Story-telling with a sweet ending

It’s interesting how story-telling can take its twists and turns and end up at a seemingly unrelated ending.

Dad and I were perusing a few of his many notebook collections of family history, and one in particular pertaining to my 5^th great grandfather Martin Mason, born 1742. He was the grandfather of Martin Hester whose remarkable passing is told in my last bog post here:  http://firstlightofdawn.blogspot.com/2014/01/january-31-1870.html

There’s a story of Martin Mason constructing a mill to grind grain, not far from where I grew up. The mill was capable of grinding sixty bushels of corn a day. Reflecting on that, Dad recollected that his own father had a used a hammer mill to grind corn, powered with a belt attached to his tractor.

That recollection led to another, that of his mother making corn meal mush on the stove top with leftovers going into a bread pan and refrigerated. The next day it could be sliced and served with maple syrup.

Dad noted that before the availability of cane sugar, maple sap was the primary source of sweetner. North American colonists had the Indians to thank for showing them how to harvest the sap from maple trees.

Then Dad asked if I wanted some maple syrup. I was thinking that maybe in a month or two the season for making syrup would begin and we’d go scouting for some nearby. But then I recalled that gallon jug stashed away in the basement storage cupboard.

So we started out with our imaginations taking us to gristmill situated on a river in Ashland County and ended up with this golden jar stashed in my frig:

 

January 31, 1870

Every time I hear the story of Simeon welcoming the infant Jesus in the temple, my thoughts turn to the entries my great-great Grandfather Martin M. Hester made in his diary. It was 144 years ago in the deep midwinter.  Martin and his family were attending revival meetings at their church. Those were days when someone needed to arrive early enough before the meetings to get a fire going in the stove.  They likely traveled by sleigh.

In the entry for Friday Jan 28, 1870 he preserved there the words of his father (also Martin Hester) speaking to the congregation.... "Father spoke with much feeling, That God had preserved his life for more than 82 years and crowned all his life with blessing and that all his children and many of his grandchildren were Christians. He felt like Simeon of old, 'Now Lord let thy servant depart in peace.' [referencing Luke 2: 25-32 http://www.biblegateway.com/passage/?search=Luke+2%3A+25-35&version=NIV ].

The next day ..... "Toward eve Father had a stroke..... He fell from North door of wagon house and found him about ½ past 3 o’clock."  Two days later he died.

"Monday, January 31 - Took care of Father all day. At 6 o’clock in the Eve he died in great peace. Had not spoken for 48 hours but had left a clear testimony in the church of his evidence of the love of God in his heart...."

The full text for the diary entries and the intriguing details can be found in an earlier blog post here:
http://firstlightofdawn.blogspot.com/2010/01/january-31-1870.html

Martin and his brother went to town in the sleigh to purchase a coffin. The body was laid out at their home and services were held there.  The text for the funeral sermon was Numbers 23:10. "Let me die the death of the righteous, and may my end be like theirs!" 

Amen and amen.

A pioneer story from my family tree

In 1863 (while the Civil War was raging) my great-great grandfather Martin M. Hester wrote an article for the Firelands Pioneer, a periodical published by the Firelands Historical Society in Norwalk, Ohio. It is a collection of first-hand accounts of those who settled the area.

In this article he shared the account of his parents (Martin and Mary Stough Hester) settling in unbroken territory in Ashland County, Ohio and their peaceful encounters with Indians. Here is an excerpt…

About the close of the War of 1812, my father and family with several others, moved to Orange Township in Richland, now Ashland County. He entered a quarter section of government land on the extreme frontier and putting up a rough settler’s cabin, moved in.

A short time afterwards it became necessary for him to return to Columbiana County for some cattle. During the trip which lasted 10 or 12 days, my mother with 3 small children, the youngest but a few months old, were left alone. The nearest neighbors were on the east and south, about one and a half to two miles distant. On the north and west, was a trackless wilderness for more than 20 miles, infected with wild beasts and Indians. The day after he left, upwards of 40 Indians of both sexes, came along on horseback took a deliberate survey of the premises and encamped about a half mile beyond.

Every day the squaws would come with baskets to my mother to exchange for meal. She shared with them what she could spare, which was but little. Just about dusk every day 6 or 8 of the Indian men would come to the house from hunting and setting their rifles down outside, would go in and stand around the fire, dressed in full costume with a tomahawk and scalping knives in their belts. My mother would get as many turnips as there were Indians and give them. It is not surprising that the little children clung to their mother from fear, as the tall red savages with their scalping knives pared the turnips and ate them. After getting warm they would go on to their camp. After staying thus 6 or 9 days they went away in the manner they came, having committed no depredations…..
 

My great-great-great grandparents-

Martin Hester (September 6, 1787 - January 31, 1870) and

Mary (Stough) Hester (February 15, 1789 - June 15, 1863):

Memorable moments

As I think back over 2013 I reflect on the memorable moments of the year I see they often come as a strange but profound mix of sadness, joy, love, and sorrow.  Writing my mother's obituary was one such instance.

Being the writer of the family, it fell to me to summarize my mother's 90 years of living into a few paragraphs.  It had been some months prior to my mother's passing that my father asked me to write both of their obituaries. The thinking was that waiting til the last minute may not be a good strategy for giving it the attention it would need.

I had been mulling it over in my mind for quite some time, but when she fell and broke her other hip the beginning of September I suspected her passing would be imminent. By the time she entered hospice I had written the first draft.

By the time it was finished in some ways it still felt inadequate as I thought of all the memories that we made together.  None-the-less, I received numerous complements as to how well it was done and I could conclude that her life had been well-honored. ... a solemn task yet one undertaken with a sense of pride and privilege for the opportunity to honor her full and rich life.

So here it is...

Elizabeth Ann Phillips (nee Hester) 89, of New London, Ohio peacefully passed from this life on September 16th, 2013 following an extended illness. She was born September 20, 1923 in McCutchenville, Ohio to Webb Hester and Mary Hester (nee Sullivan). She lived most of her childhood in Norwalk, Ohio. She lost her mother as a young child, but was surrounded by loving family and friends. She grew up to be a beautiful and caring young woman. She was always a patriot at heart and joined the Women's 484th Army Air Force in 1944 leaving high school just prior to graduation. She served in Topeka, KS processing crews preparing to go overseas. While in the army she participated in a women's synchronized swimming team.

She was above all else a devoted wife and mother, and fulfilled the high calling of motherhood with honor, joy and creativity. She was always there for her children, nurturing and patiently teaching them. She cared for her home well and made it a warm and welcoming place. She served as a Girl Scout leader and Cub Scout den mother. She enjoyed bowling, swimming, needlework, collecting depression glass, and travel.

Even while suffering the ravages of dementia, she displayed strong affection for her family and determination to do what was needed to come home to her family. While in a rehabilitation facility she often said "I want to go home," even when she was home for a visit. It seems that in her heart of hearts she was looking for another home, a heavenly home.

She is survived by her husband of 67 years, Vinton Phillips, her children, John Robert (June) of Warren, Maine, Deborah Phillips of Broadview Heights, OH, and Daniel (Lyn) of North Fairfield, OH; her grandchildren Melissa (Brian) Linscott of South Portland, Maine, Nathan (Karen) Phillips of Ashland, MA, Brian (Stacey) Phillips of Grand Rapids, MI, and Craig Phillips of Chicago; great grandchildren, Gabrielle, Jackson, Helena, Timothy and Everett; siblings, Robert Hester and Mary Kluding of Norwalk, and many nieces and nephews.

A visitation will be held on Wednesday from 5-7 p.m. at Eastman Funeral Home, 200 W. Main St., New London where a service will be held on Thursday at 1 p.m. with Pastor Doug Lang officiating. Burial will follow at Grove Street Cemetery, New London.

Tidings of comfort and joy

The celebration of Christ’s birth and the secular celebrations have probably generated more music than just about any other event in history.  Many of the traditional carols seem to have a timeless value, yet are centuries old. As a result their meaning has become obscured. I’m happy to share with you my discoveries into certain phrases that we often recite without a thought…

Some lyrics may sound archaic to our modern ears, such as “God rest ye merry, gentlemen…”  If translated into contemporary language, it could read “God make you strong, gentlemen.”  That seems to make more sense since the following lines pertain to not being dismayed, that Christ was born to save us from Satan’s power.

How about The First Noel?   Can you say what it means with you doing a Google search?  A Wikipedia article indicates that “…Noel comes from the French word Noël meaning Christmas, from the Latin word natalis which translates as birthday.”

Then there’s Jingle Bells, first published in 1857. I wonder how much fun it really was to ride in a one-horse open sleigh on a blustery winter morning?  I can’t speak from personal experience about how much fun it is and I don’t know many who can. How about you?

Ever wonder about “visions of sugar plums” that danced in the head of the dreaming children in “’Twas the night before Christmas?”  You’ve probably had them in some form or another but not realized it. Once source indicates that a sugar plum is “… a sweet made of sugar hardened around a central seed or kernel in successive layers using a process called "panning." The glossy sugar shells on candies like jelly beans or M&Ms are produced through a similar process…” (http://bit.ly/1ccrbzP).

Joy to the World was first published in 1719 by Issac Watts and was based on Psalm 98, a passage that never mentions a baby or shepherds, for it speaks to Christ’s second coming, not his first. The first and last verses of Psalm 98:  “Sing a new song to the Lord, for he has done wonderful deeds. His right hand has won a mighty victory;…For the Lord is coming to judge the earth. He will judge the world with justice, and the nations with fairness.”

Joy to the world! The Lord is come;
Let earth receive her King;
Let every heart prepare him room,
And heaven and nature sing…

One more question, have you prepared room in your heart for Him?

 

.... Tidings [news] of comfort and joy to you!

Deborah Phillips

Christmas 2013

 

Let me see!

One of the delights of photographing children is that they get such a kick out of seeing their image on the view screen of the camera. When I’m photographing kids’ activities at The City Mission they surround me quickly to see their image.  There’s a a chorus of, “Lemme see, lemme see!”  Today one little boy about 3 years old gazed for a long time at his image with a gentle sense of wonder and intrigue in his eyes. I wish I could have captured his expression and his thoughts.

It seems the older we get the less we like looking at our image. The hair is too thin, the cheeks too chubby, the eyes not set quite right. Then life’s difficulties take their toll and we start to see it written on our faces. We want to forget certain things but they stare back at us in the mirror. 

When women first come to The City Mission’s shelter at Laura’s Home, it is often easy to see the heaviness weighing on them. The deep sadness of having failed so miserably, fear of all the unknowns or anger at how they’ve been hurt so badly. The longer they stay and the more they grasp the genuine hope that is offered, then the more we see the shadows lifting from their lives and their faces.  Watching the transformation is pure joy.

Today I encountered two such women in the hallway, successfully encouraging a third woman who was having a hard time dealing with some family disappointments. One woman said her mother had introduced her to crack cocaine when she was in her teens. That started her journey of chaos and heartbreak. She knew full well how badly she had messed up her life, but likewise she knew how much she had been forgiven and that gave her the freedom to forgive others. She said her life turned the corner to a promising future when she turned her back on resentment and forgave her mother. 

When we see lives transformed before our eyes we better understand what the apostle Paul was saying in 2 Corinthians 5: 16- “…we have stopped evaluating others from a human point of view. … Anyone who belongs to Christ has become a new person. The old life is gone; a new life has begun!”

The same can be true for any one of us. Our lives don’t have to be overshadowed by our past or our imperfections and frailties. Instead, when we look in the mirror we can choose to see a life marked by God’s grace and forgiveness.

When we look into the manger this Christmas, let us be as little children, eyes bright with wonder and hope. “Let me see!”

Emmanuel

A man lay dying in Cleveland’s Metro Hospital, having suffered burns over much of his body while attempting to rescue fellow tenants from a boarding house on the near west side. In his last moments he could be heard breathing the name “Emmanuel” repeatedly. Hospital staff did not know his true identity so they named him “Emmanuel Doe”.

The story of the fire spread throughout various reaches of cyberspace and some acquaintances began wondering if the man could be Raymond. He had attended our satellite church in Lakewood, and they knew he lived in the area. By that time his body lay in the morgue and it was my friends’ grievous task to confirm his identity.

Raymond struggled with alcoholism much of his adult life and alienated much of his family but in the end he became a hero for rescuing others from certain death. Having served faithfully in the Marines, his friends arranged his burial in Arlington National Cemetery. His astounding story reached the national news circuit.

There is profound significance in Raymond calling out the name “Emmanuel” in his last moments, for that is one of the names given to Jesus, and it means “God with us.” Though Raymond had faltered so many times throughout the course of his life, he finally had grasped the reality that God was not only with him but for him, in spite of his failings. He had grasped that truth sufficiently enough that even in his semi-consciousness he was able to call on His name. Raymond was painfully aware of his failures and perhaps that is what made it easier for him to receive the gift of Emmanuel.

Those of us with far greater means and achievements have learned to be reliant on our own strengths and resources. It takes longer for us to come to the end of ourselves and recognize our need for God’s presence. But there will come times in all of our lives when the circumstance we encounter is insurmountable in our own strength, whether it’s a fatal diagnosis, a tragic accident, a painful memory, a grievous loss.

The good news is that the name “Emmanuel” speaks to God’s very nature, that He wants to be with us, even though that’s hard for us to understand. And he wants to be with us, not just in the hard times, but in the daily disappointments and joys, the tedium and struggles, the victories and celebrations. And so my prayer this season is this:

“O holy Child of Bethlehem, descend to us, we pray;
Cast out our sin, and enter in, be born in us today.
We hear the Christmas angels the great glad tidings tell;
O come to us, abide with us, our Lord Emmanuel!
(O, Little Town of Bethlehem, lyrics by Phillips Brooks, 1867)