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Floating Through Summer

During my childhood, a sunny, summer afternoon was often spent in the creek. Perhaps the terminology is a bit unusual for city dwellers, so let me define the word. A creek is bigger than a stream and smaller than a river but can be anywhere between the two in size (often called ‘crik’ by older folks in my little world). So there you go, don’t say you didn’t learn something today.

Anyway, my Daddy and I found ourselves happily packing for our outings nearly every weekend. Our schedule wasn’t full but quite leisurely back in those days, so it was not unusual to find ourselves sitting on the porch swing deciding now was as good a time as any to explore a new waterway. 

Preparing for our adventure wasn’t overly time consuming and certainly not expensive. I would have never expected to pick up fast food on the way or anything of the kind. No, life was simple and we were content with that. Our food usually consisted of Vienna sausages (only learned the correct pronunciation to that one as an adult when it suddenly dawned on me the sausages might have been named after the location). Then we had pork and beans and crackers. A can of coke was an expected treat and always appreciated.  This was all packaged up in a ziplock bag and carried with us on our creek hike. And nothing could have tasted any better than crackers, beans, and sausages.

Then, we got my tube prepared. I used a very basic inner tube, not your fancy pink flamingo my kids have in the pool but the black, smells like rubber variety. So we would blow up the tube and check for leaks and then attach a strong cord to it. Now this cord was tied to the tube on one end and to my Daddy’s belt loop on the other. Sound strange? The reasoning behind this bizarre plan was to ensure that this little, red-headed gal could float along and play while the fisherman took care of business. While it was shallow, I trotted along in my float from sand bar to sand bar looking for shells the raccoons had left behind after their midnight snack or maybe collecting shiny rocks the creek had smoothed over time. But when my toes left the creek bottom behind, Daddy never had to worry about me drowning. Nope, I just floated right on down the creek. It was ingenious really. We made do with what we had, that is one of the advantages of growing up in the country. 

As far as clothing, I had some old shorts and t-shirts that Mama okayed for the occasion. Usually my clothes were hand me downs from older cousins. Don’t feel sorry for me over that comment. Getting hand me downs was one of the more exciting events in my young life! I still smile when I remember those bags filled with unknown and exciting treasures making their way to my bedroom floor. My cousin, Rita, was my childhood idol, always so stylish and fancy. So back to the clothes, there were approved play clothes and the “you better not let Mama see you wearing that dress” kind of clothes, and I knew which was which. 

My wading shoes on my feet and a straw hat on my head completed the outfit. I don’t remember sunscreen being part of the ritual, although I imagine most of me was covered with the clothes plus the creek was typically shaded most of the way. 

Now it was finally time to leave. Mama never accompanied us on our little trips, nor would I have thought to bring a friend or even want one. No, I loved this time with my Daddy. In those childhood years, I was what one might call a Daddy’s girl for sure. As a parent of teenagers and young adults, I finally understand the sad, almost rejected look on my Daddy’s face when I grew to think I was “too big” for such silliness as a walk through the creek. Oh to go back one more time…

Off we went, onward and upward! I don’t remember having music or headphones, no podcast or playlist. No, we just rode down the highways watching the sights go by, talking about the washed out ditches from the latest rain or laughing at the neighbor’s cow who seemed to find her way out of the pasture more often than not. We didn’t need to be entertained; we made the entertainment. We had an old jeep that was part and parcel of these weekend jaunts. It probably wouldn’t have made the journey to work or school dependably, so it was kept for the weekend. If it just up and quit on the way…and it did…well, that was just part of the adventure too. I remember one breakdown and walking up the road until we reached a house with folks in the yard. Never crossed our minds, or theirs, not to help or expect help. Back then, the community was fairly small and intimately acquainted (aka…everyone knew everyone’s business). Maybe that was aggravating to a grown up, but as a child I felt safe and secure knowing I was seen and known. Neighbors watched out for one another. That was our way of life, and it was good. 

That old jeep has a fond place in my memories. I loved the sound of the engine chugging along. I’m pretty sure we were moving at a snail’s pace down the road, but that was the age of a maximum speed of 55mph and perfectly acceptable. Life moved at a slower pace, and so did our jeep. 

When we made it to our chosen destination, it was always an off-road adventure that met us. I don’t think we had seat belts in that old jeep, but somehow we managed to hang on through those bumps and rough patches of dirt road. Even now, there’s just something about a dirt road that brings a rush of warm memories. There was never an issue with where to park, we were usually the only ones there. I guess it was someone’s private property, but maybe Daddy knew and got permission to be there. Or maybe he didn’t. It just wasn’t a big thing back then and back there. We got our food and floats and fishing gear together and headed for the creek. Oh I did forget to mention the worms. Yep, we had to have bait to catch those fish, and going to the store to pick it up would have been downright embarrassing. A fisherman or woman catches her own worms, of course she does. I loved digging in the warm, loose dirt for big, fat earthworms. I’ve always been a soft-hearted animal person, and even then tried not to think of those worms’ fate. Still, Mama’s fried fish was an appetizing incentive. 

We were ready to go! We found a good entry place, not too steep and not too grown up with weeds, and in we got. That mountain water was cold in the hottest of summer weather. It never bothered me though! My freckled skin would turn purple with the chill, and still through chattering teeth, I would have insisted I was just fine. And I was. 

We would stay in that old creek til it was almost dark. I don’t ever remember getting bored or asking if we were done yet. Even now, complaining to my Dad isn’t something I would easily do and certainly not back then. My imagination had plenty to occupy itself with as I imagined what the little woodland creatures might be doing and what the names of the old snakes slithering out on the limbs to stare at me might be. I usually had a pocketful of shells, rocks, and sticks to take home to show off and put in my little mason jar by my bed. And sometimes, sometimes I just did nothing. That seems a strange concept in our busy, keep it moving world. But I think being able to be alone with your thoughts and do…well nothing, is one of the keys to contentment we might have lost to the rat race era we live in today. I leaned back on my little inner tube and let the sun warm my face, and probably add a freckle or two, and just let my mind drift and dream. Ah…those were good days. 

By the end of the day, the frogs were adding a chorus of sound to the already noisy crickets and katydids. Now I know the little katydids were rubbing their wings together to make their sounds, but back then I imagined all kinds of conversation going on in their little towns and villages. Those sounds let us know it was time, time to get out of the water with our wrinkled up fingers and toes and head for the jeep. I never thought to be afraid out there as the darkness fell. Even now, the woods don’t scare me; they surround me and comfort me. 

We loaded up and headed for home. Our clothes were wet and dripping, but the old jeep didn’t care. It took us just as we were and never complained. 

Home found my Mama, happy to see her wayward travelers safe once more, with supper on the table and the bathtub ready to be filled with warmth for my chilled little self. Afterward, thoroughly clean, I gobbled down every bite of fresh vegetables from our garden along with cornbread, always cornbread. Rarely did we have dessert, and I don’t remember missing a thing. We were on a health kick and didn’t even know it. Not that we didn’t go to the grocery store, but our staple food was from the garden, the creek, and the woods. It was good. It was healthy. And there was simply nothing better than Mama’s home cooking after a day of adventuring. 

With a heart filled with joy and a belly replete with homemade food, my soft bed was a welcome end to a full day. Not every day was good, not every problem was solvable, and no home was without flaws, but that day and many like it created a memory I will cherish for a lifetime. It’s true what they say about not appreciating what you have until it’s gone. Summer never looks sweeter than in the cold of winter. We glance with nostalgia at grown-up children, remembering the tiny hands that no longer fit within our own. And we shed a tear as we realize the strong, steady hands of our parents will not always be there to pick us up when we fall. Time is a harsh taskmaster, slowing for none. Precious are the memories of yesterday, the hopes of tomorrow, but most of all the gift of today. 

By: Robin:)

Prayers and pencil sharpeners. Ok, so travel with me on this hypothetical journey. What if…you have a friend who calls and asks you to pray for her? Of course, as a good Christian gal you will say, “Absolutely yes! Give me that request, and I’ll surely pray. I’ll even write it down in my prayer journal.” (you know, to make it more official). Now don’t get me wrong. I’m not making fun of prayer journals or praying for your friends. Stay with me.

Now, let’s continue with your make-believe friend. Say she tells you her sad tale of woe…she has to write for a living and desperately needs to work. Her lifeline is her instrument of financial security, her pencil. Ok, so no one uses a pencil these days but a keyboard and mouse instead. Remember, this is hypothetical and not logical. I’ve got a point, I promise. Your friend’s problem is that her pencil will not stay sharp. She has asked for help from others and followed all the wise advice. She doesn’t press too hard. She writes equally on both sides of the pencil. She prays over it each morning. Still, the problem persists. The prayer request is that her pencil stay sharp. How are you to respond?

Here you are. You would most definitely be in the right to say you will pray for supernatural sharpness of the pencil. The great God of the universe is fully capable of keeping this pencil functional forever with no further problems. Would you be wrong to offer this help? Of course not. But is there more? What if the answer to her prayer is THROUGH you? God does that, you know. He doesn’t need us to “help” Him answer prayers; He wants us to help Him answer prayers. That’s right. It is our distinct blessing to be asked by the King Himself to work alongside Him in the healing, the helping, and the encouraging. Think of it… God could heal without the help of doctors and nurses, but in most cases, He chooses not to do so. He involves us. He could feed the hungry solely by miraculous means, but generally speaking, He desires His people to donate food and money and time to help those in need. What a calling! So… the pencil. Yes, you can and should pray, but what if God is calling you to put legs on your prayers? What if your job is to go out and buy a pencil sharpener and maybe a fresh supply of pencils? What if you ARE the answer? Not because you or I am in any way replacing God in the answer department, but because He wants to use you in someone’s life. Again, not to say prayer is not enough. God is enough. Period. No discussion. But I know in my own life, it is second nature to take the easy road. A friend, a fellow church member, a coworker, or even a stranger asks for prayer, and we say yes. First off, why not pray right then? Why not pray with that person? What an encouragement. Plus, let’s face it…we are busy. We forget. Don’t put it off. Don’t let it feel awkward. The sooner you obey God, the easier it is to obey God. Truth.

Second, put legs on your prayers. It isn’t always yours to do, but sometimes it is. Can you help with the prayer request? Then do it! Don’t delay. Don’t wait for someone else to answer a call for help that you know very well you can do yourself. Take that meal to the hungry in your community. Send that donation to the church for the cause you feel passionate about helping. Call that friend you know is lonely. Send that card to the one who is sick. Do it, and do it now. Don’t delay; delay allows Satan a window to slip in doubt and embarrassment and most of all busy-ness. So the next time you hear a prayer request, slow it down. Pray through your response. Maybe you, you yourself, are the answer. 

Do what you know to do

(Thank you to Jeremy Law for sharing the wise words of his dad, Mr. Jim Law. It really has stuck with me through this time of uncertainty.)

When You Don’t Know What To Do Robin McWhirter

“When you don’t know what to do…do what you KNOW to do.” This quote was shared by a friend on facebook who was quoting his very wise dad, and these words have been flitting through my heart and mind this week as I lament my inability to help others during this time of virus outbreak throughout our world. The world? Yes, I cannot quite get over the fact that we are ALL facing a common enemy. A relentless, cruel opponent who will seemingly adapt to our every attempt to destroy it. Scientists, doctors, nurses, researchers, plus countless others are working around the clock, quite literally, to combat this virus, Covid-19. To see all of humanity working together towards a common goal is inspiring. But it is also frustrating. I too want to be a part of the solution. I too want to be on the front lines. I too want to play a part in beating this enemy.

I know, I know…save lives, stay at home. I’m not saying this isn’t true. What I am saying is that I want more. I’ve searched deep within myself (I mean what else do I have to do?) to find the reason for this desire. Am I simply an attention seeker? Do I want selfies popping up all over social media showing my “sacrifice”? Do I want others to applaud my fearlessness, my dedication, my faith?

The answer? Sure I do. We all do. Yes, I said that. We all do. We may not always admit it, but we want to be appreciated. We want to be praised. It is a part of human nature, my friends. And it is true of me.
But still. There is more. I really, truly, sincerely, and almost desperately want to help. It is how I’m wired. It is my spiritual gift. It is why I was created. Maybe that’s true for you too.

Yet, here we are almost helpless to help. The quarantine rules, the virus fears, the common sense guidance of churches and organizations have good reason to limit exposure to the few and not open wide the door to every one time do-gooder who wants to mark off “serving with fear and doing it anyway” from the list. But my heart hurts. My church is serving the medical community by offering free childcare while these precious servants go straight onto the battlefield. The daycares are closed; the parents who used to keep their grandchildren are in the danger-zone age range and though willing, truly not able to hold their grand babies. So where do the doctors, the nurses, the paramedics go? They go to First Baptist Woodstock and leave their most prized possessions in the care of loving Believers. Believers who are able and willing to put themselves in the line of fire in order to serve. I want that too. But the truth is this: the church cannot in good conscience or by law allow every member to serve in this capacity. It would not be feasible or possible to keep the virus contained were one of these people to be exposed. It would be a wildfire. A wildfire caused by those who were only trying to help. I get it. I do. But I want to be there.

Local food banks are distributing food. I called. I emailed. I text messaged. Everywhere is the same. The rules we are playing by are new. They are strict. They are wise. But in the end, I’m in the same situation. I want to be there. I can’t.

Then there are more personal battles. My dear friend, Erin, is going to undergo brain surgery tomorrow morning. In the midst of all this crazy, this wife and mother and daughter of elderly parents has no choice but to enter the hospital all alone for a terrifying procedure which she may or may not survive. Did you get that? Alone. When the fear of the unknown presses in, she will not have the comforting hand of her husband. She will not wake to the smiles of her

children. Alone. What can I NOT do? I can’t care for her children. I can’t clean her home for her. I can’t prepare her meals and go visit her in the hospital. I can’t be there, but I want to.

My parents are in their 80s. My dad has COPD. My parents have multiple health concerns which make them extreme risks to this deadly virus. I try to limit my exposure so that I can help care for them. But what are they doing? Going to the hairdresser. Going to Bojangles. Going to the bank. Why, you might ask would they do that? The answer is…I have no idea! We, the family, are committed to helping them. They know this! I cannot control my parents. Unless I take my Dad’s keys… maybe hide the truck…Well, you get my point. Stubborn. That’s what they are. Sweet, kind, loving, they are all that too but a double dose of stubborn. I can’t protect them from this virus. I can’t protect them from themselves. But I want to.

My children. Oh, they’re healthy and doing just fine at home. In fact, in ways they are thriving. Still, as I look at the colorful reminders on the kitchen calendar and get phone reminders of all the canceled events, I am sad. The places we didn’t go, the events that didn’t happen, the people we didn’t get to see…it’s not a tragedy, but it’s something. I watched the disappointment fill my son’s eyes as his long anticipated trip to Paris had to be canceled. Postponed maybe, but it could be a long wait. My youngest son, a college freshman, had to unceremoniously leave his dorm, no fanfare, no goodbyes. I think that’s the hardest part. No goodbyes. Things ended without a proper end. This is not how it was supposed to be. There should have been late night study sessions and laughter. Stressing out together and then celebrating when the crazy hard physics test was over. But no. Life took a turn we didn’t anticipate.

My daughter. She watched as one right after another events were canceled; prom, mission trip, long awaited concerts, camp, spring break. What about the memories that were to be made? What about that?
My oldest doesn’t live at home. He’s not far away, yet during this virus…if you are not in the same home, you might as well be a world away. I missed seeing him on his birthday. That was a first. Most firsts are exciting things – first kiss, first dance, first date, first flight. But not this. This was not a first I ever wanted to experience. But I did.

Then there is just me, just my stuff. I miss my Sunday school students. I miss teaching my handwriting students at our homeschool coop. I miss my friends. I do. I miss hugs. I miss shaking hands or high-fiving the friendly greeters in my church. I miss smiles. Even when I go out for the rare grocery run, you can’t see smiles behind the protective masks. I miss human contact. I do have my family, and I am blessed to be quarantined with people. But what of those who are alone? My heart hurts.

So that leads me back to the beginning of my thoughts. More than ever before, in these last few weeks, I can say, “I don’t know what to do.” But I want to know. I want to take the words of Mr. Jim Law to heart. “When you don’t know what to do, do what you KNOW to do.”

While it is true that I cannot volunteer in person to help the medical community, I can volunteer to send snacks. And I did.
I can’t go in person to the food banks to hand out food. What I can do is donate financially to help them supply the community with much needed supplies. I can text and call to make sure they know they are appreciated. And I did.

My friend undergoing surgery will be alone. I cannot be there. But I can send a card, make a call, order food for the family, and pray. Above all, pray. And I will.
While I could hide the keys to the truck, I probably shouldn’t…no promises if my parents continue in their willful ways…I can do what I’m doing. I can patiently answer the phone many, many times a day just so they can hear my voice and know they are not alone. I can help with the groceries even though they will probably go get some forgotten item anyway. I can don gloves and mask and wash my mama’s hair because her hair dresser is unable to continue

operating and my sweet mama cannot lift her hands above her head to do the job herself. I can and I will.
I cannot force this virus away so that my children do not miss, what to me…and to them…are once in a lifetime opportunities to make memories. However, I can enjoy every, single day in this new world. A new world that feels very much like an old world. Does anyone else feel like you have gone back in time? If my oldest were here at home, it would definitely feel like time travel back to a simpler time; a time when my people have nowhere else to go but home and no one else to be with except each other. It’s not all bad. Truly it is not. In fact, it is some kind of wonderful. Distractions are limited. Time is endless. We laugh and play and argue (let’s just be honest here). But we do it all together. And isn’t that what memories are all about?

And as for me, well I have found new ways of connecting to people. I’ve learned, with a lot of time and patience from my tech-savvy kids, to make youtube videos for my students. I’ve learned to attend zoom meetings with my Sunday school class and my small group ladies. I’m writing more. I’m crocheting. I’m reading. I’m walking by the creek.I’m remembering why I loved learning new recipes and enjoy cooking once again. Because let’s face it…in this current environment, food has drastically climbed the list as the most enjoyable “plan” of the day! Most importantly, I am connecting in a more meaningful way to my God. Life can shift and change; viruses can rage and bring fear. But God…Oh how I’ve always loved those words. But God will use even this to grow me, to stretch me, to better me. He’ll do that for you to, if you let Him.

I long to be useful. I long to be needed. And you know what? The more I allow God to open my eyes, the more needs I see. How often to I search and stretch and stamp my foot impatiently to reach for goals that are not mine to meet? How many needs have I missed because I had my eyes on someone else’s prize? Let that not be true in my life.

My life is full. It is full of blessings, yes, but that is not the full I’m speaking of right now. It is full of people who are full of needs that I am uniquely situated to meet. That’s right. God has fitted ME to meet the needs of those in my circle. Maybe I need to widen that circle, but the point is that it is my circle and not yours that I am to serve. The harvest is plentiful, but the workers are few. May my focus be God-centered. There are needs a plenty, and I have what it takes to meet the needs of those He has graciously put in my life. I don’t need to wait for the church or the government to meet the needs I myself can meet. So while I may not know what to do all the time; I can do what I know to do. May it be said of me, “She did.”

By: Robin

Friday is here! What a busy week we have had here in little Waleska. I’m happy to steal away for a little while to write. So, I left off last time with Tim heading to the shelter with tremendously detailed instructions as to who would best fit in with our family. And…action

The kids and I were busy getting the new house unpacked; pictures on the wall, clothes and books out of boxes, etc. Moving sounds exciting, but the reality is exhausting. Here we were, and I get a call from the intrepid adventurer. The message- He has the dog; she is perfect; be home soon. Well, ok then. We prepare for her homecoming. The picture in my mind is still one of a shiny, sleek lab puppy bouncing around excitedly as she views the amazing new home she has to explore. I must say, in the back of my mind I felt a small level of anxiety…Tim had sounded a bit mysterious on the phone. The last time he sounded mysterious my perfect spot for the hot tub was vetoed in place of a “better” spot…one that would require more concrete and several unhappy kids to re-move mom’s heavy Christmas gift from its current location and lug it around the house to its new home. In the end, I must admit…he was right. It was a better location, but what a boatload of work that idea turned out to be! Anyway, he was coming home with a new puppy, and we were ecstatic.

Arriving in the yard, he opened the door as the kids rushed the truck to see their newest companion. I waited patiently cautioning him against sitting her on the ground lest she run for the creek, which is where I was sure she would go first. I need not have worried. This pup was not headed for the creek, not today and not for many tomorrows. As we found out, this dog did not, under any circumstances, want to explore the creek; which must have looked like a raging river to a puppy this small. The “lab” was a fairly nondescript brown with a black ring encircling her tail. Her nose was long and skinny with dark patches as were her ears. This was definitely NOT a lab; in fact she looked more like a German shepherd except not. She was small. The more I watched her, the more I realized this girl was also not the healthiest of animals. She looked up at us pitifully and wagged her skinny tail. I couldn’t help glancing up at my husband, who was eying me with caution. “They told me she is a German shepherd mix. She can protect the kids…” he paused and spoke as if he knew the lab expectation was sorely lacking, “She needed a home and couldn’t wait.” She was not at all what I was expecting, but sometimes we don’t realize what we really need, who we really need. She looked up at me as if waiting for my approval; of course those big, brown eyes won me over. Meanwhile, the kids had no pre-conceived notions of who was coming home. They wanted a puppy, she wanted a home; it was as simple as that. Bella was family.

Good morning,

I have a few minutes between homeschool work, so I thought this might be the perfect time to tell a little bit about Bella’s story.

June of 2014, my family moved to the country, and I mean way out in the country. We were blessed to find property on a gorgeous creek surrounded by the serenity of the woods. I loved it right away! It was probably all the more special because we were coming from a neighborhood, complete with HOA’s, lots of noise, and little privacy. Now, don’t get me wrong; it was a beautiful community with wonderful people. I was just not cut out for subdivision life; I’m a country girl at heart.

So, in the midst of this move, I told my husband that a requirement of living in the country is having lots of animals. Let’s start with a dog. Maybe it’s not a rule…but it should be. Dogs make grand companions, plus they are a nice security system for those of us who live away from streetlights and close neighbors. Yes, we definitely needed a dog, and I knew just who to get. Our daughter loved playing in the creek; a lab loves playing in the creek. Perfect. I set to work right away looking on various websites at local shelters and rescues for lab puppies. I found many options and sent my sweet husband to get our newest family member. Why, you might ask did I not go? Well, the answer is simple. I couldn’t have brought back just one…we would have had more animals than you could shake a stick at if the decision had been up to me. I just can’t turn down those pleading, puppy dog eyes…or kitty eyes either. It was decided. Tim would go, and I would send him pictures and instructions. Now, I’ve been married 25 years and should have known better. Tim can’t go to the grocery store and fulfill “the list,” we end up with multiple unnecessary purchases and none of the absolutely got to have items…ice cream? check; cocoa puffs? check; toilet paper? oh…I forgot that.

This sets the stage for what was to follow. Did I get a lab puppy who adores water and is ready for a creek frolic at any given moment? Um…no

Until next time,

Robin

Good rainy afternoon!

I totally love fall weather, and this weekend has really been a peak-leaf kind of time. While spending time outdoors, my rescue, Bella, always accompanies me for our wanderings through the woods.

She loves to play in the fallen leaves; it is the cutest! Time spent in nature is  always a wonderful opportunity to reflect on the past, be thankful for the present, and hope for the future. As I watched my little dog frolic in the autumn foliage, I thought about her early days with our family. The new book, Forever Home, is a reflection of her story, but my fanciful writings about her life before rescue is just that…fanciful. I thought my readers might be interested in hearing her real story, at least as far as I know the details. Before her appearance at the shelter, I can only speculate what she might have gone through and how she might have felt. But I can imagine…fear, loneliness, hunger…

Her story is one many sweet animals face every day. It is my hope that my book and my writings might inspire others to rescue those who cannot rescue themselves.

Join me over the next few days as I share Bella’s story, and of course I would love to see my book, Forever Home, in the hands of those who might be galvanized into action to save animals who find themselves lost, alone, and without a home.

See you tomorrow,

Robin