Here is a story about a young man who is willing to listen to an old lady tell her story of the Holocaust. She is an actual survivor of that horror. We MUST remember what happened and as the young man says make sure we never do it again! Listen as Steve Hartman shares a great story…..
By Ann Farabee
Rest? That short four letter word sure can be elusive.
My favorite definition of rest is to cease work or movement in order to relax, refresh oneself, or to recover strength. Most any definition that includes the words relax, refresh, and recover is a word I want to include in my vocabulary and in my life. Rest is significant in the Bible as it is found over 250 times.
Many of my readers are aware that there are four of us living in our home – two almost adult grandsons, my husband, and me. At any given moment in any given day, there is the likelihood that there would be others in our home, as well. I wouldn’t want it to be any other way. People hanging out together from a barely walking infant to a barely walking 70-ish year old. That was a joke – Charles exercises every day. We have bonus family, too, who are the students I tutor in my home.
What a great life! Family is around often, and I also still get to be around my students, even though I am retired.
No matter how hard I work every day, if I am at home, I am at rest.
I do not count work done at home as being work.
Being home feels like being at rest – in spite of the work that has to be done.
It is home because it is the place I am most comfortable.
There are a couple of chairs in my home that I think each person understands are my chairs..
There is a blanket that is taken from room to room, but only belongs to me.
No one would even think about using my pillow. One year I decided that I was going to buy myself a really good pillow, and I have had no regrets, and I dare say that no one else has ever laid their head on it.
Even though I share my home with family, there are some things that belong just to me.
That pillow. That footrest. Those bedroom shoes. The flannels. The chair. My place at the table. Even if a storm cloud is hanging over my life, if I am in one of my spots, I am at peace.
Because – I am at home.
I can cuddle up beside anyone who lives there.
I can be myself in every way.
I can be at rest – even when I am busy.
Maybe that is why Dorothy tapped her heels together 3 times and dreamed of home as she said, “There is no place like home.”
But – the rest we can attain at home – is in no way comparable with the rest we can attain in God’s Presence.
One recent Sunday afternoon, I laid down for a minute. Yes, just for a minute.
I knew it was too late to take a nap, so I was just going to rest. No one else was around, but when I closed my eyes, I felt a mighty wind enter the room. It was rest of a different kind – it was the kind of rest that only the Holy Spirit can send our way. With my eyes closed, Jesus came to my mind, and I began to focus only on Him.The wind blew – not the wind outside my window – but the wind in my soul. How can it be a mighty rushing wind and it come in like a soft whisper to my soul? I was at rest in the presence of God. I never went to sleep, but my mind, body, and spirit was at rest. My focus was only on the presence of the Holy Spirit living within me – speaking tenderly to my heart in that quiet moment of the peace of God within me.
Quiet moments? We sure do need them.
Matthew 11:28 says this:
Come unto me, all you who are weary and burdened. I will give you rest.
Ready? Set? Rest.
By Ashlie Miller
Like many NC walkers in the summer, I try to get my steps in early – and it seems that “early” gets earlier each day with the increased humidity. Inevitably, I stop in my tracks at least a few times a week because something, usually minuscule, is stuck in my socks. There is probably a seed of some sort that I have not yet recognized, but without fail, there it is, poking through my sock onto my ankle. It is not quite the “thorn in the flesh” that the apostle Paul describes, yet it does leave me pondering.
Naturally, I pause to remove this tiny sliver and carry on so that I may enjoy—or, lately, endure—my walk. Although I almost anticipate this regular occurrence, I often attempt to press on, assuring myself that I can get accustomed to it. Perhaps I could, but I am certain that allowing it to remain will, at best, mess with my thoughts as I try to have a peaceful walk or, at worst, actually cause a scratch that I would later have to tend to.
I notice that I am prone to pick up and carry other things with me unnecessarily on my journey – worries, concerns, and anxieties. I am not always as prompt in removing them from my focus or redirecting my gaze. They begin to wear at my spirit and emotions from time to time. They can even wear on my mind, causing me to make irrational judgments or decisions if I am not careful. Does that ever happen to you? What little things seek to take over your focus, emotions, or spiritual direction? Are you pressing on, assuming you will get accustomed to these nagging worries?
Just like this little sliver slips into my socks on my walks, so do cares and worries creep into my thoughts even while listening to uplifting music and looking at the flowers that adorn my walk. The physical irritation has become a prompt for me to cast my cares on Jesus daily.
I have been reading Psalms this summer with some of my neighbors. There are several songs of ascent, which were often shared while pilgrims traveled up to Jerusalem. So many times, these Psalms point us to look up and redirect our gaze despite the obstacles along our path. On my walks, with this sliver in my shoe, with Psalms echoing into my heart both as I ponder readings and listen to Psalms set to music, I am given regular opportunities to look up to heaven and cast my cares and worries to the One who perfectly made me and perfectly cares. He can hold these for me, mold them, and remake them into trust and peace.
Have you been on any walks lately? How is the journey going? What slivers might affect your pace or focus?
Ashlie Miller walks her nearby neighborhoods in Concord, NC, usually by herself, but sometimes accompanied by her husband or one of their five children.
By Doug Creamer
Time Flies
Why does time move so quickly when we are on vacation? I just had a little time off from work and it seems like it went by so quickly. We stayed busy most of the time. Time doesn’t fly by like that at work, but it sure moves quickly when you get some time off.
A chunk of the time was devoted to traveling to visit family. It is always nice to catch up with family and to enjoy some good food. I spent one glorious afternoon sitting on the beach with my sister, who lives just a couple of blocks from the water. We shared about our busy lives. We laughed about all kinds of things. We couldn’t have asked for a nicer day on the beach.
There is so much that has to be done before we travel and then there is always much to do when we get home. That time flies by so quickly. I also scheduled a couple of doctor appointments while I was off…more time evaporated. I could have scheduled those doctor appointments for another time, but that makes work weeks feel so busy.
The Fourth of July fell during my time off. That was a great day that went by too quickly. My family gathered at my brother’s house for our annual feast. There were burgers and dogs along with all the traditional trimmings. The best parts were enjoying a meal with my brother and sister, spending some time with my parents, and cheering for the fireworks.
I stayed behind to help my brother clean things up. When everyone was gone I asked my brother if he wanted to shoot a game of pool. My brother is competitive and very good at pool. I mainly enjoy the time we get to spend together. Basically, my brother always beats me unless I hit a particularly hot streak. I lost the first game. He accidently hit the eight ball in on the second game, so I won. Then fate pulled a fickle trick on my brother and allowed me to win. I was up two games to one. I quit while I was ahead. I am not sure if that is a rare event or if it ever happened before, but I can assure you that I will not let my brother forget it.
I am really glad that I got to spend some quality time with my family on both sides. I realize that we are all getting older and that time truly does move quickly. Maybe it is not just vacation time that moves so fast but it’s time in general. I think we have a choice in the midst of time’s movement. We can choose to enjoy and connect with others and learn to treasure the time, or we can let it slip through our fingers and miss the memories.
My Dad pointed out that my beard is mostly white. I told him that I am getting older. My brother and I talked for a little while about some decisions we were making and he said he appreciated my wisdom. The passage of time does afford us some wisdom and perspective if we will glean it along the way. We have to choose to learn the lessons of life as time moves along. Age is no guarantee of wisdom; we have to acquire the lessons.
It is hard for me to understand that time does not exist in heaven. God saw my birth before it happened and He has seen my ending. He has an eternal perspective that is not restricted by time. When we pray about something and it seems like God is not answering, it only seems that way to us because we are living in time. He has answered our prayers and has worked everything out…we just have to wait to see the results.
Whatever situation you are facing right now that seems to have escaped God’s attention… let me encourage you that God knows every detail of what is on your heart. It’s on His heart too! He has already acted on your situation. He sees it as done, fixed, and complete. He sees you on the other side. He sees you as overcoming. He has already answered your prayers. I know you can’t see it yet…but the key word is YET. Trust Him. Believe in Him. We live with time and yes, I do believe it flies until we are waiting for an answer from Him. Fear not! Your Father loves you and He will come through for you. It just takes a little more time.
Contact Doug Creamer at PO Box 777, Faith, NC 28041or doug@dougcreamer.com
By Roger Barbee
In April of 1963 as Dr. Martin Luther King, Jr. languished in the Birmingham jail, eight local clergymen published a letter in local newspapers in which they denounced Dr. King as “an outside agitator”, and they ended their appeal with these words: “We further strongly urge our own Negro community to withdraw support from these demonstrations, and to unite locally in working peacefully for a better Birmingham. When rights are consistently denied, a cause should be pressed in the courts and in negotiations among local leaders, and not in the streets. We appeal to both our white and Negro citizenry to observe the principles of law and order and common sense.” Their advertisement prompted Dr. King to pen his “Letter from the Birmingham Jail” in which he explained why waiting for racial justice any longer was not an option.
In 2006 and ’07, Joe Bageant, a resident of Winchester, wrote Deer Hunting with Jesus. Several years ago when a good friend loaned me his copy, he said, “If you want to understand many people of the Shenandoah Valley, read this book.” I did, and I have just finished my second reading of this fine examination of class in America.
Bageant, who is deceased, returned to his native Winchester, Virginia in 1999 after a thirty-year absence. He moved to the North End where he had grown up, and he found it as it was in his youth–”the most hard-core of the town’s working-class neighborhoods, where you are more likely to find the $20,000-a-year laborer and the $14,000-a-year fast-food worker.” He continues, “It didn’t take too many visits to the old neighborhood tavern or to the shabby church I attended as a child to discover that here in this neighborhood in the richest nation on earth folks are having a hard go of it. And it is getting harder.” With that, he began listening to what he referred to as “my people”, and they trusted him to tell their stories with empathy, not pity, and brutally honesty as when he writes, “…my people are a little seedier than most;…” He quickly sees that the preferred avenues of escape for his people are alcohol, Jesus, or overeating.
Writing before “the crash” of 2008, Bageant sends a warning as he writes about American Serfs, Republicans by Default, The Deep-Fried, Double-Wide -Lifestyle, and more. He goes to the guts of the working class of the North End where two in five of residents have no high school diploma. He writes of his childhood friend who carries seven credit cards in order to “build up my credit” so that he can buy a double-wide trailer that will decrease in value before he parks it on a rented lot. He writes of “Dottie”, his favorite karaoke singer who lives in Romney, West Virginia. Disabled, Dot lives on her Social Security Disability Insurance, uses an oxygen tank and wheelchair, and is forceful in the way she deals with her doctors. She tells Bageant, “I learned that damned towel-head doctor of mine has only four years of college someplace in South America.” Bageant goes on to explain, “No doubt you [the reader] are wincing at the racist term towelhead. But people do talk that way, and if we use it as an excuse not to listen, we rule out listening to half of America.”
For me, those words about Dot’s vocabulary are the message of Deer Hunting with Jesus, which is sub-titled, Dispatches from America’s Class Wars. He is telling us, long before Trump and his evil appeared, that there is an entire class of people who are poorly educated, poorly prepared with soft skills, have poor health, possess no or little health insurance, and have children which will continue the cycle of their lives. Bageant pulls no punches in faulting political leaders locally and nationally, mortgage companies, our health care system, and others for the condition of “my people.” But, most of all he blames their poor education for their plight. Having escaped the North End, he attended college, fought in Vietnam, traveled, and wrote before returning home. He knows the value of education and knows that a good one will give “his people” a door to walk through.
But Bageant could have been writing of the eight clergymen of Birmingham that I quoted above. We still have people like them who want to proceed slowly in any cause, especially in the area of racial equality. We still have subtle and overt racist. We still have Dots. Right here among us we have extremes, and it seems to me that we must find a way to hear what is being said from those extremes.
Bageant sees the lack of education as the biggest obstacle for “his people.” But, the clergymen from 1963, by their plea, show a lack of education concerning what Dr. King was trying to achieve. If they had had a better education concerning the plight of blacks in the Jim Crow South, they would not have written their pathetic letter. If they had had an education on this topic, they would have developed understanding and empathy. Yet they, like Dot, are voices that need to be heard because they tell us what we need to change. We cannot use their language as an excuse to not listen to them.
On the surface we are an educated society. We have degrees. Yet, too often we refuse to educate ourselves regarding topics or issues we find uncomfortable. I often think of Robert Kennedy who in May, 1963 asked James Baldwin to organize a meeting at his New York City apartment with black and white activists. The meeting lasted about two hours as the invited guests attempted to explain to Kennedy the plight of blacks and other disenfranchised people. The meeting did not go well, but Kennedy must have heard some things because he soon became a champion for all disenfranchised Americans. He got himself an education concerning racial inequalities in America, and he began working for change. But he first had to sit in that meeting, hearing words that undoubtedly made him uncomfortable.
Like Kennedy, we must listen to each other—the plodders, activists, the uneducated, the educated-all must be heard. In doing so we will work to create a country of purple by blending our red and blue. If we refuse to, we will have a divided house and lose it all.
By David Freeze
National Parks began with Yellowstone in 1872, championed by congress and Presidents Ulysses S. Grant and Theodore Roosevelt among others. In 1921, a group of preservationists and conservationists met in Iowa to begin developing additional parks at the state level. By 1925, all 48 states started to develop state parks.
North Carolina, like the other states, identified proposed state parks to preserve and protect unique recreational, historic, cultural and scenic areas. Timbering and mining were already causing significant damage to natural resources. The General Assembly moved quickly to designate Mt. Mitchell as NC’s first state park in 1915, with Fort Macon following in 1924. Many of the state’s most notable lakes came next.
Park development took a giant step forward when President Franklin D. Roosevelt created the Civilian Conservations Corps, a public works program, that helped develop the early state park roads and trails, state natural areas, state historic sites and state rivers. Plans are in place to open the new Pisgah View State Park soon. Currently the NC Division of State Parks and Recreation manages over 250,000 acres and 22 million visitors annually.
I spent a lot of time reading about those state parks this week and I’m excited about visiting them. Most have an active visitor center and walking or hiking trails. I plan to stop at the visitor center and walk or hike at least the most popular trail at each park. Planned timeline is to begin in the mountain state parks and finish it all by the end of 2024. I already have a framed map and will use pins to denote those visited along the way. There is also a state parks system passport available that I will complete with a stamp at each location.
At this writing on Thursday, I just returned from my second spinal injury appointment. It has been four weeks since my first follow-up appointment and six weeks since the accident happened. I have been walking an average of three miles a day for the last 22 days. My back discomfort has been minimal recently.
My spine doctors are at Carolina Neurology and Spine in Concord. On the first appointment, four weeks ago, I parked as far from the building as possible to see if I could walk that far. This time, I parked in the same spot and walked 200 feet normally. Without a wait, the new x-rays were made, and I saw the doctor right away.
I had plenty of questions ready, but I had to wait my turn. The doctor told me that the healing looked good, and he wanted to schedule our next meeting in six weeks, meaning the second week of August. He said all looked good on the x-rays. I asked, “What can I do in the six weeks? Can I do more? And will it be possible for me to run again?” The last being the biggest question.
I
The doctor’s answer to that big question was a good one. He said, “If healing continues and all goes well, we should be able to look at you starting running then.” I was excited and still am, but I know it will be starting from scratch. Maybe I can be an actual beginning runner in my fall class. I sure hope so.
The answers to my other questions were all the same. No, to returning to more normal lifting and farm work, or even arm curls. No, to doing pushups or planks. No, to anything but walking. I can live with that in hopes that running can return. The one concession, not something I expected, was that I don’t have to wear the back brace at home. And he reminded me to consume my protein, calcium and my vitamins.
For the next six weeks, I will gather my patience and look at the big picture and follow directions. Thanks for the prayers and support again, both of which have kept the healing going!
Our next local race will be the Run for the Greenway 5K and fun run at the Knox Middle School site on July 20th. Look for it and a probable August prediction run at www.salisburyrowanrunners.org
By Ed Traut
Psalms 103:2 Praise the Lord, O my soul, and forget not all his benefits–
Prayer: Lord how I clap my hands in great joy thinking of all the things You have done and I have so much only because of Your greatness and mercy to me. Holy Spirit I pray that You will keep me focused on these wonderful things and not the few negative things that the enemy tries to bring to my attention. I praise and bless You and my soul worships You. Amen.
There are all kinds of wild pests that get into our gardens and garbage cans. We had a skunk visit us for a while if you will remember, but this story about saving a racoon just has to be seen to be believed. Listen as Steve Hartman takes us on a racoon adventure… ENJOY!
Lynna Clark
My sister’s name popped up on my new smart phone. Actually it’s a stupid phone but you won’t hear me complain. Or recite the many ways it aggravates me. No, I am not going to mention how the things that used to be easy on my old dumb phone are nearly impossible on my new smart phone. Like adding my friend Edith to my contacts. Poor gal. Now she has to be Edith because I can’t figure out how to edit her name. Annyyywayyy… my sister called. “Happy Anniversary!” she joyfully proclaimed. “Thanks,” I answered. “But it’s tomorrow.”
“Oh… well happy 50th anniversary tomorrow! It’s a big one!” she exclaimed.
“Actually it’s number 49, but thank you,” I answered.
“Oh… well at least I was the first to congratulate you! Hope y’all have a wonderful day… tomorrow.” “Thanks sweet sistuh,” I replied. I didn’t have the heart to tell her one of our daughters had just stopped by with eggs from her prolific chickens and had already congratulated us. Not sure how people remember these things. I’m not even checking Facebook anymore. But somehow they know that felicitations are in order. Surely they don’t still use a paper calendar like I do. In fact I consider it a fun event to transfer all the important dates to my new paper calendar every January. Yep. I’m still that person.
What’s even better is that my hubba remembered our anniversary and gave me the best gift. He painted our bedroom. Sappy sentimental man. The gift is very special to me because I know how difficult it is for him to get down on his knees to trim around the baseboard. He assured me it wasn’t hard at all. “It’s the getting back up that’s hard,” he smiled that sexy smile and my heart melted. Yep. He’s still got it.
On our actual anniversary we REALLY got hot and bothered. He took me to Rufty’s Garden Shop to pick out flowers for around the mailbox. During the last year or so, I’ve been unable to go anywhere because of chronic pain. Well, except for the doctor’s office. But David suggested that a quick trip from our house over to Innes Street probably wouldn’t overtax me too much; especially if I didn’t wear myself out getting ready. So I threw a summer scarf around my lovely housedress. David pulled into the crowded lot and I was happy to spot the perfect heat tolerant plants. He scurried inside to make our purchase while I waited in the car. After he received a hug from the wife of his youth, he turned the key in the ignition. Nothing. Thus the hot and bothered.
Sweat ran down the back of my lovely house dress. Mama warned us girls to never go out in public without getting “done up.” She always added, “That’s when you’ll run into your old boyfriend for sure!” Well praise God I married my old boyfriend and the last thing on his mind at that point was my attire.
The kind folks at Rufty’s took time in their very busy Friday to help. As they, along with David worked in the heat to jump start the battery, I contemplated removing my scarf. But I didn’t because, you know… house dress. Instead I prayed that the Lord would intervene on our behalf so I wouldn’t have to hitch a ride in all my loveliness. At least I had on my good… flip flops. God heard the prayers of a desperate poorly dressed woman. Eventually we were back on the road for the short trip home to the magical land of Clarkville. It’s a wonderful place, hot at times, but always full of adventure. Laced with sweet surprises like fresh eggs. Plus kind people, and blessings heaped upon blessings. Happy half century to us!
Well… you know… 49.
By Rhonda Sassano
So many changes. I feel like my heart will be sad forever. Changes at home in who lives there and who doesn’t 
Changes at work because I’m a newbie and maybe I’m not very skilled at my job yet. But I’m trying and I want so much to do well and be able to make a difference for the clients!
This new job has caused changes in so many things. And I know from experience that a new job means a new schedule and it’ll be tough for about six weeks until things settle down and the new becomes the new “normal.”
But my aching heart! It’s been six weeks times 3 and I’m still not feelin’ this new normal at all!
Holy Spirit, what is really going on here? What am I missing? What do I need to know? I’m generally pretty great with kiddos, but this time… there’s no joy in the relationships. The duty is strong, and loyalty has developed. My patience has grown and I’ve learned new ways of teaching. I’ve discovered a whole genre of methodology that is surprisingly effective, and yet, unfulfilling. Ugh. I’m at the point that I’m wondering if I should bother to continue. I have enough grief in other areas of my life, I don’t need it compounded by grief at work, too.
What am I looking for? What am I expecting?
Fulfillment. Appreciation. Affirmation. Satisfaction. The anticipated by-products of a job well-done. And all of them are strangely missing. Yes. This line of work is definitely not a “good fit” for me after all. But it’s my only option right now, Lord, so I need to find a way to keep going. And keep depression inside the box.
This situation is a clear indicator to me that You have a different plan. And You’ve made me aware of that plan. I want to embrace it with all my efforts, my heart, my mind and my time!
However.
This is one of the few times in my life that my obedience to You is dependent on someone else’s obedience to You. There’s a whole seemingly interminable list of things that “need” to happen before I can step out of this boat. And so, I wait. My life on hold. Stretched taut between points of discomfort, pain, and agony. I don’t want to think about ANY of them. I want You to speak a word and transform them into points of joy and hope and celebration!
Enough. Enough questions and wondering. I don’t want them to bring wandering.
Understanding is an unnecessary component for trusting. And I choose to trust You. I know You are good. You are faithful. You are kind and merciful. I know Who You are. I know Whose i am. I set my focus on You. I purpose my heart to worship You, regardless. Yours is the only calling I need to fulfill. Yours is the only purpose in which I find motivation.
Take courage, my heart. Be steadfast, my soul! He’s in the waiting!
And I will yet praise Him!
“God is not looking for those who can but those who will.”