“I’d rather see a sermon, than hear one any day; I’d rather one should walk with me than merely tell the way.” ~ from the poem Sermons We See by Edgar Guest

Through tears the frustrated mom said, “I don’t know where we’ve gone wrong. My husband and I have done everything we can to instill our values and faith in our children. Last week I got a call from my 2nd grader’s teacher because he yelled ‘Oh, S---!’ and kicked another kid when he was tagged out during a kickball game. We are in church every Sunday and we have required all three of the kids to memorize scripture, and obviously it has gotten us no where. This is so disappointing!”

I smiled and hugged her knowing not only was she disappointed, but most likely more embarrassed, since her kids went to a Christian school. I wanted to explain to her that kids are kids, and just because you have them in church every week doesn’t make you bullet proof to embarrassment and disappointment. But I knew she didn’t want to hear that and reminding her kids usually mimic their parents probably wouldn’t have set well either. I just kept my mouth shut hoping she would ask what to do. She didn’t.

Spike White, my extra daddy and mentor, always told me kids watch more than they hear. “If you want honesty, be honest. If you want grateful kids, don’t grumble,” he’d say. “If you want your kids to be kind and helpful, set an example.”

Travis signed up to ring the Salvation Army bell with Jameson and Owen last week. The boys learned about sacrificing a warm house for an hour to help those who may not even have a house. Watching their dad serve rather than listening to him preach will sink in much deeper.

It’s confusing to kids to quote scripture to them on the way to church while calling everyone driving too slow an idiot and everyone driving too fast a maniac. As convicting as it may be, we teach our kids with everything we do. They only copy what they see.

Sermons We See

Edgar Guest

I'd rather see a sermon

than hear one any day;

I'd rather one should walk with me

than merely tell the way.

The eye's a better pupil

and more willing than the ear,

Fine counsel is confusing,

but example's always clear;

And the best of all the preachers

are the men who live their creeds,

For to see good put in action

is what everybody needs.

I soon can learn to do it

if you'll let me see it done;

I can watch your hands in action,

but your tongue too fast may run.

And the lecture you deliver

may be very wise and true,

But I'd rather get my lessons

by observing what you do;

For I might misunderstand you

and the high advice you give,

But there's no misunderstanding

how you act and how you live.

When I see a deed of kindness,

I am eager to be kind.

When a weaker brother stumbles

and a strong man stays behind

Just to see if he can help him,

then the wish grows strong in me

To become as big and thoughtful

as I know that friend to be.

And all travelers can witness

that the best of guides today

Is not the one who tells them,

but the one who shows the way.

One good man teaches many,

men believe what they behold;

One deed of kindness noticed

is worth forty that are told.

Who stands with men of honor

learns to hold his honor dear,

For right living speaks a language

which to every one is clear.

Though an able speaker charms me

with his eloquence, I say,

I'd rather see a sermon

than to hear one, any day.

I wish there was an inherited gene, like for eye color, that would determine a person’s ability to be a fabulous cook. I would be spectacular. My mom and both of my grandmothers were cooks who really couldn’t tell you how something was put together, they made it up as they went most of the time. I asked my grandmother once how much sage to put in turkey dressing. She said, “You know, just shake it in until you smell it.” When I tried that, all it did was make me sneeze.

I know we aren’t supposed to think negatively about ourselves, but I should have had a hint of what my cooking journey in life might look like when I made a D in junior high Home Ec. Honestly how hard is junior high cooking?

In all the years Jim Brawner has never once complained. He even tried to eat my first attempt at making stew right after we were married. It tasted like a combination of Goodyear tires and Elmer’s school glue. I reread the recipe and it said simmer 6 to 8 hours not 6 to 8 minutes. That’s when I learned cooking has nothing to do with knack, but with reading.

I’ve made progress over the years, but still prefer the drive through and take out. One thing I can always make work is my grandmother’s cookies. Years ago I finally persuaded her to let me watch her bake a batch. I wrote down everything she did step by step.

For obvious reasons I’m not one of those snooty cooks who won’t share recipes. Here’s one of the best chocolate chip recipes on the planet. It looks like any old recipe, but there are little details that need to be paid attention to. If you are having a rough day, make a batch and share.

Grandmother Bollen’s Chocolate Chip Cookies

Preheat oven 345 degrees

1 cup Crisco Oil

1 cup brown sugar

1/2 cup granulated sugar

1 teaspoon vanilla

2 eggs

Mix well with mixer

Add to sugar mixture:

2 cups plus 4 Tablespoons flour

1 teaspoon salt

1 teaspoon baking soda

Mix well with fork

Add 12 ounce package of semi sweet chocolate chips and stir

Drop by spoonfulls onto cookie sheet.

Bake 10-12 minutes. Watch carefully.

Take off cookie sheet immediately and let cool on counter top.

ENJOY!

Remember in the movie My Big Fat Greek Wedding when Ian Miller’s parents came to visit the Portocalas family for the first time? Everyone was nervous and concerned about the possible clashing of the two cultures and how it would all fit together. Ian’s mom did what any woman would do who didn’t really know what to do, she brought a cake. After muddling through understanding what a bundt was, when everyone realized it was cake, life was good. Cake has that effect.

Cake must be the designated food of celebration. No one has birthday or wedding pie. When the cake is cut everyone pauses and smiles. Restaurants send singing servers to the table of the birthday boy or the anniversary couple with cake. The honoree always stares and smiles at the cake as if it were a cute child.

I don’t ever remember going to my grandmothers house and there not being cake under the metal cake cover. I think women used to keep something to break out in case company dropped by. Do people just drop by unannounced anymore? I think we’ve gotten too busy and so scheduled it’s rare someone just shows up. It’s a shame.

Cake has been around since ancient times, but looked a lot different than it does now. It was more bread like with fruits and nuts and was sweetened with honey. That must be what fruitcake is, a variant of ancient cake. Can you name one person who would choose fruitcake over every other kind of cake? With all the ads at Christmastime though, there must be a huge group of closet fruitcakes eaters.

The British have it right pausing sometime mid afternoon for crumpets and tea. I suppose crumpets fall somewhere in the cake family. To slow down and have a cup of hot tea or coffee and a little cake might just add a dozen or so years to our lives.

In the last 20 cakes have gotten fancier and more complex. There’s even a TV show about nothing but cakes, Cake Boss. Honestly it’s not as much about the cakes as it is the drama of people under stress. But when the cakes are presented and cut, everyone is happy. Cake can do that. Maybe we should all eat a little more cake.

The holidays bring such nostalgia. Life just smells good and looks good everywhere. Each year as the temperatures and the leaves start their dropping, twinkle lights appear, and everything smells like cinnamon and evergreen, the memories, for me, surface not only of holidays past, but of pregnancy, labor and delivery.

All three of my kids’ birthdays are in a four week time frame at Christmastime; Jill, December 2, Jason, December 22 and Travis, January 6. So for several years I didn’t fit into a cute little black dress for holiday parties. Really I was proud to fit into anything at that point. I did look pretty good in a burlap robe when the church pageant needed a Mary.

Two of my young friends have just had babies and they’ll join me in the way they store memories of this time of year. Ashley just had a baby girl a couple of weeks before her little girl’s first birthday. Two in one year! And, Abi had a baby boy the other day to join two sisters. She's had three in three years. Actually, I’m not real sure either of these girls will remember anything.

Jill sent Abi a text the day she was scheduled for delivery to let her know she was thinking about her. Abi text back saying, “Real sooooon now!” Oh my! I was stunned. She had the presence of mind to text. Maybe she will have fond memories or maybe she was a bit delirious.

Obviously, labor and delivery looks nothing like it did when I was giving birth. Now there can be a party in the delivery room if the mom wants one. I had to talk on the phone to Jim Brawner when I was in labor with Jason because he couldn’t come past the double doors. I think that was just mean. I remember being so scared, but thinking if Mary could handle this in a manger, I can it in a hospital.

One person told me I didn’t plan very well having babies. I disagree. Who was planning, anyway? We just party from Thanksgiving through the new year and make wonderful memories. My biggest challenge is to not wrap birthday gifts in Christmas paper.

I would be so excited, but, at the same time, so scared. When I was a kid, going downtown to see Santa Claus, in a what seemed an enormous department store, was something I looked forward to beginning in September. Every family has at least one picture of a child sitting in Santa’s lap with a terrified look or screaming like they were being kidnapped to the North Pole. They’re perfect for rehearsal dinner videos.

There’s the ongoing debate of whether or not it’s healthy to let children believe there’s a fat man in a red suit who makes toys and has the ability to travel all over the world on one night leaving gifts for good kids. I suppose it falls into the same category as the Tooth Fairy, and the Easter Bunny. I remember thinking they must get together occasionally to have dinner and discuss strategies. My psyche wasn’t damaged when I found out their real identity. Some may argue.

One of the origins of Santa Claus is Saint Nicholas of Myra, a fourth century Greek Christian bishop who was famous for his generous gift giving to the poor. He devoted his life entirely to Christianity and once gave dowries to three impoverished sisters so they would not have to become prostitutes. Sounds like an okay kind of a guy to me.

Obviously, we want our kids to understand Christmas is the celebration of the birth of baby Jesus, the Savior. Certainly He’s the central focus, but things like the character of Santa Claus, the giving tree at church, or the Salvation Army bucket all emphasizes giving, hope and love, all attributes of Jesus.

And those are good things for people to learn early in life ... before the world kicks them around a bit and they become Bah Humbugish.

Some of the tiniest things are the meanest most powerful creatures on the planet. They can bring the even strongest, seemingly invincible people too their knees. They have the ability to take out large groups at a time or over time ... the stomach flu bugs. They tend to march in Army battalions and nothing, not even the strongest GermX, can stop them.

The last time I was attacked was six years ago when I was visiting Kari and Travis. The best place to get sick is at a doctor’s house. Travis brought home IV fluids and propped me up in the living room in the recliner. It felt kind of like a high school science project, but it worked.

I was close to calling him again yesterday. The flu bugs charged full force. All three of Kari and Travis kids had had it, Vivian and Jill got it, David flew back to Virginia and came down with it, then it hammered me. Alison and Smith who hadn’t even been around us came down with it. The sad thing is we’ve probably all shared it with others before it took us down.

I slept 18 hours a day and I felt so bad, my hair even hurt if that’s possible. But I think I’m on my way out of it. It left me so weak I had to take a break when I was brushing my teeth.

I Googled up stomach flu and learned the technical term is viral gastroenteritis. There is no prevention except hand washing and to date there is no cure. That’s encouraging. I did find out it can be deadly in children and older people.

All I know is I don’t want it again. It was a good reminder of how important my health is and it did cause me to wonder how close I am to that older people age group.

This is a busy time of year for our tourist destination hometown. I’m getting pretty good at guessing where visitors are from just by watching and listening. Wisconsin and Boston are the most distinctive and I guess Arkansans are easy for me to recognize because they speak my native tongue. Actually, some consider Arkansas to have a language of it’s own.

You can tell a Texan by the talk, but they also drive big vehicles. I’ve often wondered if it’s because they do everything big in Texas or if they have secret oil reserves no one knows about.

Years ago my friend Darnell and three of her Texas girlfriends were in New York City having dinner at a lovely upscale restaurant, the kind with no prices on the menu and leftovers are packaged in fancy foil swans. About half way through the main course a nice looking man in a suit came over to their table and said, “Excuse me ladies. I have a question if you don’t mind. My friends and I have a bet.”

“Well, sure,” one of Darnell’s friends answered.

“Are you girls from Texas,” the man asked in his thick New York accent?

Darnell grinned and said, “We sure are. Is our Texas drawl that obvious?”

“I knew it! I bet my friend $50.00 your were from Texas, not from listening to talk, but watching you eat. You all are sampling off each other’s plates, a little taste here and a little taste there. The only place I’ve seen people do that is in Texas. Thanks for winning me fifty dollars and enjoy your meal.”

When the girls finished dinner off their own plates and left the restaurant with their shiny doggy bags, they decided that New Yorkers may know how to eat properly but probably don’t have near as much fun as Texans.