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Another Way for week of May 19, 2023
Let the Children Come
The little tyke (somewhere between 15-18 months) was wiggling like most kids do at that age if they’re held captive in a parent’s arm. His mother was trying desperately to contain his energy.
The occasion was the little fellow’s baptism in a large church that practices infant baptism (along with baptism at any age—but starting with babies). While many parents choose an early baptism for the very reason of wanting to avoid a wiggling, or worse—crying—child, these parents, for whatever reason, had brought their son for the sacrament of baptism when he was a bit older. Fidgety older.
In this particular service, other young children of the church were invited forward to be able to see the baptism easier, and were even encouraged to come up to the glass bowl of water and touch the water. The pastor said they could put some water on their heads if they wished, in order to remember and learn about the sacrament of baptism—especially since they likely had personally experienced it also at an early age. Before they could remember much!
The sacrament of baptism, if you don’t know or recall, is based on Jesus’ own baptism in the Jordan River (between current day Lebanon and Syria). This church and many others practice baptism at an early age, declaring children to be beloved children of God. In baptism, God claims us as treasured children and members of Christ’s body, the church. The church in turn promises to help raise the children of the church by giving of their time teaching, playing with, and mentoring children as they grow.
That’s the background, but what happened on this recent Sunday morning was too good not to share (I watched it on a video recording). The little tyke continued his squirming, even trying to push on his Daddy, who helped hold and keep him confined as the pastor finished the longish statements the church’s guidebook uses for this ceremony. Finally, the pastor got down to the ritual of putting some of the water on the child’s head three times, using the words “In the name of the Father, the Son, and the Holy Spirit.”
Then, Little Tyke reached out and put his own hand in the water and touched the top of his hair, which I had never seen happen before. The congregation erupted in spontaneous applause and probably a bit of laughter and smiles. I don’t know that congregations typically clap after a baptism, but maybe some do. At any rate, it touched my heart and made me remember our daughters’ own baptisms.
I grew up in the Mennonite church, which typically does not practice infant baptism. Early Mennonites were known as “Anabaptists” (not “anti” baptism, but practicing “re-baptism” in the 1500’s.) The “state church” in that era had a rule of infant baptism for all. Those adults who held out in favor of adult baptism were harshly punished, sometimes including gruesome deaths as martyrs.
So my father, as a Mennonite deacon, couldn’t bring himself to support infant baptism of any kind. I never pushed him to drive 600 miles for the ceremony at our Presbyterian congregation. But when our third daughter arrived, Mom decided to take the train to Virginia so she could finally see one of her granddaughters baptized as a baby.
My own thoughts on the matter have widened to include baptism at any age, knowing that babies grow up to be teenagers and young adults. At that point they are better suited to make their own personal decision to follow Jesus and join or not join the church, and take a “confirmation or catechism class” that is offered to all.
The whole experience of watching that child with his parents and the other children around the pastor made me think of the Bible passage where Jesus himself said, “Let the children come to me, and do not hinder them; for to such belongs the kingdom of heaven.” (Matthew 19:14).
***
Do you remember your baptism?
Or were you or your children also “little tykes” or infants when baptized?
How and where does your church do baptisms?
I’d love your comments here, or write to me at Another Way, P.O. Box 363, Singers Glen, VA 22834, or email anotherwaymedia@yahoo.com.
Another Way is a column by Melodie Davis, in syndication since 1987. She is the author of ten books, most recently Memoir of an Unimagined Career. Another Way columns are posted at FindingHarmonyBlog.com a week after newspaper publication.
Another Way for week of May 12, 2023
Memories of Mother’s Day
This week was a special Mother’s Day for me for many reasons. You may remember my exuberance when a little girl joined our family back in February. I have heard from numerous readers who enjoyed hearing about the birth of our first granddaughter. Some have asked for updates. She is growing, exploring her world, holding her head up nicely, babbling to her mother and father, and growing out of onesies as fast as you can put them on. Soon, perhaps she’ll be chowing down corn like her mother loved, seen in the photo below:
This little granddaughter joins our three daughters as the females in the family. If you count me, it maybe begins to even out the gender count: five females to nine males.
I found a Mother’s Day card for our youngest daughter who had the baby in February. This one truly moved me. I don’t think greeting cards are copyrighted, so I’ll just share a few lines here:
“… when a daughter becomes a mother, a special dream of your own comes true. … it feels like life has come full circle in all the most beautiful ways, making even more dreams come true.”
On another note, this was also the second Mother’s Day after my siblings and I lost our mother. We all remember the year before her death when we celebrated with Mom at her favorite Amish restaurant in northern Indiana, Das Dutchman Essenhaus. My brother and sister-in-law from Florida had also driven up for the occasion, making it truly special, because he is the only male in our sibling group of three sisters. Mom loved that restaurant and was over-the-moon-happy to have Terry and Deb there. What I wouldn’t give now to take her there with all of the grandchildren and great great grands and step-grands and …. We lose count.
Being a mom is a blessing but not always easy. We are often strong in ways other than muscles. I think of my mom and the trials she went through, that we won’t go into here. At the end of life, she only remembered or spoke of the blessings that we were to her—not the difficulties. She often told people how wonderful her children were.
I’m now working on a new book with some memories from Mom’s childhood. Some were good memories, some not so good, such as the time her mother stuffed socks in her mouth to get Mom to stop jabbering.
My sister had given her some journals with prompts for Mom to respond to and write about various aspects of her life, which I’m using for this family memoir (which will include Dad too).
Mom (named Bertha) recalled that her mother was very nice to them when they were sick. “I could have toast (browned in a skillet) and I could play with forbidden things if I was in bed with flu.” Mom grew up with that fond memory and passed it on to us by also making special things—toasting bread in a skillet rather than the toaster which somehow had an especially good taste when recovering from flu.
Mom also let us play with trinkets—such as a collection of high heeled miniature shoes that she always bought when we traveled (if she could find the little shoes in souvenir shops). Each of us as daughters and granddaughters now have a glass shoe or two from her collection. She herself was unable to wear spiky high heeled shoes, because her size 10 feet were “so hard to shop for.” In her older years we took her shoe shopping, which was quite an ordeal finding shoes that fit and that she liked.
Another sweet memory she shared of her mother was that Grandma Ruth would “surround us with her arms when it stormed hard.” Like Maria in The Sound of Music!
I hope you have good memories of Mother’s Day weekend. It if is a painful time instead, may you feel God’s comforting arms around you.
***
Memories or thoughts? Trinkets you love?
Write to me at Another Way, P.O. Box 363, Singers Glen, VA 22834, or email anotherwaymedia@yahoo.com.
Another Way is a column by Melodie Davis, in syndication since 1987. She is the author of ten books, most recently Memoir of an Unimagined Career. Another Way columns are posted at FindingHarmonyBlog.com a week after newspaper publication.
Another Way for week of May 4, 2023
Downsizing A Loved One’s Belongings
The older I get, the harder it is mentally for me to help clear out a home, apartment, or a room at a retirement facility. As persons even older than me (generally) have to move to a place for nursing care or because they can no longer keep up their home, the spiral from there is often sad.
I’ve done that now probably 10-12 times in the last 20 years for my husband’s relatives, a father-in-law, my own parents, and various friends and acquaintances from church. Recently we helped a fellow church member move to a nursing facility. He had been at an assisted living place. Before that a lovely and large apartment. I know he has treasured so many objects and especially books but he generously gave away dozens of his items on a church table and to other friends.
That’s life, as my special friend Martha used to tell me.
So how do you tackle the enormous (sometimes) challenge and move forward with what has to be done? Experts suggest starting slow, if possible, going through beloved items gently, and taking a first pass through and later more passes to gradually pare down the belongings.
Likely you first make sure family members or close friends have opportunities to pick out and receive items. Sometimes several family members have their eyes on a specific treasure that is precious to all. I’m grateful my mother and father wrote down many of these special objects indicating who was to receive what. Other times, no one wants or is able to take the rocking chair that helps us remember Grandma, but honestly, do I have room in my already full house?
Sometimes yard, garage, or even estate auctions, depending on what’s practical, are the way to go and the whole community thus shares in the distribution of items that still have a useful life.
When my Mom and Dad first moved to a retirement home/facility, they held an auction which took days if not weeks to prepare for. Auctioneers have a good feel for what might bring a decent price and what things are best to put together in boxes—with persons who bid on such boxes taking the good with the not-so-good.
Eventually we came to the stage where we made generous use of places that accept donations of clothing, household appliances, furniture and so on. Of course those organizations—that typically use the funds accrued from sale of such for charitable causes—help to ease the pain of parting with beloved items.
This should not be interpreted as unloving or cold hearted. We come into this world with nothing and leave, essentially, with nothing and while I have many treasured dishes and framed photos and artwork that I love, I know that at some point, someone else will make decisions about what to keep, throw, or donate of our possessions. Maybe, if you’re the one making those decisions, you can focus on keeping memories, not items.
And then there’s miscellaneous paperwork, records, photos, old letters. What if you plan and want to do a family history book of some kind? The letters and records can be of vital help. I am working on such a book now.
Blessed be the mothers and fathers who free their offspring of guilt or worry by cleaning out and disposing of some of their belongings—ahead of their last years or months.
I have been doing some of that for the past couple years of our own stuff, but I still have mountains of stuff that will need to be processed at some point. Sometimes renting a huge dumpster is the only solution to disposing of items that have deteriorated, rotted, become soiled or damaged and unusable. Then it is good to remember the old hymn, “This world is not my home, I’m just a-passing through; my treasures are laid up, somewhere beyond the blue” (words attributed to A.J. Carter).
***
What treasures have you inherited or received from friends and family?
Ideas to help downsizing or cleaning out belongings? What have you learned? What do you regret?
Are yard sales worth the work?
Comment here or write to me at Another Way, P.O. Box 363, Singers Glen, VA 22834, or email anotherwaymedia@yahoo.com.
Another Way is a column by Melodie Davis, in syndication since 1987. She is the author of ten books, most recently Memoir of an Unimagined Career. Another Way columns are posted at FindingHarmonyBlog.com a week after newspaper publication.
Another Way for week of April 28, 2023
Estella – A Star
My would-have-been mother-in-law was a truly beautiful woman with a lovely smile and spirit. I know her only in photos but I heard a recent story about Estella that I want to share here.
During World War 2, before she got married, Estella had a summer job as a nanny for two small girls working in the home of a diplomat in Washington, D.C. During the summer they vacationed in Hyannis Port, Massachusetts where many other elites of Washington enjoyed summer vacations.
The girls adored Estella apparently, which my husband’s family found out many years later through an unusual phone call. My brother-in-law was at home when no one else was—others hadn’t gotten off work yet or were out doing errands. When Nolan answered the phone, the caller asked if a woman named Estella Hottinger Davis lived there.
Nolan paused. Estella had died April 14, 1973 at the very young age of 56. He told the caller of the situation and then the caller paused. The woman then said that Estella had been her and her sister’s nanny during the war and they had grown so attached to Estella—even more so than to their mother apparently—that they wanted to get in touch with Estella or her family. Their mother had forbidden them to get in touch with Estella but the mother had died recently and they decided to hire a private detective to try and track Estella down.
Nolan remembers chatting a bit more with the daughter who called but eventually the phone call came to a close.
That story tells me much about the personality and spirit of the mother-in-law I didn’t have. My husband Stuart and his brothers mourned their loss for many years. Stuart would break down from time to time if I asked a lot of questions about his mother, which told me how much he loved her and regretted some of the things he had done as a teenager. I regretted that I never knew her.
Estella suffered from severe rheumatoid arthritis. After she had her first two sons and had experienced less pain and disability while she had been pregnant with her second son, Nolan, a doctor told her to go ahead and try to have another baby because it could help her again from the pain of that type of arthritis. And so my husband Stuart was born. Unfortunately, the pains returned and the family dealt with the situation the best they could. She persevered. Estella was especially saddened when she could no longer go their Lutheran church with the family, which was very important to her.
Eventually Estella died from bleeding ulcers because of all the aspirin, Darvon, and cortisone she had to take just to get through the day. This was long before other modern pain relievers were created.
Estella had four sisters who were all close and who assisted Estella’s family through many years of pain and disability. The sisters would take turns visiting Estella, helping cook, clean, and do summer canning from the family’s bountiful and well-cared for garden. The older boys soon learned to be excellent cooks themselves. My father-in-law Hershel’s garden was so well known in Bridgewater where the family lived that the local newspaper featured him several times working his garden.
We gave our youngest daughter the middle name of Estella which she is very proud to have. The name in Latin means “Star.” My daughters and I have all been touched by the strength and faith of this grandma and mother-in-law we were never privileged to know personally. I’m a little surprised, but shouldn’t be, to find myself wiping tears away even now. I hope to meet her someday.
***
Comments? Or your own story? Something you found out only recently? We’d love to hear!
Share here or write to me privately at Another Way, P.O. Box 363, Singers Glen, VA 22834, or email anotherwaymedia@yahoo.com.
Another Way is a column by Melodie Davis, in syndication since 1987. She is the author of ten books, most recently Memoir of an Unimagined Career. Another Way columns are posted at FindingHarmonyBlog.com a week after newspaper publication
Another Way for week of April 21, 2023
The World of Paid Work
Sometimes I can barely believe that after having a paid job for over 43 years, I now get to be my own boss. I still do some freelance writing (such as this column) and receive remuneration for the writing, but other than that, we no longer work the 9-5, or in my case, the 8-4 and in my husband’s case, the 5 a.m. till whenever. He had many six-day weeks and some seven-day weeks.
I had a reduced work week for most of my years as we were raising our family, and I liked that so much I never went back to a 40-hour week. I worked half time until our daughters were all in school, and then I worked 24-32 hours. Even after they left home, I always took off Friday afternoons (officially that was a 36-hour week for my main employer) which was a nice respite to do errands or extra cleaning if we were having guests. I also worked my “second job” publishing a quarterly magazine called “Valley Living” with a team of three other part-time workers.
For many of us, our working hours make up a full third of our lives, or more. While I desperately wish everyone could have jobs they enjoy, unfortunately there are many jobs that are dirty, involve working with butchered animals, working outside in inclement weather, working with dangerous materials, women and men working all night at a hospital—hard, difficult shifts.
Centuries ago, most work was centered around the home: cottage industry. Not always fun or safe work either, but at least children could be cared for by their parents and children would learn from little up the jobs that they could do to help. As a farm girl, I was lucky to have a Mom who worked at home and on the farm while we were all growing up. Daddy bore the brunt of the farm work and he soon nabbed the second daughter born as a ready helper: she loved to escape to the barn (and pet and play with the kittens or cats) rather than get stuck dusting the living room.
We all helped inside and outside on the farm and Dad couldn’t have been happier when their fourth baby was a boy! That little boy not only grew up working hard on the farm but became a fine fix-it guy and later a heavy-duty mechanic for Caterpillar when Dad sold off his farm in north Florida. My most unusual job was helping one summer at the mobile home factory Dad and three others began in the 70s, drawing variations on blueprints for their standard mobile homes.
It was my farm background that helped me be open to marrying a factory worker who, (at the time I met him) wore a hairnet at work as required at the various poultry plants that dot our valley in Virginia. Some of my friends from college quietly wondered why I was dating a “local yokel.” That hurt him and me a little, but mostly we haven’t looked back and he always encouraged his daughters to get a good education so they wouldn’t have to do the kinds of work he did. He needed to retire early (62) because by that time, his legs, feet, and ankles were wearing out. Thankfully he was always inclined to mostly sock away his raises into a retirement account, to help us plan for a comfortable retirement.
I always remember the Bible school verse we learned in the second book of Thessalonians: “Work with your own hands.” The longer part of that passage, verses 11-12 is even more meaningful: “Make it your ambition to lead a quiet life: You should mind your own business and work with your hands, just as we told you,so that your daily life may win the respect of outsiders and so that you will not be dependent on anybody.”
Now it is time for me to get to my other work here at home! Have a good day or weekend!
Have you graduated from the world of a paid job?
Share your work experiences? Hobbies? Volunteer jobs?
Comment here or write to me at Another Way, P.O. Box 363, Singers Glen, VA 22834, or email anotherwaymedia@yahoo.com.
Sorry this is so belated! It appeared in papers earlier. We were happily traveling to spend time with grandkids, a sister and her family, and more. The sweet side of retirement.
Another Way is a column by Melodie Davis, in syndication since 1987. She is the author of ten books, most recently Memoir of an Unimagined Career. Another Way columns are posted at FindingHarmonyBlog.com a week after newspaper publication.
Another Way for week of April 14, 2023
Learning How to Share Peace—and Cheez-Its
I’ve heard several uplifting stories recently that seem worth sharing for anyone else struggling with kids—or rejoicing at young boys and girls showing signs they’re growing up well.
The first story takes place at church and involves two brothers who love going up front to play simple musical instruments (drums, maracas, tambourines) when their small congregation sings songs. Sometimes, as kids do, there is a slight skirmish as children select their instrument of choice.
One boy, I’ll call him Peter, snagged one of the two drums. A younger boy kept hunting and searching the instrument box, not selecting anything. This went on quite a while as everyone in this smallish church waited patiently (with some friendly chatter and encouragement) for the children to find suitable instruments.
One mother decided to go help the younger boy, we’ll call him Danny, to just pick something. It turned out that Danny was looking for a drum which one of the other children had already chosen. Danny steadfastly refused anything else offered. Then Peter offered his drum to his little brother, which Danny happily accepted. Peter chose something else. Everyone breathed a bit easier as Peter made a mature peacemaking decision for the group. The mother happily praised her son later for doing the “right thing.”
In another tense situation, Bobby went to his friend Will’s birthday party. One of the activity options was jumping at a trampoline park, an arcade, and playing on a mini basketball court. Apparently, there were only a few balls to go around, not enough for Will’s group at the party. For a time, the birthday group had all the balls and a smaller boy came up and asked if he could have a ball. When no one gave him a ball, he said “I’m going to go tell my mom!” One older boy retorted “Oh yeah? What’s your mom going to do about it?” Then Bobby took a ball from one of the other friends, Zach, and gave it to the smaller boy. Bobby reported that Zach initially said “Hey!” (about losing his ball) but when he saw what Bobby was doing to share the ball, he was okay with it. Bobby’s mother told him he’d made her very proud and happy, and that he was a good person for securing a ball for the younger boy. The parents were glad to see Bobby thinking for himself and using his own judgment, and not just follow a ringleader.
Another heartening story: Nine-and-a-half-year-old Nathan enjoys volunteering and is finally old enough to help read the scripture at his church. His grandmother shared the happy news with her small group at her church, and was able to watch Nathan on YouTube. So many children have had their church experiences curtailed by the pandemic, and many churches are having difficulty jumping in after a two-to-three-year gap of staying home and “watching” a church service or “Sunday school” class online.
Finally, I had to smile at this. One four-year-old boy came home from church talking about “Cheez-Its” and his mother thought he was talking about a snack he had with the other children. “No,” he said firmly, “In church we learned about ‘Cheez-Its’. Cheez-Its was a person.” (Jesus, of course.)
The organization I used to work for has come out with a new storybook for families or churches looking for resources to help kids “get back to church” or at least learning from the Bible. The name of the new storybook is “The Peace Table” and information is available in my end material.
I hope there’s always room at the table for persons to learn and make the world a better place by helping others—and children absorb surprising lessons from their parents, teachers, friends, and elders.
Comment or share stories of your kids–or adults–making peace!
We’d love to hear more! Change names as necessary!
For more information on The Peace Table visit shinecurriculum.com. Book available June 2. Or write to me at Another Way, P.O. Box 363, Singers Glen, VA 22834, or email anotherwaymedia@yahoo.com.
Another Way is a column by Melodie Davis, in syndication since 1987. She is the author of ten books, most recently Memoir of an Unimagined Career. Another Way columns are posted at FindingHarmonyBlog.com a week after newspaper publication.
Another Way for week of April 7, 2023 [Note I always publish my columns a week after they’ve had a chance to appear in local newspapers.]
Did you grow up eating your evening dinner/supper at a table with the family? Did you have a specific place where you just about always sat? Did you like your place?
My husband was telling a friend about his oldest daughter whom we shall call, for purposes of this story, “Flying Elbows.” As she grew taller with nice long limbs, she wasn’t afraid to claim her place at our small table: elbows sticking straight out, right next to my husband. Our two other daughters sat on either side of me.
You probably already guessed the story: that his “space” was frequently invaded with her flying elbows as she dug into our dinner. Now he remembers it nostalgically. We love having all our children and their children sitting at our table. It happens too infrequently, but that’s life.
There’s a lovely hymn in many of our hymnals these days, called For Everyone Born/A Place at the Table. It is kind of a communion song but also a reminder of God welcoming one and all to God’s table, which is a wonderful thing.
The third verse reminds us that all—both young and old, wrinkled or young child, are welcome at God’s table. God delights in the larger family joined around the communion table and wants us all to pursue both justice and joy. (See hymnary.org for more text.)
Shirley Erena Murray from New Zealand wrote the hymn lyrics (in addition to writing many others) and Brian Mann composed the lovely tune and rhythm. I love to sway with the music as we sing that song at church, remembering that just three short years ago we couldn’t come to the communion table or even gather as a church community because of covid. We quickly transitioned to a “hybrid worship” format held mostly online, but gradually with a few chairs in our sanctuary, one could reserve a seat if you wanted to be present in person and wear a mask. We put away all the hymn books at that time which we are now able to freely use again. We are happily planning to be celebrating in person again this Easter with an egg hunt of hundreds of plastic eggs (stuffed with candy or trinkets) on our massive church lawn.
These opportunities and traditions are more precious than ever as we have learned the difficulties and losses of a pandemic. It’s almost like a resurrection that we celebrate this weekend: hugs, tears wiped away, the generous love of God flowing around.
Of course not all is well in our world and God calls us to work for justice and putting down of arms. Illness and diseases and syndromes of many kinds cause patients and families and loved ones much pain and heartache. Social issues such as addiction and drinking to excess, often followed by abuse of family members and friends abound. Why? How can all be helped to living cleaner lives with support of the loved ones who care about them?
Our church and many others offer spaces for community groups like AA or individuals needing and wanting help (with no need to be a church member). In the Bible, (Luke 14: 15-25) there is a parable told by Jesus where those invited to attend a banquet thrown by a rich fellow don’t bother to show up. A servant is sent out to remind people about the banquet they were invited to. Excuses abound: “I just bought a field and must check on it.” “I just bought five oxen and I’m going to try them out.” Finally this: “I just got married, can’t make it.” Moral for us here: while it is excruciatingly hard to give up bad and dangerous habits, others have done so and eagerly want to help others.
God’s table has room for us all. As we celebrate Easter this weekend, may we all find ways to help others, as well as get any help that we may need in crushing life-draining habits or pastimes.
I hope you had a good Easter week!
What was your place at the table when you were growing up? Are the memories good or bad?
Any stories you recall from the family table?
Comment here! Or contact me via Another Way, P.O. Box 363, Singers Glen, VA 22834, or email anotherwaymedia@yahoo.com.
Another Way is a column by Melodie Davis, in syndication since 1987. She is the author of ten books, most recently Memoir of an Unimagined Career. Another Way columns are posted at FindingHarmonyBlog.com a week after newspaper publication.
Another Way for week of March 31, 2023
When Animals Teach Us to be Better Humans
The evening was freezing with rapidly approaching darkness. My husband needed help hooking up a trailer to his truck so he could make an early morning run to a metal recycling center. I wished I was inside cozily watching a TV program. But something kept me from complaining or being mad.
I had just finished reading a fascinating, well-written book about a family who decided to spend one fall and winter in Alaska training their team of Siberian Husky dogs to run the Yukon Quest dog sledding race in the darkest days of February. I was remembering the author’s descriptions of their 40-50 degrees below zero temperatures, and the added windchill of sharp 50-75 mph winds. All of a sudden, I felt warm, like my small shivers were not a big deal.
Running North: A Yukon Adventure by Ann Mariah Cook (1998, Algonquin Books) will take you on an adventure you will probably never have in person, and perhaps teach you a mountain of things you may not know about dogs. Ann and her husband George Cook took their three-year-old daughter also on this wild adventure, with Ann helping as a side-handler for George who competed in the actual race: steering, pushing with his own leg power at times, and taking care of the pack.
When you think of amazingly smart and somewhat human animals, we may think of monkeys, dolphins, elephants and more. Certainly dogs belong on that list, I am finding out.
The writer, Ann, described several of their dogs. If their typical steel blue eyes are not enough to fascinate you, perhaps these tendencies will:
- Their dog Minnie was first on the list to be chosen for the dog team. Ann described her as a “solider of a dog, so much of a soldier she … seemed to pride herself on immediate response…. George had to be careful not to give a command too soon or Minnie would veer off in whichever direction she was told at exactly the moment she was told,” regardless of whether it was the direction George was pursuing in his mind for the pack.
- Another key leader dog, Lightening, had experienced the difficulties of the Iditarod trek, who’s “cool-headedness and lightheartedness were definitely an asset to the team.”
- A dog they called Taro, was at the front of the line; the family called him a “crazy Frenchman” because he was passionate about both his food and affections. “He ate with gusto, barking and squealing delightedly between bites. He didn’t just let his loved ones pet him: ‘He rubbed his body all over us, drowning himself in our scents and vice versa.’”
- A dog, Boomer, was described like this: “He did his work, ate his food, and minded his own business. Teamed with Pete, he could move mountains; these two were well-matched in power and stride.”
- Finally, I loved this description of a small female dog, Shasta. “A mere 38 pounds, she was fast and stronger than she looked. She kept the pressure on the leader dogs by running close behind them as if to say, “I will have your job if you slack up.”
There are more descriptions in the book.
I enjoy reading about dogs because it seems to help me understand our dog better, such as her devotion to my husband. She follows him almost anywhere, even when he is exercising his leg on a home stationary bike. She knows the exercises are painful and gives him faithful, moral support, perhaps even better than I can give.
I won’t spoil the ending of this book in case you decide to check it out, but it truly moved me in wanting to be kind and loving both to our dog and cat, but even more to the humans in our lives.
***
Any dog racers here? Adventures with pets?
What have your pets taught you?
Comment here or write to me at Another Way, P.O. Box 363, Singers Glen, VA 22834, or email anotherwaymedia@yahoo.com.
Another Way is a column by Melodie Davis, in syndication since 1987. She is the author of ten books, most recently Memoir of an Unimagined Career. Another Way columns are posted at FindingHarmonyBlog.com a week after newspaper publication.
Another Way for week of March 24, 2023
Precious Memories
As we get older, my husband and I go to a lot of funerals and memorial services. A fact of life, for most of us. I remember my mother reflecting on this phase of life.
Of course, this has gotten to be even more frequent with the pandemic. I have lost count. I don’t find these services depressing. (Sad yes, but not depressing.) It is often quite inspiring to hear of lives well-lived and how these friends/relatives/distant acquaintances touched others.
So pardon me if you’ve gotten tired of my sharing some of these lessons learned from others. Although I shouldn’t need to apologize for writing out these memories and stories.
This is a story told by an ordained minister who, as a little boy, was one of my daughter’s first playmates. Jeff (above and below) was nine months older than our first daughter Michelle. Jeff’s mother, Gwen (not shown) offered me so much companionship and great parenting advice as she went through the various stages of taking care of a child—a few months before me.
The now-grown (and 40ish) Jeff told this story at his grandfather’s funeral/memorial which moved me greatly and touched others. As he began his eulogy, he reminded us that Presbyterians believe in doing everything “decently and in order” (now partially an insider joke).
He told a story of something that happened long ago in a communion service where his grandfather, Mac, was strangely and memorably moved. The breaking of the bread and the sharing of the cup is a sacred practice in most Protestant and Catholic churches commemorating the last supper of Jesus with his disciples. Jesus encouraged his followers to do likewise as they remembered him.
Jeff, an entertaining but reverent preacher, explained how his grandfather was worshipping in a particularly “fancy” church which covered the whole communion table with a white table cloth, with little peaks of cloth topping the communion trays of grape juice and plates of bread. Jeff said the cloth covering always made him eager to see exactly what was beneath that cloth, especially as a kid.
Jeff went on in a humorous vein: “But I never got why they would replace the cloth after communion. They covered everything back up! Well, we’ve already seen what’s under it, why do they put the white cloths back on?”
On one such occasion, Jeff said his Pop (as he called his grandfather) was with his daughter (Jeff’s mother Gwen). The cloth had been lifted and folded up, “or whatever they do with it, while the communion is being served.” Jeff paused. “The story goes that as it was being put back on the communion trays, Pop got emotional, an emotion we didn’t see very much. He actually began to weep, to really cry. And Pop said to Mom, ‘I’m not sure why I’m crying, but I remember my Dad doing that’ (arranging the cloth after communion).”
Jeff summarized the meaning for him: “That memory! Decades old, but a memory, of another person (Mac’s dad), who had shaped Pop’s branches. Unveiling the fruit of faith, of his roots, that touched his soul.”
Then Jeff reminded us all while swallowing some of his own emotion, “That God, that God was the one who was with Pop, who held him all his life, and the one that now holds him in life everlasting.”
Jeff’s telling of that true family story sent me searching for a tissue, because Jeff and Mac’s history triggered for me hearing my Dad sing—off tune but robustly—the hymns of faith that many of us grew up with. If the congregation sings “Blessed Assurance” I can hear my dad as plainly as if he were standing next to me. There are a number of other hymns and Bible passages that strongly reconnect me with my dad and now my mom.
I hope this story reminds you too of the roots that you may have had as a child or young adult, or of a beloved grandfather, grandmother, mom or dad.
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Who gave you your roots of faith?
Who is giving your children or grandchildren those roots ?
How do you do communion or the Lord’s supper at your church?
Comment here or write to me at Another Way, P.O. Box 363, Singers Glen, VA 22834, or email anotherwaymedia@yahoo.com.
Another Way is a column by Melodie Davis, in syndication since 1987. She is the author of ten books, most recently Memoir of an Unimagined Career. Another Way columns are posted at FindingHarmonyBlog.com a week after newspaper publication.
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