Grandparents

Although both sets of grandparents lived fairly close, I spent most of my time with the Wickers.  My Long grandparents, who lived on Flad, had Ron who was just 8 years older AND all of my cousins.  The Wickers lived next door, with no children at home and only my sister and I for about 9 years.

Their home was more of a shotgun style house with one room leading into another.  When you walked in the front door, you were in the living room which had beautiful stained glass windows high on the outside wall.  If you turned left, you were in the sun room with windows covered in eyelet sheers on three sides.  I loved “hiding” behind the curtains---I can still smell the dusty starch of those sheers.  After they were washed they were dipped in starch and put on a frame called “stretchers”.  When dry, they hung stiffly from the rods, but I loved them when they were limp again and filled with dust.  I’d bat them and watch the dust fly in the sun light like miniature, silent fireworks.

Jane said we used to play a game which was pick a color and count the cars.  I’d always win because I was shrewd enough to know there were more black cars than a color.  Jane, always the romantic, would pick blue (her favorite color) and lose. . . .but she never learned. . . .sigh, little sisters are so hard to train.

I loved being with my grandparents---cards, fishing, delicatessen,wooshy-wooshy.  Eating fish on Fridays

My Looks

I wore my long hair in braids most of the time.  Mother liked fixing my hair in long banana curls, but I hated the look.  First, I had to wear rags to tie the curls in when my hair was wet.  Then, she spent HOURS coaxing the curls into the long curls which felt so weird when I walked---bouncing up and down like springs.  My head was very “tender” so I didn’t really like anyone brushing or combing it.  The nice think about braids was they didn’t have to be combed every day.  Mom could undo them, and then get the wisps and stray hairs back into the strand and re-braid it.  When I was a little older and wanted to be fancy, I’d put them on top of my head and add flowers.

Although there are some photos of me with pants on, I usually wore dresses (with leggings underneath if it was cold). I remember I got a new plaid dress to start school, a Christmas dress and an Easter dress.  My grandmother Wicker usually made my dresses, but we went to Famous-Barr, scouted out the latest fashions and copied them.  My grandmother Long bought me fancy dresses when she was alive---I think I have one of those dresses which was pink taffeta.  I know I have one of my plaid dresses because Becky wore it for 1950’s day at school.  My favorites were dresses with pinafores—white ruffly aprons worn over a dress.  I’m sure there were practical reasons at one time for pinafores, but WHITE, RUFFLY (which had to be starched and ironed) wasn’t really that practical for a child

 My play shoes had been my school or dress shoes which just got old---we didn’t really wear sneakers or have athletic shoes.  Our pediatrician said Keds were bad for our feet.  So, we always had good shoes---I’m sure if we had clothing allowances, our shoes were most of that allowance.  Although I have bad feet, now, it is definitely something genetic and has nothing to do with wearing ill-fitting or poorly supported shoes.  I can recall going to the shoe shops which had a wonderful machine---you could stand with your feet in the machine and SEE if the shoes fit---X-rays!  I shudder thinking of how many times I x-rayed my feet for the fun of it.

The shoe stores were wonderful---they always had little toy (a clicker or kazoo) or balloons to give away.  I still love the smell of new shoes.  I once even won a new pair of shoes from a coloring contest.  Mind you, it wasn’t art, but how well you could color their pre-printed drawing.  It was one of my proudest moments as a child.

My Friends and My Sister

Arsenal Friends

In the days before computers and cell phones, we had three ways to communicate with friends---a letter, an expensive phone call and a face-to-face visit.  For children wanting to play with friends, we would go to each yard and YELL!  We had musical chants for our friends.  I don’t remember if each person had a chant that everyone used for that person or if each individual called all of their friends in the same peculiar way.  I just remember calling, “Oh, Johnnie, oh, Johnnie, OOOOHHHH!”  Even if you couldn’t hear the words, you could identify who the chant was for or who the caller was.  It was especially fun to do it in the “gang-ways”, the walk between two buildings which echoed the chant.

 My first friends were probably the Bellams---Wayne and Wanda were twins who were older but smaller than I was.  Wayne was cute with curly red-hair hair and a sunny disposition; Wanda was dark, unattractive and seemed a little sour even as a young child.  They had an older sister Doris who needed dental work done.  Their mom and dad were also very small and probably alcoholics.  We shared a flat with them—they lived downstairs---we played in the back yard, front yard and on the porch together.  I don’t think Mom totally approved of their family but didn’t have much choice---maybe that’s another reason I visited so many relatives for over-nights.

The Lacy’s lived next door to us.  Delena was the mom and the children were Becky and Benny.  Becky was older, freckled, chubby and walked me to school.  Her brother Benny was Jane’s age and had some kind of chest deformity. Jane thinks he might have had heart surgery because she recalled he had a scar down his chest which we called “the carrot.” I adored Delena who was the only one I’d allow to “paint my throat” with methiolade  or mercurochrome when my throat hurt (before tonsil surgery).  I inherited some of Becky’s doll clothes which I was able to return to her when we moved back to St. Louis in 1978.

Next door to my grandparents were the Buerks---Marilyn was Jane’s BFF (they are still good friends) and her younger brother was Michael.  Theirs was a happy family although Dad drank too much.  Marilyn was very cute, blond, sunny and I always thought DIZZY.  But, later she proved to be more intelligent than I had thought becoming a teacher with a PhD.

Then, there were the Ernsts.  Mother approved of their family although it was a little unconventional---a widowed mother, a maiden aunt (Marie) and three kids, but the women had been or were teachers.  The two boys were a hand full---Johnny and Tommy---they needed the strong hand of a father which they didn’t have.  Mary was my age, very bright, but perhaps a little masculine.  Although I wasn’t really a girly-girl, Mary was even less one.  She liked playing army or baseball across the street.  She always wore her dark hair bobbed, wore boys’ clothes and was unrecognizable at birthday parties when she wore a dress and had her hair curled.  

We played army especially with the Ernsts---mostly we just liked ordering Jane and Marilyn around. Although Mary, Jane, Marilyn and I were girls, Mary told us girls in the army were called Wax (WACS).   But, school was my favorite game.  When my students would ask me how long I had taught, I tell them since I was about 5 years old. There were two “School” games.  The first was the traditional one where I would be the teacher and assign homework, read stories etc.  The second was a game we played on the front steps.  All of the children (2-3) would start on the first step (Kindergarten).  Then, the “teacher” would hide a pebble in the fist of one of her hands behind her back.  She would bring both hands to the front and the “student” would have to guess which hand the pebble was in.  If correct, the “student” got to move up a step (First grade).  The first one to the top of the steps got to be the teacher.

We also played “red light, green light” on the front side walk.  If the leader said “green light”, you ran until the leader said “red light” (stop) or “yellow light” (walk).  The first person at the end of the street was the next leader.  Another favorite game of mine was “A tisket, a tasket” and “Ring around the Rosie” both of which were circle games requiring at least 5-6 kids.  “Mother May I?” and “Red Rover” were fun games, too.  But, Red Rover was always an injury waiting to happen.  Two teams form a chain of hands.  One team says, “Red rover, red rover, send Janie (or another child) right over.”  That child would have to run and try to break the chain.  If she broke the chain, she got to pick someone to take back to her team.  If she couldn’t break the chain, she had to join the other team.  Being small, female and weak, I was picked on a lot.  I had two choices, I could run and leap on the clasped hands which usually resulted in me flipping head over heels, or I could take the “chicken” approach and duck under the hands and automatically join the other side saving myself injury.

When the street lights came on, it was time to go home and inside UNLESS we were with parents/grandparents in the backyard waiting for the lightning bugs to come out.

My Sister

 My sister Linda Jane Long was born around Halloween right before my 3^rd birthday.  I can remember Mom being in the hospital and everyone telling me she looked just like my grandmother Vennie.  I can recall peaking in the bassinette and thinking, “Are they all crazy---she looks nothing like Vennie---she looks like a hairy monkey!”  Actually, now I think she really does look and act like Vennie, but I couldn’t see it then.  She had a large amount of black hair with a little bird-like mouth.  She was sooo tiny.

As she got older and her eyes became more of her defining feature, everyone went on and on about how much she looked like LeRoy with those big, blue eyes.  Mom even got Dad’s photo out and would ask everyone if they knew who the photo was.  They were supposed to say, “That looks just like Linda Jane.”  I would roll my eyes---couldn’t they see he was dressed old-fashioned.  

And tiny, Jane was always so tiny.  I look back at photos and I wasn’t exactly a horse, but those big blue eyes in that tiny little face gave her a slightly elfin look which people ooed and ahhed over.  I felt very inferior in the looks department.  Then, she got all of the pretty blue dresses to match her eyes and I got red or pink---did they match my eyes?  She was like a little doll sitting pretty with her dress while I was a little more active trying to keep up with the boys.

When she started talking, we realized she couldn’t pronounce her “L” sound which was a handicap for Linda Jane Long.  Mother had wanted her called “Linda Jane” but St. Louis was a little far north for that Southern double name (unless you were Mary Sue, Mary Ann, Mary Beth etc.) so her name was shortened to “Linda” by most people.  So, when asked what her name was, she replied, “Win-da Wong”.  That did it for Mom--- I made fun of Jane all the time calling her “Chinese” and pulling the corner of my eyes.  Then, those big blue eyes would start welling up with tears. . . . She became “Jane Long” which I later called “Plain Jane.” (Never under-estimate the teasing power of an older sister)

My Neighborhood

One neighbor was Frieda Backoff who was quite a character.  She owned the four-family flat (4612 Arsenal) and kept the walks and steps immaculate.  She was from Germany and often called me “Struebelkopf”  which I think meant messy hair.  She lived in one of the flats which I visited on several occasions.  It was very dark and had a lot of fancy dark furniture with Oriental rugs on the floor, and it always had a very sweet smell—it made me a little sick.  I’m not sure if it was sweet-smelling from baking or if she used some kind of potpourri or incense.  She was definitely “Scrubby Dutch” although mother always suspected she was actually Jewish because she was so dark.  She always wore her hair in a hair net to keep it neat and was a devout Catholic despite Mother’s suspicions.  She worked as a cleaning lady and my memories of her are of Frieda on her hands and knees (in a house dress, support stockings rolled into round garters below her knees and shoes) scrubbing the entry hall, the front steps and the sidewalk with powdered cleanser like Bon Ami.  But, in her home, she always wore felt slippers---very typical of South St. Louis Scrubby Dutch—you did not wear your shoes in the house.  

Prior to the 1950’s, St. Louis furnaces burned soft coal mined in southern Illinois.  Our houses all had coal bins with chutes where the coal dribbled down into the bin.  There was a small oven-sized door that the coal was poured in on the outside. Then, in the basement  there was another door from which Daddy (or Grandpa) would shovel the coal and put it in the furnace.  There was another door at the bottom, where the cinders and clinkers were shoveled out into a metal bucket before tossing them in the ash pit.  

This soft coal did not burn cleanly---we always had smoke in our flat and there were times outside that the lights had to burn in broad daylight because the smoke was so heavy.  The Missouri Botanical Garden (Shaw’s Garden) even planned to move the entire garden out of the city because the plants were suffering and MOBOT even purchased property out at Grey Summit.  Our poor parakeet Babe even flew into the walls because he couldn’t see them for the smoke in our flat.  So, the “Scrubby Dutch” (like Frieda) scrubbed the sidewalks, steps, porches and entry halls, to try to keep the dust and soot out of their homes.  In the early 1950’s this coal was banned from being burned, the air cleared up and Shaw’s Garden stayed in the city.

Despite the air quality, I loved living in the city, but then I had Tower Grove Park across the street where I could climb trees, play baseball, go swimming, fish, hide in the bushes (which often had empty liquor bottles stored under them)---so I really had the best of the city.  But, I had to have an adult with me to go to Tower Grove Park because it was across a busy city street (Arsenal) with streetcar tracks and “bums” or “boogeymen” who lived in the park.  I loved the sound of the streetcars rumbling past at all hours of the day and night and still am lulled to sleep by street and train sounds. (crickets and birds chirping are very annoying when I am trying to sleep).  

Also, we used to have vendors with carts come through the city streets chanting their services and wares.  It wasn’t quite as musical as the scene in Oliver, but the chanting was very real.  Each vendor had a different chant so when you heard the cadence of the voice, you knew if it was the scissor and knife sharpener man or the ice man or the produce man.  The chants were very similar to what you might here at a baseball game.  We also have the icecream man, today with his canned music which is similar but I loved the sounds of the chants.  Even today, hearing someone say, “Get your ice cold lemonade heeeeeer, get it heeeeer,” it takes me back to a time when I could hear that on our screened in porch.  

Or favorite was the ice man who would clip-clop through the alley with a horse and wagon selling ice.  We would run after him and he would chip off a chunk of ice that we could suck on---delicious on a hot summer’s day.  The ice was needed for ice boxes.  Although we had an electric refrigerator, my grandparents and many in the neighborhood had ice boxes to keep food cold.  We have one in our family room which we converted to a liquor cabinet many years ago.  Most had a long door on the right with racks on the door for condiments.  Then, on the left was a smaller door also with racks.  On the bottom was a small door just big enough for a block of ice.  There is a drain hole in the bottom which drained the melting water to a tray underneath.  You had to lift the bottom panel to get the water out.

Behind us was the huge Continental Can Company.  Once a year they had a huge picnic/carnival which all of the “neighbors” attended---we could see the assembly line at work, eat free food and play carnival games.  But, my favorite business which we could walk to without an adult was the White Castle Bakery.  The smell of baking buns filled the air.  We would walk to the side door in the alley and wait for someone to come out and beg them for samples---delicious---bread is still my favorite guilty pleasure. . . .but not White Castle!

White Castle, a St. Louis fast-food burger place, was everyone’s favorite---long before McDonald’s was even in St. Louis.  You could get a bag of burgers for a $1 (probably about 10 burgers).  Dad would bring them home after work (when he worked shifts) and we would eat them as more of a snack than a meal.  I can still taste the burger heavy on grilled onion.  I remember begging Mom to make our hamburgers that way, so she would fry some onion in the grease with the burgers in a skillet (we didn’t really grill much living on the 2^nd floor)

I could walk a couple of blocks to the Velvet Freeze ice cream parlor (east on Arsenal at Morganford) or I could hop on a bus (with Mom or Grandma) and go to Grand and Arsenal where there were all sorts of stores, taverns, movie theaters.  Kingshighway and Arsenal was closer and also commercial, but it had car dealers, tire shops, Southwest High School and things I wasn’t too interested in until Southtown Famous-Barr was built.  

As a young child Kingshighway was just a way to get to my favorite “shopping center”  Hampton Village.  They had a department store with pneumatic tubes that took your money up to the office AND a grocery store which had doors open for you when you stepped in front of them.  I remember telling all of the kids in the neighborhood how magical that store was.  There were shopping carts where you could pick out your own groceries.  No more taking a list to a counter clerk and them bringing your food to you.  You could see all of the wonderful things that weren’t even on your list and whine for Ovaltine because they sponsored your favorite TV show. They had produce in bins that you could pick out yourself—no more having to go to Soulard (gag!) where all I saw was the garbage and rotting vegetables on the ground under the bin.  And, then, they gave you clean, neatly folded paper bags to put everything in---“Everything’s up to date in Hampton Village.”  You didn’t have to go to a separate store for your meat---they had a meat counter like a little butcher shop right there in the store!  I don’t think the in-store bakery had evolved yet because I still remember making trips to the bakery, but you could pick up a loaf of Wonder bread which was sold in a very colorful wax paper with balloons on it—“It builds bodies 8 ways.”

Coming Home

“Doc” and Mrs. Newmeyer brought Mother and me home from the hospital at 7 days old in a car---there weren’t many cars because of the war rationing.  We lived in the upstairs section of a two family flat (4616 A Arsenal) and the Newmeyers lived in a flat to the west of us.  To the east (4612 Arsenal) lived my Wicker grandparents.  We lived across the street from Tower Grove Park with my Long grandparents living on the other side of the park in the Shaw Neighborhood in the corner flat across Flad from St. Margaret’s of Scotland where I first heard the Westminister chimes.

As you came up the steps of our flat, you entered the living room which connected to the “dining room” with pocket doors.  The “dining room” I remember as my bedroom which I later shared with Jane.  Then there was like a center hall---a small square room---where mother did her ironing.  To the back on the east side was the kitchen, on the west  side back was mom and dad’s room which had a screened in porch attached. To the east to the side was the bathroom with frosted windows and the west side was the “toy room”.  I’m sure it was my nursery in the beginning, but it seemed too small to be a bed room.  Then, the dining room and living room were in the front.

Our room had pocket doors which were blocked by furniture.  Hanging on the wall was a giant shadow box which held my “Storybook Dolls.”  These were purely ornamental dolls with the clothes stitched on them.  They were beautiful composite dolls with painted shoes.  The only ones I can recall having were the bride doll (Jane’s) and Little Red Riding Hood.  I think we had a cowgirl doll, too.  I loved cowgirls---Mama called me “Annie Oakley” and Jane “Calamity Jane.” (she was a little accident- and tear-prone) 

There were several things I loved in our room besides the dolls---my Panda bear and my globe.  The panda was a huge black and white panda with amber glass eyes and a satin ribbon around his neck.  I loved cuddling with him, sucking my thumb as I stroked his silky body.  But, I also LOVED the globe.  I don’t know where we got it---maybe Pearl.  It was a glass globe painted with the continents of the earth on it in blues and greens.  It was a little like a night light-glowing in the corner of our room.  I sat and looked at it often, twirling the globe and wondering about far off places.  Once, I even noticed that if you shoved the Western Hemisphere against Africa and Europe they almost matched up---that was the beginning of my prize-winning theory of “Continental Drift.”  Well, I THOUGHT I’d discovered it until years later when I learned someone had beat me to that theory.

I also loved my encyclopedias.  My transition teacher at Horace Mann school sold our family the Compton’s Encyclopedia.  I saved my money for them for a long time in a little bank shaped like the set of Encyclopedias.  When, they arrived, I swore I was going to read them all---I think I achieved that goal many times over.  I would randomly pick out a book and just start reading---I did this for years.  I’m not sure if my encyclopedias or globe gave me my love of traveling but I’m sure the two of them inspired me.

Our bed was on the west wall facing the pocket doors.  Windows on the north faced the street and park.  One of my earliest memories is peaking out that window, watching the streetcars roll by with the snow falling in front of the street lamps.  The soft humming of the streetcars were almost masked by the metallic sound of cars with chains on the tires clinking on the street.

The bad part of our room being really an extension of the living room was when Mother and Dad entertained, it was hard to sleep---sometimes they let us go to their bed in the back of the house.  The worst was when we got our first TV.  Dad bought the TV with money he won in a lottery (before 1950).  NO ONE had a television, but us.  First, we had friends and family come, but soon people that I’d never seen before started coming over to watch TV---every night!  I was becoming increasingly stressed out (at 3 or 4 years old) with company----and entertaining strange children who wanted to play with MY toys.  I think the final straw was when some child whom I’d never seen before stole all of my money from my piggy bank.  I became hysterical with Mother following suit.  She convinced Dad that all of that company was really hurting our family.

But, the TV was a mystery to me for many years.  I would invite my neighborhood friends in to watch Howdy Doody.  We’d get our little chairs lined up and sit glued to them.  I was convinced if we could see them, then, they could see us.  Later, my grandparents also bought a TV.  Their favorite show was the Arthur Godfrey Show.  I quickly fell in love with one of his regular singers, Julius LaRosa, and insisted that I get dressed up with flowers in my hair so I looked nice for Julius LaRosa!  I always talked to the actors on the screen as if they could hear me and, I swear this is true, one of them talked back to me!  That’s my story, and I’m sticking to it.

The basement was dark and damp (my grandparents had a beautifully clean, painted gray basement with lots of light) and a little scary.  We had a white round wringer wash machine.  While it automatically agitated the clothes, we used a wringer to get the suds and water out before hanging the clothes to dry.  A wringer was an attachment that had two rollers---we fed the clothes between the rollers and pulled out the clothes on the other side.  We had an electric wringer, though, that I got my fingers caught in while trying to feed some clothes.  In the winter and on rainy days, we had to hang laundry in the basement (we didn’t have dryers) which really contributed to the dampness already down there.

The back screened-porch doubled as a bedroom in the summer---living in St. Louis in a brick house before airconditioning was brutal.  We were lucky that we lived across the street from Tower Grove Park---that was so much cooler.  During the heat waves, people slept in the parks.  I don’t recall ever sleeping in the parks, but we did on the porch.  We made “pallets” from blankets and sheets folded.  Mom and Dad would sit in chairs on the porch with the baseball game while we went to sleep.  My summer memories are of listening to Cardinal baseball announced by Harry Cary---maybe that’s why I always feel a little drowsy watching baseball.

 I loved hanging clothes outside, though---listening to the whoop! whoop! of the sheets as they waved in the wind.  And the wonderful smell of sheets that have hung out to dry cannot be duplicated by  Febreze.  Our back yard was very shady which is why so many photos were taken at my grandparents’ yard next door.  They had no trees because their land lady Frieda thought they were messy.  But, our yard had a huge sycamore tree with bark that peeled, large leaves and ball-type seeds. I often created little “fairy towns” out of the bark leaves and seeds.  I believe we had a swing set also which Dad made at the railroad shop.  We had a garage that backed to an alley and an “ash pit” that I don’t recall ever having things burned in.  Mostly we just threw things like the coal “clinkers” in.  It was also used as a threat, “Be good or I’ll throw you in the ash pit with the rats.”  I don’t recall Frieda’s place having an ashpit---she must have had it torn out.

In the Beginning. . .

I was born on a Monday (“Monday’s child is fair of face”---is that why I am so freckled?).  I was born in a Catholic hospital---Josephine Heitkamp Memorial---which later became Incarnate Word Hospital (1640 South Grand, St. Louis Missouri), because with nuns as nurses, mothers and babies got better care than other hospitals during “the war years.” I was born at 3:32 AM and weighed 6 pounds 7 ounces, 19 inches.

 Although the war was technically over, my father was in Shanghai.  I’m not considered a “Baby boomer” because that generation didn’t begin until Jan. 1, 1946---babies CONCEIVED after the war was over.  Although most people don’t have stories about their conception, I do.  My mother went on a train with my dad’s cousin Martha McKay Lalamondier to Portland, Oregon---not an easy trip during the war years with so many soldiers on the trains.  They had passes so it wasn’t expensive, but it was quite an experience for two young attractive ladies.  The war was still active in the Pacific and my dad was getting ready to ship out.  So, my mom and Martha Ann made that trip so my mother could see my dad and hopefully get pregnant.  Mom promised Martha she’d name the baby after her if I was a girl, so my middle name is LeANN.

Mother wanted to name me LeAnn (for LeRoy, Martha Ann Lalumondier, Martha Ann Silas, Annie Reed) or Sunny (Dad was called “Sonny”), but Dad liked Jaclyn.  I just did a search on name popularity and, according to Social Security data, Jaclyn wasn’t even in the top 1000 names until the 1970’s.  Hmm, is that why people are sometimes surprised when they see how old I am?  My nickname is “Jackie” excepting when I was in college and a young adult when I changed it to “Jaci” because it just seemed to go better with “Jaclyn.”  But, as I aged, that spelling seemed too “cutsie”, but “Jackie” didn’t seem right either, so I just sign my name “Jaclyn” which made my mother happy.  Their grocer’s daughter was “Jaclyn Meier” which is how they discovered that spelling.

My family name was “Long” which I NEVER liked.  First, I was always small for my age, so the name just didn’t fit.  I was teased a lot about it---somehow the teasing was OK once I made friends with the tallest girl in our class---Donna Short.  Our teacher always shook her head and called us “the Long and Short of the matter.”  We loved telling people our names and asking them to guess who was who.  I was very sad when we moved away from each other---she went to Ferguson and we went to Bellefontaine Neighbors---not because we were such great friends but because we were a team---together we could tolerate the teasing that we had to endure.

Second, my name just didn’t sound good.  Try saying “Jaclyn LeAnn Long”---too many ls!  I was pretty happy to change my name to “Jaclyn L. Morgan”---it just rolled off the tongue better.  The “L” stands for “LeAnn” and “Long”---I only write it that way.  If someone wants to know my maiden or middle name, they’ll have to ask.

Mom thought “Long” was a great name---she hated having the name “Wicker” because it rhymed with “liquor” and because it was the end of the alphabet.  “Long” was in the middle which was a great place to be, according to her.  I guess I passed that on to my children because “Morgan” is right in the middle, too.

Promise

 

Jeremiah 33:14-16New International Version (NIV)

The oldest complete Jesse Tree window
 is in Chartres Cathedral, 1145.

14 “‘The days are coming,’ declares the Lord, ‘when I will fulfill the good promise I made to the people of Israel and Judah.

15 “‘In those days and at that time

    I will make a righteous Branch sprout from David’s line;

    he will do what is just and right in the land.

16 In those days Judah will be saved

    and Jerusalem will live in safety.

This is the name by which it[a] will be called:

    The Lord Our Righteous Savior.’

As a genealogist, the Jesse Tree and genealogy of Jesus have always interested me.  The scripture today states that Jesus is the fulfillment of the promise made to the people of Israel and Judah.  Re-reading that passage reminded me of a quote on Facebook I saw the other day. The Chickasaw poet Linda Hogan said, "Walking.  I am listening to a deeper way.  Suddenly all my ancestors are behind me.  Be still, they say.  Watch and listen.  You are the result of the love of thousands."

We are all the fulfillment of a promise made to our ancestors who struggled with a life not as comfortable as ours is.  Just knowing that their struggles, hardships, hopes and love brought me where I am, gives me the urge to be the right kind of fulfillment of their promise.  I may not save the world, but I can certainly "do what is just and right in the land."  I owe them.

REPRINTED from November 30, 2015 Church blog.

The Holy Spirit whispers.. . . .

 

Several weeks ago having dinner with new friends here, I discovered the woman down the hall, Dee was a writer.  We were trying to explain what writing poetry was like to Dave and Margaret, our dining companions.  

The next day, I was on my patio writing the poem "Words in the Wind" when Dee came walking by.  I called to her to come sit and read the poem inspired by our conversation the night before.  She wanted to read other poems, so I pulled everything on my blog that was labeled poetry including a piece that I wrote for Pentecost about the hymn "Spirit of Gentleness" which is some of the most beautiful poetry I've ever read.  The message is beautiful but the sounds of the words also  move me.

I don't think Dee is a very "churchy" person but her eyes widened and watered when she read some of the stanzas in that hymn.  "This is a hymn?"  I nodded and replied, "some of my favorite lines are from the Bible."

From the bondage of sorrow

The captives dream dreams.

Our women see visions;

Our men clear their eyes. 

(Psalm 126:1 and Acts 2: 17)  She looked at me and said again, "The Bible?"  I nodded.  She got up to leave.  She later told me she was inspired to write a poem that night (after a year long dry spell).  I am hoping she was inspired to open the Bible in addition to writing a poem.

Photo by Emmanuel Phaeton on Unsplash