31 Days of the Joys of Autumn - Autumn Fires Poem

I am a 26-year veteran homeschooling mom. One autumn, as part of our language arts, poetry, and drama classes, we wrote a skit with a part for each child and came up with a variety of other things for the children to present, including writing assignments and poetry to present. On the appointed night, the family got together and the children presented the skit and presented their pieces. 

One of the pieces presented was Autumn Fires by Robert Louis Stephenson. I can't see it without getting a little sentimental about autumns back home, having our own classroom, and remembering a time when our five oldest children were youngsters. Good times! Great memories! And one of the joys of autumn! 🍁🍂🍁🍂🍁

Until next time,
~Rebecca

Related and recent posts that you might enjoy...

31 Days of Autumn Joys - Pumpkin Roll Recipe

31 Days of the Joys of Autumn - Two-Ingredient Pumpkin Cake With Apple Cider Glaze

31 Days of the Joys of Autumn - Hiking The Bethany Falls Trail

31 Days of the Joys of Autumn - Spider Web Pretzel Treats

Five Minute Friday - Mess

Five Minute Friday is a special time set aside each week where, as our hostess and inspiration, Lisa-Jo Baker, puts it, "We write for five minutes flat. All on the same prompt...no extreme editing; no worrying about perfect grammar, font, or punctuation. Unscripted. Unedited. Real." 

Today's prompt is mess. So...here...we...

Go!

It's just after midnight and my BFF just left. She had been here several hours and, in that time, we discussed a myriad of subjects...plans for her daughter's upcoming graduation from nursing school and the party to follow, our roles as Christian wives, Scripture verses to speak over our marriages, our hopes and dreams for the future, our fears, our failures, our pasts, and about what a mess we both are. (I giggled when I saw Lisa Jo's prompt.) 

My BFF and I met in 2004 and, as we were getting to know one another, we found it totally bizarre that, for whatever reason, she and I have lived many of the same experiences...trod the same path...made the same wrong choices that resulted in identical outcomes that weren't wrong at all, but precious and dear to our hearts...except we did all these things ten years apart and in two totally different places.  We discovered that, in many ways, we both still live messed up lives as a result of the choices that we had made in the past.

But what we're also finding is this..despite all our fallings and flailings and failings...despite all our messed up messiness...and because of it...Jesus is there. He is able to take these messes that we've created and do something with them. And He can do it for you, too. 

Jesus knows how to pick up all those broken pieces of our messy, messed up lives and put them back together again. Jesus is the glue that cements broken hearts and broken lives and broken relationships together...making them stronger than they ever would have been otherwise, and He can turn our messes into something beautiful...and He has...and He does.

My BFF and I? Yes, we're messes. But we're great, big, BEAUTIFUL messes that have hearts for the Lord, and we trust Him to do what we can't. And that is to create beauty out of ugly...create calm in the midst of chaos...and to weave all those messy stands that we call "life" into a tapestry fit for the King. 

As I typed this I was reminded of this poem from long ago...

THE MASTER WEAVER'S PLAN

My life is but a weaving
Between the Lord and me;
I may not choose the colors–
He knows what they should be.

For He can view the pattern
Upon the upper side
While I can see it only
On this, the under side.

Sometimes He weaves in sorrow,
Which seems so strange to me;
But I will trust His judgment
And work on faithfully.

‘Tis He who fills the shuttle,
And He knows what is best;
So I shall weave in earnest,
And leave to Him the rest.

Not ’til the loom is silent
And the shuttles cease to fly
Shall God unroll the canvas
And explain the reason why.

The dark threads are as needed
In the Weaver’s skillful hand
As the threads of gold and silver
In the pattern He has planned.

~ Benjamin Malachi Franklin

Stop!

Until Next Time...

~Rebecca

O' What A Week That Was by Marge Brown

My mother's been gone for nearly eight years now, but her words still minister to me in a multitude of ways. This morning, while going through old posts on my now closed Proverbs 31 Woman group, I found this post from March 2005. It was posted just two months before her passing and I think it's worth reposting again. Mom says...

"Hi All, In your mind's eye just try to imagine the high emotions running through the streets of Jerusalem in A.D. 33. The word was out......Jesus was coming into town to celebrate the Passover. Many of those gathering that day believed Him to be many things, prophet, teacher, king. Some even believed Him to be the Son of God. Whatever, or whoever, He was, He was on His way to Jerusalem. There was going to be a welcoming parade. From young to old the excitement was contagious and emotionally overwhelming. I would like to share the following poem with you. God gave it to me several years ago, and I would like to share with you the emotional roller-coaster ride that
came with that Triumphant entry that began that day. God Bless. Marge"



O' WHAT A WEEK THAT WAS

PALM SUNDAY! WHAT A GLORIOUS DAY!
THE PEOPLE CAME TO HONOR JESUS IN A VERY SPECIAL WAY.
AS JESUS ENTERED INTO THAT GREAT CITY, JERUSALEM,
HE RODE UPON THE BACK OF A YOUNG DONKEY THAT HAD BEEN LOANED TO HIM.
THE PEOPLE BOWED BEFORE HIM, SPREADING PALM LEAVES ALONG THE WAY.
"HOSANNA! HOSANNA!" AND "KING" THEY DID SAY.
WHAT MORE COULD FOLLOW SUCH A TRIUMPHANT ENTRY TO THE CITY?
O' WHAT A WEEK THAT WAS TO BE!

THE WEEK TO COME WAS FILLED WITH ACTIVITY.
THIS WAS "PASSOVER", A SPECIAL TIME OF JEWISH FESTIVITY.
THERE WERE STRANGE THINGS HAPPENING TOO.
JESUS SPOKE AS IF HE WERE GOING AWAY VERY SOON.
ARRANGEMENTS WERE MADE FOR THE PASSOVER FEAST.
AS THEY ATE, JESUS TOLD OF THE ONE WHO WOULD BETRAY HIS TRUST.
IT WAS TRUE! HE WAS BETRAYED--TRIED--HUNG ON A CROSS TO DIE!
O' WHAT A WEEK THAT WAS! WHAT AGONY! WHAT DESPAIR!

THE SABBATH WAS AT HAND! HIS BODY WAS QUICKLY LAID IN A BORROWED TOMB.
THE HOLY DAY PASSED, THE FIRST DAY OF THE NEW WEEK CAME,
THE WOMEN WHO HAD MINISTERED TO HIM IN LIFE,
CAME NOW TO ANOINT HIS BODY IN DEATH.
BUT WHAT HAD HAPPENED? THE TOMB WAS EMPTY! JESUS BODY WAS MISSING!
A MAN CLOTHED IN WHITE APPEARED, SAID, "JESUS IS NOT DEAD, HE IS
RISEN!"
HIS DEATH ON THE CROSS HAD PAID THE PRICE FOR OUR SIN! THIS IS HIS
STORY.
O' WHAT A WEEK THAT WAS, WHEN DEATH WAS SWALLOWED UP IN VICTORY!.


MARGE BROWN
3/23/97

Susan and the Rain by Madye Lee Chastain

Here in southwest Missouri it's been raining for days!

When I was a child, on rainy days like these, my mother would pull out Volume 1 of my favorite set of books, The Bookshelf for Boys and Girls, and, together, we would read Susan and the Rain by Madye Lee Chastain.

The other night, while listening to the rain, I suddenly got an overwhelming desire to revisit my old friend, Susan Amantha Cottonwood. The problem was, I had lent Volume 1 of my favorite set of books to one of my granddaughters.

I tried to find the story online, but couldn't find it anywhere! So, after making a call to my daughter, and making sure it was okay to come over at such a late hour, I went and got my Volume 1 of The Bookshelf for Boys and Girls and revisited my dear, old, childhood friend, Susan Amantha Cottonwood.

I'd like to share that story with you here in hopes that you, in turn, will share it with your own children on beautiful, rainy days!

Are you ready? Here we go...

Susan and the Rain

By Madye Lee Chastain

Susan Amantha Cottonwood

  was a little girl

     who was always good - 

        when the sun shone.

But when the clouds piled up in the sky

And began to rain - she would cry!

    And cry and moan!

Susan Amantha hated the rain.

She would press her nose to the window-

       pane

   And complain, And complain,

       And complain!

"There's nothing to do if I can't play

       outside.

If the sun was out, I'd take my doll for a 

       ride,

I'd bounce my ball, I'd swing on the gate;

I'd go round the block on one roller skate, 

But there's nothing to do in the whole

        wide world-

   When it rains!"

Now one summer she went to the coun-

      try

    To visit her grandpapa,

And her uncles and aunts and cousins,

    And her grandmamma.

She played in the barn on the piles of hay,

She played in the meadow the livelong

       day.

The sun shone bright and Susan was gay!

But one day   It rained!

           

               And Susan complained!   

Her gandpapa was amazed to hear

So many complaints and he said, "I fear

You don't know why we have the rain

Or you wouldn't complain!"

"We have the rain to water the crops,

To make fine lettuce and big beet tops.

It makes the corn tall, row on row,

And the apples juicy and the blackberries

       grow.

It fills the rivers and streams and lakes.

It softens the soil the gardener rakes.

It washes the dust from all the leaves

And makes a song as it drips from the 

      eaves.

Why, nothing would grow on our very 

       own farm

If it didn't rain.

   Susan - don't complain!"

Susan Amantha Cottonwood

Told grandpapa that she understood,

But just the same

   It wasn't much fun

       When there was no sun!

Susan went home and though she tried,

Nevertheless, when it rained, she cried.

Until . . .

One day the postman rang the bell.

Mother opened the door and said, "Well,

       well!

Here's a package for Susan from Grand-

       papa!"

When Susan got the strings untied

And opened the box, she found inside,

A bright red umbrella, shiny black boots

And a red plaid raincoat

With a rainhat to suit!

Well, the next time it rained

Did Susan complain?

        NO!

She put on her boots

And her raincoat and hat

And she took her umbrella and went

        spitty-spat

Out in the rain -

     And in all the puddles!

Rain thumped her umbrella,

Rain spattered her coat;

each boot was as wet as a shiny black

     boat.

She splashed and she sploshed,

As happy as could be, and she said,

       "Why the rain is fun,

       And it's raining just for me!"

Found this image of the 1947 of edition of Susan and the Rain on Amazon 5/23/15. Lovely! <3

Nathan Andrew - 12/19/82

It was exactly 29 years ago at this very time that Nathan Andrew was born. Something had been wrong for a very long time. I had been bleeding off and on since my second month of pregnancy...at times very heavily.

On the 18th of December I was out Christmas shopping with my mother, my aunt, my 1 1/2-year-old daughter, and my three little cousins. All of a sudden I went into labor. My aunt took my daughter home with her and her children, and my mother rushed me to the hospital. Next thing I knew I was being strapped to a gurney and was being shipped by ambulance to a bigger hospital...one that was attached by a walkway to Children's Mercy in Kansas City. Even though I had been given a lot of medication and was pretty much out of it, I could hear the doctors and nurses talking. If they didn't get me to the other, better equipped hospital soon, they were going to lose me AND the baby. It was one of the most frightening experiences I've ever had. All I could think about was what would happen to my little daughter at home if I died.

I arrived at the other hospital in record time and was immediately surrounded by all sorts of doctors and nurses. I was plugged into every kind of equipment they had...which wasn't nearly as good as the equipment that they have now, but, at the time, it was state-of-the-art. Immediately, the head doctor wanted to know who my doctor was and how long I had been bleeding. She said that the placenta had torn away from the uterus wall and that this baby should have been "taken" months ago. What was she talking about? I would never have allowed my baby to be "taken!"

Long story short...27 hours of intense labor later (I had been given every kind of pain medicine available and nothing seemed to be helping) Nathan Andrew was born...in the hallway on the way to delivery. He was immediately rushed across the walkway to Children's Mercy and I was taken on into delivery where a DNC was performed. A few hours later the doctor came into my room with a nurse who was carrying my baby. Nathan had fought hard and lived for two hours, but his lungs were just too little. Now days they probably could have saved him, but, back then...there was nothing they could do. There was just nothing that they could do. 😞

Nathan was perfectly formed. He had long, black hair, had perfectly formed features, perfect, tiny, little fingers and fingernails...toes and toenails...on the outside he was just that...perfect! Tiny, yes (he was 10 inches long and he only weighed a pound)! But still...perfect.

Not having money for a funeral left me with few choices. I would not be allowed to leave the hospital without signing papers for Nathan's body to, either, be donated to scientific research, or be cremated in the hospital crematory. Not wanting to do either I chose the lesser of the two evils...the hospital crematory. To this day I regret that, but I don't know what else I could have done under the circumstances. It still hurts me beyond anything that I could ever express and there's never been anywhere to mourn Nathan's loss. I came home on Christmas Eve with two very blurry pictures, a set of tiny footprints on a piece of paper, and a poem that the hospital chaplain had given me.

I've never written about all this before, but, tonight, I felt a need to do so. Perhaps there is someone else out there who has been through a similar experience...someone who needs a word of encouragement. Even though all that I went through was, and still is, very sad...there are two things that have ministered to me over the years since Nathan's death...


#1 - The poem that the chaplain shared with me. It was entitled FOOTPRINTS IN THE SAND, and I had never read it until the night that she gave it to me there in the hospital. It is still very special to me.

#2 - There's a verse of scripture that the Lord gave to me many, many years later, and it is still the verse that comes to mind whenever I think of Nathan. The verse is found in Psalm 30...verse 5...and it says, "...weeping may endure for a night, but joy cometh in the morning." I know beyond the shadow of any doubt that Nathan is with Jesus and that someday I will see him again! Not as a premature baby, but as the spirit man that God created him to be!

And, if you've suffered the loss of a child...whether it be at birth or beyond...know that, if you are a born-again believer then you will see that child again and be reunited with them in days to come! If you've not accepted Jesus as the Lord and Saviour of your life, know that it's not too late! Click here to find out more.

And as you remember that trial that you've gone through...perhaps you're asking (or have asked), "Why God? Where were You when I was going through all that? Why weren't you there for me?" I leave you now with that beautiful poem that was shared with me by that wonderful, old chaplain at Children's Mercy...

FOOTPRINTS IN THE SAND

One night a man had a dream. He dreamed He was walking along the beach with the LORD. Across the sky flashed scenes from His life. For each scene He noticed two sets of footprints in the sand. One belonging to Him and the other to the LORD.

When the last scene of His life flashed before Him, he looked back at the footprints in the sand. He noticed that many times along the path of His life there was only one set of footprints. He also noticed that it happened at the very lowest and saddest times of His life.

This really bothered Him and He questioned the LORD about it. LORD you said that once I decided to follow you, you'd walk with me all the way. But I have noticed that during the most troublesome times in my life there is only one set of footprints. I don't understand why when I needed you most you would leave me.

The LORD replied, my precious, precious child, I Love you and I would never leave you! During your times of trial and suffering when you see only one set of footprints, it was then that I carried you.

Poem - Spirits of Thanksgiving Past

Photo Credit -

Library of Congress, Washington, D.C. (neg. no. LC-USZC4-4961)

THE SPIRITS OF THANKSGIVING PAST

 

by Rebecca Knox

 

One cold November dawn doth bring,

Spirits from the past,

Of Pilgrim's pride and Indians,

Upon the ground their shadows cast.

 

I see their table laden with,

The ghostly bounty feast,

As hither comes the morning sun,

Shining in the east.

 

On this table set before,

I see the places set,

Of young and old, the poor and meek,

Of English settlement.

 

The Indians in wildish splendor,

Present their native cuisine,

As part of celebration,

In this quaint and rustic scene.

 

I see before me all the souls,

Of those, who for the sake,

Of freedom, left their native home,

For the chance that they must take.

 

Of those who starved and froze to death,

Before the feast began,

They are there amongst the trees,

To share the feast at hand.

 

As sun doth shine, a brightness heralds,

and shadows of the past,

Slip silently away, then gone,

No more to see, at last.

 

 

~Written November 1990

In Flanders Fields

Today is Remembrance Day or, as some refer to it, Armed Forces Day. First thing this morning a little girl came to our door collecting money for the VFW. In exchange for my meager offering she left me two lovely little 'Remembrance Poppies'. They made me think of the following poem, which we memorized a few years back as part of our homeschool studies. It was written by Lieutenant Colonel John McCrae, MD (1872-1918) of the Canadian Army.

IN FLANDERS FIELDS

In Flanders fields the poppies blow
      Between the crosses, row on row,
   That mark our place; and in the sky
   The larks, still bravely singing, fly
Scarce heard amid the guns below.

We are the Dead. Short days ago
We lived, felt dawn, saw sunset glow,
   Loved and were loved, and now we lie,
  In Flanders fields.

Take up our quarrel with the foe:
To you from failing hands we throw
   The torch; be yours to hold it high.
   If ye break faith with us who die
We shall not sleep, though poppies grow
      In Flanders fields.

Thinking About Martha And Mary

After running across the link to '31 Days To Clean - Having A Martha House The Mary Way' and posting about it this morning I got to thinking about Martha and Mary.

Luke 10:38-42 tells us the story of these two sisters of Lazarus (the same Lazarus of whom Jesus would eventually raise from the dead - see John 11:1-44). The passage tells us that, as Jesus was passing through a certain village, Martha welcomed Him into her home. While Martha was busy cooking and serving dinner, we find that Mary had slipped out of her sister's kitchen and was sitting at the Master's feet...listening intently to every word He said. After a time Martha interrupted Jesus...complaining...wanting to know if He didn't care that Mary had left her to do all the work  alone. Jesus answered Martha this way:

"...Martha, Martha, thou art careful [worried] and troubled about many things: But one thing is needful; and Mary hath chosen that good part, which shall not be taken away from her." (Luke 38:41-42)

As I thought about these two women...these two friends of Jesus...I couldn't help but wonder...

Am I more like Martha? What type of person was she? Or am I more like Mary? What type of person was she? What heart-qualities made the two sisters so different from one another? If Jesus came to my house would He have to gently rebuke me as He did Martha? Or would He commend me as He did Mary? Which of these two sister's qualities would I rather possess? What qualities do I need to cultivate in my life in order to achieve that goal? 

I pose these same questions to you.  

While you think about that, and while it's not the one I wanted to share with you (when I find that one I will post it), here is a 'Martha and Mary' poem for you to enjoy...

Martha Hands—Mary Heart

I must have the hands of Martha,
Hands that scrub and cook and sew—
I can have the heart of Mary
While I do these things, you know.

Though my hands are in the dishpan,
This soul of mine can soar
And in thoughts sublime and lofty
Go right up to heaven’s door.

I must cook, oh endless dinners,
For my dear ones have to eat;
But my soul need not be cooking—
It can sit at Jesus’ feet!

Help me, God while doing duties
Against which my soul rebels,
But meekly still to peel potatoes,
But not grovel in the shells.

Grant me, God, mid things prosaic
Ere to choose the better part;
Grant that while I must be Martha
I may have the Mary heart.

---Author Unknown

Mother's Day Blessing

Mother's Day Blessing

Just as God gives to each rose,
A gentle touch of dew,
And gives unto each evening sky,
The lovely sunset’s hue,

So may He give to you,
From His enduring love,
Great happiness and heart's content,
And blessings from above.

Happy Mother's Day! 

O' What A Week That Was

My mother wrote this poem back in 1997. I thought that I'd share it here with you...

O' WHAT A WEEK THAT WAS


PALM SUNDAY! WHAT A GLORIOUS DAY!
THE PEOPLE CAME TO HONOR JESUS IN A VERY SPECIAL WAY.
AS JESUS ENTERED INTO THAT GREAT CITY, JERUSALEM,
HE RODE UPON THE BACK OF A YOUNG DONKEY THAT HAD BEEN LOANED TO HIM.
THE PEOPLE BOWED BEFORE HIM, SPREADING PALM LEAVES ALONG THE WAY.
"HOSANNA! HOSANNA!" AND "KING" THEY DID SAY.
WHAT MORE COULD FOLLOW SUCH A TRIUMPHANT ENTRY TO THE CITY?
O' WHAT A WEEK THAT WAS TO BE!

THE WEEK TO COME WAS FILLED WITH ACTIVITY.
THIS WAS "PASSOVER", A SPECIAL TIME OF JEWISH FESTIVITY.
THERE WERE STRANGE THINGS HAPPENING TOO.
JESUS SPOKE AS IF HE WERE GOING AWAY VERY SOON.
ARRANGEMENTS WERE MADE FOR THE PASSOVER FEAST.
AS THEY ATE, JESUS TOLD OF THE ONE WHO WOULD BETRAY HIS TRUST.
IT WAS TRUE! HE WAS BETRAYED--TRIED--HUNG ON A CROSS TO DIE!
O' WHAT A WEEK THAT WAS! WHAT AGONY! WHAT DESPAIR!

THE SABBATH WAS AT HAND! HIS BODY WAS QUICKLY LAID IN A BORROWED TOMB.
THE HOLY DAY PASSED, THE FIRST DAY OF THE NEW WEEK CAME,
THE WOMEN WHO HAD MINISTERED TO HIM IN LIFE,
CAME NOW TO ANOINT HIS BODY IN DEATH.
BUT WHAT HAD HAPPENED? THE TOMB WAS EMPTY! JESUS BODY WAS MISSING!
A MAN CLOTHED IN WHITE APPEARED, SAID, "JESUS IS NOT DEAD, HE IS
RISEN!"
HIS DEATH ON THE CROSS HAD PAID THE PRICE FOR OUR SIN! THIS IS HIS
STORY.
O' WHAT A WEEK THAT WAS, WHEN DEATH WAS SWALLOWED UP IN VICTORY!.


MARGE BROWN
3/23/97