Friday Tidings

Live as long as I have and you’ll gather quite a few Thanksgivings to reflect upon. This photo was taken on Thanksgiving Day, 1989—the first year we spent in what we believed would be our forever home. Tom, dressed in his wedding tuxedo of all things, is carrying in the turkey from the old outdoor oven my grandmother gave us. And yes, he’s also on the phone. That phone line was our tether to a livelihood—constant, necessary, even on Thanksgiving. Selling apples meant the holidays were hectic. Deliveries had to be perfectly timed for store sales, and that afternoon Tom was making last-minute changes for apples that had just arrived in Tennessee. But look at his smile—the ease with which he talked, balanced a turkey, and somehow kept his tuxedo spotless. That year held other gifts too. Mom came to spend Thanksgiving with us, and I was pregnant. A new home, Mom’s visit, and the quiet hope of a baby arriving in the coming year—so much to be thankful for. But there was something else ...

My granddaughter has recently started peppering me for stories from when I was a young girl. It’s been fun to look back and share some of my foibles, lessons, and laughter with her. One afternoon, we were sitting at her dining table while she munched on a few of my homemade biscuits. Watching her enjoy them reminded me of another story—a biscuit story from long ago. I was about ten, and I belonged to a 4-H club that focused on cooking and sewing. For the county fair, I decided to bake biscuits. I loved making them and carefully followed the recipe each time. When it came time for judging, I carried my three biscuits on the required white paper plate and left them for the fair officials to taste. A few days later, I returned to find a blue ribbon beside my biscuits! My 4-H leader told me I could enter my biscuits in State Fair if I wanted to—and I really did. My parents drove me to the fairgrounds, where I placed my plate among hundreds of other baking entries. When I came back to ...

Okay, I’ll begin with a quick poll. Would you prefer to enjoy your family and friend gatherings around a crowded table, or would you prefer to dine with a bit more elbow room? There’s no wrong answer—just a personal preference, and that’s absolutely fine. I grew up in a small home with a two-seat kitchen bar for breakfast, and a dining table where Mom, Dad, my sister, and I sat each evening. But when the holidays came, both sets of grandparents, and my great-grandfather would crowd around our table. Dad would add a card table at the end, and Mom covered it with a festive tablecloth. This is what the holidays meant—elbow to elbow, full plates, and dessert waiting even if I didn’t eat all my veggies. For me, the crowding is part of the joy. But, maybe I’m idealizing a childhood memory that literally doesn’t fit as well now. So, friends—what do you think? Crowded or spacious?  Whatever you choose, may you be surrounded by love. 

Homemade costumes , a friendly neighborhood to trick-or-treat, and grainy, black and white photographs —that was my Halloween childhood. I’m not pining for the “good old days.” Growing up in the 1960s had its own challenges. But I will say this: life felt simpler. Like Boomers say, we only had three television stations , and our telephones were attached to the wall.  We went to school and then home—not so many after-school activities. On Halloween night, I’d walk around the block in a costume Mom made from whatever we had at home— a pillowcase, some cardboard, and a lot of imagination. I knocked on doors of neighbors I actually knew.  Progress moves us forward, and people are more connected online than ever before. But sometimes I miss the simple life—like those old Halloweens, when joy was running door-to-door, seeing smiling neighbors, and knowing next year would be just the same. Maybe simplicity is still here. It just needs to be invited back home.

I found myself sitting in a waiting room while my young granddaughter worked with a reading tutor . Through the wall, I could hear her carefully practicing vowel sounds . In the next room, a high school student wrestled with trigonometry .   I sat in one of the old wooden chairs, next to a bookshelf full of classical literature. Looking around, I noticed an antique typewriter and 1900s telephone.   It struck me that anyone waiting in this room was surrounded by the past, while listening to students prepare for the future. Just then, another study door opened, and a boy stepped out, deep in conversation with his tutor about whether to stay in Advanced Placement calculus. The tutor knew his teacher, the course demands, and the reality that the student could handle it— but it might cost him his grade point average, and perhaps even a college scholarship. “Getting a ‘C’ looks worse on your transcript than taking a non-AP calculus and getting an ‘A,’” the tutor advised. This you...

While exploring our woodland acreage , our granddaughter staked out a trail that led to a place where she could be by herself in nature. She turned to Papa and said, “Can you make me a little bench?” Together they chose some beautiful pieces of maple wood .  But she had one very specific request about where it should go — “I want to sit where I can’t see any buildings.” She had to return home before the bench was finished, but Papa brought it to her house so she could try it out before it found its permanent place in our woods. Now, as the leaves are falling all around, I decided to place her bench in that special spot she picked out.  I sat there for a few quiet minutes, just to see what she saw. And I realized that in her childlike wisdom , she had the right idea all along. Look away from what we’ve built, and look instead to what God has created. In the midst of everything that is happening around us, if you can find a quiet place in nature , — even for a mom...