Smart mouths & strong daddies.

 

Recently, I was reminded of a lesson from my daddy. Daddy was a gentle, easy-going man. He was hardly ever mad and if he was, he went quiet. He worked it out in his head or on the river in an aluminum boat, or in the woods in a tree stand looking for deer. He did not lash out or yell, he never made a fuss. 
I was nineteen, married and brought the baby to enjoy time with mama & daddy. Mama cooked dinner. I don't remember if anyone else was there but I sat in my childhood seat to daddy's right. He sat at one end of the table, mama at the other. Mama had cooked a beef roast (I remember that) and cornbread, with some other equally good food. We were eating and enjoying ourselves when mama said something to me. I smarted off back to her. I do not remember what the subject was, but I was definitely curt and rude. 
Before I knew what hit me, daddy backhanded me in the mouth. He had reactively popped me. Not even really hard, but it was a solid connection to my mouth. I can assure you it was hard enough to make my mother's ladder-back chair rock on its back legs. 

I sat there stunned for a moment. Without looking up from his plate he followed it with 
"Do not speak to your mother like that again, ever". He went back to eating. My mother was braced at the other end of the table, when he struck my face, she said his name quietly with question. He told her, "Mary, I'll handle it." 
I know she did not want him to pop me. (I'll come back to this) 

Tears welled up in my eyes because my daddy was my idol and I knew I had stepped in it, big time. Then, being nineteen, grown (in my own eyes) and married, I stated I thought it was time I got my baby and went home. I remember in my haughty, nineteen-year-old mind thinking I would teach him a lesson and take the baby home. 
I stood and said, I'm going to get Danielle and go home now. Thank you for the dinner. 
Daddy had a quiet authoritative voice and his tone was not lost on me. "No, you are not going home. Sit down and finish your dinner, Leisa. It is over." 
I composed myself in a few minutes, mama still looked concerned but said nothing. We did go on and have conversation and time together. When we were done daddy went outside (as he often did when something had happened) and mama came right to me to hug me, and I almost cried again. I apologized profusely and she knew I was "mama tired" from nights up and long days with a young child. When daddy came in, he walked through the house from the back door to the front and called me behind him. 
Daddy often sat out on the front porch when he was thinking things over and on occasion would call one of us out there. He and I talked and I apologized and told him I didn't mean to be rude or disrespectful. He hugged me and we talked some more. "You simply can never talk to your mother in that way. It is never okay and will never be tolerated." Yes sir.  
It never happened again. Not six months later, my daddy died. 

Years later, I was relaying that story to someone and they said, "he should NOT have done that to you, he was wrong to hit you in the mouth." I knew better even then but did not argue but she was wrong. 
It makes me think, often times our heavenly Father has to correct us, just as my earthly father did that day. It was hard, (he was hard on me) and it was painful for all of us but necessary. Sit with that one a minute. I mean really sit with it. How well do any of us welcome correction? 

My mama~

Her emotional heart never wanted to see you suffer, even when you were wrong. That's why daddies are so important, they do not operate on emotion, they can see past the emotion, take in the facts and know what has to be done, and carry it out. (If my daddy had not corrected me so strongly, I may very well have begun to think, it's okay to act that way.) God did not make mothers and fathers the same. They each have their purpose. 

"My son, do not make light of the Lord’s discipline, and do not lose heart when he rebukes you, because the Lord disciplines the one he loves..."            Hebrews 12:5-6                            

If we can't be okay with Gods correction, then what are we? How obedient do we think we are if we can't take correction? How easily do you get offended when the sermon (speaking biblical truth) steps on your toes? 

When we get offended from biblical truth and godly correction~ That is a pride problem that can easily lead to spiritual blindness, resentment and worse. We are not taking responsibility for our actions. It damages our relationship with God. It can also become generational. You don't like being corrected, then neither do your children, and their children. 
How can we love a sovereign God without welcoming his correction? As believers we must allow Him to have complete control of our lives, His perfect love and discipline will shape us and make us more Christlike. We have to be willing and to be teachable. 

At the dinner table I rebuked daddy's correction at first but because he and mama spent a lifetime teaching me, I knew I was the one that was wrong. When he said, sit down, it's over, I knew all was forgiven. It is the same when we sin against the Father and we ask for forgiveness, his endless mercy and grace let's us know it is done, it is over. God does not remember it anymore. 

Daily I am grateful for my mother and daddy who raised us in the love and admonition of the Lord. May his name be glorified always. 

I could barely wiggle.

 Last night I was incredibly tired, had worked hard all day. I just wanted to eat and go to bed. We have entered a season of hard and besides the physical demands, it's mentally exhausting. I had soaked a simple bag of beans the night before and made my mama's barbeque beans. (no recipe really, just knowing what to add) 

I had not thought about those beans in a long time. She liked to use daddys homemade barbeque sauce in them. Once, she took them to church for potluck and someone asked if they were pork n beans. She was appalled. You could say my mama was a bit of a food snob. She felt there was no excuse for poor eating if you had beans in the pantry. No! They are not pork n beans, those were made from dried beans. They were made from scratch. She had to bring them pretty regularly after that. Hers were the best.  

Growing up with teenage brothers meant mama had to stretch her food dollars. She could never fill them up. We ate a lot of beans, cornbread and coleslaw. I thought we ate beans because we liked them. Pinto beans, butterbeans, and northerns mostly. Daddy raised hogs most of our childhood and there was always a fresh hambone to add to beans and soups, a plentiful garden out back. 

I cooked the beans low and slow like she did, just enough water for them to be tender but not mushy. (I actually like lots of barbeque sauce with mine and made a little more last night) Don is not really a bean person but they smelled so good he had a bowl too. 

There we sat with our soup bowls full of beans. No cornbread because I could barely wiggle. That's what my mama always said when she was exhausted. Which meant she had absolutely nothing left. I promised to make it up to him, but he didn't mind. He commented mama would have had a slice of onion with hers and he was right. 
We talked about our childhoods and the meals we had. I remembered going to swim at Aunt Cebels & Uncle Adds house and coming back by The Iceberg to get a malted milk shake. We talked about penny candy. Do you remember penny candy? I remember once mama handing me 25 cents in Ensley at Winn Dixie, for me to go in and get a loaf of bread and she said, bring me the change please. (which meant, no candy Leisa) 
Don reminisced about breaking open watermelons at his cousins house in Vernon and eating them right in the garden. Shirtless, cut off shorts days of summer. 
How could we have known those simple days were so very important. It pains me a little that my grandchildren haven't had that kind of life. Slow summer days when nothing was required of you but play and rest. Nights when you slept like rocks because you played so hard all day long. 
There we sat with our bowl of beans, enjoying time together and for a little while cancer took a backseat again. Scripture says, contentment is great gain. Thank you, Lord for reminding us that some days are long but there is still much joy in moments together. We need to seek those moments more, make them the greater part of each day. 

 

May hits different every year

No one tells you, when your mother is gone life changes forever, but it does. Life is different now. Fourteen years ago mama physically left us for her heavenly home. 12:01am May 1st. I will admit I have shed a few tears over the last couple weeks but it is merely a longing. 

This was her favorite time of year. Mama loved when she could get her hands in the dirt and plant things, move others, trade varieties & colors of flowers with friends or family. She loved the extended light during spring & summer; she needed it like she needed air. She walked out of bed in the mornings straight to the windows to let the light in. She often "lunched" with lifelong friends. When at home, she walked around completely content doing the things that needed to be done, usually humming or listening to her radio. She did not shy away from home improvement projects just because she was alone. She usually would jump right into a painting or sewing project. Sometimes she called one of her children for back up.  

I miss her. I miss her smile, her touch, her quick wit and how she could make everything right again. God gave her many gifts. Her gift of hospitality made everyone feel at ease and comfortable. She was also very discerning. She was straightforward, never mean spirited but told you what you needed to hear. When I needed her, she was always there. I could be upset or worried and her near perfect common sense could always settle me. She struggled on occasion with trusting God supremely, her words not mine. "I tend to worry", she would say (and she certainly did). However, when it was important, really important, she was your rudder in the storm. Her feet were set on solid ground. 
When things were hard, she would say with 100% confidence, "we will figure it out" and we did. 
When my racing brain had a million ideas at once and I needed to get them all out, she wisely said, "why don't you write all of that down. Organize on paper what is most important and we will work on it together later." I figure that bought her some quiet time, but it also really helped me organize my thoughts. 

Her Mother's Days were always a whirl of activity. It was not a day of rest. The church we attended held "Memorial" on the second Sunday in May which meant there was food to prepare and flowers to get on graves of her loved ones. She woke most Mother's Day at dawn and a cake was soon in the oven. By late afternoon she would finally have time to sit and listen to her childrens offerings to her. Sometimes she got a homemade card, or a foot rub (which she loved). She always wanted time with us, just time. 

Today is not a sad day. I choose instead to be grateful, humbled by the sacrifices she made for each of her children, her steadfastness, her sense of humor, her deep-rooted faith and trust in the Lord. 
I will open the drapes, first thing and feel the sun on my face. 

She was usually right.

 December 21st, 2025.

Today would be the day. She would have called me by now and after we chatted a minute or two, she would remind me today is the shortest day of the year. After today they begin getting longer. You won't really notice it before about mid-January. She would have called each of her children on this morning. She hated dark, loved the sunshine. 

Every morning she woke at home, she walked through the house opening curtains to let the sun in. When you were sick, she opened the curtains around you, "this will help your feelings", she would say. 
She was right. It makes sense that in her state of dementia, she was a "sundowner". She began to get agitated and nervous. We tried to counter that feeling with every light in the house on as a distraction. Sometime it worked, sometime not. 

I love this photo I snapped on my phone after Don finished the fireplace project. The sun streaming in from the back. 

It is no wonder I love the sunshine so much. I do the same thing with the curtains, I do not close them until dark. I don't know what it is but it feels like my soul doesn't breathe until the sun is streaming in around me. I miss those days when the phone rang, my mother on the other end of the line "why don't we run to Bright Star and have lunch?" After I minute or two it became apparent despite all I needed to do that day, I was going to lunch with my mama. It was futile to try and reason about all my duties for the day. All those things will wait, she would say. She was right again. The clothes waited, the messy closet waited, so did the dishwasher. Just waiting until I returned. I'm so glad I listened and spent that time with her.  Mama was a happy person. Usually smiling, and in a good mood but on those dreary days, she needed help. She would call and simply say, "I have the mulle grubs, where we going?"

An hour or two with her daughter usually did it. (although, it probably would have been the same with one of the boys) Most often I got to be the one. 

The older I get the more things I find, she was right about. Taking the time to sift the flour three times in the pound cake, makes it high and light. She was right. Sometime, just listening and not arguing your point when in a disagreement with a loved one- just listen, don't get offended so easily. "Hush, you may learn something and you will definitely defuse the anger aimed at you." 
From the time I was a child, not everyone is going to like you, and that's perfectly okay. She was right and it is okay. 

I miss her at Christmas more than any other time, I think. Our childhood home at Christmas always smelled of something fabulous. Usually a German Chocolate Cake was made and she hustled to make everything wonderful for her children, for all the people she loved. I guess it's her joy I miss the most. Joy in her salvation, she never worried about her life ending. Joy in the choices she made along the way, she trusted and lived in her decisions. Joy in her station in life, never regretting where she came from or why they had so little. She was not perfect as none of us are but she was amazing and kind, loving and true. You could trust her with your life. 
This time of year, she wanted all her people around her. If she had a busy day, she would say, "dinner is just beans, cornbread and slaw, but I need you here with me." She only wanted her people around her to be happy. She was right. It's all that matters. 

So, today we rest and renew. We were blessed with time with family and friends over the last few days. I'll be watching & waiting for the longer sunshine days. Like my mother I feel it to my soul. 

Sometime, you just need a little sugar.

Sometime the most random things pop in my head. I believe they are referred to as "core memories" today. 

I am always struck by the fact I have lived much longer than my daddy. Daddy died at 53 years old, far too young. I am also amazed at how much guiding, love, discipline and living he left with me. He was a smart man, could do about anything with his hands and was one heck of a brick mason. He didn't get to finish high school, simply by virtue of the times he grew up in. Despite his interrupted education, after a stint in World War II in the Navy, he landed a good job. He was one of the hardest working people I ever knew. He didn't need much sleep and loved to hunt and fish. He fiercely loved his people too. 

I am the youngest sibling and the only girl. I was a daddys girl. Not that my mama didn't love me and I loved her, it was just different with daddy and I. Maybe because we were more similar in personality (which we now know is a smidge of ADHD.)
Sidenote: I am sure I nearly drove my mother to drink at times. I never shut up, was never still, always wanted to know how to do things and she was so very patient with me. I remember her saying to my brother Crant, "just take her outside and keep her busy for just a few minutes." Which he did, where she could catch her breath. Bless her. 

Daddy was the disciplinarian that could talk to you and make you feel two inches tall. I always cried and swore I would never do whatever it was, ever again. Mama, also a disciplinarian was concerned more about things like our behavior toward others, manners and care of our bodies. Did you bathe? Did you brush your teeth again, you ate raisins. (Yes, I had to brush my teeth after a tiny pack of raisins.) We got sweets only on our birthday or a holiday. However, daddy did not share mama's dedication to eating no sweets. If you ever want to know where I got my "a little bit sneaky", I think I know.  
~~Recently, as my mama would say, "I was dragging". Not go-to-the-doctor sick but not well. I did not stick my head in the studio all week, which is not at all like me. My husband kindly attended to me last week but in my head, I thought "he has no poptarts to offer". What's wrong with him? 

When I was a child, if I was sick daddy would usually stay home with me because he had more seniority at work. It's hard to stay sick when you get the opportunity to stay home with your daddy too. Once mama took my temperature one more time, wrote down directions and kissed me (going over what daddy needed to do for me to survive the day) she was off to work. Daddy was dressed ready for the day, shaved, mustache trimmed, smelling of Old Spice. He would tuck me in on the couch, turn on cartoons or something I liked, while he made breakfast. He came back in the living room with a sly smile on his face. Did I want Poptarts or Fruit Loops to go with my breakfast? Wait, what? (I'm pretty sure daddy was confused because I never saw a box of Fruit Loops in my mama's cabinets, in my life) We aren't allowed that garbage. 
I watched daddy stride out to his truck and return with a box of pre-sweetened cereal and a box of Poptarts. (I can hear my mothers words in my head, "that stuff is pure garbage")
I thought maybe he was afraid of mama, but later realized he simply chose the path of least resistance. (I was probably about 9 when I realized he was much smarter than I gave him credit for being)  Who cares anyway, I have Poptarts. 
I would drag my blanket to daddys chair to share. I piled up in his lap on one knee while he ate cereal and I ate warmed Poptarts while we watched cartoons. His coffee sat on the hearth beside his chair. Can I have another? Sure you can.  
Best sick days of my childhood were the ones spent with daddy. While mama was the one who was always there when fevers ran so high we hallucinated, she bathed our bodies with cool cloths, held our head while we were sick and worried over us healing properly, sat up night after night at the hospital looking over you. Then daddy got the light duty days, but she would have it no other way. 
I'm not sure if he ever told her about the sweets or if she just knew because I'm guessing I ricocheted off the walls after all the sugar. He put the sweets away before she got home. If she knew, she never said a word. 
Those days are long behind us now. Mama and daddy filled all the parts of me to overflowing and gave us the very best childhood we could possibly have had. When society today would have considered us poor. I can't even imagine it being any better. Did they know what a wonderful job they did? Did they know how much we took in and retained to share with our children? Did they know how loved we felt?
I sure hope so because some days you simply need a Poptart.