think of fairness, caring, and integrity, they think of you.

                                                       — H. Jackson Brown, Jr. 

 

Remembering Our Veterans

30 Monday May 2016

Posted by in war veterans

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A life-long friend, Larry Darby, sent an email more than a year ago encouraging me to write about the sacrifices made by our dads and others like them in WWII. “Tell the story of how they had nothing but a hard life and a good family around them and came back from war that same way. Tell about the moral fiber and work ethic that was like something we have never seen again or likely ever will see again.”

Larry continued, “They were willing to give all for family and community—some gave all, others had to live with what they saw to preserve our freedom. Some of what they endured for others was so deep and scarred they shared very little with their family while they lived with thoughts and scenes every day we cannot imagine.”

The picture Daddy carried with him to war.

The picture Daddy carried with him to war.

I was 6 months old when Daddy enlisted and then told Mother what he had done. I can’t imagine the shock, tears, and heartbreak when he told her. Who would take care of us? How would she face each day wondering if he would come back or die overseas? I’m sure Daddy had those same concerns but on July 6, 1943 he enlisted in the U.S. Army/Air Corp and there was nothing to do but move forward.

While Mother felt he was needed at home to take care of his family, Daddy saw going overseas as the greater way to do that. I have something he wrote prior to enlisting. He wrote: “Have you ever thought of what would happen if we should lose this war we are fighting? Well I have and it isn’t a pleasant thing to think of. When I go home tired and maybe a little disgusted from a hard day’s work, my wife and baby meet me at the door with a kiss and happy smiling faces. Then I know I have everything to work and fight for. I thank God for my right to live in this great country where the rich and the poor, male and female, share alike with freedom for all.” I suppose with that, Daddy’s decision was made.

Signed "To my darling wife." Probably the first pic sent home.

Signed “To my darling wife.” Probably the first pic sent home.

In our home the war was never talked about, a common behavior with WWII vets. Mother said Daddy returned home with scars all around his waist and only after much prodding did he tell her it was where he had been bitten by rats while in a foxhole. I remember Daddy waking us while sleepwalking and trying to climb the wall in the hallway. He was dreaming and thought he was in the midst of battle.

DAY_DADDY_CAME_HOME_FROM_SE - Copy

The day Daddy returned from war

Daddy returned from war with shrapnel wounds in five places. One wound was near his spine and never operable because of the potential risk of crippling him. His injuries caused swelling and temporary paralysis on one side of his body and we returned to Tennessee from Oklahoma for him get care at the Memphis VA hospital. On the back of some pictures of a house in Oklahoma, Mother wrote: “The house we bought and never got to live in.” Oklahoma was where Daddy’s four brothers lived and was intended to be our home, too.

Larry said: “In spite of the hardships created by going off to war, those who returned fit back into society and made major contributions to local communities, business, church, and government. We owe them every freedom we possess. They were a generation of workers and not takers.” It was so of my dad in that he would take no compensation for his war injuries. He would say to the VA reps who visited, “Give it to a soldier who can’t work; I can.” It was another common behavior of WWII vets to not take the disability they were due.

After Daddy died, Mother told me he had promised God that if He would let him return home to us he would spend the rest of his life taking care of others. I saw many ways he did that, but he never talked about any of them. We had an elderly neighbor that Daddy bathed, dressed, and walked on a daily basis when he became too feeble to care for himself. He also had wiring strung from their house to ours so the couple could push a buzzer if they needed help. He gave money to those in need when it meant a sacrifice to do so. At Daddy’s funeral, several told Mother how he for years had helped them in basic ways like taking their deposits to the bank and picking up stamps or groceries for them.

I can only tell you about my dad, knowing Larry’s dad and others of WWII have similar stories. That generation lived to serve others.

Larry and Linda 001

Larry and fiance, Linda

In closing, Larry talked about how our nation is suffering today, how we dishonor our country and scoff at God. We are concerned about a sense of entitlement with gratitude to no one and agree we have giddily positioned ourselves on the brink of disaster and are glad that our dads are not here to see it.

I close with this quote by José Narosky: “In war, there are no unwounded soldiers.” The horrors of war are too great to forget. We owe a debt of gratitude to every man and woman who has fought to keep us free and their lives impacted in ways only war can do. I know each one would have a story worthy of being told, a story written in their minds and hearts forever. May God bless our military of yesterday and today. They are one and all heroes.

Larry and I believe this to be a photo of a WWII vets support group since we each have the picture but were never told about it. My dad and his dad, Floyd Darby, are front row, 1st & 2nd from left.

Larry and I believe this to be a photo of a WWII vets support group; they didn’t or couldn’t talk to their families so they talked to one another. My dad, Walter Luffman, and his dad, Floyd Darby, are front row, 1st & 2nd from left.

Mama’s Bible

23 Saturday Apr 2016

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. . . take root downward and bear fruit upward. (Isaiah 37:31 ESV)

My grandmother’s Bible was a treasure beyond any price. I had hoped as her oldest grandchild that I might inherit it, however I never discussed that with my grandmother or my mother and so in the end it didn’t come to be.

What made Mama’s Bible so revered? She poured and prayed over its words daily. Her gentle, but sure hands caressed the pages. She wept and rejoiced, she trusted and she practiced. She did what Isaiah said: took root downward and bore fruit upward.

I’ve never known anyone that Jesus was as real to as He was to Dulcie Spencer. She sang songs to Him throughout the day and talked to Him as if He were right at her elbow. I’ve walked into her home and overheard her talking and thought she had company, only to find out it was no visitor but her best friend and permanent resident: Jesus. Mama relied on Him completely for every matter and that reliance gave her a radiance that cannot be duplicated by anything of this world. Mama had a heavenly glow. THE_SPENCER_FAMILY_001 - Copy

My grandmother had no earthly riches. She lived a simple life, but a life marked with beauty because of how she lived it. Mama’s standard was to do exactly as God’s Word said for her to do: she loved God with all her heart, soul, strength and mind; she loved her neighbors as herself; and she believed God’s word that when we trust Him completely, He will never forsake us. Mama’s family saw and respected that trust. I believe we were all, in fact, hugely affected by her rock-solid trust in God. My earliest memory of Mama is of her kneeling by her bed for prayer at end-of-day, long dark braids falling down her back and over her homemade gown. Mama always prayed aloud and just as I have visual remembrances of Mama, I have auditory ones, too.

wedding pic - CopyWhen I married in 1989, Mama wasn’t physically able to be with us so she sent her Bible to me for the ceremony. I can’t think of better representation of this woman that I loved more than ever I could express.

Though I didn’t get to keep the book she loved above all others, she did give me her faith and for that I am eternally grateful. Mine isn’t as beautiful as hers, but it is as confident. And what she passed on to me, I passed on to my daughter Kristi. I know because I have witnessed it.

I truly cannot imagine my life without this great woman’s influence. I have often said if I could choose to be like anyone in the world, it would be my grandmother. I wish I could say I had lived a life like hers, but I can’t. My journey has been one of much stumbling, failing, and starting over, however no one’s persuasion of faith has had a greater hold on me than that of Dulcie Spencer. I thank her for showing me a Jesus she never doubted and pointing the way to heaven’s door. You are my crown jewel, Mama.Copy of spencer family about 1951

Here are a few lines from a letter Mama wrote to her children not long before she died in 1991 at 91 years of age: The dear Lord has been so good to our family. I can’t thank him enough and that he lives in me all the time.  I’ve prayed to him all my life and He answers my prayers day and night. Please don’t grieve after me when I’m gone for I’ll be safe with our dear Lord and all my loved ones in heaven.