Tuesday, April 28, 2015

We Walk In The Midst





We walk in the midst of beautiful flowers
They will return again come another spring
Though winter’s breath has quietly stolen
There is promise of new birth in everything

We walk in the midst of deep and darkened days
Of some that has become each our very own
The sun will shine through and return again
There will be another break of dawn

We walk in the midst of century old lands
As old fields do through storms and question why
Beneath the blinding sun and bitter rain
We too, should draw new strength as the years pass by

We walk in the midst of grassy hills, so green
Where the mighty winds of heaven blow
Straight from the breath of God, cool and clean
As anything the soul of man can know

We walk in the midst of memories and reflections
From another place and more simpler time
Hung upon the walls of many forgotten days
Are pictures of our ancestors they left behind

We walk in the midst of much anger and hatred
A thousand words can not describe
The soul is barren without peace and love
Hatred should never be inscribed

We walk in the midst of tears and heartache
Where pain, grief and suffering has no name
Without wings against the wind we tremble
For what else may come or still remain

We walk in the midst of blurred eyes and weeping
Crying out with hunger and homelessness
In a land where milk and honey flows
There should always be plenty and never less

We walk in the midst of wars and rumors of wars
Fulfilling the Bible more each passing day
The mercy of God is the most powerful sword
If we but only turn to him and daily pray

We walk in the midst of patience, trying to understand
And wonder how good is material things of earth
When we are gone, all of these will still remain
Just as it is from birth to death, what is it’s worth

We walk in the midst of each upturned prayer
Though agony may be to great for tongue to say
Even the unvoiced prayer he surely answers
If not in our way, in some better way

We walk in the midst of a troubled and lost world
Dying more and more with each passing day
Waiting for someone to unlock the chains
That someone is here, the stone has been rolled away

© Susie Swanson, 2015

With all that's going on the world today and everyday I thought this Repost would be fitting..

Update.... As of now my Gallbladder Surgery is on for this Thursday (30th) unless something changes. The Endocrinoligist gave his approval under certain terms. They are to check my Thyroid Levels before they put me to sleep. I appreciate all of your prayers cause I'm going to need them even more. I'm so Hypothyroid (low) right now and it has me worried but God's in control and if it be his will I'll make it through this also. I'm not worried about the surgery itself cause it'll be minor compared to having my Thyroid taken out. I know and they know I'm still not up to par but it has to come out ASAP. Many Thanks for the prayers that's already been lifted for me. I'll be back when I can. God Bless, ~Susie 

Friday, April 24, 2015

"Home"





"Home" By Edgar Albert Guest

It takes a heap o’ livin’ in a house t’ make it home,
A heap o’ sun an’ shadder, an’ ye sometimes have t’ roam
Afore ye really ’preciate the things ye lef’ behind,
An’ hunger fer ’em somehow, with ’em allus on yer mind.
It don’t make any differunce how rich ye get t’ be,
How much yer chairs an’ tables cost, how great yer luxury;
It ain’t home t’ ye, though it be the palace of a king,
Until somehow yer soul is sort o’ wrapped round everything

Home ain’t a place that gold can buy or get up in a minute;
Afore it’s home there’s got t’ be a heap o’ livin’ in it;
Within the walls there’s got t’ be some babies born, and then
Right there ye’ve got t’ bring ‘em up t’ women good, an’ men;
And gradjerly, as time goes on, ye find ye wouldn’t part
With anything they ever used—they’ve grown into yer heart:
The old high chairs, the playthings, too, the little shoes they wore
Ye hoard; an’ if ye could ye’d keep the thumbmarks on the door.

Ye’ve got t’ weep t’ make it home, ye’ve got t’ sit an’ sigh
An’ watch beside a loved one’s bed, an’ know that Death is nigh;
An’ in the stillness o’ the night t’ see Death’s angel come,
An’ close the eyes o’ her that smiled, an’ leave her sweet voice dumb.
Fer these are scenes that grip the heart, an’ when yer tears are dried,
Ye find the home is dearer than it was, an’ sanctified;
An’ tuggin’ at ye always are the pleasant memories
O’ her that was an’ is no more—ye can’t escape from these.

Ye’ve got t’ sing an’ dance fer years, ye’ve got t’ romp an’ play,
An’ learn t’ love the things ye have by usin’ ’em each day;
Even the roses ’round the porch must blossom year by year
Afore they ’come a part o’ ye, suggestin’ someone dear
Who used t’ love ’em long ago, an’ trained ’em jes’ t’ run
The way they do, so’s they would get the early mornin’ sun;
Ye’ve got t’ love each brick an’ stone from cellar up t’ dome:
It takes a heap o’ livin’ in a house t’ make it home.


My Favorite poem by-  Edgar Albert Guest

 Little Update, I'm waiting to see if the gallbladder surgery is still on for next week. The doctors and the Anesthesioloigist are putting their heads together as I write this. Will Update more later. Hope all has a nice weekend. God Bless, ~Susie

Monday, April 20, 2015

God Took A Century






My heart begins to flutter relentlessly
As I see your gracious beauty there
Flowing so swiftly with wings in flight
Down, down with such a flare

You are as old as time itself
Falling constantly upon your way
Splashing, splashing upon the rocks
I feel the whisper of your spray 

Your foaming beard looks like white hair
Waves of splendor I question why
To understand your lengthened time
Your hidden secrets fall and die

Young as the morning and just as old
Ageless, timeless you surely belong
To remain unchanged and ever remain
You lift my heart in joy and song

None shall ever come to know
 From the twisted paths you came
Or the places where you have been
Only you can know or will ever claim

Restless and wild, a part of nature’s best
Filled with the sounds prop’s an open door
For a waterfall’s basic freedom to be
There’s nothing quite like it ever before

I stand here breathless up above
Watching your sure course to the sea
Of sight, sound and beauty seen
To make such a thing God took a century

© Susie Swanson, 2015

 I don't know the exact location of the photo at the top but just know it's located somewhere in the North Georgia Mountains near where I live. Perhaps my sweet Blogger friend Betsy from "Joyful Reflections" Blog may know since she loves waterfalls and has visited so many. I'm so intrigued by them myself and think they surely are a magnificent creation from our Heavenly Father. 

Update, I'll be going back to my Thyroid Doctor tomorrow (Tuesday) to have more Labwork done and possibly be raised up more on my Meds. My Gallbladder surgery is scheduled for the third time next week, (30th ).. I will be very shocked if they're able to do it since I'm still running quite low (Hypothyroid). It's really getting to me now and It's taking every ounce of my strength to hang on. But, God has this and it will all be taken care of in his time, not mine. Many thanks for all the prayers and your sweet words of encouragement. Sometimes we feel like giving up but that small voice tells us to keep hanging on. God is our only hope and rock to which we can lean on. I will update more later when I can. God Bless, ~Susie

Tuesday, April 14, 2015

The Shivaree





Back years ago when folks got married it was a lot different than it is today. They didn’t have the money for a big event so they mostly went to the Justice of The Peace and said the I Do’s and a lot of em Eloped to do it.

My daddy and mama and so many others had to do that. Daddy told how he managed to go buy himself a pair of Sunday go to meetin shoes but when he got em home and opened the box there was only one shoe in the box. He tried em on before he left the store but he never did know how the other one got lost along the way. It was to late to run back to the store so he put on his old shoes and he and mama went on and go hitched.
She said she wore her best flour sack dress and daddy was dressed the finest she’d ever seen. He had on his best britches and shirt. I can just see em both in my mind. My mama had long, black hair all the way down her back and I guess daddy was almost bald headed. I never did ask but all the hair I ever knew him to have was a little around the edges and slick on top.

Like most other folks back then, they went to Georgia to get married, which was just across the line from where we live now. They only paid the Justice Of The Peace a dollar or two. If they’d got married in North Carolina they’d had to have a blood test, etc. etc.

Back when I was a young’un and even before I was born, couples came walkin by our house along with the preacher and right out at the top of the hill from our old barn they’d get hitched cause they were able to step right across the line into Georgia. That’s how close we always lived to the state line and still do for that matter.

And there was an old timey tradition that always took place that night  after the ceremony called a shivaree. All the men folk would wait till black dark and show up in their ole, pick up trucks, some ridin  the back. They’d beat on old pots and pans to get the couple to come out then they’d grab the groom against his wishes and haul him off somewhere and leave him for a while and then  go back and pick him up and take him back home to his new bride and stand outside and serenade em for a while. A very popular song back then was, “Let Me Call You Sweetheart.”

Daddy and mama never had a shivaree but they told about this one couple that had just got married and settled in for the night.
 They grabbed the groom and carried him off and set him out and all the men pitched a big drunk and had their own serenading party. The poor, ole feller never made it back home till daylight. He was dirty, scratched all over after wadin barefoot through the briar thickets and plumb tuckered to say the least and mad as an ole sittin hen and so was his new bride. They both were fit to be tied with good reason. She started cryin again after walkin the floors all night and was ready to skin a bunch of hides. He said, “they ain’t no use in worryin about it none.” They went on with their wedded bliss and had a whole house full of young’uns.

 Like my mama always said, “ya don’t know nothing till ya got young’uns hanging around your neck and clingin to your dress tail.” I guess she would’ve known since she raised six of her own and plenty more that she claimed.

Daddy also told how another ole feller came out with his shotgun one night on a bunch of men when they pulled up and jumped outta their trucks. He shot straight up in the air and they high tailed it outta there and there was no shivaree to be had. Apparently he didn’t want to take any chances on fumbling through the dark tryin to make his way home.
It was usually done in fun and most folks went along with it but then sometimes it’d backfire when a city slicker came along. When that happened it was best left alone.

I asked daddy and mama why they didn’t get serenaded or have a shivaree. They said there wasn’t any use in it. I think personally, it was cause my grandma was already living in the house with daddy when they got hitched. Knowing her, she’d brought out a shotgun or a broom handle. I can just hear her now, “I’ll be rotten take (that was her by words) if I’m gonna put up with this stuff around here.” “Ya better get ya selves back home to your women folk or I’ll lay some buck shot in ya hide.” She’d a done it too, and they knew it. Everybody knew my grandma back then and she always said it was a bunch of nonsense. I can still hear her today, “Just a bunch of men folk lookin for a chance to pull a drunk.”

Times sure have changed since back then. There’s no shivaree or serenading going on. The old ways are fallin by the wayside to never be heard of again.
It’s kinda sad in a way.  I’d like to have been a part of the serenading but the shivaree is a whole different thing if ya know what I mean.

                                                            © Susie Swanson, 2015

Thursday, April 9, 2015

The Flour Sack






1930 flour sacks
THE FLOUR SACK
BY COLLEEN B. HUBERT


IN THAT LONG AGO TIME WHEN THINGS WERE SAVED,
WHEN ROADS WERE GRAVELED AND BARRELS WERE STAVED,
WHEN WORN-OUT CLOTHING WAS USED AS RAGS,
AND THERE WERE NO PLASTIC WRAP OR BAGS,
AND THE WELL AND THE PUMP WERE WAY OUT BACK,
A VERSITILE ITEM, WAS THE FLOUR SACK.

PILLSBURY'S BEST, MOTHER'S AND GOLD MEDAL, TOO
STAMPED THEIR NAMES PROUDLY IN PURPLE AND BLUE.
THE STRING SEWN ON TOP WAS PULLED AND KEPT;
THE FLOUR EMPTIED AND SPILLS WERE SWEPT.
THE BAG WAS FOLDED AND STORED IN A SACK
THAT DURABLE, PRACTICAL FLOUR SACK.

THE SACK COULD BE FILLED WITH FEATHERS AND DOWN,
FOR A PILLOW, OR T'WOULD MAKE A NICE SLEEPING GOWN.
IT COULD CARRY A BOOK AND BE A SCHOOL BAG,
OR BECOME A MAIL SACK SLUNG OVER A NAG.
IT MADE A VERY CONVENIENT PACK,
THAT ADAPTABLE, COTTON FLOUR SACK.

BLEACHED AND SEWN, IT WAS DUTIFULLY WORN
AS BIBS, DIAPERS, OR KERCHIEF ADORNED.
IT WAS MADE INTO SKIRTS, BLOUSES AND SLIPS.
AND MOM BRAIDED RUGS FROM ONE HUNDRED STRIPS
SHE MADE RUFFLED CURTAINS FOR THE HOUSE OR SHACK,
FROM THAT HUMBLE BUT TREASURED FLOUR SACK!

AS A STRAINER FOR MILK OR APPLE JUICE,
TO WAVE MEN IN, IT WAS A VERY GOOD USE,
AS A SLING FOR A SPRAINED WRIST OR A BREAK,
TO HELP MOTHER ROLL UP A JELLY CAKE,
AS A WINDOW SHADE OR TO STUFF A CRACK,
WE USED A STURDY, COMMON FLOUR SACK!

AS DISH TOWELS, EMBROIDERED OR NOT,
THEY COVERED UP DOUGH, HELPED PASS PANS SO HOT,
TIED UP DISHES FOR NEIGHBORS IN NEED,
AND FOR MEN OUT IN THE FIELD TO SEED.
THEY DRIED DISHES FROM PAN, NOT RACK
THAT ABSORBENT, HANDY FLOUR SACK!

WE POLISHED AND CLEANED STOVE AND TABLE,
SCOURED AND SCRUBBED FROM CELLAR TO GABLE,
WE DUSTED THE BUREAU AND OAK BED POST,
MADE COSTUMES FOR OCTOBER (A SCARY GHOST)
AND A PARACHUTE FOR A CAT NAMED JACK.
FROM THAT LOWLY, USEFUL OLD FLOUR SACK!

SO NOW MY FRIENDS, WHEN THEY ASK YOU
AS CURIOUS YOUNGSTERS OFTEN DO,
"BEFORE PLASTIC WRAP, ELMERS GLUE
AND PAPER TOWELS, WHAT DID YOU DO?"
TELL THEM LOUDLY AND WITH PRIDE DON'T LACK,
"GRANDMOTHER HAD THAT WONDERFUL FLOUR SACK!"

Friday, April 3, 2015

Old Rugged Cross




                                                       It stood on a hillside
                                                       An old rugged cross
                                                       The emblem of suffering
                                                       For sinners that were lost

                                                       His bloodshed was eminent
                                                       To crucify they were bound
                                                       He wore a crown of thorns
                                                       Destined for heaven's crown

                                                       They mocked and smote him
                                                       They placed thieves by his side
                                                       My God Why Has Thou Forsaken
                                                       He cried before he died

                                                       They wrapped him in linen
                                                       Placed him in a borrowed tomb
                                                       They rolled a great stone
                                                       In the doorway to entomb

                                                       On the third day they came
                                                       At the rising of the sun
                                                       The stone was rolled away
                                                       They could not hold God's son

                                                       On that old rugged cross
                                                       His bloodstains washed away
                                                       All the sins in this world
                                                       He surely lives today

                                                       Thank you Lord for that old cross
                                                       You made the ultimate sacrifice
                                                       Like the thief on the cross
                                                       I'll see you in paradise

                                                         © Susie Swanson, 2015

                                                  Happy Easter everyone and May God Bless!!