Searchfortreasure's Blog

…a Bible student's notes…

JOURNAL ENTRY, October 19, 2011 – Wednesday

I do not want to forget yesterday – 10/18/21 – Tuesday – after Ladies Bible Study. Sometimes the Godly thrill of a conversation does not register with me for a few hours. I wish it did not take that long to rejoice with thanksgiving over a phrase or sentence, that was said “in passing” while going on with the discussion, essentially concerning something else.

Sometimes I am literally chatting away in hopes of receiving a Godly response – conscious of doing this.

Yesterday, my daughter and I were discussing what the future might hold for my GRANDDaughter. College? Community College? Succeeding at her workplace and managing? How does one let, guide, and direct her when her morals and character are maturing at a “normal” rate?

In the center of this discussion, my daughter interjects, “My goal is for her NOT to work after she is married.”

Happy Dance Time!! Rejoice, and, again, I say REJOICE!

I hear your arguments, too. I have heard your misgivings. It is with much concern you bring up our “world,” society, and economy and conclude that a wife and mother must work. The arguments are legion. So many of us have done this that I wonder if it is too difficult a subject to consider that we have been displeasing to the Lord. Women bring up all the women workers in the Bible as examples and it behooves us well to search these out and study them well. Then, we must also attend to study the instructions to Titus concerning wives remaining at home, in home, as managers and subject to their own husbands, and not someone elses’ husband.

Here is how Paul begins his letter to Titus and if we want to participate in the things he mentions here and be considered as Titus is in verse 4, then we will gladly be heart-felt obedient to the instructions concerning ourselves in this poignant letter.

Tit 1:1 ¶ Paul, a bond-servant of God, and an apostle of Jesus Christ, for the faith of those chosen of God and the knowledge of the truth which is according to godliness, 2 in the hope of eternal life, which God, who cannot lie, promised long ages ago, 3 but at the proper time manifested, [even] His word, in the proclamation with which I was entrusted according to the commandment of God our Savior; 4 to Titus, my true child in a common faith: Grace and peace from God the Father and Christ Jesus our Savior. (NAS)


October 19, 2011 Posted by | Conversations with my GRANDdaughter, Just for Women, Pages from my journal | Leave a comment

What in the world is the “Black Widow” game?

Conversations with my GRANDDaughter, part 30….

 This is the way I closed our last “conversation:”

So, living in the country was good for Martha, as well as for me. It is at the “Cramer’s Incline” house where all the good memories begin.”

It may have been good for me – but, for Martha – that’s up for grabs and that thing about how I did not resent Martha’s intrusion into our family – well, that’s true, but I made up for it out there in the country. Our four years apart was apparent. When I was ready to keep my paper dolls neat, she was the age to tear them to pieces. We shared a room and I am sure she could tell you some vivid, horrid stories about me. But, the way I remember it, I was a sweet sister! 🙂

She tells me that when we got off the school bus (which was quite a ways from our house) that I made her carry my clarinet by telling her that mama would whip her if she didn’t carry it. I was convincing. She did. And, I have no recollection of this at all! Funny thing about memory – ——-

Playing in the woods was our favorite summertime fun. Fun, for me, that is. When we played with my favorite cousin who was only 1 year younger than me, Martha had to be the cop, we were the robbers that she never caught. Older is wiser. Same with cowboys and Indians. And, I do not recall that she ever got to play “Black Widow” with us. This was a “game” that Judy invented, as I recall. We dug out a throne in the side of a wooded bank down at the bar-b-que pit; and I think that the rules were always changing and Martha never figured it out.

When we cleared out for our “houses” among the trees, Martha had to do hers alone, away from ours.

So – I thought I had better set the record straight because ya’ll might get confused how that Martha is the mean one and I am sweet!

September 9, 2011 Posted by | Conversations with my GRANDdaughter | Leave a comment

Hoppergrassers and beebumbles….

 Conversations with my GRANDDaughter, part 29

 Well, after answering your question about what it was like – in my day – to be 16, I will return to when my dad came home from the Navy and the birth of my sister. I was about 4….

When Martha was born. I have no real memory of this event; however, I have heard about it from my parents. My mom was not to have any more children after me. She recalls this because birthing was terribly difficult for her.

For this birth, mom goes to Erlanger Hospital to deliver. Her experience was horrid. She was hauled off from my dad and taken to a room where she was given a shot to hurry labor and then that wasn’t convenient with the doctors and staff, so she was given a shot to slow her labor. Her body was confused and just being in a hospital was extremely stressful for her. She left. Not in body, however. A part of her lifted up from her body on the bed. She saw herself lying there and she left and went home, seeing it vividly. She sat on the front steps for a while – in peace. Then given another shot, bringing her back to reality. Her story ends here. She was so traumatized that I never knew or was told the rest of the story.

But, Martha had arrived with a sickly beginning that lasted for months. I have attempted to feel what this must have felt like by a 4 year old like me. I had been the “star” and sweetheart of our little family, getting all the attention of both parents and my grandmother who lived with us. I was never told that I had a bad attitude toward my sister. It seems I accepted my new role of almost total ignoring me. Martha was so ill that Dr. vonCannon made a special visit to our house to observe her behaviors and then told my mom she had a milk allergy. This was no small matter in 1946, but my parents took her off milk and were convinced that this helped her.

I do recall knowing that my sister was “delicate.” This didn’t seem so when we moved to the country. She climbed trees. I didn’t do that. One time, daddy was shaving in their bathroom which was one story off the ground; something caught his eye, turning to look out the window, there was Martha waving at him from one of her favorite trees. Dad probably didn’t finish shaving. (He shaved with a straight razor that he sharpened on a leather strap.)

Martha had a habit of saying compound words backwards. She ran into the house screaming that a beebumble was after her. She played with hoppergrassers, too.

So, living in the country was good for Martha, as well as for me. It is at the “Cramer’s Incline” house where all the good memories begin.

September 7, 2011 Posted by | Conversations with my GRANDdaughter, Newsy News & Random Thoughts | Leave a comment

“Earn” your name…

Conversations with my GRANDDaughter, part 28…

Sarah, you have been in service to others since you were four years old. At 16, you are an old hand at this. Your birth was not a mistake. Your Maker knew exactly what He desires to make of you within the family in which you now live.
Your namesake, my mom, was not just “given to hospitality,” she was given to serve – and it was not always at our house. I have stayed in the car while she went to the houses “across the tracks” in Rossville. She wore old clothes because the conditions would be extremely dirty.
She went, on a monthly basis, to a house where the mother had a 30-something year-old daughter who was still a baby in the fetal position. No disposal diapers. No time nor strength to clean house for that mom. Ladies took turns going once a week to help her.
Mom went into some houses that were so filthy with roaches and lice that when we got home, she would head to basement and put her clothes into the hottest water to wash.
There was one time that I remember that she got completely undressed beside the basement and burned her clothes.
There was no inside stairway from upstairs to the basement, just outside steps. Good thing we lived in the woods!
You are her namesake and your birth date is the same as her mother’s – my grandma Duggan. I’m reading through the Bible this year, and I keep noticing names for many generations listed. God makes lists and this is the list for your name – Sarah, daughter of Joy, daughter of Mary, daughter of Sarah, daughter of Mary……
“Earn” your name!

August 5, 2011 Posted by | Conversations with my GRANDdaughter | Leave a comment

The gift of hospitality and serving…..

Conversations with my GRANDDaughter, part 27…
This could be my last entry about what it was like for me to be 16. A summary is in order.
My mom had the gift of hospitality, my father, the gift of service. They both had other gifts, but these are the one that stand out in my mind now. These gifts were in use all of my life, not just my sixteenth year.
There are many ways that I wish I were like my mom. She could whip up a meal for 10, 20 or even 30 people in no time it seemed to me. We always had enough to eat and to share. Also, mom could make “Baptist” pallets quickly and we girls could vacate our beds for missionaries and pastors at any hour of the night. As I type this, I am realizing what an honor to be born into this gifted family – and, sometimes, wonder why I was born to this. Mom and dad made gifts of themselves, their properties, and their monies. We were not poor, but we only made it into what was a lower middle class of folks back then. Mom’s generous gifts of hospitality included her unique gift of making $1 into $3 worth of necessities, thereby enabling them to be generous.
Dad filled out income tax returns for people in the church, friends, etc. Some paid, who could, and some were pro bono. It was a family affair. Mom, my sister, and I rode along. If there was some way mom could help, she did. There were times we all sat in the car and waited. Dad also helped widows and older folks with general repairs to their plumbing, electricity, upkeep to their houses. Our evenings were spent this way and I didn’t have a sulky attitude because I was missing my favorite television program.
My dad could fix anything! That was, and is, the way I view him. I was sure that the Lord asked him to hang the moon for Him – and he was glad to do it.
The zipper could break on the dress I was to wear to church on a Sunday morning. He could fix it. He could repair our cars, washing machine, dryer, stove, you name it. He was a servant with a servant’s heart. He delighted in making biscuits, fudge, milkshakes for us and guests. He served at church any way he was needed. He was a true deacon in the Biblical definition of the word.
Mom was a planner of service. Our Sunday mornings began on Saturday night, if not before. Mother planned the food and our chores. I guess I thought that all fathers got up on Sunday mornings to run the vacuum cleaner before leaving for church. When we left the house, it was spic and span. Bathrooms were clean. House dusted and vacuumed. Food in the oven and pots on the stove with vegetables waiting to be heated. Ingredients for the bread all gathered and measured – just had to be put together. Dining room table set with china, silverware, glasses, and napkins. Tea, water, buttermilk, orange juice, or “cokes” of choice were all waiting for their orders.
And, no one had even been invited yet!
It was mom’s sheer joy to wait to see who needed an invitation to our house for lunch. Some were planned, of course; but I remember it mostly as unplanned. It could be spontaneous and “spur of the moment” – but we knew it could be this way, because mom had already seen to all the necessary plans, she just needed the people now.
And that’s not all – Sunday nights were the favorite of many people because after church, they were invited to our house for my dad’s famous buttermilk biscuits with mom’s jams and jellies. This happened on Wednesday nights also.
I am the black sheep of the family. I am an inferior cook. I have nowhere the energy of my mom and dad in serving others. I don’t even know how. I have not mastered my mom’s cornbread nor my father’s biscuits. They, both, showed me how; but they did not have recipes. Everything at our house was made from scratch and I have attempted to teach you the “scratch” method. Cook that way a few times – in remembrance of me. 🙂

August 4, 2011 Posted by | Conversations with my GRANDdaughter | 1 Comment

Learning to play hymns…

Conversations with my GRANDDaughter, part 26…
Applications to college are usually submitted during or near the end of one’s junior year in high school. This can be done later, of course; or, like your granddad, just show up – no admission papers submitted, no recommendations from his pastor or school, no SAT score – had not taken it, and NO MONEY! No IQ! 🙂 However, the Lord was at work in his ignorance – and that’s another story.
I wanted to go to the University of Georgia. My mom tried to talk me into Shorter Teacher’s College, Bryan, etc. But, she set her heart on Carson-Newman.
I got accepted at UGA.
In the meantime, mom decided that Martha and I needed to take piano lessons focused on hymn playing for church. Patty Conn Mulligan was our church pianist at the time and was not taking students. She had two small children and had “retired.” Mom talked her into taking only two students – my sister and me. We took for two school years. I had already had piano lessons since third grade, but was nowhere near interested in it, yet, it had prepared me with the bare bones.
I loved and respected Patty Mulligan. I enjoyed learning to play hymns. I remember this part of my life with blessed memories.
My mom, however, was at work in the background. If she could not get me to apply at Carson-Newman, perhaps Patty could. They connived behind my back and Patty convinced me that I needed to apply to CN. I did. I went.
Perhaps you have read the rest of this story. It is on my website.

August 3, 2011 Posted by | Conversations with my GRANDdaughter | Leave a comment

Throw a party when you encounter various trials…

Conversations with my GRANDDaughter, part 25…
I haven’t told you yet about my church life at 16.
Mom believed one must go to church in their community. Dry Valley Baptist was the first Baptist church from our house. It was a shouting, noisy church. All men down front prayed aloud at the same time and shouting was intermittent throughout the service. The music was Stamps Baxter, so mom and dad bought Baptist Hymnals for the church. Unused. Boys and girls could not go to the same picnic. My parents did not know this. They invited both. In my “teen” years, they decided that it would be better for their children to be in a more familiar situation to them.
Brainerd Baptist was forming a mission church in a little white building on So. Seminole Drive. They needed deacons and other workers to build up the attendance. We all joined. I had been baptized at Dry Valley when I was 9 years old.
Being one of the few young people there, I got a wide experience to draw from for the rest of my life. When an adult woman’s Sunday School teacher was absent, I was asked to teach – mostly a spur of the moment occasion. I played the piano and led a “primary” choir. I was a GA – Girl’s Auxiliary. (I liked this least of all because there was a lot of memorization.)
I did not know that I would become pianist at this church.
I did not know that our wedding shower would be held there, as well as our wedding.
I did not know that our firstborn would be baptized there.
I did not know we would move out of town and be back 12 years later, and asked to teach a ladies S. S. class there two months before we got back into town.
I did not know that before the church year was out I would be told that I could not teach my class another Sunday – because I had not kept to the lessons in the quarterly. They didn’t mention the Bible as required reading.
I did not know that my dad would come to my defense in a called deacons’ meeting and be treated very poorly and undeservedly.
I didn’t know what I would say, when we all got in the car that Sunday and Robert asked me, “Well, mom, what are you going to do now?”
I didn’t know that my word study on the book of James would come out of my mouth, saying: “I am going to throw a party. Let’s celebrate. Where do you want to go?”
“McDonald’s , it is!”
Jas 1:2 ¶ “Consider it all joy, my brethren, when you encounter various trials”
My paraphrase: “Throw a party…”

August 2, 2011 Posted by | Conversations with my GRANDdaughter | 2 Comments

A room of my own….

Conversations with my GRANDDaughter, part 24…
I don’t how old I was when grandma moved out of our house into a duplex she built on the little hill above us. She built it as a duplex so she could have people on the other side of the wall that she might need in an emergency. After she died, mom pulled back the curtain a little on the window where she could view our house and the wallpaper was worn clear through to dry wall. She had been our “watcher.”
So – what’s this got to do with being 16? It was about then that I was given a room of my own – grandma’s former bedroom. It had its own entrance from outside and a little porch and, its own bathroom with room for a vanity with side mirrors. The closet was rather large for a house that was built that long ago – 64 years ago. It jutted out the side of the squarely-built house so that when I was sitting at that desk writing my mystery stories, I could view much of the whole yard – the swing that hung between two trees and on down to the bar-b-Que pit area, another swing, and permanent marble slab table. (We had lots of parties there. It was level. Dad had built the old-fashioned fire pit and two horseshoe setups – one for children and one for adults. Where were the mosquitoes back then?
Ahhh…my own room. My sister was four years younger than I and that had been okay, but we didn’t have a lot in common back then. She still remembers vividly when mom took her shopping for her own clothes because she had always worn my hand-me-downs. I had not even realized that. Four years is quite a spread when one is 16 and the other is 12.
Uh, oh, a room of my own to keep clean. Mom was ashamed of me. I would take off my clothes and lay them across a chair, so that on Saturday, one could tell what I had worn all week. Monday was on the bottom, etc. We did not waste water and time on washing clothes daily. I took off what I had worn to school when I got home and it just needed hanging back up most of the time. Only I did not hang – but I did lay neatly on the chair. Mom decided to embarrass me by inviting one of my teachers over to eat in the dining room. The door to my room was off the dining room and one could see into my room. It didn’t work. (Mom was into shame. For her, it was a big motivator; I did not let it change this “messy” room; but I did let it affect my heart. It is the parent’s job to “gain” a child’s heart for motivating, not shaming it. My dad had my heart and I believe to this day, that if he has told me to hang up my clothes, I would have – but he did not cross mom – she ruled. There is a Heart that you must seek – one like David’s in the Bible. He was a man after, seeking, God’s Own Heart.)

August 1, 2011 Posted by | Conversations with my GRANDdaughter | Leave a comment

The “show” the Lord put on for me……

Conversations with my GRANDDaughter, part 23…
Today (yesterday now) is your first day in uniform for work at Chick-fil-A. I get dressed and head out to the screened porch to pray that you will learn swiftly – that’s actually a given – that you not be self-conscious – that you would ask for help if you needed it, and, “Father, let her know how much I love her.”
It is after 12 noon.
As I settle in, turn the fan on high, I say aloud, “Now, Father, what kind of show will you put on for me today?”
Begin praying – eyes open – don’t want to miss any antics of the birds.
Hear a noise in the ivy over toward the woods to my left.
A little raccoon appears. Ah ha! I stand up for a better look because I need to know if this critter has been staying under our porch and is just late getting home.
Hear another rustling – his brother – or sister – follows. Two of this spring’s brood, I am sure.
The first one has come across the porch and off the other side. He is trying to figure out how to get into the hummingbird feeder that is on the ground. He cries! Just like Rusty cries when we leave him home. He must have been frustrated that nothing is in it. Meanwhile, number two is in the gravel path picking up little pebbles to lick the water off them. He spits them out and goes through a lot of them. Number one joins him. They are just two or three steps away from the concrete bird bath. Seems to me, as resourceful as racoons can be, they would have tried to get water from it; but, they are young.
They join up and head around the path to the old roadbed on the other side of our yard. Out of my site. No interest in going under our porch. Racoons are not necessarily nocturnal. They have learned that night time hunts are more productive, however.
Sit back down. Two hummingbirds are chasing one another from the three feeders. I try to tell them, that they are using their calories insufficiently. There are three feeders with four portals each, with only two hummers out there. Go figure.
Two brown thrashers decide to drink from the concrete bath. One decides to take a bath. Meanwhile, four teeny tiny chickadees are all over the suet hanging from the corner of the porch, and so help me, they are acting like the hummingbirds.
What fun! – for me, at least.

July 29, 2011 Posted by | Conversations with my GRANDdaughter | Leave a comment

My first true love….

Conversations with my GRANDDaughter, part 22…
Oh, my – let’s see….well, I did have a first love. First, before granddad. His name was Richard Lions, and we called him Rich. For many years, even after I was married, I waited and wanted to hear from Rich. Never have.
You will understand later.
Rich was kin to George. Remember her from an earlier post? My best friend in high school? If she wanted to date someone, she had to have me along for a double date and no one asked me. I knew plenty of boys – but we just were friends; and they dated other girls that were not especially in our clique.
Rich was in the Navy, so he was older than my 16, going on 17; but made a good bowling partner and loved hamburgers, too. Mom and dad had him over for meals and such and he even went to church with us a couple of times.
My requirement, remember, was to make sure I was dating a Christian because it made sense that I would fall in love with someone I dated and mustn’t get too attached. He was a Unitarian. (I dreaded typing that word, even now.) I had to ask my mom what that was. She was fairly sure, but did some research. Now, we have the internet and will past a short definition here:
Unitarianism is a Christian theological movement, named for its understanding of God as one person, namely God the Father, existing separate from Jesus, in direct contrast to Trinitarianism which defines God as three persons coexisting consubstantially as one in being.[1] It is also known for the rejection of several orthodox doctrines besides the Trinity,[2] including the soteriological doctrines of original sin and predestination,[3][4] and biblical inerrancy.[5]
This is a fair definition according to my mom’s research, but she asked Rich what he believed about Jesus. He said, “He was just a good man and philosopher – not Divine.”
I’m sad, even now…..
I had not known that by this time, Rich liked me a lot – whole lot and wanted to be in my “religion” so that we could date. Mom and dad let him go to church with us a couple of times. Then, his leave from the Navy was over and he left.
The next time he was home he brought me a couple of letters – one he had written to his mom, after his last visit here and to church with us, and one from his mother to him. He had written to his mom that when our church sang that last song as an “invitation” that he had to tightly hold onto the bench in front of him so as not to go down the isle and give himself “to the Lord.” He had considered that he had heard the truth and wanted to know what his mom would say.
Oh, Sarah, be thankful, very thankful, for your mom – and grandmom. We know the Truth and teach you the Truth. Rich’s mom told him that it was just his emotions and that he should make no decisions based on emotions. She said much more, of course.
Rich sat down with my parents and explained both letters. Mom liked everything about Rich. He was kind, treated me and them with respect. We all cried as my mom witnessed to the facts that Jesus died for his sins – that He was God’s only begotten Son, whom knew no sin. And, then left Rich to make a decision.
He chose to believe his mom.
His train left to take him back to base – right down there at the Chattanooga Choo Choo. You have walked on the very tracks. We sat on a wooden bench waiting for the conductor to announce “all aboard.” We both cried. We would not be seeing each other again. We didn’t.
He did kiss me goodbye as we sat waiting for that lonesome whistle signaling his departure. I begged him to write me, find me somehow, when he became a Christian. He promised.
Now you know what it is sad that I, nor my parents, ever heard from him. He, too, sent me flowers and chocolates when I arrived at Carson-Newman for my freshman year.

July 28, 2011 Posted by | Conversations with my GRANDdaughter | Leave a comment

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