Throughout history, God has used many ways to send messages to us, angels, Moses, Jesus and others. I find one of his most interesting messengers is the weather.
When I was a child, I once appeared at a little Church of God tucked into the suburbs of North Atlanta, Ga.
This particular evening a guest minister was on the pulpit just preaching up a storm. That preacher began a sermon on the sacrament of baptism.
God has blessed us with so many things in this world.
For a columnist like myself, who spends so much time writing stories based upon the experiences and memories of things and people I have known, the memory is of tremendous importance.
I imagine that is true of most everyone.
The recent scenes of flooding in Nashville and the earnest efforts of so many music stars to reach out and help spurred in my memory a close up picture of similar devastation.
In the early 1990s, Albany, Ga. endured the worst floods it had ever seen, affecting thousands of the residents, destroying homes and taking several lives.
I often wonder if people really realize the enormous task of thanking a mother for all she has done for her children. It seems that we have a day for everything anymore. A day to thank secretaries, grandparents, fathers and so many others. There should be a day to recognize all these people. All of these people deserve thanks.
But does a Hallmark card or a bouquet of flowers one time a year really pay homage to all the sacrifices that a mother makes for her children?
I was in seventh grade when I realized why the Yankees invaded the South.
Folks might say that it was to keep the Union together but the real reason behind it was they didn’t have grits and gravy and we did.
When there was no place among people for Mary and Joseph in Bethlehem, the animals made room for the birth of Jesus in a stable. Donkeys and horses were probably among the first to look upon the Son of God.
Isn’t it only appropriate that there be a place for them in the Kingdom of God? I am reminded of an old farmer, Jebadiah Cross who had worked his fields side by side with his old gray mule named Flossie for many years.
How does one acquire it? Is honor a cloak that you can put on and take off at will?
I would say that honor is something that you build in your character over time beginning in childhood, much like putting on layers of clothes in the winter to stay warm. As the layers build upon your shoulders, you find yourself warm and comfortable and ready to face all the world throws at you.
Like the finely cut pattern of a patchwork quilt created with the love passed from generation to generation through the mountains of Northeast Georgia, the music of the Watkins Family is a culmination of many threads sown together note by note, song by song, and scripture by scripture, shared from mother to daughter and father to son.
Can you remember your first love? How your heart raced? How excited you were to see the other person?
I remember mine like it was yesterday. I fell off the monkey bars, which were actually the steel handrails that went along the steps outside the school. She came over and helped me up. After I brushed myself off, she pushed me back down again. It was love right then and there.
If you grew up sitting in Saturday matinees watching the cowboys riding across the screen to save the day, then you probably remember one of the most prolific of the female leads of western film.
