Whiskers Against My Cheek

Pam Ford Davis

What memories trigger thoughts of your father? We cannot measure the influence dads have on their children; it helps to remind us of the responsibility and privilege we now hold as parents and grandparents. In ways our dads blessed us we give our heavenly Father thanksgiving. We release our fathers from their failings and receive peace and healing.

My Dad, Franklin F. Ford touched my life in so many ways. I remember sitting in his lap when a very young girl and feeling his whiskers rub against my cheek. Dad showed his kids and grandkids how to tie our shoes, using the two loops, bunny ears method. He taught me how to ride a bike, and along with Mom tried to teach me to swim. He also served as my driving instructor, but that job needed the extra patience of my husband several years later.

Dad gave me the example of hard work rewards. (2 Thessalonians 3:10) He often worked two jobs, yet kept up our house repairs, did yard work, and helped Mom with chores. No job was ever beneath him. He gave me great appreciation for wood items, because he put finishing touches on crafted items at Stickley Furniture Company.

I often think of my Dad when I view rolling hills, trees, streams, or animals, big or small. Dad thrived when he could be outdoors, gardening, cutting grass, taking long walks, or in later years enjoying his wooden swing. Even in dangerously high temperatures he would be outside every chance he got.

Dad lived a troubled life, but in his happy moments, sounds of his laughter filled our house and our memories. He laughed in pure simple pleasure! I guess Dad’s biggest life lesson was to love and show concern for family. We never got too old or too far away to be on Dad’s mind. He waited for letters and phone calls to learn the latest news about our families and looked forward to visits.

Reading books as he worked long hours as a plant security guard for General Electric now holds special meaning. I can see all those paper back westerns tucked in his lunch box, and know he would be proud of my writing. If Dad still lived I would be calling soon to share the latest family happenings; instead I’ll curl up in his lap in my memories and feel his whiskers against my cheek…

Devotionals, Family, Friends

Come To Me

Pam Ford Davis

Growing up, I lived in a small country neighborhood in upstate New York. In nice weather, most children would be outside playing. Many families then were larger than now, and it did not take long to get a crowd together for games or exploring. There were five children in our family, six across the road, twelve in the house on the corner, and a number more in our close-knit community.

We did not have the luxury of cell phones, beepers or even walkie-talkies. When we wanted someone, we just yelled out his or her name. A McIntosh apple orchard behind our house gave children fun opportunities to climb trees, pick apples, and explore. I remember our secret call to others, Kee-aw-kee, come to me!

Friends or siblings would come running when that message filled the air. A few years ago, while watching an old Lassie show rerun, I heard Timmy and his neighborhood friend use the same phrase while playing together. I guess that may be where we picked it up. I did some quick internet searching to see if it is an Indian translation for come to me, but I did not locate my answer. I guess I’ll settle for an unsolved mystery with my childhood memories. When the Lord calls us, we don’t need a secret message from Him. “My sheep hear my voice, and I know them, and they follow Me (John 10:27 NAS).” Here I come!

Christian Growth, Devotionals, Family, Friends, GUEST AUTHOR, Marriage, Women

God Has A Secret

GUEST WRITER: EMILY SWANSON

Romans 5:10

It was said of Abraham that he was a friend of God. What a marvelous statement about any person Think about what all friendship involves.

My best friend is my husband of 55 years. He knows more about me than any other living soul. Yet he still loves me, warts and all. He knows where I keep the coffee cups and the spoons. He knows where to put the dirty laundry. He knows that I snore. That is because we abide together. He knows my joys and my sorrows. He knows simple things; like I like to eat sandwiches of anything. These are probably things about me that others do not know…or care. We can spend hours together never uttering a word and then suddenly both say the same thing simultaneously.

There are other friends in my life who know secrets from my heart. We have laughed and cried together over events for many years. They, too, know my joys and sorrows. I may call on them at anytime for a cup of coffee, a visit, a prayer. We have even prayed over the telephone together as I cry and they pray. There are those who have given me little gifts (for no reason other than love) at no eventful time. They leave a small package on the seat of my car, or on my doorknob at home. What a friend!

Beloved, we all have such a friend. (Not one with skin on as the little boy is noted for saying). But we have a friend who loves to abide with us. What a privilege to abide with the Living God! He would like to walk with us in our garden as He did with Adam. He would love to call us friend as He did Abraham. Perhaps He would like to know us as a “child after His Own Heart” as He did King David. He already knows your our intimate secrets; but He would like to reveal some of His secrets to us.

Our Father wants to hear from us about the secret things of our hearts…our joys, our sorrows, our desires. He wants to know the simple things like our concerns over our children’s grades in schools, what can I do to stretch my time as a wife and mother or grandmother? He listens to our frustrations and our victories (say, Father, did You know my husband got a raise today; my child made an A in math. WOW) He can know these things from us because we choose to abide with Him. Abiding indicates quality time spent together.

He already leaves little gifts for us all over the place. What was that special hug from my child or that smile from my baby if it wasn’t a Gift from God? Who do we think arranges for those A’s in life and those raises that come unexpectedly? What was that beautiful day of sunshine shedding its light over the ountryside? What was that refreshing rain cooling off the parched land? What is that “Peace that passes all understanding” in a time of trial? Where’d that come from anyway?

We can spend much time together…never saying a word, just listening; and all of a sudden the Heavenly Father, the Creator of the Universe, speaks to my heart revealing His Heart and His plans for me. He reassures me of His love. He gives me glimpses of His secrets.

Dear Heart, Friends love to be together and to share. The mark of a true friend is their availability to us when we need, and their undying friendship regardless of our faults. We have such a Friend…and What a Friend He is. Enjoy Him

“Dearest Father, What a Friend we have in You all ‘because of what Christ has done in dying for our sins…making us friends of God’. (Psalm 5:11 Living Bible) Help us to take every advantage of that friendship by abiding in You and Your Word. ‘I come to the Garden alone; while the dew is still on the roses.’ Amen”

Family, Short Stories

Bad Hair Day

What do you do when you experience a bad hair day? It can really get you off to a bad start unless you have access to a lot of attractive caps or hats. Ladies, it may not be a bad idea to keep an affordable easy care wig on your closet shelf.

Pam Ford Davis

This is a true experience about my worst hair day. It all began with a routine home perm. In my mid teens I had frequent perms done by my mom. My perms started when just a toddler with a Tonette. I had no reason to believe this hair treatment would have different results than all the rest.

She did the perm and then I rolled my hair on rollers for the night. The next morning I got dressed for school and began to style my hair. Something went terribly wrong! I could hardly get a brush or comb through my hair! It seemed to Mom that she must have got the perm solution and neutralizer switched. My hair was fried!

How could I go to school looking like a freak? I know Mom felt terrible. I stood before the bathroom mirror crying and trying to do something, anything with my hair. I remember nothing about going to school that day. I could not hide forever. I remember getting it cut very short, soon after and rolling it on very small rollers, which created a cute style. It eventually grew out.

My hair is not the issue. Dad is the highlight of the incident. That morning before school as I stood before the mirror crying, Dad came up behind me and started brushing my hair. He really understood the way I felt and did the only thing he knew to help; he brushed my hair. He did not have a magic touch; my hair still looked terrible. Yet, I knew that my Dad cared. That is what every daughter needs most. It does not take away all the problems of life; it does take the sting out of the wounds.

Moms are usually there to help girls with their hair, clothes and makeup. In a pinch a tender hearted Dad can really make a difference, maybe not noticeable on the outside, but in your heart where it really counts!

Family, Short Stories

I Am Safe

Pam Ford Davis

I’m not afraid of the darkness; are you? I know I am safe in here; my mommy and daddy love me and they wouldn’t let anything hurt me. It is like a game; I see shadows and try to imagine what they might be! I can make them anything I decide, because it is my own private game.

One of my very favorite ways to pass time in the darkness is listening to all the noises outside. When it is late at night and everyone one is very still I hear lots of exciting sounds. The sounds I like the best are laughing and music! I kick my feet and wave my arms; I am so happy!

I’m moving around in the darkness now, trying to find the way out. I think I have almost found my door. I need to push it open. Yes, it is opening now! The light hurts my eyes; it will take a little while to adjust to such brightness.

Now that I am out of the darkness I can hear that laughter even better; maybe I’ll hear the music, too! The Dr. just wrapped me in a blanket and laid me in the arms of my mother. Yes, that is Mommy! I know her heart beat! She is laughing as Daddy grabs my fingers! This is even better than my games alone in the darkness. Mommy is humming and rocking me in her arms, just like she used to do when walking. Each time she did that before, in the darkness she made me rock and sway! “Jesus loves me this I know, for the Bible tells me so…” The light brought me closer to the laughter and music; and I can see Mommy and Daddy! I already know Jesus; he showed me the way to the door…

Devotionals, Family, Marriage

He’s A Rebel

Pam Ford Davis

Are you a Rebel or a Yankee? Geographical boundaries largely influence your choice of label. Most are pretty proud of that distinction. I don’t reside at the Mason-Dixon line, but I’m from the Northeast and my husband is from the Deep South. Before I ever saw his face I was very aware of his homeland. A Syracuse radio station hired him for the graveyard shift, and promoted him heavily before he arrived. The Rebel would soon be on the air.

Rebellion against God is not a slogan or promotional stunt. It is very serious to rebel against our Creator. “For this reason I left you in Crete, that you might set in order what remains, and appoint elders in every city as I directed you, namely, if any man be above reproach, the husband of one wife, having children who believe, not accused of dissipation or rebellion (Titus 1:5-6 NAS).”

Paul urged his co-laborer to choose church leaders wisely. As believers, we can not make children serve the Lord. We can guide them in hopes of stopping rebellion before it starts. Billy and Ruth Graham lived out their faith before their children. Yet, Franklin confesses to rebellion in his heart in early years. That rebel is now a humble servant.

Family, Uncategorized

Family Ties

Every heart needs a place to call home. Where did I come from? Where did it all begin and when? Hushed whispers in our mind place an ongoing curiosity about our ancestors. Each person who blazed the trail to America form pieces of a puzzle; with clues of who we are. During our childhood we do not have concerns about genetics or heredity. Our family circle security includes parents, siblings, grandparents, aunts, uncles and cousins.

Gnawing questions about our family background usually arise in our mid life time span, as we face our own frailty. We wonder if we will leave behind any mark on society; did we really accomplish anything of lasting value?

Another common reason that a spark of interest in our family heritage ignites is a growing appreciation of relationships with family and friends. The only citizens of the United States tracing their roots to the native soil are our American Indians. Europe is where my genealogy story began.

Family history is more than a hobby. To many around the globe it is an unquenchable thirst for family knowledge. I share in that excitement in part, because of my husband’s deep involvement. He began his information gathering about twelve years ago. It led him to closeness with relatives he never even knew.

Now, he organizes the annual family reunions. History as well as current information is shared in his family newsletters on Davis Buzz Internet site: normdavis.org. Our Davis family line likely traces back to England and Ireland. His search continues hoping to one day discover the parents identity of his great, great, great grandfather, Loughton Davis.

As a young girl in school we were asked what nationalities were included in our families. Asking Mom she quickly responded: “English, Irish, French, and Dutch.” That creates a patch quilt representation of Europe. It would be fascinating to learn the circumstances leading to the relocation risks of our first settlers.

It is said “You can take the man out of the country; but you can’t take the country out of the man.” That truth is demonstrated and revealed with traditions and customs of Europe now shared in small towns and large cities across our nation. Some holiday traditions are explained to each generation and respected. To carry on these observances is a way to honor our ancestors and our heritage. Sadly some customs have lost their true meaning and are now just meaningless habits. Maybe it is time to unlock those mysteries as Americans.

Europe’s appeal to tourists has been a magnet for centuries. The sights, sounds and fragrances in each country are unique and varied. In America we have sampled those delicacies from our great melting pot. The blending of spices in a favorite recipe brings out a zesty flavor. The mixing of styles of music, literature and artwork from Europe is transported to us. It creates a fresh new specialty.

When certain arts are held separate such as a great Italian Opera or a French Ballet we are transported straight back to Europe. Our two countries linked as allies through the tragedy of wars that marred their landscape, and scarred the lives of soldiers. Today we face common challenges against terrorism and economic crisis. I hope our trials will strengthen old relationships and build new ones. Remember, every heart needs a place to call home. Many hearts beat with memories of Europe.

Family

Granny Pam

It is fascinating to hear the names selected by grandparents today. Traditional choices of grandmother, grandfather and grandma and grandpa are still used. From that foundation our labels go off in many directions. You know who you are; enjoy your new identity.

Both sets of my grandparents were grandma and grandpa; so we also used last names when referring to them. I never thought much about choosing a classification when I would one day become a grandparent.

When our two children were small we lived about fourteen miles from my husband’s home town. His family still lived there and we got together often. His grandparents were called Grand Ma’ and Grand Pa’ Davis, and Granny and Grand Daddy LeMasters. Our children spent quite a bit of time with their Great Granny and Grand Daddy. Though in her 60’s Granny played right along with our children. She got down on a quilt pallet and wrestled, using the pre-school version of course. Her pleasure resulted in heart-felt laughter. Granny became a role model to me for grand-parenting. Twenty years later when the blessings of grandchildren arrived, I became Granny Pam. My husband gladly accepted his role as Grand Daddy. If the name fits, wear it.

Christian Growth, Devotionals, Family

Grandpa’s Magnifying Glass

I never grew out of my childhood name of Pammy Sue to Grandpa Ford. I remember happily bouncing on his knee as He sang, Home Again, Home Again, Jiggidy, Jig! Grandpa delighted in checker games with all of his grandchildren. He used his talents as a craftsman, weaving cain seats in chairs, and constructing wood crafts, such as a rooster weather vane. Honey, fresh from the honeycomb gave him great pleasure.

I saw devotion to Grandma, his bride of sixty five years, at the time of her death. Grandpa enjoyed the peaceful times of rocking in a favorite chair on the back porch. A cherished memory I now recall is of Grandpa sitting in his favorite living room chair, reading his Bible. He could no longer read the small print. So, he read the scriptures with a large magnifying glass. In my family photos I have a snapshot of him with Bible and magnifying glass. It is also in safe deposit, hidden in my mind with other cherished memories. My desire is to always be as dedicated to Gods’ word. Open my eyes, Lord. (Psalms 119:18)

Family, Friends

This Old House

As children our surroundings seem bigger than life. Things tower above us. My memories hold many of those shadowy giants. Each time I have the opportunity to return to my old neighborhood it’s such a revelation, to see how small everything actually is. I’m surprised to see the houses and especially our front yard.

A very special old house stood at the head of the road. It had been the home place of my Dad, his parents, and older brothers. Dad grew up there, when it served as a working farm. He told me stories of Grandma fixing big meals for them and their hired hands. In my earliest memories I visited Grandma and Grandpa in the big old house. Shortly after, they moved from there to live with my aunt and uncle in a smaller house on the corner. The old house featured very large rooms, both upstairs and down, and wonderful porches. An open porch wrapped all around the front and one side of the house. A big screened sun porch faced the highway from upstairs.

If this were the end of my attraction to this big house it would still be special, but the story continues. My best childhood friend made the old house her home on a couple of occasions. Her family owned the local gas station and at times she lived in a smaller home at the side of the service station. The years she spent in the big house were exciting. We played in the large closets and slept on the sun porch during hot summer nights. Her parents even transformed an old hen house into a playhouse. Together we walked the long upstairs hallway. The long stairs felt the pitter-patter of our feet.

Years passed and new owners turned the structure into an apartment house. I would visit the newest occupants in this strangely familiar setting. Under new paint and paneling, there stood that same old home place. I married and moved out of the state. During returning trips to visit my parents I felt the warmth of that old house again. My younger sister married and lived in one of the apartments with her husband and little boy. My feet again walked the floors of this historic house.

My latest update on the big old house brings sadness. On vacation last summer we drove through my old stomping ground. When we viewed the house it almost took my breath away. Signs indicated it might be close to destruction. It looked very much like homes all across America, neglected, run down, and no longer safe. So, the next time I drive through that area I am prepared to see a vacant lot, or maybe a newly constructed house. Things change and people change, but they can’t take away my memories. We have all heard the expression, if those walls could talk… I wonder what stories that old house could have shared. Maybe it would reveal stories of my Dad’s childhood pranks and laughter, or secrets of two school girl chums.

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