WHAT IF I HAD BEEN THERE?

A few evenings ago I was in the livingroom, looking at the Nativity I have had for years.  The little shelter is made of wooden pieces and the characters of ceramic.   A tealight flickered behind the angel and as I watched, it seemed that the ceramic figures came to life.  

And I began to wonder..."What if I had been there?"



WHAT IF I HAD BEEN THERE?

What if I had been there
On that first Christmas Day
Would I have offered shelter
Or turned weary ones away
Would I have offered comfort
A warm crusty loaf of bread
Would I have given all I had…
What would I have said?

If I had heard a baby crying
Or heard a Mama's prayer
What if I had been there
What could I have shared
What if I had been there 
To kiss His tiny face
What if I had been the first 
To claim Amazing Grace?

What if I had been there
On that sweet night so still
What if I had been
A shepherd on a hill
Would I have gone running
To the stable's glowing light
Would I have made a difference
In one family's life?

What if I had been there
A so-called wise man from afar
Traveling long and in despair
Chasing some great star
What if I had been there
And had brought a gift of gold
Would it have been a selfless gift of love
Or a gift to save my soul? 

What if Mary had needed me
Would I have helped a stranger
What would I have given
A  Baby in a manger
What if I had been there
To see that newborn lamb
What if I had been there
To find out who I am?

What if I am there right now
And see the need each day
What if I know someone
Who struggles in every way
What if I live near a child
Who goes to bed with hunger

What if I do all I can
So I never have to wonder:

What if I had been there?
What if I had been there?

WHAT IF I AM THERE RIGHT NOW?



WHAT IF I HAD BEEN THERE?
by:  Sister Saxon - 2015


MERRY CHRISTMAS!

BOOKS!

BOOKS and TOP PICKS!

Yeah, I’m a critic – who isn’t?

Some of the books I have read in 2015:

STEPHEN KING:  ON WRITING  (Mr. King's memoir on writing)

GIRL ON THE TRAIN

BETTYVILLE

ALL THE LIGHT WE CANNOT SEE

THE GOLDFINCH

THE PECAN MAN

IN COLD BLOOD

CUTTING FOR STONE

THE WONDER GARDEN

THE NIGHTINGALE

BRIGHTEN THE CORNER WHERE YOU ARE

TO KILL A MOCKINGBIRD (again)

THE MEMBER OF THE WEDDING (again)

FLANNERY O'CONNOR Complete Stories (again)

EUDORA WELTY’s Stories (again)

THE HEART IS A LONELY HUNTER (again)

UNLIMITED ACCESS (again) this is good – written by an ex-FBI agent who worked in the White House during the Clinton Administration.  If you are considering voting for a Clinton for ANYTHING, I highly recommend reading this first.

MUSIC FOR CHAMELEONS

COLD MOUNTAIN

GLIMMER TRAIN SHORT STORIES - the 2015 volumes

 My Top Picks:

THE MEMBER OF THE WEDDING was written by Carson McCullers, a Southern gal.  I have read this little jewel several times and it is just beautiful!  I've also seen the movie - it is an old black and white film and so delightful!  The novel was written ‘way before Miss Harper Lee wrote “To Kill a Mockingbird” and what I noticed when I read the two books again this year was that there are some similarities in the stories. Enough to actually make me go “Hmmmm….”

BETTYVILLE

I literally made myself put it away each night to avoid coming to the end.  True story and a true work of art that you don’t want to miss!  I know why I like it so much – it stays with you and makes you want to be a good person - I mean a really good person!  Thanks, George Hodgman!

COLD MOUNTAIN is a wonderful movie, but the book is stunning - so beautifully written!  The characters are marvelous, especially Ruby.  I didn’t want it to end – I wanted to know more!

FLANNERY O’CONNOR and EUDORA WELTY absolutely never get old…

The rest of the books were pretty good – except ‘Girl on the Train’ kind of made me nervous...

Blessings to you!

Joanne

A Dream I Had...

A few years ago, my beautiful horse, DREAM, had to be turned out to a retirement pasture because of a mistake.

The mistake was turning Dream over to a so-called "Horse Trainer" named Jason Stahl who was a trainer in the area of Edgerton, Kansas.

NEVER trust your horse to someone who has a temper.  I spotted this in the beginning, but was too naive, at the time, to take control and remove my horse from the "training program" of Jason Stahl.

I live in regret every single day.  I think of all the wonderful times I could have had with my horse. 

I had spent many hours with Dream, earning his trust, and I believe, if I had not given this horse over to this "trainer", I would have been able to ride him by myself without the assistance of a smart-aleck scam artist.

May God forgive Jason Stahl for the damage he did to my beautiful horse.  My Dream was shattered.  

I miss you, Dream!

THE WEEKLY SNOOP

CHURCH BUSINESS

            It was the night of that big thunderstorm last week.  A few of the faithful were gathered around the table in the office at the First Baptist Church of the Redeemed, fixin' to discuss church business. 

            Brother Henry Willenbrink heard somebody beating on the office door and he got up to see what was going on.  He came back in a minute and asked Sister Wylene Jones if there were any diapers in the church pantry. He said some lady was standing out there in the rain with a baby needing some diapers.

            “No,” Sister Wylene said, “and there’s a reason we don’t have any diapers.  Diapers come in all sizes.”

             Sister Wylene is one of those mean Christians.  You know, the kind who knows they are not supposed to sin, but they want to.  People like that get all scrunched up and ugly-looking.

            Brother Willenbrink didn’t say anything.  It never does any good to say anything to Sister Wylene.  Brother Willenbrink took a ten out of his billfold and went back out there. 

            I looked over at Sister Wylene and she had her nose all turned up in the air.  I thought about telling her if she was to walk outside in the rain, she might drown.  But I didn’t.  Then I thought about telling her the day was coming when she was going to be needin’ some diapers.  But I didn’t.  Then I thought about quotin’ that scripture in Matthew, Chapter 25, where it talks about “the least of these”.  But I didn’t.  It never does any good to say anything to Sister Wylene.

            The church business meeting started, but somebody made a motion to adjourn early because of the storm that was coming.  So we did.

Reported by

Sister Saxon

THE SHE TREE

          

 "Letting Go..."

"The She Tree"

               

            There are several pin oak trees in the yard.  At precisely the same time each year, they began to drop their leaves.  Some seem to eagerly let go, others shed more slowly.  But one morning, I will look outside and all the leaves will be gone from the trees.  They will still stand proud - naked, but unashamed.

            Except one tree.  On the north side, between the house and Coop de ville - the “best chicken coop ever!” - the largest tree stands.  Ferociously clinging to her leaves.  At first I thought the tree was playing a little joke on me because it blocks my view and I cannot fully see the chickens from the house.  I have to settle for imagining the fox creeping in from the woods. 

            But one day I realized the tree stands, fully clothed, all winter, to tell me something about myself. 

            I have decided the tree is female.  She is reminding me of me.  Clinging to the things I should be leaving.  A survivor.  Weathered, and severely proud.  Grasping matter-of-fact-like and then clutching greedily, the She Tree refuses to give in to the wind, the rain, the cold, the sleet, the snow, the birds.  The wind howls from the South side of the house and roars to the North side, bending and scattering everything in its path.  Except the leaves on the She Tree.  She haughtily declares, “Brown is my color!”

            When Spring comes, I see her as an homeless old woman, busily gathering her tattered rags around her, her head still held high.  I see and understand that she could hold on to each piece of rattling crisp parchment forever, if she wanted to. 

            But she reluctantly embraces the green, the new leaves pushing against the old - the moving on.  In her dreams, she wonders if she is wise or just trying to fit in.

http://southerncolorings.blogspot.com

Mama and Me

This is Mama and me on Aunt Lois's flowered couch.

My Mama was killed in a car accident when she was thirty-seven.  I had just turned twenty.  

I have always felt robbed.  I can never remember a single time in my life when my Mama was holding me or hugging me.  This picture brings me a small bit of comfort.  She did hold me when I was a baby.  But maybe I should be mad when I look at this picture.  Since I don't remember Mama holding or hugging me, maybe she was holding me on Aunt Lois's flowered couch only because she had to.  After all, I was helpless.

I look closely at this photograph.  There is a bruise on Mama's left leg and I wonder what happened.  I wonder if she was kind of a klutz like me, always rushing around, trying to do everything at once, bumping into things, no matter how careful she tried to be.  

Mama had just washed her hair.  She always wore a head scarf when she had just washed and done her hair up in bobby pin pin-curls.  

I wonder if Aunt Lois knew how busy her livingroom looked - with all the different patterns on the couch and the floor and the curtains.  

Although I see patterns all around me, even in Mama's dress, and in a festively decorated Christmas tree in the corner, I see that I am wearing something colorless.  I am plain against a room of swirling colors and designs.  

The Christmas tree looks as though it is reaching out to Mama and me - reaching to annoint us with a touch. 

I look at Mama's arms wrapped around me.  I realize it actually looks more like she was holding on to herself...

To this day, I love a sofa with a floral design.

Blessings to you and yours!