Happy Veteran's Day

My brother sent me this picture today. It is my brothers, Danny and Greg, with Grandma Bell. They were returning from Vietnam.

Happy Veteran's Day to all you Vets out there and to all who just love a Vet.

Precious, the Terorist Cat

Over the years Jon and I have had some cats we loved dearly. They have been sweet, playful and loyal and really just great companions. Before all these little dogs came into our lives we were considered cat people. But for me, this was not always the case.

I only had one cat when I was growing up. My father had very strong opinions and a deep rooted hatred of the creatures. We could have dogs, rabbits, chickens or goats, but he would not live with a cat.

When I was in the sixth grade, our house was destroyed by a tornado. We moved into a rent house while we were rebuilding, and our dogs stayed at the old place, where they could run and play and watch the property. We went to feed and play with them every day, so we were not just abandoning them. Anyway, with the dogs in a different location I thought this would be the perfect time for me to get a kitten. I begged and pleaded with my dad until he finally gave in.

My brother's friend said he had some new kittens and we could have our pick. Now, I had this picture in my mind of a sweet little white kitten, named Chantal, after Sandra Dee in my favorite Bobby Darin- Sandra Dee movie. She would sleep curled up on my baby blue bedspread beside my baby blue princess phone and my world would be complete.

When my brother, Jerry, and I went to pick out my kitten we were sent to the barn. We picked the one we could catch. It was yellow and dirty and MAD! I thought, "Oh, you just need some warm milk and a bath". The milk was a good choice, but the bath didn't go that well. You know how sometimes you look at an old scar and wonder why your parents didn't take you to get stitches? Well I wonder why mine didn't insist on skin graphs.

Chantal turned out to be a very large male cat. He hated us. He would hide behind furniture or in the hallway and attack when you walked by. We lived every day in fear. All of us except Mom. For some reason he loved my mother. She called him Precious, and when he meowed you would swear he was saying Mama. He was a real Tom Cat, staying out all night only to come in when Jerry, another Tom Cat, came home.

One night our house was finally finished so we packed up as much stuff as we could and started the big move. After the final load was ready we had intentions of spending the night in our new house. Someone said, "Where's the cat? " We looked around quickly, agreed we didn't know, jumped in the car and drove to safety. The next morning we went to get a few more things and clean the rent house. The screens were torn from the doors and windows, but there was no yellow monster cat in sight.

I know this sounds awful, but we had been through so much with the tornado and all. I felt sure Precious had found a new family to terrorize. Who knows, he may still be frightening children in that same neighborhood today.

All You Need Is Love

I have a hard time hatting people. I may think or say I hate someone who has committed some horrible deed, but I know I don't mean it. For one thing, I suffer from Anne Frank syndrome, where I can't help but believe everyone is basically good. Like maybe something bad from their childhood is causing them such mental anguish they must lash out at the world, but really they just need a hug. Remember Peter Pan's little girl in Hook? She told Captain Hook he needed a mommy.

Also I know, to God, hating someone is the same as murder. Sometimes I do this thing where I imagine someone I think I may hate, being hurt. Even if it's just hurt feelings, not actual punishment, I feel awful.

I know a woman who, in the past, did things to hurt me and my daughter that were so ridiculous, well no one would believe it unless they were there. I thought I hated her, I really did. But then one day some women who went to high school with her told me about all the mean things they used to do to this woman and I wanted to cry. Lately she has had some hard times, divorce and loss, and I have to pray for her. I want her to know I do not delight in her suffering.

I always get picked for jury duty, and I'm the one who holds everything up, trying to justify the actions of the defendants. "He was just a kid, give him another chance", or "People do desperate things when they are hungry". Why do they keep picking me? I can't pass judgement on another's life.

But this guy yesterday, who shot and killed 13 people at Fort Hood, I felt like I hatted him. I prayed, God forgive me, but I have a hard time loving Muslims. What could be worse? It's not only hateful, it's racial. I know God does not honor these feelings. He showed me in a dream last night, my ears were full of dirt and mud. He was saying, turn off the news and hear my voice. Listen with your heart.

I will pray for this man and all Muslims every where. And I will pray that God will keep our hearts tender and open. What happens in this world isn't what matters anyway.

My heart is broken for the soldiers killed and wounded at Fort Hood today. I can't think of anything else to say.

I have been driven many times upon my knees by the overwhelming conviction that I had nowhere else to go.

Abraham Lincoln

My Famous Grandpa

Do you remember the first time you said, "I love the Beatles", and the person you were talking to said, "What are the Beatles"? Or that day you realized you weren't going to be a rock star or Broadway actor? My point is, everybody is nobody to somebody. You have to have done something wonderful, like Lincoln, or horrible, like Hitler, for the world to recognize your name forever. Trust me, one day your grandchildren will say "Brittany who?"

When I was a little girl, I thought my grandfather was famous. He had a famous name, Francis Marion Bacon. But famous names kind of run in my family. Seriously, my father is Calvin Coolidge. Anyway, I don't know if it was the way my mom and her siblings looked up to Grandpa or maybe it was the stories he told.

He had been a bit of an outlaw before Jesus and my grandma changed his life. Both of his parents were half Native American, one Chickasaw, the other Choctaw. And his grandfather was a well known missionary in eastern Oklahoma. His mother died in childbirth and his father soon after was shot for being an Indian and riding his horse into a bar. And Grandpa grew up to be a bank robber. His wanted poster hung in post offices all over Oklahoma for some time. After some trouble, involving an unwed mother and her angry brother, he headed for Texas and never looked back. He rode with a man who was also hiding from the authorities, and married that mans daughter, my grandmother. They were married for sixty five years and had fourteen children. All this led to him becoming the grandfather of me, the apple of his eye. He died when I was only six, he was ninety. To this day, when someone says "unconditional love" first I think of Jesus, then I think of Grandpa. I am so glad God had grace for this man.

Just Thinkin....

People say a lot of things thinking they are quoting scripture. For example, cleanliness is next to Godliness. What does that even mean? Or how about, God helps those who help themselves. I could preach an entire sermon on why God doesn't need my help, as I have learned from experience, I tend to get in His way.

But the one that has always bothered me is, The Lord giveth and the Lord taketh away. You've heard it a hundred times at funerals. It must come from the Bible, right? I mean it sounds spiritual and the Lords actions even end with the holy "eth", but I cant find it anywhere. Ive looked in my concordance and searched Bible Gateway and found nothing even close. If you are reading this and you know where in scripture it can be found, please leave a comment. I would like to know.

The reason I started looking was, it's not comforting. I don't know what it is supposed to mean, but it is always quoted in times of loss. I thought maybe it was taken out of context. God has given me so much in my life, I would never accuse him of taking away anyone I loved and needed.

A few years ago, there was an elderly woman in my church, who my kids referred to as "the smiley lady". She was a very small framed lady who always wore a hat and gloves and homemade dresses. I am almost certain she lived with a cat named Sylvester and a bird called Tweety. She smiled all the time, that's why my kids called her the smiley lady, and always had something the Lord had told her to say. After my daughter, Lauren died, she told me about loosing her son in the Vietnam war. With the smile never leaving her face, she said, " The Lord gives and the Lord takes away, He gives us joy and takes away our sorrows". Now that made sense. He gives us peace and takes away our fear. He gives us health and takes away our sickness and He gives us life and takes away death.

SARAH

I went to a women's retreat this weekend. I am too tired to know yet if I am refreshed and revitalized. It was fun, though, and I think I may have learned something. I just need a few days to sort it out.

I was talking to a woman I had just met and said something about my daughter, Sarah. She said she had a Sarah too, and did mine live up to her "princess" name, as hers did. I said no, but thought about it later and wondered, when did princess become so derogatory? What used to imply royalty, and was an affectionate name a father might call his daughter, now means spoiled and self centered.

I really don't like this. I don't like the tight fitting tshirts with princess printed on the front or the shorts with it on the butt. I don't know why we want to dress our girls like junior hookers or why we would raise them to take so much pride in being selfish and demanding.

My Sarah is a princess. She is a kind and thoughtful servant, not unlike Cinderella. She is sweet and sensitive, as in The Princess and the Pea. And like Abraham's Sarah, she is royalty, her daddy's the King.