We had holy communion last night at church, and were more than once reminded that there is room for everyone at the table. I never hear those words without recalling our own dinner table as a child. My mother and father personified that concept in ways that brings them to mind every time I hear the words,” room at the table,”

Almost every day at noon, Mom spread out a feast of every vegetable and meat that we grew or raised , and it rivaled any buffet at a restaurant. What was so strange about that table was that usually there was someone that I didn’t know, or knew them from prior meals, that were always welcome at our table.

Several older men without family were frequently there, and any lost soul Dad encountered on the public road while working in the fields was invited home with him to eat. No questions about deserving, or if they smelled ok, or were lazy, or moonshiners, or any other qualifying behavior. They were hungry, and that’s all that mattered.

I admit, my table has never been that open. I tell myself that it’s a different time, such practice just doesn’t bode well in today’s environment.

I take comfort from the fact that our church hosts Open Doors every year where the homeless can get in from the cold and find food, a warm bed and acceptance. I’ll find my way of helping with that and hope this small effort makes me even more aware of what it means to have room at the table in every phase of my life.

Not quite mid winter, but listening to the weather forecast here in the valley, it is supposed to be our coldest day so far. Looking out my front door and north over my deck, colorful lights, and even an advent wreath in one yard, lessens the frigid forecast and warms my heart.

Hearing of my children in their holiday traveling, and watching FaceTime with pictures of grandchildren and great-grandchildren around Christmas trees with beaming faces defies me to give thought to my freezing surroundings.

I am very aware that this bucolic image I paint is not true for a lot of families this season, and for that fact, all of us must do more than give a passing thought to such. We must find a place we can have an impact and not just a fleeting thought. Open doors, Mercy House, Salvation Army, your own house of worship have opportunities for you to do just that.

The gifts, the lights, the music, the joy, the peace, must never overshadow the reason for all that. The reason , lay in a stable, born into a world as troubled as ours today. But who came out of such a birth, commands us to react to that uneasy world with love and action, as He did.

With a sense of satisfaction, but also a feeling of relief, I carried all my candy making equipment to the basement. Down went the spices, food coloring, the colorful bags, the containers, the molds, the paper liners, and a bit of smugness for my accomplishments!

As far as we can recall, about 55 years ago, my sister Nancy and I went to a candy making seminar put on by the Va Tech Extension Office. That seminar led to years of candy making with my sisters and became a tradition for each of our holiday celebrations.

For me, it became a way I could gift my grown children and grandchildren with a gift that, literally, money could not buy! Chocolates, hard candy, and peanut brittle, made with all the love this octogenarian can muster,says all I need to say in greetings for this season of celebration.

The best part of this tradition is passing in on. Little by little the daughters are learning just how peanut brittle should look in the pan to be just right, how pizza cutters make great hard candy cutters as it cools, and how the aromas in the kitchen, as you work, dwell in your mind much longer than the fatigue of a day of candy making.

What a wonderful word, isn’t it? First of all, it’s implication is that it requires some action on our part! The giving of thanks, in a time of unparalleled national self concern and preservation, takes some real self-examination .

It is almost mind boggling that in 1863, right in the middle of the Civil War, President Abraham Lincoln declared a national day of thanksgiving! In some of the direst days in this nation’s history, he called for the nation to remember the good in our lives, and be thankful.

We can do no less today. My wish for you, and for me, is a day filled with genuine thanksgiving for the real gifts of life, like relationships of family and friends, for opportunities to share, for life itself, all bestowed by our God from His infinite store.

Watching TV news this morning, one major news item was a lesson on how to protect yourself to survive mass shootings! Really??? Our church had clinics on protection of the same! Our children have lock in place drills and how to hold their hands over their crouched bodies!

My 85 year old mind and body both rebel in unbelief of what is happening, and rational thinking and dialogue doesn’t seem to work, so I am almost afraid to voice any opposition to a movement of “my rights” over the fear, distrust, suspicions and angst that mass shootings have brought to the forefront of this nations image.

Do you know that the leading cause of death in children and teens in this country is Firearms? Not cancer, not car accidents, your child is more likely to die by a gun than any other cause.

This blog comes from a woman whose husband had a cabinet full of hunting guns….none of which could shoot over 2 bullets before reloading. Assault weapons and magazines of many more bullets are weapons of war, not recreational and not for personal protection that one has a right to provide.

I keep hearing that this is a mental health issue. There are mentally ill people in every country in the world, and they don’t have the problem of mass shootings that we do. I saw a local church were doing what Isaiah the prophet foretold about the coming of the Prince of Peace to this world, that we would beat our weapons into plowshares. Let’s begin that mindset today. May it be so.

I usually don’t have any trouble expressing myself in writings, but somehow that just doesn’t seem to be possibly. For a week and a bit, something seems to be missing, something that was an extension of my psyche seemed not to be there. That conscious or unconscious influence of knowing someone had my back, someone championing my endeavors, was not here.

My sister Ruth went to heaven the last of September, and with distance, and life’s obstacles, I think I have found it easier to just think”she is in Florida, that’s all it is! “ But my heart knows. My sister, my walking companion, my friend , walks in splendor now. My mind swirls with memories of our childhood, our grownup respect for each other and our unwavering love has made me a better person…..perhaps that person Ruth always thought I was!!!

My sister Ruth went to heaven yesterday, and I didn’t know exactly what to do! What do other people do when they lose their best friend, their confidant, their support for all that has gone on in my life from childhood?

What do other folks do when dis-belief becomes real, when pain replaces hope, when a part of you is silenced forever? What do they do when memories just bring tears?

What do they do to honor a life lived in service to others as a nurse, as a wife, a mother and grandmother, a daughter, a sister, and friend?

I hold on to the hope that joy will replace pain, memories will dry tears, and the sheer magnitude of her being will remind me every day of the gift of my sister Ruth.

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I am a fan of editorials for it keeps me informed of the thinking of people I either agree with or oppose. Either way, I think I am a more well rounded thinker than I have ever been as one of those “aging” that todays editorial talked about. Irvin Peckham, a retired professor caught my eye and my heart in todays DNR paper.

I will leave out the political positions he voiced, because his appeal to me was what he said about aging that made me immediately tell my visiting daughters that they should read it.

For those who don’t get a paper, and I don’t blame you, I am absolutely quoting his last paragraph and hope it speaks to you as it does to me.

“Professor Peckham…..I think older people should be models for their children and grandchildren on how to age well—and of course at the end, how to die. I take this responsibility seriously, I want my grandchildren to see how at seventy-nine, I can still live a full life and contribute to the well being of those around me.”

For you young people, look around at the people in your life, and in your community, and lastly in your country. Whose life do you mimic, whose life gives you a roadmap to follow? I’ll safely guess that person has silver hair, a benevolent spirit, and an undying enthusiasm for life itself.

Watching the weather report this morning with night temperatures in the 40 ‘s later this week, this was my first reaction….too soon, too soon.

Growing up, my Mother was a better weather forecaster than all the predictions from the radio weathermen, and she always said that anytime after September 15, we could have a frost. The weather this year has been so uncommon that I was thinking summer might linger a bit longer.

Autumn, though, is my favorite season. With my farmer husband who reveled in days of harvest of the crops planted in the spring, hunting , and grabbing an apple off the trees as he headed to the barn each morning. I caught his enthusiasm, and when I see big green harvest wagons meander down the roads, my heart beats in remembrance.

There is a lot of things I find happening too soon in my aging life style. Too soon children are reaching retirement, too soon grandchildren are parents themselves, too soon, except the fact I am here to enjoy their every adventure.

There is a poem by a rather obscure poet, Lawrence Ferlinghetti, and part of it says, “Outside the leaves are falling as they died. Outside the leaves were falling and they cried Too soon, Too soon!”

This morning I received an instagram picture of a great-grandchild with a backpack and other school looking things slung over her back. She looked anything but eager and joyful to say the least.

It reminded me of another day and another child who must have felt exactly what my Liiile GGrandchild was feeling. Mary Ellen started her teaching in a county known for it’s honesty of expression and behavior. When Mary Ellen told a little boy he couldn’t go home at lunch, as he had gathered all his belongings and stood expectingly to exit the door, he soon told her what he thought of the whole situation.

When she said, “Johnny, we can’t go home til about three!” He looked at her with unbelief and said, “Well who the H… signed me up for this????”