"The Ways of God, And The Real War On Women "

     Psalm 103:7 says that God "made known His ways unto Moses, His doings to the children of Israel."  One version of the bible translates this word "ways" as "character".  In other words God revealed to Moses who He was.  Have you ever heard or used the phrase... "Oh that just his/her way."? When we hear that we understand that to mean, "Oh that's just the way he/she is."
     The person that utters that statement about another knows that person well.  They are saying, "I know this person and I can assure you that his/her action just reflects or reveals who they are."  That's what the bible is saying here.  It is teaching us that we mere mortals can know the God of the universe.  He wants us to know Him and "how He is".  He will during our lifetimes reveal Himself to us, if we really want to know Him.
     I'm 76 years old and I just last week was made aware again of this "way" of His.  It's always so exciting to find out something "new" about someone you love... especially God!  So naturally I thought about it over and over and naturally I couldn't wait to write about it.
     Another verse from the psalms that I've clung to over the years of wanting and needing God's help and provision in my life, has been Psalm 138.  It too talks about "how God is".   Listen to it from the Living Translation starting with verse 5.

"Yes, they (every king of the earth) will sing about the Lord's ways ...though the Lord is great, He cares for the humble, but He keeps His distance from the proud!  Though I am surrounded by troubles, You will protect me from the anger

of my enemies.  You reach out Your hand, and the power of Your right hand saves me. The Lord will work out His plans for my life for Your faithful love, O Lord, endures forever.  Don't abandon me, for You made me."

    See how much we learn about "who He is" in this Psalm?  But He has more "ways" then is revealed here.  He wants to live with us every day and show us more and more of His unfathomable character.  He wants us to know Him.  How great it that?  God wants little me to know Him!  And not just know Him from reading the bible, but know Him from experience of living with Him every day and looking for His hand in our lives.  Today I want to illustrate this with a story.

Me and my parents at the farm. I was 14 or 15.

    When I was a little girl, my family took an annual summer vacation to my Grandpa and Grandma Stanley's farm. (See The Haunted Farm)  I loved that place and those people.  There were lots of kids to play with, a large farm to explore, good food and love on every corner from aunts, uncles, cousins, Grandma and Grandpa.  It's one of the greatest memories of my childhood.  We went at various months during the summer and each month held it's own special delight.  June was the beautiful month with flowers in full bloom, the weather not as severe as July and August and lazy days in the shade.  Then there was July... hot, hot July.  This is when we got to go swimming in a muddy pond or a nearby creek.  This is when my Dad would load us up in the car and take us to a movie just to get us out of the hot house and into a cool theater for a while.  July was when a cool dipper of water against the cheek was almost heaven.  Then there was August,... harvest time.  I know that's early for you northerners but for Texas, it's August.  Grandpa was making syrup at the mill, my uncle was selling watermelons by the truck loads to nearby farmer's markets (and we were eating the leftovers).  The women were sitting all day on the back porch preparing food for canning, peas, green beans, corn, tomatoes, black-eyes peas, okra, squash, and I was grabbing a salt shaker and running to the garden to glean all of the missed ones for myself.  August was wonderful!  At night before we went to bed, all of the kids, maybe six, eight, or ten of us, depending on how many families gathered there for the harvest, would line up on the big front porch and Grandma would come around with a towel over her shoulder and a wash pan of water and wash each of our feet.  She would say, "Your not going to bed between my clean sheets with those feet!"  It was a great time for us because as she reached each child she would ask about our day and it would be our "turn" to talk to Grandma.  But there was one other thing that happened in August that was significant to me.  August was the time when Grandma washed and dried her quilts. 
     Grandma had probably close to twenty, brightly colored quilts that she and others had made over a lifetime.  Since there was no central heating in that old farm house, quilts in the winter time were a precious commodity.  Every year they had to be washed and hung out to dry so they would be clean and ready for the coming winter.  She would wash them, fold them and stack them in the corner of one of the bedrooms where they would be waiting for some family member to use when the wind started to blow.  I used to love to go to that stack and stand there and look at the different patterns, ask questions about their names and what they meant because each quilt tells a different tale and then listen to an aunt tell the story of each patch of cloth.  They would say, "That's the dress I wore to the prom." or "That's Aunt Kat's dress she made for the such n such." or "That's the baby dress Mama made for Katy when she was one year old."  They all told a story.  I'd literally spend hours there if I could get someone to sit there and talk to me about the stack of quilts.  Not to mention, they were soft and smelled heavenly!  While they hung on my Grandma's clothes line they would absorb the sunshine and the smells of the earth and a hundred different kinds of flowers.  For me it was a trip into all the senses of the farm.
     When my Grandmother died, I was all grown up and overseas with my husband and children.  When I heard about her death I grieved, of course, because I loved her and she loved me but the one thing I thought of that belonged to her that I would have liked to have had, was one of her quilts.  Of course I was in no position to ask for anything.  She had daughters and granddaughters who lived close by, who would divide up her worldly goods, such as they were.  But the quilts meant so much to me and I longed to have one.
     Last year I took a trip to east Texas where I attended the funeral of one of the aunts.  I then went to visit the last of the sisters left on that side of the family.  While we were talking and reminiscing about our times on the farm as children, she said, "I have a room that's full of  Mama and Daddy's stuff.  Would you like to go through it?  There are some interesting things there."
     "I'd love to go through it!" I said.
     So we went into the room filled with old stuff, some of it I recognized and some of it I didn't.  Everything smelled a little musty but even that was a pleasant smell to me.  I looked at the old dishes, some old kitchen tools, an old family bible and a few nick-nacks they had owned, ran my hand over them and tried to remember if I'd seen them before.  Then my aunt said, "Would you like to take something home with you?  You can have anything you like.  I realize you flew down here and there's probably not much here you can take back but your welcome to anything you'd like."
     I said, "Yes, I'd love to have something of my Grandma and Grandpa to show my kids." I looked around again for something I recognized from my childhood.  Then she added, "How about the old bible?  It's full of family history and I know you love history."
     "That would be great." I said, and started leafing through the old pages.  (She told me a story about this bible which will probably appear in another blog.  It's too long to tell in this one.)
     Finally we started to leave the room with me clutching my treasure and wondering how I was going to get the large, fragile old book home in my luggage.  She turned to me and said, "Oh, and there's one other thing you might be interested in.  I have a couple of Mama's old quilts left.  Would you like to see them?"

Grandma Stanley's quilt

     My heart literally skipped a beat.  Grandma's quilts... did she say Grandma's quilts!  Before I could ask the question she was pulling me into another room where there was a large storage closet.  She said, "They are up there on the top shelf."  The two of us old women were trying our best to drag out the quilts from a shelf that was at least three feet over our heads and she said, "Hold on.  I'll go get my son to get it."
     In a short time she had the quilts down and spread out so I could see them and she said, "Take your pick!"
     I was stunned.  They were very old and faded but still in pretty good condition.  She was talking the whole time I stood there trying, to absorb the fulfillment of this dream.  She said, "Mama made these of recycled family clothing, stitched them by hand and stuffed them with cotton from Daddy's cotton fields."
     "I know."  I said, unable to say more because I had a lump in my throat.  She had no idea how much it meant to me and I really couldn't explain it to her at this time.  I ended up putting the bible and the quilt in my luggage that I took home with me and mailing all my clothes that I'd brought to Texas.  "The clothes are replaceable, the bible and the quilt are not."  I explained to my friend, Mary Jo Reed, who was helping me with it.
     Now I tell you this story to illustrate something about the "ways of God".  My aunt didn't know what the quilt meant to me, but my God knew.  He knew the heart of that little girl in 1948 and the desires of the heart of that young woman, when she heard of her Grandma's death, and the heart of the old gal sitting in that room in 2014, and it was His "way" to want to please her.  Just like we want to give something to our children at Christmas that will bring a smile to their faces and delight their hearts, God wants to do the same thing for His children.
     I learned all over again, how God is my Father, who wants to make me happy.  I do a terrible thing when I ignore, or don't recognize His daily goodness to me.  It must grieve Him when I mummer and complain.
    God is good to His children... that's just "who He is"!
    Now one more thing about quilts, they also give us the history of American women...
strong, stalwart, female warriors who settled this country, nurtured families, and passed on a wealth of character and common sense that we still profit from to this day.  Below is a poem that illustrates these sisters from the pass, who we'd be well to remember and imitate.  It reminds me of my Grandmother and my aunts so I'm including it so you'll know them better.

MY OLD QUILTING FRAMES

If my old quilting frames could talk

What tales they'd have to tell.

Of things they heard, while women worked

Or stopped to rest a spell.

For they'd hear of training children

And ornery husbands, too.

Of how to mend young Willie's pants.

 Of peach preserves to do.

 Sometimes the neighbor's ear must burn

 While needles jabbed that quilt.

But mostly kindly things were said

And happy friendships built.

Of all these things my quilting frames

Ne're breathed a single word

But, kept in strictest confidence

The tales they overheard.

...Author Unknown...

     The fact that we don't hold these women up as examples for our daughters to admire, is the real "war on women".

Note: The week after I wrote this blog, another friend came out to do some repairs for me. Before he left I asked if he'd put up my quilt rack on my wall so I could display my Grandma's quilt.  He graciously did this for me and it made me very happy, again.

This is how it looks on my wall now with family pictures perched above it.

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