Boasting Posting

I love being a grandmother.  I love boasting about my awesome grandchildren.

I love posting photos of them.

Bear with me.  You will one day be a grandparent, too, oh Dear-Reader-Of-My-Blog.  And you'll also get really goofy over your grandchildren.  Count on it.

That said, check out my stolen photo (from son Dan's post) of granddaughter Tori and her BRAND NEW DRIVER'S LICENSE!  Go Tor!  She's gonna need to learn how to drive on the other side of the road one day when God moves her to Swaziland as a Children's Cup Missionary.  (Oh happy day!)

(When did they start building those licenses in "portrait" instead of "landscape?")

And just one more picture for you to gaze at--and become jealous of my blessed life:

This was taken on Valentine's Day.  Josh & Shannon's kids with Pop and Meemaw: (L to R) Monet, Vaughn, Marley, and Monroe.  I figure you can identify Pop and Meemaw.

Now We Are Four

This is a recent photo of twin grandsons Rhodes and Rhett...the day after their birthday.
Amongst all the wonderful gifts they received, they loved all the (cheap) dinosaurs.
I love their haircuts and muscle shirts.
DOUBLE CUTE!

An MK at Work

Trinity, our 4-year-old granddaughter, is shown here giving one of her outgrown outfits to a cute little girl at Murray Camp CarePoint.

You're never too young or too old to get involved touching lives for Jesus.

Feathers to Fried

When I was a kid my mom fixed the chicken from feathers to fried. I guess we could have purchased a "dressed" hen at the grocery store, but we didn't.

We'd go as a family to buy the hen from a local farmer; he'd put the chosen chicken in a gunny sack (burlap bag) and dad would put it on the floor in the back seat by our feet where we kids would make friends with the chicken by stroking the beak she'd poke out the sack, even naming her.

Once home, we'd beg dad not to kill this one, please let us keep it for a pet.

He'd ignore our pleas and he'd sharpen his little ax...or a very sharp butcher knife. We knew what was next and didn't want to miss it. He'd remove the hen from the bag and lay its head across a little stump of wood, holding it in place with his foot.

He was so fast and the knife or ax so sharp that before we knew it, the head was lying on the ground and the rest of the body running all over the yard--like a chicken with its head cut off.

We nearly fell over ourselves with gales of laughter...

We never regretted eating the wonderful fried chicken mom made out of it along with mashed potatoes and gravy, corn on the cob, fresh green beans...and a cherry pie. mmmmmm

(If you want, I can go into the process of "feathers to fried" in another post...)

Cup missionary Christy triggered this post by her last one. Check it out.

Susan Jean

In Manila, Philippines, only 33 years ago today, God blessed us with a daughter we named Susan.

We dedicated her to Jesus when she was only a few weeks old.

Then a few weeks later (that's all it seems like!)  we gave her to Ben Rodgers to be his wife.

Then after a few more weeks, we let go of her again, and blessed Ben and Susan as they moved to Africa as missionaries.

How could we hang on to you and refuse to bless the very thing for which God has called you?

Happy birthday, Sooze.  We miss you and we love you.  And we are praying for you.

Praying MKs

The first gathering of HPC Swaziland was very appropriately a prayer meeting.

Son-in-law Ben sent this photo of our MK (missionary kids) grandkids, Kayla (and another 'Cup MK who I believe is Squire Chapman), Levi, and Trinity praying up a storm.

When you want some answers, get the kids to pray.

Oil Crisis?

A lot of folks can't understand how we came to have an oil shortage here in our country.

Well, there's a very simple answer.

Nobody bothered to check the oil.

We just didn't know we were getting low.

The reason for that is purely geographical.

Our oil is located in Alaska, California, Coastal Florida, Coastal Louisiana, Kansas, Oklahoma, Pennsylvania, and Texas.

Our dipsticks are located in Washington, DC.

(From an email I received from John G. in Wisconsin...thanks, John.)