Kathi Waligora

July 7, 2021August 12, 2021

#3 My Pink Earplugs

We packed plenty of warm clothes for this trip to the northwest: jeans, sweaters, flannel shirts, fleece lined hoodies. We’d read of warm mornings at the campsite but cool temps in the mountains. Within the week before the trip, we began to observe different weather reports in the areas we planned to visit: a heat wave was taking place in Oregon, Washington, and Montana! My weather app showed 101° in Havre, Montana, a location where we planned on perching at a Walmart parking lot for the night. Knowing we wouldn’t have overnight electricity for even so much as our little fan, Ron said, “Kathi, find us a campsite in Havre.” The Lord quickly supplied. I made a call and encountered a friendly voice on the other end, just as I had so many times previously, in planning the trip. I’ve discovered a multitude of friendly people across this vast northwest we will be traveling! And I’ve discovered overnight availability when I least expected it.

Due to the expected heat wave we would be driving into, I realized that we just might have to turn on that atrocious AC in that little travel trailer of ours. I refer to it as atrocious because although occasionally necessary, as it very well might be on this journey, I don’t like it. I don’t like the door and windows closed, blocking the fresh air and open view. I don’t like the loud noise of the unit right above our heads, in the middle of our cute little home away from home. But, should high temps prevail at night, although atrocious, it might be a relief. Thus the earplugs.

After learning of the heat wave, hoping to block the sound of AC, I purchased pink earplugs, perfect for a woman’s ear, so they say.

We’re into the fifth day of our trip now, and the nights have cooled just enough that we didn’t need the atrocious AC, but the earplugs did come in handy. Let me explain why.

Late Friday, we pulled into a small country campground, just past Duluth on Highway 2. It was clean and tidy and offered full hook ups and internet! This is great, we thought. We had just gotten set up when we heard the rumble. We first assumed there was a busy highway behind us which we hadn’t noticed, but the loonngg whistle soon gave it away. Yes, a train track was just a short distance behind the campground. Ron, hopeful, said, “I don’t think the trains will run at night.”

Ha!

In the morning, nearby campers spoke of trains running through every twenty minutes or so. Whistles blew often, they said. All. Through. The. Night. Ron, exhausted from work and driving many hours, had slept through it all. I did, too. But only because of my pink earplugs!

If you attended Sunday School when you were a kid, you might remember singing a song with the lyric, “Be careful little eyes what you see. . .”

The second stanza is similar:

“Oh, be careful little ears what you hear;

Be careful little ears what you hear;

for the Father up above

is looking down in love,

so be careful little ears what you hear.

It might be a children’s song, but it’s based on teaching from the Bible, so it’s a message for all ages: We must be careful what we hear.

Sometimes we need to wear our pink earplugs.

The Father is “looking down” – not to judge us but to help us. He knows the danger to us if or when we listen to what we should not. He tells us it is a danger that affects our faith.

He’s given us His Word to teach us in order to protect us and in order to bless us. That’s His desire for us. Abundant life. And in that Word, He instructs us of certain things we should not continue to hear. We’re familiar with many of these things: gossip, negativity; however, in my recent studies, I’ve noticed a continual and strong message given throughout the whole Bible – a warning about some things to which, when we listen, we can gradually and easily become desensitized to the dangers. (The enemy, Satan, just loves it when we become desensitized to those things God desires.)

The Lord tells us not to listen to mediums, sorcerers, and fortune tellers, but He doesn’t stop there. He warns us not to listen to what some people teach – some who claim to be prophets – some who claim to be wise – some who claim to have the answers. He tells us that these people speak ideas of vanity (the importance of self), they speak ideas from their own minds, not from the mouth of the Lord. He says that some of these people claim to teach in the His Name, but He makes it clear – their teaching is not from Him. The Lord did not send them.

Sound familiar today? I see it constantly on social media. It is more than subliminal in movies and television shows. Constant little tidbits of teaching that initially might sound spiritually okay but isn’t. It’s hurting us, and God knows it. He says we must plug our ears to it.

He warns us that our family or close friends might be listening to these tidbits of false teaching. But He says we must not listen to it – even if they encourage it. Wow! This is serious business. The train is rumbling.

Jesus tells us to consider carefully what we hear. Tells us it measures our faith. The Apostle Paul teaches that many people who appear to be Christians actually teach false doctrines and endless controversies instead of doing God’s work. He says they’ve wandered away from the truth to meaningless talk. He instructs the Church to deal with them and to command them to change. It’s important to the Church. It’s important to the Lord. The train whistle is blowing.

It’s God to whom we must listen, and we hear Him in His Word. The closer we listen, the more understanding we will be given. In fact, we’ll just keep receiving more understanding, the Word says. It stands to reason that when we’re listening to falsehoods, the more falsehoods will fill our minds, but when we’re listening to the Word, the more truth will fill us.

We are not under law. God does not force us to listen to Him. But we believers recognize His voice. It is the voice of the Shepherd. And we want to hear Him above other voices.

The rumbling is all around us. The warning signals are given. The train whistle is blowing. I need to use my pink earplugs to block it out.

~~~~~

If you haven’t followed Jesus as Savior yet, click here to learn more about becoming a believer.

#2 Where you go, I will go . . .

My postings throughout this month of July and early August will vary from the typical, as Ron and I take a lengthy adventure. The northwest has called us, and I invite you to come along!

“Those who contemplate the beauty of the earth find reserves of strength that will endure as long as life lasts.”
~ Rachel Carson

June 30 – We drove north about 6 hours today, crossing our favorite bridge in the fog.

Spent the night at the little Welcome Center – first right over the bridge. I’ve written about driving north in a recent post. Click here to read it.

July 1

This was our true first day: July 1. Day 1.

We woke to sunny skies; had pancakes on the gas stove and French Press coffee. No electricity needed! Left St. Ignace and drove west on Highway 2 – our main road for the next ten days! Oh how we love the U.P. It was Thursday before the big weekend, and people were pulling campers and boats, yet the roads were not crowded. There’s room for all in the Upper Peninsula, and we relish in it! The birch, whiter than white with deep black veins, catch my eyes as we travel. We are blessed to call Michigan home. I can never get enough of it.

Across this stretch of road in Michigan, a Biden/Harris sign still remains in front of someone’s cute little red ranch home Dozens of faded Trump 2020 signs and flags, are still posted in yards, and on barns, posts, and vehicles throughout this westward trek. On one wayside saloon, an owner had printed “My _______ governor is a wit wit.” Today, I reached the conclusion that Yoopers in this area are not at all timid!

We paused two times today – first for lunch and rest at a wayside park. Quiet contemplation at that shaded picnic table was my favorite time today. It has become a rarity. Seems I must force myself – think I always need to be accomplishing something. I’m slowly learning that resting and listening to God “is” accomplishing something – something He wants to accomplish!

We paused again late in the day, briefly leaving Highway 2, traveling 20 miles north to see Agate Falls, one we had missed in our 2020 trip north. I wanted to recreate my 3-year-old photo at the base of that falls (I missed it last year – click here to read the post). We walked a viewing boardwalk (was unrewarding) and attempted to hike the deep gorge to the actual base of the falls, but my shoes didn’t quite meet the criteria for such a venture today. Seems a lot has changed in the area in the last 66 years. A placard conveyed that the original 125 steps to the bottom of the falls, on which my daddy obviously carried me at the time, burned in the early 1970’s, along with a motel on the property. Only a treacherous hike could get one to that location today. It’s a hike we’ll once again have to save for the future!

We stayed at an RV site at Northern Waters Casino tonight, a first for us and we were very pleased with this first come, first served opportunity. For only $16, we had electricity, water, and internet connection! Was peaceful, and very likely the quietest night we’ll have on this lengthy trip!

It’s odd – sleeping in this trailer the middle of nowhere, but it doesn’t take long to relax in the quiet darkness of this wooded north, a cool breeze tickling my face with scents of pine and cedar, and the man beside me who inspired the theme of our little “home away from home.”

Click here to read the next post, #3 My Pink Earplugs

July 1, 2021August 12, 2021

#1 The North Begins at Clare

My Dad might have said it – or my mom – or my Grandpa – or an aunt or uncle. Someone always said it as we went “up north” to Grandpa’s cabin in L’Anse of the Upper Peninsula: “The North begins at Clare.”

All these years later, each time I travel a lengthy distance in that direction, I look for the beginning of the north. And I always find it.

Today, we leave our home in lower Michigan near the cuff of the mitten, and we head North. Pulling our travel trailer, Ron drives steady but slow enough to take it all in as I search for the North. For hours, we drive past farms – on both the east and the west sides of our highway. Today, an Amish farmer is cultivating his corn field. Big old barns dot the countryside amidst green fields of corn and beans and an occasional golden wheat. Many things remain the same as all those years ago, but several things differ. Instead of driving two-lane US 27, we now drive four-lane US 127 and I-75. The speed limit, once probably 50 mph is now 75 mph! Gone are the small picnic table pull-offs or an occasional small roadside park with a water fountain and pit toilets. In their places are lovely large Rest Areas, spaced 30-40 miles apart, marked on both the map and the wayside signs. Miles and miles of white metal windmills now intersperse the landscape like alien landing signals. This countryside mural continues through the Mt. Pleasant area, but once we reach Clare, the north begins, its seeds and its roots unchanging from those many years ago – even from centuries ago. This is where I find it – again!

“The North” opens the door to a different world – one in which a person can go back in time, at least as far as I want to go. The four-lane eventually angles toward Sault Ste. Marie and on into Canada, but we have turned west onto Highway 2, the road we will travel for 2000 miles, the road that will take us along the edges of Great Lakes Michigan and Superior, across the Northern Great Plains, and into the mountains of the Great Continental Divide. The road that keeps us in the north.

I want to see original old log cabins and worn-sided barns.

I want to see wooden placards along the way, designed and placed by the Conservation Corps and maintained through the years in their original form, welcoming me to the National Forests, to the headwaters of the Mississippi River in Itasca, North Dakota, or to Yellowstone National Park.

I want to unfurl a red-checkered tablecloth across a wooden picnic table or spread an Indian blanket on the grass and eat sandwiches and drink cokes with Ron.

I want to hike the steeps of a shady forest to the cliff of the mountain and look down into a valley covered in wildflowers.

And it’s all possible . . .

. . . because, you see, “the North begins at Clare.”

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Click here to read the next post, #2 Where You Go, I Will Go

June 16, 2021

I admit it. I wonder . . .

Do you pray – and pray – and pray – and wonder if the Lord is hearing your prayer? And if He is, why He isn’t answering?

You’ve grown in your faith. You trust in His Word. You believe His promises. But you’re still praying. And wondering. I admit. I am.

You’re not alone.

I’m right there with you.

And David, the Psalmist, whom God loved tremendously, is with us also. He knows grief. He knows distress. He knows waiting.

He comes right out and asks God. I’m asking right along with David:

How long, Lord, before you answer me? It seems like you’re turning your face from me. How long must I struggle with this agony, anxiety, and sorrow in my soul? It seems that the enemy is winning this battle . . . Oh, Lord, turn and look at me and answer me. Give light to my eyes – restore the sparkle I once had. Don’t let my enemy think he has won.

Then, as David does, we too need to recognize God. This is where we must go. This is what we must do. We must respond to our own distress by recognizing who God is. David’s example of recognition is perfect for us, as well:

But, I trust in your unfailing love, Lord God. My heart rejoices in the salvation you have given me and continue to give me. You have been good to me.

You have been good to me. Oh how this causes me to remember God’s goodness. Over and over. A lifetime of it. He has been good to me.

Now I’m trusting more. He knows me. More than I know my own soul. Now I must strengthen myself in the Word.

I read more about God, learning more about myself, as I do:

Lord, You know everything about me. Everything. You know where I am, what I’m doing. You know my thoughts and my words – before I even speak them. You place Your hand of blessing on my head. You are always with me. Always. You’re in front of me and behind me. You hem me in as my Grandmother hemmed each piece of clothing. Securely. Snugly. Safely. If I choose to go up toward the heavens, You are there. If I go down into the depths of the Earth, You are there. If I fly toward the dawn of the morning or toward the farthest oceans, Your hand is there to guide and support me. It’s impossible for me to hide in the darkness. You still see me – because You bring light into my darkness.

There it is my friend – He brings light into my darkness. He brings light into your darkness. Just as He brought light into David’s darkness.

And so I close my eyes and I see His hand of blessing reaching toward me, guiding and supporting me. He places His hand upon my head.

And I am blessed in the waiting. And in His presence.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

From Psalm 13 and Psalm 139

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June 12, 2021June 12, 2021

More than I can ever imagine!

I must admit, I had some anxiety about it – our lengthy trip planned across the northwest states. I’ve struggled others times, such as the first few days when we arrive in Florida for the winter. It’s an uneasiness about being so far away from the kids for a length of time. (For those of you who don’t know – our three kids are grown up, happily married, unbelievably responsible and self-sufficient, blessing us with eleven grandchildren and one great-grandchild due, as I write this. But, once again, although my anxiety might be unwarranted, I’m just being truthful!) This trip – planned for the month of July – is farther yet. About twice as far. Anyway, it’s an admission. Don’t judge. You have anxiety over certain things, too!

I had tried various Trip Planners (five to be exact), but after hours of using the mouse to move the route to the roads we wanted to take (which do not include expressways) and “losing” the entire plan, I opened the Atlas and started the tedious job of my own “Trip Planning.” Days of effort. Pleasant effort. But time consuming, nonetheless. Finally, the route was finished. Our 31 allotted days of travel, including five National Parks, over 4000 miles, numerous state parks and RV Parks, and a few Walmart parking lots!

Then I started doing some research. I wanted to be prepared to see all that we could within the locations we would travel.

Oh my word! That research changed everything!

The first discovery was Multnomah Falls. I’ve seen pics of it for a few years now – pics taken in each of the four seasons. I’ve always thought it must be the most beautiful waterfall in the country. Little did I know it was on the Columbia River Gorge, in Oregon, just a “hop, skip, and a jump” from Viento State Park, where I had booked two nights camping. (I love how the Lord works all that out!) I just can’t express what this knowledge did to – and for – me. I literally “choked up.” I thought, I am going to see the most beautiful waterfall in the country! Thank you, Father God.

And that’s when things suddenly changed. All my anxiety about the trip was gone. God gave me peace and joy and tremendous appreciation and thankfulness for what Ron and I were about to see and experience.

And with my continued research, I began to wish we had planned two months instead of one!

Thor’s Well – don’t you know, we’ll drive right past it on the Oregon Coast.

Seals! I didn’t realize there were seals on the coast, as well, did you?

One photo after another – of prairies and streams, of mountains and glaciers, of wildflowers and waterfalls, of mountain goats and grizzly bears – filled me with excitement. It is so much more than I ever expected! And I’m going to see it and live it for a while!

And so it is with heaven. I can’t begin to realize how great it will be. For you, it might be a quiet setting you desire. Or a mountain top. Or a home beside the world’s best shopping center! Jesus said He’s preparing places just for us! We can’t begin to realize how amazing it will be. Unlike our trip out west, which is for just a short time, heaven will be for eternity! And instead of anxiety about it, we can have peace – total peace! He alone gives that peace. It comes with trusting Jesus Christ as Savior. Only then can we look forward to His plans for us! Click here to learn more about becoming a Christ follower.

If you haven’t yet “subscribed” to my writing on this website, I invite you! Only on my website will I be posting throughout our trip! Join us! Click here.

June 7, 2021August 3, 2022

Memories renewed by a simple “Honk”

Walking through the house this morning, I heard the “honk” of a car. I didn’t know if the sound came from the TV or from a car going by. But it brought back some memories. Perhaps you can relate.

Growing up, we lived in the country – a gravel road at that time. Few cars traveled past our house. We spent much of three seasons outdoors, but if we were in the house, the outside noises came through the big old single pane windows or the screen door. When a car came down the road, we most often heard it, and one of us would often say, “There’s a car coming.” We stared as it went by. It was a notable event! If the passerby knew us, sometimes even if he didn’t but saw us outside, he or she would most often “honk” the car horn. It was a “hello.” Of course, my dad and mom did the same thing as they drove.

Mama and Daddy shorty before they were married in 1946

My dad always loved cars. I wasn’t around yet when these early photos were taken, but they tell me a story of his passion – not just for my mother – but for the automobile!

Cars were like a part of the family back then – well, at least in our households, evidenced in those photos where Daddy most often posed in front of a vehicle or photographed others with vehicles as the backdrop.

Travel was much slower in those days. Rarely did Daddy ever drive 50 mph and that was only on a big road, a “highway” like US 27 or US 12. No, instead, he drove slowly and intentionally, enjoying the drive, commenting along the way on wildlife, farmers in their fields – discussing various changes in the scenery with my mother. From the backseat, I learned much during those drives. Landmarks, not addresses, marked our travel. “Culps Hill”; Clarendon Pond . . .

GPS wasn’t used, nor was it needed. My mother held the map when we took longer trips, a practice I observed and still follow throughout my years, with just an occasional reference to our more recent Navigation apps!

Travel was limited. We didn’t just “jump in the car” to go someplace or to get something. We conserved energy before it was considered “cool.” (I think my mom and dad could have taught Al Gore and AOC the true meaning of “green”!) Even short trips were planned. Of course, Daddy drove to work every day. He worked at Federal Mogul, and he left the house shortly before 7:30 am. The office opened at 8. He arrived home from work at 5:19 pm every day. Supper followed at 5:30.

Mama drove, too, when she worked away from the home. Those were the only times we had two cars.

We didn’t often make extra trips to town. All errands were combined. Those stops to be made were written on paper, as were grocery lists, usually on reused, back sides of envelopes. Our rare drives to town included buying groceries, going to the laundromat (during the times Mom didn’t have an automatic washer), sometimes a trip to J.C. Penney, and an occasional fun trip to Otto & Sons where Daddy shopped the hunting gear and we kids browsed the massive toy department.

Online photo, of 1956 Pontiac Chieftain station wagon, similar to one of our family vehicles.

On Sundays, after church and a quick Sunday dinner, we all piled in the car for the long drive from our home on Quincy Grange Road in Butler Township to Grandpa and Grandma Nutt’s house on Grass Lake Road, northwest of Kinderhook. Daddy occasionally “honked” the horn when we arrived. There, we spent the afternoon. (Oh, the stories I could tell would fill a small book.) After hours of visiting and investigating the old barns, sheds, empty silo, and garden areas with my brother and cousins, we once again hopped in the car and drove the long route back to Butler Township, turning onto the even narrower graveled Bidwell Road to Grandpa and Grandma Locke’s house. Daddy “tooted” the horn a bit louder here, drawing our Locke cousins out from their places of play around the yard and out buildings. The grownups sat around the kitchen table, while we kids spent every remainder of daylight playing outside until the familiar whistle of the theme song of “Lassie” drew us into the living room.

Yes, my childhood travels to and from our graveled Quincy Grange Road residence always centered around a vehicle, filled with a family of five, a bushel of love, and a car horn that spoke a friendly “hello” to all. Occasionally today, I hear it – if only in my memories.

Featured photo is taken Summer of 1959. Mom at the wheel. Becky, my little sister and I in the back of our new yellow and white Ford Fairlane.

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June 3, 2021June 5, 2024

“D-Day” Dear Mom:

Tuesday Evening

6 June 1944

“D-Day”

Dear Mom:

Yes, this is “D-day” the day we have so patiently waited for. I suppose you know as much about the news as I do, so won’t say anything about it. But maybe I have a little closer view of it than you folks back there. I see hundreds of the planes overhead, some going and others returning. At times I wish I could be up there and get a first hand hit at them. But guess I will have to be satisfied here on the ground and do what little I can. No foolin’ tho’ it does make a guy feel awful small and cheap to stand and look up at the boys flying toward danger and me be here on the ground with both feet on Mother Nature and more or less safe and not sweating out a bullet aimed your way, or an anti-aircraft gun pointed up at you. Tonite I can lay down and sleep comfortably. (I say sleep, that is if I can get my mind off the boys in the foxholes long enough to doze off and forget it.” All the fellows have had a different look on their faces today. A look hard to express in words. In the mess hall, too, it was not the usual tone but altogether a different atmosphere. Well, we must all pray for the end of this hell on earth. That’s the least we can do. “Prayer changes things.”

Tonite after chow, I watched a string of planes & gliders for over an hour. Just a continuous roar. It sure made me glad I wasn’t on the receiving end. All day long, almost, we could hear our bombers going over. We could see them this morning. How they glistened when the sun hit them. But later this afternoon we could hear them & wanted to see them so bad but couldn’t because of the low clouds. Just a minute ago it rained, guess that’s what was in the clouds. Hope it’s nice tomorrow so I can get up early, look up at the boys, and breathe a silent prayer and wonder if they’re ok. It is hard to decide just how I really feel today. Can’t feel happy feeling so useless, and shouldn’t exactly be sad because the days that pass will mean a day closer to the day I can come home.

I got another package from the Service Club at Pratts. It is sure nice to get things like that. I will write and thank them for it soon.

Haven’t had any letters the last few days. Guess they are being held up. Oh, yes, I did too. I got one from Velma. She was saying how nice the neighbors are about coming to see her. But of course they all must express their feelings & poor Velma said after two or three visitors she just can’t hardly stand it any more. She said, “Bless them.”

Well, it’s time for me to go off duty now (10:00). We work on a full time basis now 24 hours a day. So I’ll be back and write more after a few hours sleep…… (Bye bye)

Hello Folks, it is now after three o’clock in the morning and here I am back again. Nothing has happened except that I didn’t sleep very good. Early yesterday evening before I started this letter one of the fellows and I went outside and done a little wrestling and every muscle in my body is sore this morning. Oh well, that’s good for me.

Guess our boys are doing alright over there. Late yesterday afternoon newsmen said they had advanced as far as into town from where you are. Gee, the radio said that channel looked like one mammoth bridge. There were as many thousand big ships in it all at once as there are letters in my littlest brother’s name. And as many thousand planes as he is years old minus one. (I shouldn’t think there is anything wrong in saying this, if there is it will give the censor something to do.) Have any of my letters ever been censored?If you can make out the above figures it might seem rather strange but that’s what the radio said.

A low flying plane is going overhead now. Guess he is out scouting. They sure keep a close lookout. I bet the old Jerries are beginning to do some serious thinking. I bet they are next on the list and they probably know it.

Well, Mom, I want to write to Margie if I have time, so I better ring off for now. I’m at the same place as before so please try not to worry about me. I’ve always said I’d let you know when it was alright for you to worry and that will be when I’m in a more dangerous spot than I am now. I mean it Mom so don’t worry yet. I will write again soon. I look for a letter from you today. If so I will answer tonite. Have my laundry to wash out today. Poor me!! Give my love to all the boys & tell Dad not to worry. I love you all very much.

Your boy, Wayne

Notes:

Par. 4: Wayne refers to neighbors who have reached out to his family, expressing their sympathy for his brother, Marion, who was killed in service in North Africa, just a year earlier.

Par. 7 Wayne uses clues to indicate distances – “into town from where you are” is the distance from Kinderhook to Coldwater;

“ships . . . letters in my littlest brother’s name” Wayne’s younger brother’s name was Dale, so that’s 4,000 big ships.

“planes as he is years old minus one” indicates 11,000 planes, as Dale was 12 years old.

I carefully hold the aged lined paper, worn from years of handling, first by Daddy, then by his mother, and now years later by me, his daughter. Little did he realize his daughter would hold this letter in her hand all these years later – his mother’s lifetime passed, and his own lifetime passed. My eyes follow the longhand script of his beautiful penmanship, displayed in each letter he wrote home – to his mother – or to his sweetheart, Margie, my mother, and of which I had observed throughout his lifetime. The papers continue to age in my own hands, as I can never get enough of reading my Daddy’s letters, as well as looking at his photos from those days he served in WWII. Each time, something different stands out to me. Today, one thing is his closing – “Your boy, Wayne” He was indeed her boy. Growing up didn’t change it. Going to war didn’t change it. My heart enters another decade, aching for my Grandma Nutt who sent five boys off to that dreadful war – and only saw four return.

Daddy was just 19 years old when he wrote this letter. As I contemplate, I discover a young man who has “grown up” quickly in the tumultuous world in which he lived. And in reading this particular letter today, I compare that dreadful time in which he was living – four years into a world war – to our present world, filled with storms, earthquakes, plagues, pandemic, riots, and political unrest. Although in a different country and in a different century, I see people who have a “different look on their faces today. A look hard to express in words. . . altogether a different atmosphere.” It is the look of today, also. The look that comes with a “different atmosphere.”

Similarly, his response to his own observations in June of 1944 could and should be my response to those around us today:

“Well, we must all pray for the end of this hell on earth. That’s the least we can do. ‘Prayer changes things.'”

Prayer changed things all those years ago, on June 6, 1944 – “D-Day.” And prayer can change things today – June 6, 2024. Join me in praying for those who are suffering – for those who are lost.

“That’s the least we can do,” as my Daddy said.

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Have you read about my Uncle Marion? Click here to read the post, “Letters from War.”

May 30, 2021May 24, 2023

By her right hand . . .

I joined Mama in those last steps of her dying. As much as I could. From the outside looking in. This was Mama’s dying, not mine. I was very much alive and it made it all the more difficult to accept this separation that death was about to force upon us.

(more…)

May 28, 2021May 24, 2023

Letters from War

Marion L. Nutt

May 18, 1920 – April 28, 1943

I never knew my Uncle Marion, yet my throat tightens, and tears roll down my face whenever I look at pictures of him, read his letters from war, or place a flower on his grave.

Perhaps it is because he reminds me of my father. They shared such a resemblance. Or perhaps it is because sometimes I try to place myself in my Grandma’s shoes – having five sons in the war at the same time

(more…)

May 22, 2021May 23, 2021

My prayer was for all women assaulted by the enemies known as abuse and neglect

. . . we prayed and then drove to the court house. I was worried, “keyed up.” My soul was encased with weeks – months – years of prayer. The anxiety caused me to be somewhat “punch drunk.” I wanted to glorify God no matter the outcome of this sentencing. Family and friends filled the courtroom. I felt blessed. Our daughter and son-in-law sat at the front of the courtroom, waiting to be called up before the judge. But we waited a length of time while others stood before him. Some offenders were being arraigned. Others were being sentenced. As we heard those sentences, my physical gut tightened and my mind became frightened. The judge was giving harsh sentences for seemingly minor offences. When these “criminals” went forward to be sentenced, their family members shuffled in and out of the courtroom. Sometimes one or two family members observed. Sometimes none. None of these people, these “criminals” or their family members, had the support our daughter and son-law and Ron and I had. We waited. And watched.

A young woman, crying, sat alone at the side of the courtroom.

I went over, sat beside her, and put my arm around her, hoping to console her. She told me about her sister who would be arraigned on this day.

Her short story was filled with hopelessness – a background of abuse and hate, a story of drugs, a child taken from her mother, no money for bail. I asked if I could pray for her and her sister. She allowed me to.

Although I prayed for her sister by name, my prayer was for all women invaded by the enemies of abuse and neglect, deceived by the demons of a myriad of drugs. My prayer was also for their crying and neglected children, entwined in the lost cycle of it all, people for whom I now had a greater empathy and a sincere concern. “Christ,” I said. “We fight under your banner. Lead us.”

Soon her sister, handcuffed and dressed in orange and white stripes, stood before the judge. The arraignment was stated. The officer led her from the courtroom. The young woman with whom I had spoken smiled a thank you through her tears as she left the courtroom. I returned to my seat and waited our turn.

I thought of the first time, nine months ago, when I had entered this court house. I remembered seeing my daughter and her husband in shackles. I recalled the many court appearances speckled throughout the months between then and now, during which I had seen other women and men shuffling down the halls of the court house, in the faded striped coveralls, shackled hand and foot.

Some hung their heads in shame; some were frightened; some smirked. No matter their demeanor, my heart had ached for each one; my hate for the deceitful enemy who had caused it all was fueled on those days and refueled today.

But on this day, my awareness of the Father’s great love for all and the saving grace of Jesus Christ was foremost in my awareness. Now I looked at my daughter, her beauty and health returning to her once-addicted body, and at my son-in-law, now a true man in every sense of the word, and I thanked God. They sat together, knowing that most likely, they would be separated from this day forward, and separated from their children, as well, for a lengthy time. But they faced the consequences of their sins and crimes, thankful that God had saved them out of their depression and addiction, thankful that they had a bright future in Him.

The judge had stepped out after the young “sister’s” sentencing – then had reentered the courtroom. “All stand,” the court assistant instructed . . . Then called our son-in-law forward …

Continue reading in my book, When Life Roars, Jesus Whispers Click here to order: https://kathiwaligora.com/blog/

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