Father's Day 2013

My parents just moved out of the home they have lived in for nearly 40 years. My brother has single handedly sorted through the lifetime of their possessions. Everything from the cantaloupe in the garage refrigerator to Dad's WWII relics stashed in a box in the back of his closet. His has been no small task, a combination of relief, sadness, and confidence that everyone has chosen a better plan. One of my sisters has a treasure trove of photos documenting family history from nearly every limb of the family tree. We've been gazing at these photos, recalling some of the events captured, or looking for a glimpse of family likeness in the photos of those whom we know only in that way.

 I do remember this dear man, my great-grandfather on my mother's side. Charles Christian Fonken, the pharmacist and postmaster of Forreston, Illinois, and a godly man and member of the Reformed Church of Forreston. This photo of him sat on the marble top table in my grandmother's house when I was a little, little girl and the longer I stared at the photo I swore I saw his moustache move up and down. My grandmother looked like him. Without the moustache, of course.

We could have a contest in our family over who loved this guy the most. My mom's father, who was raised on a mule farm in northern Arkansas. This gentle, quiet man ran away from home at an early age and began working on the railroad.

That same railroad took him to Forreston where he met my grandmother the school teacher.

Here he is holding the mail bag at the train station.

He was a man of mettle. He told my parents they should never go to the town where he came from. Of course, they did, and when they asked an old codger at the service station if he knew where the old Grissom place was he replied, "The good Grissoms or the bad Grissoms?" I guess I know which one we are. It's family legend that one of Grampa's relatives had married a member of the Dalton gang. Remember them? They were in the "railroad and banking business" with Jesse James and his pals in the 1890's, mostly in Missouri and Oklahoma. Both of those states border Arkansas. Hmmm.

The legend became more plausible once we found out Grampa, who was born in 1900, had a middle name. We knew him only as Jesse Grissom. Turns out his name was Jesse James Grissom. Far from a life on the run, Grampa rolled sheets of tin for years and years. He worked for Gary Sheet and Tin, a division of U.S. Steel in Gary, Indiana.Yep, I was born in the same hospital as Michael Jackson.

 

Pictured here is my paternal grandfather, Jack Spehr. He grew up in Detroit where all of his people worked as industrial painters and finishers in the automotive industry. Grandpa Spehr would hold a dinner roll in his up-turned palm, pretend it was a puppy and then make it jump up his arm. Scared the daylights out of me. He always had a large box of fancy chocolates in his office. He drank "eye medicine" and we got the chocolates.

 

Grandpa Spehr sold industrial abrasives, thus beginning a long-term affliction affection for jokes concerning abrasive personalities and business being rough. He and my grandmother lived in a wonderful two-story house in Whitefish Bay, Wisconsin, just a few blocks from Lake Michigan. We could see the lake from the little round window in the closet on the second floor. That's one of my favorite memories in addition to the chocolates. You never know what memories will stick with you. (That can be either positive or terribly dangerous.)

Here is my father, Richard Spehr, and his mama, Florence. Daddy is the eldest of the four children. They lived in Galesburg, Illinois during his childhood. My sister ended up marrying the son of Daddy's best friend from childhood in Galesburg.

 

 

Right after my dad graduated from high school in the spring of 1943 he joined the army. In an amazing series of "coincidences" he ended up at Camp McCain in Grenada, Mississippi, and from there was sent to the Army Specialized Training Program at Ole Miss. He lived in the Barr dorm which is where Erin had voice lessons while a student at Ole Miss. Couldn't have planned that any better.

 

 

From there he went to France as part of the 3rd Army, 94th Infantry Division, Company L. They arrived in Lorient, France 94 days after D-Day. 18 years old and on to the Battle of the Bulge, releasing prisoners from concentration camps, and beginning the rebuilding of Germany. Dad went on to college after the war at Knox College in Galesburg where he met my mom.

 

She was a cutie. Dad, like his father, sold industrial abrasives and sandpaper. And my brother, also named Jack Spehr, has been in the sandpaper business. I bet you don't know anyone who sells sandpaper and that's about all we ever knew. Here they are at my grandparents' house, the one near the lake, the summer before I was born. I wonder if this was Father's Day.

 

Read my previous post, if you like, for Father's and Mother's Day contemplations.

 One thing I do know just from what I've witnessed in the last six weeks.

 God is at work in the lives of His children and in His creation.

He is able to do exceeding abundantly above all that we ask or think.

Happy Father's Day, Dad, Mark, Pete, Jason and Ryan.

From Depths of Woe: The Assault on Mother's and Father's Day

Mama just got a whoopin' and if the blog posts about Mother's Day are any indication, Daddy's about to take it on the chin Father's Day. "I don't have a mother. I don't have any children. I don't like my mother. My mother doesn't like me. My mother let me down. My children are a disappointment to me. My children are ok, but at the end of the day today I'll still have dishes to wash and a house to clean." The laundry list of complaints went on and on. If this is the prevailing state of mind of the evangelical blogosphere, the country's greeting card companies are taking a hit. And so is Jesus.
 

My dad, brother and I always manufactured our own greeting cards. (To my daughter's horror, she just saw a few of them Mother's Day weekend while cleaning at Mom and Dad's.) If I take my cue from some of these other not to be named blogs, my poor dad will receive his made-with-my-hands card that woefully sings the greeting, "Nobody knows the trouble I've seen."
 

Except plenty of folk have seen, lived, and have borne that trouble and sorrow. Is there any family immune from at least some? Granted, there are those families more troubled than others and there is always a line of wearied soldiers ready to swap grisly war stories. I know. I've stood in that line. If you are a child of God, the problem with remaining in that line is the difficulty in seeing that at the very  head is our Savior who leads us in triumphant procession. The war has been won at the cost of a Father's sacrifice and a Son's humiliation, pain and death and it is He who leads the victory parade. While we are called to bear one another's burdens and weep with those who weep, if we bear and weep without offering the hope or assurance of God's eternal purposes through Jesus Christ, we lose the benefit of this spiritual triage. Days, months and years focused on pain, hurt and harm cannot say with Job, "I have heard of you, but now my eye sees you." 

God means to turn our ashes into beauty and our cloak of heaviness into a garment of praise. The scriptures teach us how blessing can come from family-borne pain:
Honor your father and your mother, that your days may be long upon the land which the Lord your God is giving you. Ex. 20:12 Honoring God is first learned and practiced in the home by honoring parents. Learning and practicing the honoring of God lasts a lifetime.
Sing O barren, you who have not borne! Break forth into singing, and cry aloud you who have not labored with child! For more are the children of the desolate than the children of the married woman, says the Lord. Is. 54:1,2. It is from a place of barrenness that God has gathered the children of His kingdom.
Listen to Me, you who follow after righteousness, You who seek the Lord; look to the rock from which you were hewn...look to Abraham your father and to Sarah who bore you. For the Lord will comfort Zion, He will comfort all  her waste places; He will make her wilderness like Eden, and her desert like the garden of the Lord; joy and gladness will be found in it, thanksgiving and the voice of melody. Is. 51:1-3. The heritage for which we long is found in Abraham and Sarah. My name is written in the Lamb's book of life. That is enough.
When my father and my mother forsake me, then the Lord will take care of me. Ps.27:10.
Can a woman forget her nursing child, and not have compassion on the son of her womb? Surely they may forget, yet I will never forget you. See? I have engraved your name on the palms of my hands. Is.49:15,16a. How deep the Father's love for us. How vast beyond all measure.....

What you meant for evil, God meant for good. Genesis 50:20. Or Romans 11:35,36 For by Him and to Him and through Him are all things. These verses in tandem assure the faint of heart that pain and sorrow from the hands of those intended to impart goodness can be instruments used to create a picture of God's grace. They are the tutors of the soul that bring glory to God.
"My grace is sufficient for you, for my power is made perfect in weakness." Therefore I will boast all the more gladly of my weaknesses, so that the power of Christ may rest upon me. 2 Cor. 12:9 For those weary of the road, His grace is sufficient for today.

Anna Waring's hymn makes for a perfect Father's Day prayer in a not-so-perfect world. For the next month we can pray and trust that He indeed is working all things together for good for those who love God, and are called according to His purpose.

Father, I know that all my life
Is portioned out for me,
And the changes that are sure to come
I do not fear to see;
But I ask Thee for a present mind
Intent on pleasing Thee.

I ask Thee for a thoughtful love,
Through constant watching wise,
To meet the glad with joyful smiles,
And to wipe the weeping eyes;
And a heart at leisure from itself,
To soothe and sympathize.

I would not have the restless will
That hurries to and fro,
Seeking for some great thing to do
Or secret thing to know;
I would be treated as a child,
And guided where I go.

Wherever in the world I am,
In whatsoe’er estate,
I have a fellowship with hearts
To keep and cultivate;
And a work of lowly love to do
For the Lord on Whom I wait.

So I ask Thee for daily strength,
To none that ask denied,
And a mind to blend with outward life
While keeping at Thy side;
Content to fill a little space,
If Thou be glorified.

And if some things I do not ask
In my cup of blessing be,
I would have my spirit filled the more
With grateful love to Thee,
More careful, not to serve Thee much,
But to please Thee perfectly.

There are briers besetting every path
That call for patient care;
There is a cross in every lot,
And an earnest need for prayer;
But a lowly heart that leans on Thee
Is happy anywhere.

In a service which Thy will appoints
There are no bonds for me;
For my inmost heart is taught “the truth”
That makes Thy children “free.”
And a life of self renouncing love
Is a life of liberty.

 

Out of Left Field

Some of the best conversations with my grandchildren (and children) have occurred while navigating my car through the treacherous roadways of our city. A then four-year-old Meg queried from her car seat, "If God is everywhere, is He in the front seat with you, or the back seat with me?" Excellent! "Meg, God is everywhere, so He is in the front seat with me and the back seat with you both at the same time. He's in every one's car, all at the same time." Mystified silence. Benjamin to his brother Charlie: "Hey Charlie, wanna smell my breath?" Look of disdain. "No, Benjamin. Nobody wants to smell your breath." On defense. "Uh huh! Mama wants to smell my breath every day."

Meg and I wandered through several hours of conversation recently. Her love of conversation is an inherited trait. "Grammy, what do you think about the Big Bang? Grammy, if there was a Big Bang, was God in charge of it? Grammy, why would someone not want God to be in charge?"

A-ha! Why would someone not want God to be in charge? "Meggie, why do you suppose someone might feel that way?" See what the girl thinks. "Because they don't want anyone to be in charge but themselves." Bingo! We're really going somewhere with this conversation. "Meg, why would it be helpful to believe that God is really in charge?" Holding my breath. "Um, because if something goes wrong you still know it's God's plan." Thank you, Lord. "Meg, that's exactly what Romans 8:28 says." And it just so happened that was her memory verse at school two weeks ago.

And we know that for those who love God

all things work together for good, according to His purpose.

 

Like a young theologian Meg went on to tell me how she knew that Romans 8:28 was indeed a safe and sure promise of God. That she at the tender age of nine, during a difficult time, had seen God answer prayer, had experienced His care for her and her family, and had watched and heard the prayers and words of those she loves as they gave testimony to God's ways which are often beyond our understanding, yet perfect for those who love Him. (Not exactly in those words, but close enough.) Makes a grandmother want to pull off on the shoulder, hold her close and weep for joy. She gets it. She gets it.

Forever, O Lord, your word is settled in heaven.

Your faithfulness endures to all generations.

Psalm 119:89,90

Little more than 24 hours later I heard my pastor read these words, reassuring us that God's word is our firm foundation, above any contradiction. It is always as certain as His faithfulness. Immediately, my thoughts went to my conversation with Meg, but also to events that seemingly had come out of left field leaving me puzzled, unsettled, and with a measure of heartache. How could this be for good? How could this be used for God's glory? How, how, how? I don't know.....yet. I may never know this side of heaven and perhaps not even there.

I do believe, help my unbelief.

Mark 9:24

God gives me His word to instruct and reassure my unbelief.

 

I will never forget your precepts, (I just had)

For by them You have given me life.

Psalm 119:92b

What other book reveals my sins and weaknesses like the Bible?

What other book knows me better than I know myself?

 

"Each promise is a staff--if we have but faith to lean upon it--

able to bear our whole weight of sin, care and trial."

Charles Bridges

 

To His word we must go when events hurl themselves in from left field, when the Romans 8:28 moments of life are still clouded by the veil. God has no left field. "Why would it be helpful to believe that God is really in charge? Because if something goes wrong, you still know it's God's plan." Everything He sends me is for my good and His glory, to achieve His purposes for the Kingdom and my life. For those who love God all things work together for good, according to His purposes.

I am yours, save me.

For I have sought your precepts.

Your word is a lamp to my feet

and a light to my path.

Psalm 119:94,105

 



 

 

 

 



Paper Sack Placemats

In two weeks my little chicks will all be back in this nest for a few days. From this photo you'd never guess that one of them smashed a tomato all over the neighbor boy, one lashed her friend to the stop sign out front and left her out there (for just a bit),  and the other one after being lectured (and spanked) for bearing false witness against her sister announced, "I'll never witness again." 

 

Leaping forsythia! This must be Easter 1957. Coats. Check. Hats and Mary Janes. Check. Purses and gloves. Check. Why do I have my hand on my sister's shoulder? I hope I was being sweet. The Easter Bunny always hid our baskets somewhere in the house. I finally located mine inside the clothes dryer. The gas clothes dryer. With the pilot light on. Thanks, Easter Bunny.

The little boys did lots of yard work in preparation for their cousins' arrival. They dammed up the creek in the back yard so we will have a sufficient water supply for outside fun.

Next they buried the secret treasure...the new box of sidewalk chalk which promptly became an illustration of ashes to ashes and dust to dust.

Pop let them cut down a tree using garden trowels.

Pop knows how to keep 'em busy for a while.

 

 

We cut large pieces of brown paper from the roll and laid them out on the sidewalk.

 

Then we took the hose to the paper.

Got it soaking wet and didn't smooth it out too much.

The paper dries on the porch in the sun in a snap.

 

The artists got to work painting signs of spring.

 

 

I think they have the art gene.

 

 

We gathered up our paintings and took them to the office supply store to be  laminated.

 

 

Which reminds me of a story. I was making a card for my mother and needed a copy of a photo of her. I asked the employee if she could reduce the size of the photo where instead of the size of a tennis ball, my mother's face would be the size of a golf ball.

She frowned and stared and replied, "If I shrink her face, I'll have to shrink the rest of her."

 

 

This time the clerk said, "This looks like a brown paper sack."

"It is," I replied.

"I mean like a grocery sack. A paper sack."

"It is," I agreed.

I think he thought I'd lost it.

 

 

I didn't come up with this brown paper sack painting myself.

Marc Clauzade creates masterpieces on paper sack.

He's said to be the Degas of our time.

Looks a little more Renoir-ish to me.

You can see his fabulous paintings at the French Art Gallery on Royal Street in New Orleans.

 

 

Our paintings will be appearing as place mats on our dinner table over the next several weeks.

You can make these, too, not just with paint, but by cutting out pictures from cards, ads, magazines, wrapping paper, scrapbook paper, paper containers...

...anywhere you see a fun, joy-filled sign of Easter and spring.

 

 

The whole idea is to spend time with the littles, to talk about Jesus, His life, death and resurrection.

 And the joy of knowing Him as our Savior.

 

 

Vintage Hankie Jacket

Back in her room in the lower left drawer of her dressing table beneath the stack of her pretty little party clutches rested this box, a Whitman's Sampler vintage tin from 1927. I had the feeling I was about to discover another of Grandmuvver's treasures and I hoped that it wasn't 85 year-old-chocolate covered cherries. 45 perfectly pressed and carefully folded vintage hankies, one on top of the other, just waiting to hop into one of her cute purses and head out to a Delta party.

"A handkerchief is a Kleenex you don't throw away." Quickly! Who said that? Kathleen at the counter of her bookstore in "You've Got Mail." Not many ladies have great appreciation for vintage hankies any more because not many women have great appreciation for steam irons and cans of starch.

In one of those increasingly rarer aha moments, I remembered a picture of a little jacket made from vintage hankies and I knew that's exactly what Baby Gracie needed. She would need something extra special from the Grandmuvver she didn't get to know and love. The dainty little needs to be hand-washed, line-dried, and starched and pressed church jacket would be Gracie's.

Gracie got to meet Grandmuvver just once. Charles Dickens had it right. "It is not a slight thing when those so fresh from God love us." It is not a slight thing when those so near to God love us, too. Grandmuvver loved us well.

 

 

 With great trepidation I spread the hankies before me, scissors in hand.Making the first cut is always the most difficult and since I never could find the instructions for making the little jacket, I was on my own. First, I drew the pattern pieces for the jacket on batiste, took a deep breath and sliced into the first hankie. Each piece was pinned to the batiste where I could see the pattern lines. The little piece running diagonally down the middle is a scrap of embroidery from the dress that Gracie's cousin wore in Gracie's mama's wedding.

 

 

I snipped and pinned, unpinned, and re-pinned until things began to take shape. These are the two sleeves ready to be stitched. A spool of thread, a needle and a long winter evening make for some good  handwork time.

 

 

Some lace from Gracie's mama's wedding gown, a snippet from a baptism outfit, a flower from Grandmuvver's sewing box and everything fell into place.

 

 

Once all of the piecing had been finished, the sleeves, front and back cut out, batiste lining cut as well...

...the sewing began.

The pattern is Robin's Little Jacket by Children's Corner.

 

 

All done. Hand washed, line-dried, steam pressed and spray starched.

 

 

Ready for little Gracie.

 

 

Grandmuvver loved this little baby.

Now we can wrap her up in her own little piece of

Grandmuvver love.

 

 

Salley Mavor's "Pocketful of Posies" Traveling Exhibit

If you didn't get to Elkin, NC,  by Friday, February 22nd, you're too late. Too late that is to see the phenomenal work of fabric relief artist, Salley Mavor.  Her "Pocketful of Posies" traveling exhibit is an eye-candy sight to behold. Months ago when she announced that "Pocketful" was headed south I began plotting and planning my road trip. Cape Cod meets western Carolina doesn't happen that often. Lucky for me, my daughter, Math Girl, lives only a short distance from Elkin. This was my one chance to see the handwork (hard work) of my favorite wool felt, embroidery thread, wood bead, pipe cleaner, driftwood worker of magic. Math Girl even took her children out of school. If you really want to know what love is, my son-in-law chalked up a half day of vacation time to join the felt frenzy. The suspense was building outside the Foothills Art Council of Elkin.

 

"Pocketful of Posies" is a 72 page hardcover book of nursery rhymes illustrated in fabric relief. Salley's efforts garnered her the Boston Globe-Horn Book award for picture books. This is Salley's cover photo of the fab book that is available at Amazon and also in her etsy store. I think there are around 50 illustrations that were all produced within a year's time. Talk about talent, skill, imagination, determination.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Old King Cole was the guys' favorite.

Every stone in the wall is placed just so.

The buttons forming the archway are perfect.

 

 

How can you resist Hey Diddle Diddle?

 Look at the dish and the spoon running away together.

And how about that cat.

That's the only cat I like.

And his purr-fect violin.

 

 

This is Math Girl and her baby girls.

A few years ago Math Girl gave me Salley's how-to create weefolk book.

Let's just say that Salley is the Thomas Edison of wool felt and I'm a wannabe.

 

 

The girls are holding Jack and Jill that I made for little sister Charlotte once upon a time.

I was needing a lesson from Salley and hoped she would be at the opening of the show.

Sadly, no.

You see, I have a problem with spindly legs.

Poor Jill looks like she's been on a diet of bread and water.

And her arms are too short.

And her sleeves are too big.

 

 

Donkey, donkey, old and gray;

Open your mouth to gently bray;

Lift your ears and blow your horn

To wake the world this sleepy morn.

 

Elsie Marley has grown so fine,

She won't get up to serve the swine,

But lies in bed till eight or nine,

And surely she does take her time.

 

We looked.

 

 

And studied.

 

 

And were inspired...

 

 

...to illustrate the Marvels of Mavor.

 

 

As much as Salley's work has fascinated me,

seeing these framed fabric scapes with each little perfectly placed stitch,

every yummy gradient of color,

 

 

each scallop and twist and acorn cap.

A masterpiece.

 

 

 

All I want to do is sew.

And read her blog here.

Or watch the video of the making of Rabbitat Rabbitat film.

Or travel to Cape Cod to see Beebe Woods and the birds that live there. Birds of Beebe Woods.

 

Thank you, Salley.

These little girls and I are looking up to you!

(So is Jill!)