The most special row . . .

Visiting Daddy’s Study at the church was always a special treat. Everything was always neat and organized, just as it should be. Bookcases lined the walls reaching toward the ceiling like skyscrapers in a city’s skyline. Each book, or set of books made up the windows and floors of the towers with titles in gold and silver on the bindings sparkling as the light shown on them brightly. Amongst the hundreds upon hundreds of colorful jackets, I would always hunt for the most special row.

This row was different than all of the rest. It’s volumes were worn with bindings who’s creases ran crookedly up through the faded lettering. There were little strings peeking out of the tops and dangling from the bottoms, reminding me of vines on an old stone wall after they had lost their colorful leaves and blossoms. When I spotted the row, I would carefully run my fingers over the bindings gently feeling the different textures that time and use had created.

Some were big, others were very tiny. Most had been given to Daddy, over the space of many years. It was fun to think about where each one came from . . . "How about this one Daddy?" I would question with excited anticipation. Daddy would look up from his typing, smile, and tell it’s story, bringing places and people into the study and into my mind where I could visit with them till my heart was content.

At the end of the row, was a stack of bright little white books with golden lettering on their sides and fronts. The page edges were shining with gold and in the exact middle a little white ribbon poked it’s tail out. "What about these Daddy?" Daddy would look up and smile, "Those don’t have their stories yet, Debbie." I’d laugh as Daddy would tilt his head and give me the look that said, you already know this. And I did, but asking Daddy the question filled my heart with glee and as I would practice my counting putting my finger lightly on each one, I knew that as the stack got smaller, that meant there was another baby born into our church family.

Finally I would skip around the room, and around the great desk, till my head rested on Daddy’s arm. Pushing his chair back from his work, he would lift me into his lap, and we would sing . . .
"The B-I-B-L-E, Yes THAT’S the Book for ME, I Stand alone, On The WORD of GOD, the
B-I-B-L-E!!!!"


I love you Daddy!

Sinker Fishing . . .

The ground was sunning itself after the last thaws of winter, and in the field next to our house, the tall grasses and weeds had blossomed and begun to reach for the sky. That afternoon, Daddy asked me to come out to the garage. I always liked going there with him, as such wonderful and handy creations came out of his work shop. Everything was exactly in it's place, as if it were ready for a "white glove" inspection. Daddy began to get a few things out of his tackle box, and then he reached down a small white rod and reel. "Are we going to go fishing Daddy?" I asked. "No, but while I am gone visiting today you are going to go "Sinker Fishing". . . After a few more twists of his hands, Daddy put his tools away, picked up the fishing rod, and taking me by the hand, he lead me out to the field.
The rod didn't have a fish hook on the end, in it’s place Daddy had put a big sinker. He explained how the fishing would be just right today, as the mowers would be coming tomorrow, and I had to fish while the weeds were high. Being only 6, the weeds were almost eye level for me, but I could see over the tops of them just enough to try and cast where Daddy pointed to. It took a few tries, but I finally hit the right spot for "Sinker Fish". As I reeled my line in, something tugged on it. Leaning over me, with his arms around me and his hands over mine, he helped me to feel the tugs and the right speed to reel in my catch. At the edge of our lawn, my line and sinker drug out a long green and yellow weed. I held it up like I saw the fishermen do with their fish, and asked Daddy what he thought? He smiled the smile that started in his eyes and ended in my heart, and said, "Why that's a Dandy Sinker Fish! I'd say that's a 14" stripped sinker fish!" And he gave me a wink. He then pointed to a different spot for me to try for, and it wasn't long before I hit the spot. Then he told me to look for a spot where I thought the biggest sinker fish would be hiding, and to try for that spot. With my Mom watching me from the window, all afternoon I fished.
Just before supper time, she called me inside, and was about to ask me what on earth I was bringing in the back door with my rod, when Daddy came around the corner and said, "MY! I think you caught your limit of sinker fish today! Did you have to throw any back?" We laughed and laughed till our sides ached.
The next day the mowers had come, and there were no weeds in the field. Daddy told me that patience was a big part of fishing no matter what you are fishing for, and that he happened to know that the field had been stocked with enough sinker fish to last us all the way till fall. Each day after school, I came home eager to see if it was a good "fishing" day. When it was I'd find my little white fishing rod and reel, and head out to the edge of the field and fish. Some afternoons, my brother would come and fish with me and we would make a contest to see who could catch the most. Those were the best sinker fishing days, but he was 7 years older and had many other chores and tasks to do, so most days I would sinker fish alone.
Then one Saturday, Mom woke me up early and told me that Daddy was taking me out for the day. When I asked where, she just smiled and said it was a surprise. Mom helped me get on my best play pants, my white blouse with the little ruffle sleeves, my favorite, my jacket, and white Gilligan Hat, my frilly socks and brown buckle shoes. Daddy's eyes just twinkled as I bounced up and down with excitement in the car seat as we drove up into the mountains.
Daddy parked the car alongside a dirt road and told me to wait for him to come around and open my door. As he lead me around to the back of the car, I noticed that several of the Grown-ups from our church were gathering beside the lake across the road. Daddy got out his tackle box and fishing pole and handed me my little white rod, then hand in hand we walked across the road to the others. Daddy was taking me fishing with the Men's prayer group. When the men first saw me they smiled an uneasy smile and began to whisper. "Don't worry fellas, I promise she won't spoil your fishing or get in the way . . . "
Daddy picked out a rock for me to sit on a little way from everyone else, and as he baited my hook, he whispered, "Ok Debbie, now, just like in the field by our house . . . " I wriggled up my shoulders and covered my giggles with my hand. Daddy looked out over the water and pointed to a spot. Standing over me with his arms around me and his hands on mine, he helped me cast my first cast, it came close, but wasn't just right. As the men's eyes watched me, I began to doubt myself, and almost felt a tear begin to roll out of my eye, but Daddy whispered again, don't pay attention to the others, you can do it, and he stood back. Sure enough the next cast went right where Daddy had pointed. My eyes got big and I looked at Daddy, who just looked back with that special twinkle, neither one of us said a word. I slowly reeled in my line waiting to feel a tug like I felt fishing in the field. My line came up empty, except for the bait. I remembered what Daddy had said about patience and how important it was no matter what you are fishing for, so while he was talking with the men a few yards away, I stood up straight and cast again, this time, I felt the tug, so I reeled in my line just like Daddy had taught me, and out of the water came my hook with a fish big as my Daddy's hand. I remembered to pose how the "fishermen" always did, and then I said in the proudest voice a little girl could muster, "You were right Daddy! This is just as easy as catching Sinker Fish!" Daddy smiled bigger than I had ever seen, as he told everyone that I had caught the first fish of the day!
All morning and afternoon, everyone fished and visited, ate and prayed having a wonderful time together. Some men caught a lot, some just a few, I didn't catch the biggest or the most, but I didn't care. I was fishing with my Daddy and that was all that mattered. Many of the men asked Daddy what exactly "sinker fish" were, but he never told, he would just look my way and give me a wink, and on the drive home we laughed and laughed till our sides ached. . .

Hankies . . .

Daddy was combing his hair, getting ready to go to the church office, when Debbie climbed up on the counter to watch him. She looked at his reflection in the mirror, and then back at him, several times, till every hair was in it’s place. Daddy used Brillcream that made his hair shiny as new black shoes. After his hair was just so, he reached into the medicine cabinet and splashed his Brute colon on his neck on both sides. Daddy always leaned over to let Debbie smell the fresh fragrance, which delighted her to no end. She breathed in a deep breath through her nose, closing her eyes and letting out a smiling “mmmmmmm.”
Debbie loved the smell of Brute on her Daddy’s neck almost as much as the smell of Daddy’s fudge cooking on the stove.
Daddy asked if his hankies were ready.
Debbie always helped her momma iron them. Right beside Momma’s ironing board, Debbie would set up her little ironing board with her little pretend iron. When Momma’s iron was almost hot, Debbie would pick a hankie out of the laundry basket. She would flatten it on her ironing board smoothing it with her hands. Then she’d take her little pretend iron, pressing hard, she would carefully run it over the hankie on both sides till Momma was ready to take it. Momma would place the hankie on her ironing board. Her big iron let out little puffs of steam as she glided it across the white linen on one side and then on the other side. Then she would fold it in half and iron the crease as sharp as a knife. Folding it once more she would iron the four edges till it made a perfect square. Debbie watched every stroke of the iron, eagerly waiting till Momma would hand her the warm square. Debbie would take the square carefully and sit it on the end of her little ironing board. They would repeat this over and over until all of Daddy’s hankies were neatly stacked.
Debbie told Daddy that they were ready. She got very excited when Daddy said that he would need two to take to the church office. That meant that Debbie was coming with him. Daddy set her down off of the counter, and she skipped off to get the hankies. As Daddy folded the two hankies together, placing them in his pocket, they said good-bye to Momma.
When they arrived at the church, Daddy would unlock the door to his study. He then took off his suit coat and place it on the coat rack just to the left. Debbie would reach into his jacket pocket and pull the two hankies out, giving them both to Daddy. He put one in his pant pocket, and then he would place one on Debbie’s hand like a little puppet. Her first finger fit all the way into the center folded corner, and the two corners on both sides wrapped around her hand where she would hold them. That left the last corner pointing to her wrist on the back of her hand. Debbie knew exactly what to do next. She took her hankied finger and began to dust the edge of each shelf on the first book case. Her finger was just the right size to get in between the spines of each book as she worked her way from left to right along each shelf. When the hankie was darkened enough, she would run over to Daddy to have him place her finger in another fold. All the while Daddy was typing Debbie would dust each shelf she could reach, running back and forth to Daddy for him to find a clean spot on the hankie for her to use next. When all of the shelves were finished, she took the hankie to Daddy.
Clearing a spot on his desk, Daddy took the soiled hankie and lay it out flat. He lifted Debbie up into his lap, and they looked at the hankie together. Most people, when looking at the hankie, would simply see dirt and dust, but Daddy taught Debbie to look closer, and together they would see images and patterns. They laughed at funny faces they found and marvel at the snowflake patterns that were created. Daddy was the best at finding joy and meaning in the littlest things.
Daddy then told Debbie that the white hankie is like our life, fresh and new. The work we do and time we spend mark our lives. Sometimes we may get discouraged, but when we take the time to give our lives to The Father, let Him guide where we are to work, and listen to Him, He will show us the wonderful blessings we have given to others, and we will see the joy that our life brings.
While Daddy finished his work for the day, Debbie found her favorite place under Daddy’s desk. She took the hankie with her to continue to look at and admire. She liked thinking about being able to sit in God’s lap, and having him point out beautiful and funny things in her life.
Soon it was time to go home. Daddy took the hankie, folding it carefully he placed it back in his jacket pocket. As he reached to turn the office light off, he took Debbie’s hand into his and they closed the door. Debbie skipped along while Daddy walked holding her hand tight. It was very quiet as they made their way home. “Daddy? . . . I like hankies!” . . . “So do I Debbie.” Daddy replied with a smile.

. . . a Vase . . .

A Vase is a vessel used to hold things.
Some are fancy others plain,
different shapes, different sizes,
fashioned from any number of materials,
useful, beautiful, odd,
almost always very fragile . . .

The beauty of the Vase is easily enhanced
or damaged by what is placed inside.

A Friend's Heart is a vessel used to hold things.
Some fanciful, others simple
different shapes, different sizes
fashioned from life lived over the years,
useful, beautiful, odd,
almost always very fragile . . .

The beauty of a Friend's Heart is easily enhanced
or damaged by what is placed inside.

My Heart is where I hold things.
Wildly fantastic, plain and true,
different experiences, different gifts,
fashioned from time, God, family, and friends,
useful, beautiful, odd,
almost always very fragile . . .

The beauty of My Heart has been enhanced by
what's been placed inside . . . YOU.

You have given me comfort, love, unconditional acceptance,
laughter, strength, encouragement, joy, help, compassion,
inspiration, truth, friendship, and most importantly, the gift
of yourself.

I give you the gift of this Vase as
a reminder . . .
I am eternally grateful for all you have given me . . .
I am so thankful to have you in my life . . .

I carry you in my heart always . . .
and my heart is made beautiful by your presence.

. . . and make Debbie a good girl . . .

From the earliest of my remembrances, prayer has been the corner stone of my Daddy's life.  So often the last resort of action when faced with a decision or crisis, and rarely thought of during times of blessings by many, was just the opposite for my Daddy.  Practicing what he preached, Daddy prayed in all occasions, unashamedly, and with the bold freedom to talk with God, as Lord and Friend.  Before I had reached the age of 3 Daddy spent time with me in prayer, teaching me to pray.  I always liked to hold his hand when he prayed, as it made me feel that much closer to the God that I was just learning about.  I knew that this communication was of the very most importance, because Daddy didn't just pray for me, he prayed with me, and lead me in praying.  Sometimes I would peek up at him as he knelt with me to see if his eyes were open.  When I saw how tightly shut his were I would quickly squeeze my eyes back shut in hopes of being just like him. 

Daddy would pray for everything from people to be healed, to God showing us the path to walk, to thanking him for the fish he and I would catch.  I liked the thank yous best because in my mind I could see Jesus smiling at Peter and laughing at Peter's joy of catching a fish, and I could feel the same smiling and laughter for us. 

With all of the praying that Daddy did with me, there was only one prayer that was ever just the same.  It was the bedtime prayer that he taught me to say.  Repeating each sentence after his prompting, I would say with all my sincerest heart . . .

Now I lay me down to sleep
I pray the Lord, my soul to keep
If I should die before I wake
I pray the Lord, my soul to take
God Bless Mommy and Daddy
and Davy, and Kassy, and Tevey
. . . and MAKE DEBBIE A GOOD GIRL!

I knew that every time I asked God to bless each of my family members that He would.  Not a single doubt in my mind.  I also knew that by asking God to "Make Debbie a good girl", that I would need His help to be what He wanted me to be, and I could hear in my Daddy's voice that he believed that God would.

Several years later, a few weeks before my 12th Christmas, Daddy took me shopping for a new coat.  This was a very special occasion as I had always worn hand-me-down coats or coats given to us by caring church people.  I was always very grateful, for the coats that I had been given, but the joy of going with Daddy to pick out one just for me, was almost more than I could contain. 

Daddy was a wonderful shopper.  He always seemed to pick out just the right item for each person, and somehow we always had just enough for what we needed.  Riding in the car on the way home from shopping no matter what it was for, we would give thanks for God's blessings that we received.

I remember walking through the stores looking at all different kinds of coats, trying them on, looking in the mirrors, working the shiny buttons through the fresh button holes, admiring the colors and feel.  Daddy would check the length of the sleeves, and the seams as I would wave my arms up and down in a flying motion.  Then, it happened . . . I saw the coat that I wanted more than anything.  It was bright red velvet that came down to just above my knees, with white simulated fur around each cuff, and from around the neck, down the front and around the bottom completing the look with a zipper up the front.  It was seamless, bright, and became the instant desire of my heart.  Daddy looked and checked it, and then, to my amazement, he hung it back on the rack.  We were leaving without the coat.  Daddy said that we needed to think about it, and since it was still a few weeks from winter, we had time.  I was devastated.  But, by the time we were home, after recalling in great detail it's loveliness, and giving my promises to always take good care of it, the subject was closed. 

Christmas was fast approaching, and we never did go back for my coat.  The winter was mild, and with the tree decorated, and holiday festivities swirling about, thoughts of my coat, were often replaced with other things.  We had many traditions in our family, but one that was taught me by my older siblings were how to hunt the house for hidden presents.  When we would find them, we would look for names, and shake and squeeze them trying to guess what they were.  Mom and Daddy knew of this and they would often switch name tags, or wrap up empty boxes to throw us off track.  Almost all of our gifts were wrapped in old "church bulletin boxes" which were all the same size making guessing that much more of a challenge. 

I was by myself in the house, when I decided to hunt that Christmas.  I looked all over the house finding those trade mark bulletin boxes, until I decided to look under my parent's bed.  There I got the surprise of my life.  There was a coat box, wrapped from the store, with my name . . . after I remembered to breathe, I touched it, then I squeezed it, and then in an instant, I was unwrapping it, not part of the tradition, just enough to see and feel that red velvet and white fur.  Daddy was surprising me for Christmas!!!!!!!  I was elated, then I realized what I had done.  I felt a little guilty, but was so excited I had determined I would never let on that I knew of my special present, and I would fool Daddy by acting so surprised. 

Christmas morning came, and I did what I set out to do.  I was so very happy.  I wore the coat around all day inside.  I wore it to bed.  I hugged and hugged Daddy.  I brushed the fur with my hair brush and kept the coat clean and fresh each day. 

On my first day back to school, I wore it proudly as I stood at the bus stop.  Once on the bus, my precious coat became ridiculed by a few boys, calling it a Santa suit, and then one boy, who was smoking, put his cigarette out on my coat sleeve, and burned a black hole in the fresh red material.  As I poured my heart out to my Daddy, he was clearly disappointed, but there was nothing he could do.  That night as I laid in bed crying, God spoke to my heart, and I knew that I had strayed from where I needed to be.  My acting surprised on Christmas, was lying to my Daddy, and that cigarette burn was the clear reminder to me that I had to suffer the consequences of my choices in life.  That night as I prayed for God to forgive me, I repeated the prayer that Daddy had taught me . . . and the closing sentence spoke more loudly than ever before to my heart, . . . 

At the writing of this story, I am 43 years old.  I have made many mistakes and have sinned and needed forgiveness more times than I care to count.  As I pray, I am often reminded of my red coat, that cigarette burn, and my need for God's daily help.  I know that my Daddy still prays for me daily, and when we are together, or are talking on the phone, he prays with me.  I am so very thankful for him, and his dedication to God, his love for me, and for teaching me to pray.  I know that God will bless each of those that I ask him to, and I know that He still hears my sincerest request that I pray each day . . . "and MAKE DEBBIE A GOOD GIRL".

I love you Daddy! 

A Very Special Valentine . . .

Daddy and I had been making our way together on our own for over a year after Momma had died.  Learning to take care of each other, as well as the house and all of the duties that come along in life were overwhelming at times, and more often than not were down right funny. 

I will never forget the amount of planning for our covert operation "Laundromat" after we had gone weeks without washing a load of clothes at home.  Daddy going to the bank to withdraw some money, then heading to different coin operated car washes to get quarters, so as not to raise suspicion by getting rolls of quarters from the bank or all from a single location.  We carefully plotted out the laundromat least likely used by church members, but still within 25 miles from home, one open 24hrs, so we would have the cover of night to sneak out 22 loads of dirty clothes, and return with 22 loads of clean clothes without the watchful eyes of neighbors. 

Our weekly "find the fudge" hunt, matched our wits against each other, as Daddy would make fudge while I was at school, clean up all of the evidence, and hide it somewhere in the house.  My keen sense of smell, and love of Daddy's fudge, never failed to find it within an hour of walking in the door . . . even though Daddy never made the fudge on the same day of the week . . . 

Late into the night after dinner we would sit at our little kitchenette table playing game after game of Rook or Uno, to see who ultimately would have to do the dishes, Daddy marveled at how much better my card game skills were then as opposed to any other time of playing. 

During my lunch hour from school, Daddy would often pick me up to go and eat with him at a favorite diner, where salads with Catalina Dressing and the best BBQ beef sandwiches gave us both a lift and kept us going through hospital and nursing home calls we would make in the evenings together. 

Sleepless nights were filled with Daddy working on his sermons and I on my homework, taking time out only for 3:00am feasts of fried potatoes and pork chops. 

Food wasn't just for us, we always fed the squirrels and the pigeons every morning and late afternoon with black walnuts and pecans we would hammer open so our little guests wouldn't have to work for the nutty meat.  The squirrels would thank us by sitting on our back steps wiggling their noses and swooshing their tails, while the pigeons would thank us by going 3 houses up the street to use the bathroom instead of on our roof and car. 

Still . . . there was an emptiness in our home that couldn't be filled by just our love for each other.

While most of my high school friends spent time dating and worrying their parents, I didn't date . . . but spent time worrying about Daddy while he dated.  The role reversal tended to make us both giggle, and make gossiping tongues wag, but we knew God was in control. 

One very special day, Daddy came home, and showed me a little box with the most beautiful diamond ring inside.  It sparkled in the kitchen light, but it's glimmer was out shown by the twinkle in Daddy's eyes.  Daddy and I were the only brown-eyed members of our family, and Momma had told me once that it takes a lot to make brown eyes shine.  I knew before he spoke the words that he was head-over-heels in love.  Her name was Donnie, and she was to be his new bride.  The shine in his eyes made me know what her answer would be even before the question was asked.
 
The whirlwind of wedding plans, and traveling across the U.S. and back left me exhausted and feeling alone.  Our home and life together would once again be changed and the struggles and adjustments would be hard.  Still, their wedding date of February 14th, made me smile and chuckle to myself as to just how giddy and romantic Daddy was. 

It wasn't until years later that it hit me that Daddy wasn't just thinking of himself and Donnie and how much in love that they are, but he was showing me just how very much he loved me by giving me A Very Special Valentine, the gift of Donnie, My Most Beautiful Mother.  His gift has given me more joy, comfort, laughter, and love than I could ever have imagined possible. 

For years there has been a secret, just between Daddy and I.  On every February 14th when I call to wish Daddy and Donnie a Happy Anniversary, I can hear the twinkle in his eyes, as he says "I love you Debbie, and I know you love your Valentine." 

I love you Donnie!

Your Daughter,
Debbie

. . . Marv . . .

May 19^th , 1983 was the day Daniel called his Dad to tell him that he was getting married, as I listened in. Marv’s reply, “oh no son! You don’t want to do that” . . .

At that moment I couldn’t have pictured the precious relationship I would be blessed with over the next 27 years.

I often reminded Marv of that moment, because it would make him laugh, and his laughter was pure delight to me. His biggest laugh came when I was doing the splits 8 inches above the lake with one foot on the shore and the other in the boat. The boat rocking back and forth as he laughed so hard he cried, meanwhile there I had to wait, facing my reflection in the murky water till he could compose himself long enough to grab the oars.

Being fishing buddies, we had a lot of time to sit and chat, especially in his ice shanty sitting out on the middle of the lake. In the boat, in the car or truck to and from our fishing trips, he took me to other places and times telling me of his adventures with his brothers, life on the farm, the music at the old Ebenezer church when he was “just a young lad”.

Cooking together in the kitchen we would swap stories and try to figure out problems . . . Like his squirrel trap . . . You see, I love squirrels and he loved squirrels to be far, far away. I’ll never forget the night that he was trying to come up with an improvement because of it not working right . . . And I told him, jokingly, that it probably would work better if I would stop letting the squirrels back out of it . . .

There are so many memories of special times and day to day joys with him that I could share, if there was time. Through those times he became a second father to me. Marv has touched so many with his love, care, and friendship, I am grateful to have been one of those he opened his heart to.

So today, I celebrate him, and his life . . . Both here and in heaven.

. . . as winter fades into spring's early morn . . .

Amid the waves of daily life

And the storms this time of year

May your heart be filled with gladness

As your vessel you carefully steer

Looking toward the light of hope

May the tempests fall away

As you glide into the comfort

And shelter of the bay

Though the light is always shining

Where’ ere you tend to roam

May you feel it’s warmth enfold you

As you sail on toward home

And the peace that comes from reaching

The safety of the shore

Fill your soul to overflowing

Giving rise to fear no more

May the Joy of this season

Glisten merrily and bright

And the gifts of love and caring

Bring to your heart . . . delight