Archive for August 2011




Weep Not

“Jesus can silence tears with his presence and command.”

Continue Reading 2 comments August 29, 2011

Me and My Shadow

Pam Ford Davis

 

 

I viewed many great detective movies of the 1940’s; writers webbed suspenseful plots, raising my interest and holding my attention captive. Just as bad guys shadowed the western heroes, illusive foes followed private eyes. An investigator walked down city sidewalks late at night and heard the eerie sounds of footsteps trailing behind. I nearly jumped out of my seat when they met face to face.

Am I always aware that I am not alone? Do I need to fear as I feel the presence of another approaching from behind? “Surely goodness and mercy shall follow me all the days of my life; and I shall dwell in the house of the Lord for ever (Psalms 23:6 RSV).” The Shepherd leads me and his blessings of goodness and mercy protect my back; I run into his house of refuge, secure and safe under the shadow of his wings. (Psalm 17:8b)

4 comments August 22, 2011

A Beauty to Behold

“I waste my time in any imaginations of being a beauty to behold.”

Continue Reading 4 comments August 15, 2011

Battered and Blossoms

“Many of the leaves are unsightly; they are ragged and even have gaping holes.”

Continue Reading Add a comment August 8, 2011

Stairway Sentiment

Pam Ford Davis

Join me as I meander back through memories to a stairway in the house where I grew up. We lived in a two story prefabricated house with two bedrooms upstairs and two below. Mom and Dad had the master bedroom on the ground floor and the other down stairs served as both a bedroom and a TV room. My sisters, brother and I rotated use of the upstairs large bedrooms and gained access by use of a beautiful wood stained staircase. I gave little thought to our stairs back then but now would love to ascend again.

The stairway served us well as a storage area, telephone nook, and entranceway. It may surprise you to learn my family used stairs for storage but that was a major function. Mom washed our clothes with her ringer washer, hung them on outside or basement clotheslines, folded them and then placed them in neatly folded piles on the stairs for us to carry upstairs and place in dresser drawers or to hang in closets. We procrastinated and nearly tripped over them on jaunts to and from our room. Mom nagged; we made promises we rarely kept.

I cannot forget long telephone conversations with girl and boy friends sitting on the steps with the phone and six foot chord giving me privacy in a partly secluded area. Party line frustration and puppy love chats later gave way to a private line and an extension phone in my room and true love marathon conversations with my future husband. Yet, the memory of staircase drama is as fresh as today’s headline news.

Run your hand along the varnished railing to the bottom, notice Grandpa Ford’s old shaving cup turned upside down, secured and stained to serve as a handle and ornament. Ascend again, sit down, bounce from step to step on your hinny, and feel the joy of a child. Scurry back up and slide down the handrail as a tomboy displaying bravery. Day ends as I wrap up my stairway sentiment; I climb the stairs into my room, turn off the bedroom light, leave the bedroom door open a crack and slip into my bed. Dad has a nightlight ceiling light burning at the stop of the stairs; I can rest safe and secure…

 

 

Add a comment August 1, 2011

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