"Nevertheless"

Lord, come and fill every nook and cranny of the empty and dried up places in my soul.    

  In response to the question: “Who was your childhood hero?” My brother. Greg. He developed polio when he was about 6 months old. He had to have surgeries, wear a brace and eventually a shoe that was built up to make up the difference in his legs. He began having seizures when he was about 13/14. But he was such a fighter. He never let his disability bring him down. Funny. I never thought of him as being disabled. He couldn't play organized sports but he was always riding his bike, flying kites, playing a spontaneous game of football or catch. He taught himself how to play the guitar and he was fantastically good on it. It was a passion for him. Wherever we lived (we were an Army family) he organized a band and was constantly playing. He turned everyone he met into a friend. He loved to read and introduced me to everything from Marvel comic books to Tolkien. He graduated from college and was just beginning to start a career when he passed away at the age of 24. He gave me s

  Long Story Short Mom always began every tale with "long story short". If you knew her, you probably just inwardly groaned or rolled your eyes, because you have experienced her so-called "short" stories. But I will try to keep it bearable. Mom grew up here in New Boston. One of thirteen children, she attended New Boston schools and churches and was baptized in a local creek. She fell in love and hit the road to Ft. Chaffee Arkansas where Dad was waiting for her with open arms. They were married by an Army chaplain in a chapel on the base. She was the tender age of 16, but she was quick to say that she was ALMOST the ripe old age of 17 if one of us girls should mention how young she was when she married. It wasn't long before they started our family even though Mom wasn't too sure how all that came about. One thing about our mother, she was always a lady. Being a military spouse, she had unknowingly signed up for a life of adventures. Without co

Cerulean Blue Sapphire, Ultramarine, Teal  Midnight hue, my soul

"I am nothing but sharp edges and splinters.. shards of a splattered and shattered faith, using those shanks and points to keep His love at a distance so I don't have to face Him.   Yet He allows Himself to be pierced and bloodied once again as He draws me close, holding me in His arms of love and grace and pulling those spears and swords into His own body and heart as He covers me.   How can He stand it?  How can He stand me?" I wrote these words one 2:00 a.m. morning several years ago.   It was a time when my life was broken, and I felt that I had nothing left to give.  Nothing but pain. Looking back, I see the hand of God in my life, shaping me and changing me into the person He created me to be.  Growing me.   Growing my faith.   Growing my confidence and trust in Him. The following hymn (written by Elisha Hoffman) comes to my mind with new understanding of the lyrics. I laid my life in the hands of Jesus.  He has not disappointed.  He has not let me down.  Ever.  He

  Newton G. Thompson (written January 2019) If Dad was here right now, he would be upset with all of you AND with his family. He would say “y'all don’t need to be making such a fuss.” He would be truly upset that our prayer requests for him created a log jam on your Facebook timeline. But, we are going to just ignore his protests and spend some time with him. We played America the Beautiful for him. Because Dad was a patriot. His love for this country was second only to his love for God, my mother, and all of his children and grandchildren. He instilled love for this country in all of us and even his great grandchildren are aware of it. My grandson Troy, in a school essay about him, wrote “I love that my Papaw is loving, sweet, smart and loves his country.” Dad was born during the Great Depression. TV had barely been invented and, believe it or not, scotch tape was a new and amazing thing. Long distance communication was through hand written letters (Remember