With the birds singing, and nature popping up all around us, I just had to get out and dig in the earth! I am truly my father's daughter. He was a farmer, and for many many years at this time of year you would find him in the fields preparing it for corn, wheat, oats. I love this time of year -- it is the time of rebirth. The trees and flowers are blooming from the wintry days gone by. We are stewards of this earth, and God has given us a great gift to enjoy and tend too. On days such as this, I am reminded of days gone by when I was helping my dad work outside too. As time goes by, it only gets sweeter....working outside and seeing things bloom and grow. God is so good!

When I was growing up, my parents and my sisters, and myself attended a little church out in the country. Religion was important to my parents all of their life, and they instilled that into our lives as well. This little church of country people did a lot to encourage the children. I remember fondly my very first Bible class teacher, Mrs. Moser. She was wonderful. I loved her. We were in a little tiny classroom down in the basement. It had a white door with glass windows. She decorated that room lovingly. One assignment was for us to color a church building in brown. She talked about the importance of church, and what the church was ... not a building but the people who go there and worship God. So, in my mind (I was not even in first grade yet)... I was thinking .. It cannot be brown. Because I was thinking that churches should be red because my parents barn was red, and red was just a better color after all. Later after class, she told my parents I didn't follow instructions. I remember how sad I was that my teacher was not happy with me, because I was just sure it was okay to do that. My parents took me to Mrs. Moser's home, and I told her I was not being disobedient, but that I really thought it should be red. She just laughed, and clapped her hands together, and said, I understand, that is fine. I was just concerned that you did not understand my instructions. Thank you for explaining this to me, and coming to see me. Years later, I ran across a birthday card from Mrs. Moser when I was 7 years old. She has long been gone, but she ever lives in my heart because of the little brown church in the wildwood.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

There's a church in the valley by the wildwood
No lovelier spot in the dale
No place is so dear to my childhood
As the little brown church in the vale

(Oh, come, come, come, come)

Come to the church by the wildwood
Oh, come to the church in the vale
No spot is so dear to my childhood
As the little brown church in the vale

How sweet on a clear Sabbath morning
To listen to the clear ringing bells
Its tones so sweetly are calling
Oh come to the church in the vale

(Oh, come, come, come, come)

Come to the church by the wildwood
Oh, come to the church in the vale
No spot is so dear to my childhood
As the little brown church in the vale

There, close by the church in the valley
Lies one that I loved so well
She sleeps, sweetly sleeps, 'neath the willow
Disturb not her rest in the vale

(Oh, come, come, come, come)

Come to the church by the wildwood
Oh, come to the church in the vale
No spot is so dear to my childhood
As the little brown church in the vale

There, close by the side of that loved one
'Neath the tree where the wild flowers bloom
When farewell hymns shall be chanted
I shall rest by her side in the tomb

(Oh, come, come, come, come)

Come to the church by the wildwood
Oh, come to the church in the vale
No spot is so dear to my childhood
As the little brown church in the vale

Words & Music: Dr. William S. Pitts, 1857
Dr. William S. Pitts (1830-1918) was born in Orleans County, New York. As a young man, he taught school in rural Rock County, Wisconsin. He later became a doctor, and practiced in Fredericksburg, Iowa, for over 40 years. He is buried in the Rose hill Cemetery in Fredericksburg.

Dr. Pitts wrote:
One bright afternoon of a day in June 1857, I first set foot in old Bradford, Iowa, coming by stage from McGregor. My home was in Wisconsin. The spot where the “Little Brown Church” now stands was a setting of rare beauty. There was no church there but the spot was there waiting for it. When back in my home I wrote the song ’The Little Brown Church in the Vale.’ I put the manuscript away.
In the spring of 1862 I returned to Iowa and settled at Fredericksburg… In the years of 1859 and 1860 the good people of Bradford were determined to build a church…By the early winter of 1864 the building was ready for dedication. While I was holding the singing school, near its close in the spring, the class went one evening to the church. It was not then seated, but rude seats were improvised.
My manuscript of the song I had brought with me from Wisconsin. It had never been sung before by anyone but myself. I sang it there.
Soon afterwards I took the manuscript to Chicago, where it was published by H. M. Higgins. It won a speedy recognition locally and with the years won its way into the hearts of the people of the world.
Soon after its publication the church at Bradford, which had been painted brown (for want of money to buy better paint, some say), became known as “The Little Brown Church in the Vale.” My hope is that it will stand for a thousand years and call the old man and his descendants to worship.

My day has been made much brighter by the dear people who are involved with blogstream. You are encouragers, and such a joy! How blessed we are when we can encourage others. When we can lighten another's burden along the way, then the gift is truly ours. As we look around us, at times we can be overwhelmed (if we think too much about it that is). How much nicer it is when we don't let things bring us down, but decide to use our inner strength to encourage someone along the way. How many times have you or I felt better, and have forgotten our woes when we reach out and encourage someone along the way. Little acts of kindness are never little, because it is the little things that make great things come about.
Encouragement is truly honey to the soul!

BEING A MOTHER

After 21 years of marriage, my wife wanted me to take another woman out to dinner and a movie. She said, 'I love you, but I know this other woman loves you and would love to spend some time with you.'

The other woman that my wife wanted me to visit was my MOTHER, who has been a widow for 19 years. The demands of my work and my two children had made it possible to visit her only occasionally.

That night I called to invite her to go out for dinner and a movie.

'What's wrong, are you well?' she asked.

My mother is the type of woman who suspects that a late night call or a surprise invitation is a sign of bad news.

'I thought that it would be pleasant to spend some time with you,' I responded. 'Just the two of us.'

She thought about it for a moment, and then said, 'I would like that very much.'

That Friday after work, as I drove over to pick her up I was a bit nervous. When I arrived at her house, I noticed that she, too, seemed to be nervous about our date.

She waited in the door with her coat on. She had curled her hair and was wearing the dress that she had worn to celebrate her last wedding anniversary.

She smiled from a face that was as radiant as an angel's. 'I told my friends that I was going to go out with my son, and they were impressed,' she said, as she got into the car. 'They can't wait to hear about our meeting.'

We went to a restaurant that, although not elegant, was very nice and cozy. My mother took my arm as if she were the First Lady.

After we sat down, I had to read the menu. Her eyes could only read large print. Half way through the entries, I lifted my eyes and saw Mom sitting there staring at me. A nostalgic smile was on her lips. 'It was I who used to have to read the menu when you were small,' she said.

'Then it's time that you relax and let me return the favour,' I responded.

During the dinner, we had an agreeable conversation, nothing extraordinary but catching up on recent events of each other's life. We talked so much that we missed the movie.

As we arrived at her house later, she said, 'I'll go out with you again, but only if you let me invite you.' I agreed.

'How was your dinner date?' asked my wife when I got home.
'Very nice. Much more so than I could have imagined,' I answered.

A few days later, my mother died of a massive heart attack. It happened so suddenly that I
didn't have a chance to do anything for her.

Some time later, I received an envelope with a copy of a restaurant receipt from the same place mother and I had dined.

An attached note said: 'I paid this bill in advance. I wasn't sure that I could be there; but nevertheless, I paid for two plates - one for you and the other for your wife. You will never know what that night meant for me. I love you, son.'

At that moment, I understood the importance of saying in time: 'I LOVE YOU' and to give our loved ones the time that they deserve. Nothing in life is more important than your family. Give them the time they deserve, because these things cannot be put off till 'some other time'.

Somebody said it takes about six weeks to get back to normal after you've had a baby ... somebody doesn't know that once you're a mother, 'normal' is history.

Somebody said you learn how to be a mother by instinct ... somebody never took a three-year-old shopping.

Somebody said being a mother is boring .. somebody never rode in a car driven by a teenager with a driver's permit.

Somebody said if you're a 'good' mother, your child will 'turn out good' .... somebody thinks a child comes with directions and a guarantee.

Somebody said 'good' mothers never raise their voices .. somebody never came out the back door just in time to see her child hit a golf ball through the neighbour's kitchen window.

Somebody said you don't need an education to be a mother ... somebody never helped a fourth grader with his math.

Somebody said you can't love the second child as much as you love the first ... somebody doesn't have two children.

Somebody said a mother can find all the answers to her child-rearing questions in the books ... somebody never had a child stuff beans up his nose or in his ears.

Somebody said the hardest part of being a mother is labour and delivery .... somebody never watched her 'baby' get on the bus for the first day of kindergarten or on a plane headed for military 'boot camp.'

Somebody said a mother can do her job with her eyes closed and one hand tied behind her back ... somebody never organized seven giggling Brownies to sell cookies.

Somebody said a mother can stop worrying after her child gets married .... somebody doesn't know that marriage adds a new son or daughter-in-law to a mother's heartstrings.

Somebody said a mother's job is done when her last child leaves home ... somebody never had grandchildren.

Somebody said your mother knows you love her, so you don't need to tell her ... somebody isn't a mother.

Pass this along to all the 'mothers' in your life, and to everyone who ever had a mother. This isn't just about being a mother, it's about appreciating the people in your life while you have them....no matter who they are.

Our hands tell us a lot about the kind of people we are. There are hands that are soft and smooth, hands that are dry and chapped, hands that are calloused, hands that are weak, hands that are strong, small hands, large hands. Hands that speak. We can usually tell by hands what that person does. Hands are so important.

What do hands have to say? There is the open hand. The open hand is friendly and welcoming. When you greet someone, or meet someone you shake hands. You use an open hand to great and welcome that person. Both hands welcoming are a double honor ... a very accepting way of saying, please come in and I am so happy that we have this time together.

With this hand, the open hand....I think of mother's comforting their children. Father's instructing their children, or showing them things that they can do. A nurturing hand.

In direct contrast to this is the clenched fist. The clenched fist shows just that -- it is closed, clenched, tight, ready to hurt, damage, or harm. The hand in a clenched fist is angry, harsh, and can be cruel.

With the clenched fist...I see a rough person, a person who would do harm to another.

Hands are remarkable, and how we use them is up to us. Do I want to welcome, or do I want to chase away.

I often think of this: "He has no hands but our hands."
Something to think about isn't it.