Nothing will make you feel old faster than sharing a childhood memory and have a teenager or child laugh thinking your joking because it seems impossible to them someone lived so long ago. Yet, considering how quickly technology has changed and is continuing to change, is it so surprising? Advancements that used to take decades or centuries are happening in just years, months, or even weeks these days as technologies compound exponentially.
Think about it. In your lifetime, what changes have you witnessed?
Today's blast from the past is another look at an old blog post from Christian Women Today.
***** ***** ***** ***** *****
I found this floating around out there in the internet, and although I didn’t write it or know who did, I still think it’s a worthwhile thing to share. There’s a lot of conflicting ideas today about parenting and what makes a good parent. “Mean Moms and Dads” makes a good point with a tongue in cheek type humor.
Mean Moms and Dads
Someday when my children are old enough to understand the logic that motivates a parent, I will tell them, as my Mean Mom and Dad told me: I loved you enough
. . . to ask where you were going, with whom, and what time you would be home.
I loved you enough to be silent and let you discover that your new best friend was a creep.
I loved you enough to stand over you for two hours while you cleaned your room, a job that should have taken 15 minutes.
I loved you enough to let you see anger, disappointment, and tears in my eyes. Children must learn that their parents aren't perfect.
I loved you enough to let you assume the responsibility for your actions even when the penalties were so harsh they almost broke my heart.
But most of all, I loved you enough . . . to say NO when I knew you would hate me for it.
Those were the most difficult battles of all. I'm glad I won them because in the end you won too. And someday when your children are old enough to understand the logic that motivates parents, you will tell them.
Was your Mom and Dad mean? I know mine were. We had the meanest parents in the whole world! While other kids ate candy for breakfast, we had to have cereal, eggs, and toast.
When others had a Pepsi and a Twinkie for lunch, we had to eat sandwiches.
And you can guess our parents fixed us a dinner that was different from what other kids had too.
They insisted on knowing where we were at all times. You'd think we were convicts in a prison. They had to know who our friends were, and what we were doing with them.
They insisted that if we said we would be gone for an hour we would be gone for an hour or less.
We were ashamed to admit it, but they had the nerve to break the Child Labor Laws by making us work. We had to wash the dishes, make the beds, learn to cook, vacuum the floor, do laundry, empty the trash, and all sorts of cruel jobs. I think they would lie awake at night thinking of more things for us to do.
They always insisted on us telling the truth, the whole truth, and nothing but the truth. By the time we were teenagers, they could read our minds and had eyes in the back of her head. Then, life was really tough!
They wouldn't let our friends (or dates) just honk the horn when they drove up. They had to come up to the door so she could meet them. While everyone else could date when they were 12 or 13, we had to wait until we were 16.
Because of our parents we missed out on lots of things other kids experienced. None of us have ever been caught shoplifting, vandalizing other's property, or ever arrested for any crime. It was all their fault.
Now that we have left home, we are all educated, honest adults. We are doing our best to be mean parents just like they were.
I think that is what's wrong with the world today. It just doesn't have enough mean parents!
I don’t know about you, but it drives me crazy when I hear people say it’s detrimental to a child to tell them no now and again. Or, showing them their actions have consequences damages their self-esteem. And, it’s bordering on child abuse to ask your children to – help out – with the household chores, teaching them how to do those simple and necessary tasks such as cooking, laundry, scrubbing a bathroom, et all along the way. (Note the help out part. That doesn’t mean turn all the chores over to the kids and sit around on the couch. Practice what you preach.) Here’s the kicker. It’s infringing on their privacy to ask them where they’re going, what they’ll be doing, who they’ll be doing stuff with, and when they’ll be back.
Excuse me? Since when did making sure your child stays out of harms way, learns how to follow society’s rules and laws, learn to take care of themselves, and protecting them from themselves become the benchmark of bad parenting?
Isn’t the general idea of parenting to ensure your child grows up to be a healthy, fully functioning adult? How healthy is someone going to be if they don’t know how to clean up after themselves and have to rely on TV dinners and take out for their meals? How functional is a person going to be if they never learned to respect authority? Forget making it through high school or college, that’s easy compared to trying to hold down a job when you want to do what you want to do when you want to do it. Jobs require taking direction, a willingness to work, and respect for your boss’ authority. Just try showing up to your workplace, doing nothing, and holding your hand out for your paycheck and see where that lands you.
Do you think the protecting them from themselves line is over the top? Alright, think about some of the grand ideas you and your friends came up with when you were teenagers. How many of them seem incredibly stupid now? How many of them were dangerous in the extreme? But, they didn’t seem stupid or dangerous at the time, did they?
Adolescence is a confusing time as it is, and one factor of human development only compounds the problem. A teen’s body is adult, but their mind is still developing. The centers controlling cognitive reasoning don’t finish developing until the mid to late twenties. Teens see their adult body and believe they’re adults. They may think they’ve thought something through, but their thought process generally stops about three or four steps short. They’re invincible; why should they worry about what drinking, smoking, or doing drugs would do to their bodies? Why should they worry about having unprotected sex? Getting STDs, becoming pregnant, and placing themselves in danger of the judgment rarely enters the thought process in the heat of the moment. And what could possibly go wrong with jumping on top of a moving vehicle? It’s done in the movies all the time.
Children are a gift and a responsibility. Is it a child’s fault if they’re never taught how to behave and/or take care of themselves? No, it’s ours for not having the guts to stop them from doing things that can hurt them and/or are just plain wrong. It’s our fault for being too lazy to take the time to teach them. It’s so easy to do everything for them, but what do they gain from having everything handed to them?
There’s so much being said today about just loving your children more and not disciplining. I just don’t understand this. Doesn’t the Bible say a parent who loves their child will chastise them, but a parent who hates their child will do nothing? I’m not telling you to beat your child. Everything can be taken to the extreme, and that’s never a good thing. But, it’s not going to do them any harm to tell them no and stick with it. It won’t scar them to have boundaries and clear consequences for crossing them. In fact, children long for limits. They want to know what’s right and what’s wrong. Not knowing is frightening, and they’ll act out in an attempt to force you to put boundaries up.
It’s time the world had a few more “mean” parents and a few less “parental friends.”
Today's blast from the past is something I originally wrote for Hubby not long after we were engaged, included in Right of Succession with his permission, and we had framed for the middle of the photo table at our wedding reception.
A Bride's Prayer
Heavenly Father, Praise be to you who carved the cosmos from oblivion with a word. To you be the glory who gave us life and hope of pardon. Thanks be to you for sending my beloved to me. He whom I lean upon, and who leans upon me in return. He who challenges. He who brings joy. He who compliments my soul. Lead me not from him, I pray, but help me to strengthen, help me to comfort, help me to maintain the love that binds our hearts. Amen.
This week's blast from the past is a photo that's brought lots of giggles to our family the past two years. Here's Boo Bear at five months, being her happy self. The caption was added later that morning and sent out to coworkers.
Today's blast from the past is a continuation of last week's. This is the second part of that first series.
Considering Dr. John Dunn - Part 2
I’ll admit, I was thinking of another poet when I spoke of the poems John Dunn wrote during a crisis of faith. Dunn did have points where his faith was tested, as do we all, but his were not the specific works I had in mind. I’m sure I’ll search through the dozen or so literature anthologies I kept from college literature courses and come back to those short pieces some other time.
For now, let’s take a look at another of Dunn’s Holy Sonnets, the first one to be specific.
Thou hast made me, and shall thy work decay?
Repair me now, for now mine end doth haste;
I run to death, and death meets me as fast,
And all my pleasures are like yesterday.
I dare not move my dim eyes any way,
Despair behind, and death before doth cast
Such terror, and my feeble flesh doth waste
By sin in it, which it towards hell doth weigh,
Only thou art above, and when towards thee
By thy leave I can look, I rise again;
But our old subtle foe so tempteth me
That not one hour myself I can sustain.
Thy grace may wing me to prevent his art,
And thou like adamant draw mine iron heart.
Just a side note: adamant is a magnetic loadstone. (Definition provided by The Norton Anthology of English Literature, Volume 1B, Seventeenth Edition, Page 1268.)
Here, Dunn’s work is reminiscent of many of David’s psalms where he cries out to God in the despair of his grief over the sins he committed and ends with the hope God will forgive. However, Dunn is more general, lamenting his sinful nature as a human and the struggles he has because of its presence. But, he concludes by reaffirming God’s ability, and promise, to help us in times of temptation.
There are times when we become bogged down by sin and temptation. Satan comes at us in many ways and many forms. Sometimes he’s blatant. We’ve all seen the filth pumped into advertising and entertainment media. Most of us have had a friend or acquaintance ask or downright pressure us to do or join them in something sinful. Sometimes he’s subtle. How many have fallen or turned away because of nagging doubts or prolonged depression?
True, we should always be a studious and prayerful people, but it’s in those times when the weight of temptation and the guilt of sin become too much to bear when we need to lean on God’s strength the most. The way is so simple; it’s all laid out clearly in the Bible if we’ll only take the time to study. But, it’s not always so easy to travel that narrow road. What a blessing it is to know we have the perfect road map in the Bible, and OnStar service twenty-four hours a day, seven days a week, through prayer!
Today's blast from the past is an old post from my first attempt at serious blogging. Christian Women Today has long been defunct, and was deleted completely a year or so back. I learned a lot with the blog, but I didn't have the time to devote to it back then.
Considering Dr. John Dunn - Part 1
I’d like to take a look at one of the works of John Dunn this morning.
No, I have no intention of placing a bawdy or racy poem in this blog. I know Dr. Dunn is remembered mostly for his rowdy youth and the love poetry he composed. Most of us forget the man earned his living as a preacher and is just as well known in the literary community for his Holy Sonnets as any of his other compositions. I suppose it’s likely because we’re introduced to Dunn in adolescence, when our thoughts tend to mirror his earlier work more than the “boring” sonnets about God, and death, and Heaven.
Let’s take a look at one of the Holy Sonnets this morning, number 10, to be exact.
Death, be not proud, though some have called thee
Mighty and dreadful, for thou art not so;
For those whom thou think’st thou dost overthrow
Die not, poor Death, nor yet canst thou kill me. From rest and sleep, which but thy picture be,
Much pleasure; then from thee much more must flow,
And soonest our best men with thee do go,
Rest of their bones, and soul’s delivery. Thou art slave to fate, chance, kings, and desperate men,
And dost with poison, war, and sickness dwell,
And poppy or charms can make us sleep as well
And better than thy stroke; why swell’st thou then? One short sleep past, we wake eternally
And death shall be no more; Death, thou shalt die.
Obviously this particular sonnet was written during one of Dunn’s high points, where he was confident in his faith. What a blessing it is to know there is something beyond the present, beyond death!
I’d like to take a look at another of Dunn’s religious poems on Tuesday. It’s not that Dunn is my favorite poet; he most definitely isn’t. However, I think a few of the ones written during a “crisis of faith” have a few things to teach us. And, I’m sure, like Dr. Dunn, we all have a few of them in our lives from which to learn and latter draw strength.
The two posts on Dunn were my first attempt at a series, and as such I was very proud of it. They were a little stiff perhaps, but being only two years out of college, I was still stuck in a very academic writing style.
Here's another early publication for you. The first version was actually written for an English assignment my senior year in high school.
We were asked to write the story of a literary character's life from their point-of-view after their death. I'm a huge fan of the Arthurian legends, so I chose Merlin. The essay is based off Jane Yolen's Young Merlin Trilogy and T. A. Barron's Lost Years of Merlin series plus bits of my own research. I highly recommend both series.
Like "A Day in the Mind of a Child," this essay was published in Calhoun Community College's Muse in 2000 as well as Athens State University's Gyre in 2002. Proper accreditation to the works from which it was derived has been provided with each publication.
The Eternal Outcast: A Meditation of Merlin
It has been said our sight is clearest looking back. Only in doing so have I truly understood my life. I was doomed from birth to wander the land, an eternal outcast. Even in death, I am alone, buried in a solitary oak deep within the heart of a forgotten forest.
I remember little of the early years. Yet, I can still feel the ancient, inborn pain my race is cursed to bear. I remember the flames and a great darkness that ruled my days until sight returned. It was not that vision which proceeds from the organs of our eyes, but a deeper sight which allows one to view the heart of things. And then, I remember the woman who called herself my mother fading away from a wasting disease when I was barely eleven years of age.
I began to roam after her death, drawn by some unknown force toward the land of my ancestors. Even there, I was cast out. They all knew the story of my birth, hated me for the sin of being born of a human woman. I was the forbidden child.
I left their shores to wander aimlessly through foreign lands. The doors of every village closed to me. They sensed my heritage. It was not difficult. I hardly looked like them with my thin, sharp featured face and overdeveloped shoulders. Whispers of an elven-born child circulated through the town like an ill wind. I could bear their hatred. Unlike my people’s, it was born, not of pride but of fear. Yet, childish terror pushed me, once again, into the solitude of the forest.
I remained there for I know not how many years until I was found by a hawker who had been out about his hunting rounds. His words were strange to me, and I feared him. But, despite my differences from his own family, he took me in. Only such a man could have tamed me then, after having run wild for so long. His patience and kindness calmed my terror and returned my mind.
He adopted me as a son and began to train me in his trade. In doing so, he returned my rightful name. I was then and always will be a hawk, a hobby, a Merlin, not of man’s world and yet not free of it.
I grew to love the man and his family. Never before had I felt so accepted. Even when I had lived with my mother, I felt as isolated from her as we were from the world.
Still, I was helpless to save them. I woke near midnight choking from the smoke of my dreams and ran into the cool of the night. It was then the cottage exploded into flame, I know not why. Held back by the old fear of fire, I could only watch as the flames consumed them. Tears streamed down my face as I listened to their screams echoing through the night, and yet I was still unable to move one step toward the burning home. Even those with the second sight cannot always change the future.
Once again, I was alone, walking the town roads. My rambles led me to a castle being constructed for the third time. Too late, I remembered my dreams. It was to be the stronghold of King Vortigern’s domain. I was compelled to tell what I had seen. He marveled at my revelation of hidden water lying far beneath the earth. My service was repaid with swords and the teeth of dogs driving me yet again deep into the forest.
It was there I found others, outcasts like me. Even among the outcasts I was an outcast. They feared my powers only enough to covet them. They drugged me, tortured me, anything to make me tell the future. The poor fools never knew all they need have done was ask. I could not lie to them, nor could I remain silent if asked. Something inside me would not allow such things to lie in secret.
Despite the cruelty they showed me, I still hold a debt of gratitude toward them. They cared for the boy. The fearless child I was destined to guide to greatness. We were the only ones to escape Vortigern’s massacre. He killed them all for the crime of living, simply living.
I became the child’s guardian though I barely seemed his senior. I know now I must have been centuries old, yet I still bore the appearance of a youth. I named the child Arthur and reared him as if he were my own son. He never feared my powers nor questioned them. They simply were. He alone loved me. He trusted me to the end, though he did not always heed my advice.
I began to age as I ventured away from the forest. Another century passed, and still I would not die though I wished it greatly after Arthur’s death. I took an apprentice. She was a beautiful young woman and eager to learn. I taught her all I could.
She took pity on me, a rambling old man who had lived, oh too long. She urged me to teach her one last skill. I cast the spell, knowing no human woman could do the same. In doing so, I entombed myself in the oak. I had been so blind. None can destroy an immortal child but another.
So, here I have stood for a thousand years. I am neither dead nor truly living, watching the forest catch fire.
Here's one of the first things I ever published. It took third place in the Alabama Penman, county level, 1998, and it was published in Calhoun Community College's literary journal, The Muse, in 2000.
I'm feeling thankful this morning, so I thought I'd share the one and only song I've ever managed to write.
If you like gospel, jump in the ol' way back machine here and take a look at "Oh, What a Grace," a song written so long ago, I hadn't even met Hubby yet.
Many thanks go out to Mr. R. J. Stevens for composing the music.
As far as I know, the song hasn't been published in any songbooks, but it has been spread from hand to hand throughout several congregations here in the Tennessee Valley.
Yeish, it's been forever since I've posted! Twenty-one weeks actually, but I've only just now regained enough time to notice.
I sadly don't have time for an in depth post on a new topic, so I've decided to bring you our first blast from the past post. Below is an excerpt from Succession, accepted by The Writer's Hood Science Fiction page, but never run due to the magazine's founder abandoning it the month it was due to run.
True Nightmares
Brihanni absently looked out the window as their enclosed sled topped the hill and picked up speed. The driving snow blotted out all else.
Where were they? Ralic's men should have appeared before now. She didn't know if the men could even find their small group in this storm. Had she lied to Kalie, pushing her to visit her "dying" mother, for nothing? She felt a pang of guilt as she glanced over at her friend, sitting with her feet jammed against the foot board to steady herself.
A commotion exploded outside, and the sled skidded to a halt. Brihanni looked across at Princess Kalie. Curious as always, the other woman leaned forward to peer out the window. Seeing her opportunity, Brihanni pulled the dagger secreted in her pocket free of its sheath.
"Whats this?" Kalie asked as Brihanni snaked her arm about the princess' neck and laid the bare blade against her skin.
"I'm sorry, Madam," Brihanni whispered in Kalie's ear, gripping the woman's arm as tightly as she could. "But, if you move I will slit your throat."
"Why, Bri? I thought you were my friend."
"I am, but I'm an ambitious woman. If you hadn't taught me how to hide things from that boy of yours, you'd know that by now."
Outside, Borcon's voice erupted in a primal roar. The cold slowed and weakened the dragons, but it wouldn't be enough to prevent Ralic's men from being slaughtered. It was time to give him a reason to still.
"Out," Brihanni ordered, keeping hold of Kalie as she opened the door and exited, gingerly feeling along the blind decent. "Call to him. Now!" She pressed the dagger's point to Kalie's jaw.
"Borcon!" Kalie screamed, setting Brihanni's ears to ringing and drawing the Yekaran's attention immediately.
"Surrender to us now, Borcon," Brihanni yelled, "or I'll kill her."
The dragon snarled, literally fuming but unable to produce flame this late in the winter. He roared again, louder than she'd ever heard any dragon bellow before, but he attacked no more of the strange soldiers. Where they wearing fur over their armor?
"It's nothing personal, Kalie," Brihanni whispered. "You're in my way. If you behave and do exactly as you're told, you'll be free again once I'm on my own road."
* * *
After what seemed like hours, the company reached the shelter of Tembar Proper. She'd be with her beloved Ralic soon, but not before she retrieved some warm, dry clothes. Borcon would attack again if he thought there was even the slightest chance to save his friend, so Brihanni rode beside the sled driver and pressed the dagger to Kalie's throat the whole way. She was soaked and freezing after sitting in the full force of the storm, but it would all be worth it to be queen.
Once they were inside the gates, the sled came an abrupt halt and a man in what appeared to be an odd-looking suit of armor modeled after a large bird sprang from the interior. He grabbed Kalie's slender wrist, wrenched her from the carriage, and held her close at his side. The soldier thrust his hand at Brihanni, and guessing his desire, she gave him the dagger. He laid the blade above Kalie's jugular and turned away without a sound.
Brihanni climbed down from the carriage and stood well away from the soldiers, but remained in the courtyard. She'd agreed to deliver Borcon to Ralic, and she wanted to see him chained and secured with her own eyes. The large, ebony Yekaran entered the courtyard, glaring at the man threatening Kalie, but complied in silence. He lay prostrated while the soldiers bound him with heavy chains and locked them into huge rings bolted into the ground. His silver eyes never left Kalie.
Brihanni watched the other woman; sorry building her future required her to betray her friend. The princess stood unmoving in the bird man's arms. Strands of long, blond hair escaped from her hood and blew in the wind. Brihanni could see Kalie was panting as the cold produced tiny, rapid bursts of fog before her. Brihanni could tell she was terrified even though her features were schooled into a mask of calm reserve. Why nobles always thought they had to hide their emotions was beyond her.
The last chain was secured, insuring Borcon was paralyzed from muzzle to tail, and one of the soldiers alerted the bird man. He nodded in acknowledgment as Borcon watched. In a flash, bright even in the blinding snow, the bird man raked the dagger across Kalie's throat.
The pure, white snow grew scarlet. Borcon's insane howls drowned out any other sound as Kalie's body fell to the ground in lifeless slow motion, and her dead eyes glared.
You didn’t really think the wife of a teacher would forget her Teacher Appreciation Week post, did you?
Teachers, no matter the schooling system or method, do so much for the children of our society, and in the hustle and bustle of everyday life it can be easy to forget how hard they work.There’s even a tendency among the more jaded of us to think they do it only for the “short” hours and long vacations or to subscribe to the old, “Those who can do, do; those who can’t do, teach,” adage.
In my experience neither is true.Some may very well go into teaching thinking the hours are 7:30 to 3 and those long vacations can be spent lounging around doing nothing, but they usually don’t stay in the profession for long once they discover this simply isn’t the case.Plus, there are many teachers who can “do” with the best of them, but they love sharing their knowledge with others.There’s a feeling of accomplishment upon helping a child understand a concept for the first time you can’t match doing anything else, and it’s compounded for those who stay in the profession long enough for a student to return for a visit after graduation, sometimes bringing their children with them, just to say hello.I remember seeing the look on some of my high school teacher’s faces when such visits occurred, and I can only describe it as a mixture of humility, thankfulness, joy, and awe.
So here’s my small gift to you teachers out there.Below is a short poem written and published way back when I was still a Roper.It is written from the perspective of an early elementary teacher since I’d only taught Sunday School for children kindergarten age and younger, but I’ve found the sentiment is largely the same no matter the age of the student.I hope you enjoy.
Little Eyes
Little eyes that watch me,
little mouths that say what I say,
remind daily of the awesome responsibility
placed in my hands.
To tell them the things I know,
to guide them on their way,
to watch them learn and grow,
my actions become their play.
Little voices that say, "Thank you,"
innocent, giggling smiles,
an earnest wave in passing,
these are a teacher's joys.
* Picture is of Hubby reading to Boo a little over a year ago.
