One of the great joys of working on genealogy is finding a story. I stumbled across one such joy while working on the Evans family tree. The Evans family is the family that originally owned the clock that graces my mulling times.
Jehu Evans never personally owned the clock, but his parents were its first owners. Later, it passed to his sister Rutha M. (Evans) Riley and, eventually, to me. But the clock is not the focus of this story; Jehu Evans and his beloved wife, Rebecca, are. Continue reading
The adage appears on the side of a Recycled Zip Pouches pouch: Some days you just have to create your own Sunshine. I thought when I read it that the tough part is figuring out how to create sunshine, but this particular adage came with instructions—and they work! Continue reading
Frequently, I hear it declared that adults should live a certain way that I cannot even define. Many times those making the declaration think they can define it, but then when asked to do so, they hem and haw, fumble for words, or repeat meaningless clichés. A few state what they assume to be facts which they have gleaned from oft-repeated proclamations by others. Continue reading
This post is also posted at abelhouse.church.
Every time I take a road trip, I go with the desire to learn more about people, cultures, and history. I do intend to rest, eat good food, and get away from it all—whatever “it” is. But most of all, I enjoy chancing on God’s sense of humor, His design, His overlay of beauty on every natural setting, and His music. I know I won’t have to search for them because He will place them on my way at almost every turn. Continue reading
Near the hearts of most Southern towns lie old, public cemeteries nestled under great oak limbs that shelter the graves from the hot summer sun’s glare. In them, uneven rows of old and new stones mark family plots, each family segregated from neighbors by fences or cement coping or space. Unkempt, such graveyards contrast sharply with newer burial gardens that cater to those survivors who want perpetual care of green lawns broken only by flat bronze markers spaced evenly under the intense sunshine. I prefer the old-style burial grounds, their cool tranquility, their story-telling tablets, their comforting breezes and bird songs, perhaps because I grew up in them. Continue reading
This post was also posted on abelhouse.church.
My fifth great-aunt Miriam Windham was born December 20, 1802, in South Carolina. Being my “fifth great-aunt” means that she was the sister of my fourth great-grandfather John Windham and that she lived six generations of Windhams before me.
Thirty-five years ago, when I was teaching at Mississippi University for Women (and men, too) in Columbus, Mississippi, one of the ten papers students had to write in first-year composition was a definition paper. The list of possible topics for that paper included “Marriage.” Continue reading
Growing up around the Jackson family table meant joining in on hours of discussions, debates, teaching, and learning. Early on, I knew my parents’ stand on taxes, as well as hundreds of other topics ranging from how to behave appropriately to religion and politics, as almost nothing was off limits, death and taxes included. Continue reading
A version of this post was posted on the website abelhouse.church on Thursday, 18 June 2015.
My heart is broken. Nine people I love died last night. They were my soul mates. I weep for our faith’s loss, for our nation’s loss, for South Carolina’s loss, for Charleston’s loss, for their families’ loss, for my loss. Continue reading
When my sons were very small, they would occasionally find reasons not to like Mommy. I still chuckle inside when I hear a little one say “Bad Mommy” or “I don’t like you” to a mother in public. Such scenes, usually when a mom is doing a good job, bring back happy memories. Continue reading