As you come together today remember the blessing of family. Enjoy the time you have together. Know that each member of your family holds a piece of the story to your family tree. Have a Blessed Thanksgiving!
Life is not measured by the breaths we take,
but by the moments that take our breath away.
“Life isn't about waiting for the storm to pass ...
it's learning to dance in the rain”
1 Corinthians 13:4-7
Love is patient, love is kind. It does not envy, it does not boast, it is not proud. It is not rude, it is not self-seeking, it is not easily angered, it keeps no record of wrongs. Love does not delight in evil but rejoices with the truth. It always protects, always trusts, always hopes, always perseveres.
I collect antiques. Why? Because they're beautiful...
I like cluttered, old, dark-wood antiques. I like character...
A beautiful poem by Ed Blair from his book- Random Rhymes New Era Publishing Co. 1939
THE ANTIQUE HOME -
The antique clock sits on the shelf,
One taller, on the floor,
Depending on the patterns then
One hundred years or more!
The dishes, marked by tripods, now
Show they were served with care,
Those patterns of the long ago,
How precious now and rare!
The Settle now has guests again;
The fireplace glows with red;
The doughbox, covered, standing near,
Once held tomorrow's bread!
The spinning wheel clicked as it made
Another skein complete;
The drop leaf table's wooden hinge
Swings level on its feet.
The tiny Betty Lamp, that burned
Just grease to make the light
That great-great-great-grandmother used
When she bade all "Good night,"
Could tell a story of the days
When Washington was here,
If it could only whisper now
With bedtime drawing near!
The hooked rug shows an old farm scene
Of seventeen seventy-nine;
The corner cupboards--cherry wood,
Or walnut, maybe pine.
The kettle once again now swings
Above the fires that glow
How many hungry, it once fed
Long years, long years ago.
The tables, kitchen dressers, sinks
And footstools and the stand
And cupboards, held by wooden pegs--
And blotters filled with sand
The cradle, pride of many homes,
That many mothers rocked
The stories now no one can tell
The passing years have blocked.
Oh, lovers of the antiques, here
Think of the minds that led,
Who stole long hours from sleep, to toil;
In daylight earned the bread
Their love for mothers, brides and babes
Who brighten home and hearth,
Urged silently the artist's skill
Who brought Love's dreams to earth!