In the sixth grade,
I was in love with Darla.
Darla was the most beautiful girl
I had ever seen.

I sat in class and just stared
at the back of her head.
I loved her hair,
her eyes,
her face.
I loved Darla.

One day in physical education class,
we had to stay inside because of rain.

So we did what we always did
on rainy days: square dance.

I often fantasized about one day getting
to hold Darla’s hand when we square danced.

My dream came true!

By some miracle, or fate, or luck,
or perhaps the grace of God,
Darla and I were paired as partners.

The moment of ecstasy was soon to be mine.

When it came time to hold hands I felt faint,
took a deep breath and slowly
slipped my hand into her -
cold,
sweaty,
clammy
hand.
My heart sank.

My love for Darla died that day
because of clammy hands.

We all experience disappointments.
We don’t want to be disappointed.

We want to be impressed.

We seek to be impressed by tourist attractions,
by the latest gadget,
by fame or fortune.

But all earthly things we seek to “wow” us
will eventually disappoint
or lose their “wow” factor.

If you look below the surface
all people and things will disappoint.
All fall short of true glory.

True glory can’t be fulfilled until we come into
the presence of God.

Psalm 29 (NLT)

A psalm of David.

Give honor to the LORD, you angels;
give honor to the LORD for his glory and strength.

Give honor to the LORD for the glory of his name.
Worship the LORD in the splendor of his holiness.

The voice of the LORD echoes above the sea.
The God of glory thunders.
The LORD thunders over the mighty sea.

The voice of the LORD is powerful;
the voice of the LORD is full of majesty.

The voice of the LORD splits the mighty cedars;
the LORD shatters the cedars of Lebanon.

He makes Lebanon’s mountains skip like a calf
and Mount Hermon to leap like a young bull.

The voice of the LORD strikes with lightning bolts.

The voice of the LORD makes the desert quake;
the LORD shakes the desert of Kadesh.

The voice of the LORD twists mighty oaks
and strips the forests bare.
In his Temple everyone shouts, “Glory!”

The LORD rules over the floodwaters.
The LORD reigns as king forever.

The LORD gives his people strength.
The LORD blesses them with peace.

I live a busy life,
perhaps too busy.
My mind is full of details, schedules, deadlines, facts and figures.
I fear forgetfulness.

Yet, in the midst of being overbusy, I sense God’s presence.
His hand is on my shoulder as He watches me work.
He has great interest in all that I do, even spreadsheets.

As I work, He is not just a casual observer of the mundane.
Nothing in my life is mundane to Him.
He is deeply interested in my work.
He wants to be involved.
He watches and even suggests ways to accomplish the task.

So many of us leave Him at the door.
The door at work.
The door at home.
The door at church.
Then join Him again when we return.

We all desire an extra set of
hands,
feet,
eyes and
ears.
An extra mind to help us think through all the complexities of work, family and life in general.

He IS the extra set of
hands,
feet,
eyes and
ears we long for.

He loves to brainstorm with us and
thoroughly enjoys the time together with us problem solving.

You are all Magnificent Mothers!

The Magnificent Mother 

It was my mother
Who brought me into the world
Who cared for me and protected me
Who repaired the scrapes and bruises
even those unseen

It was my mother
Who taught me right from wrong
Who prayed me through my perilous youth
Who had faith God would use me
even when it seemed there was nothing to use

It was my mother
Who laughed at unfunny riddles and jokes
Who always loved and never hesitated to say so
Who knew I could accomplish anything
and gave me willingly to God’s perfect plan

It was my mother
Who guided me when life’s path divided
Who lived great faith and faithfulness
Who influenced my life
And everyone I touch

Momma’s Song
By Paula-Beth Toller

I remember the days of pig tails and curls,
of Barbies and Cabbage Patch Kids.

Bein’ tucked in at night by the sweet lullabies
as my mother would sing me to sleep.

Those times may be no more,
but one thing is for sure -

You kissed the scrapes,
wiped the tears,
through all the years,
never asked for a thing in return.

You showed me love,
gave me hope,
that one day I would grow
into the woman you knew I could be,
and that’s why you mean everything to me.

Lookin’ back on the years of my childhood days
I remember one thing more than the rest;
How the faith that you showed

and that love that you gave
led me closer to my Jesus each day.

It may have been long ago,
but I remember it more than you know.

‘Cause you kissed the scrapes,
wiped the tears,
through all the years,
never asked for a thing in return.

You showed me love,
gave me hope,
that one day I would grow
into a woman you’d be proud to see,
and that’s why you mean everything to me.

And now I can see that everything I am now
is because of all you’ve been to me.

‘Cause you kissed the scrapes,
wiped the tears,
through all the years,
never asked for a thing in return.

You showed me love,
gave me hope,
that one day I would grow
into the woman you knew I could be,
and that’s why you mean everything to me.
Yes, that’s why you mean everything to me.
My momma’ you mean everything to me.

Momma’s Song ©2006 Paula-Beth Toller
Used by Permission 

I read the following scripture at my
Mother-in-Law’s funeral.
(Cleta died in August, 2001.)
It truly described her spirit and
her love for her family. 

Proverbs 31:10-31 (MSG)

A good woman is hard to find,
and worth far more than diamonds.
Her husband trusts her without reserve,
and never has reason to regret it.
Never spiteful, she treats him generously
all her life long.
She shops around for the best yarns and cottons,
and enjoys knitting and sewing.
She’s like a trading ship that sails to faraway places
and brings back exotic surprises.
She’s up before dawn, preparing breakfast
for her family and organizing her day.
She looks over a field and buys it,
then, with money she’s put aside, plants a garden.
First thing in the morning, she dresses for work,
rolls up her sleeves, eager to get started.
She senses the worth of her work,
is in no hurry to call it quits for the day.
She’s skilled in the crafts of home and hearth,
diligent in homemaking.
She’s quick to assist anyone in need,
reaches out to help the poor.
She doesn’t worry about her family when it snows;
their winter clothes are all mended and
ready to wear.
She makes her own clothing,
and dresses in colorful linens and silks.
Her husband is greatly respected
when he deliberates with the city fathers.
She designs gowns and sells them,
brings the sweaters she knits to the dress shops.
Her clothes are well-made and elegant,
and she always faces tomorrow with a smile.
When she speaks she has something
worthwhile to say,
and she always says it kindly.
She keeps an eye on everyone in her household,
and keeps them all busy and productive.
Her children respect and bless her;
her husband joins in with words of praise:
“Many women have done wonderful things,
but you’ve outclassed them all!”
Charm can mislead and beauty soon fades.
The woman to be admired and praised
is the woman who lives in the Fear-of-GOD.
Give her everything she deserves!
Festoon her life with praises!
 

Your Story

Unfortunately, not every mother is
kind and loving.
But I think most mothers are and
I believe, although it comes naturally for most,
it also comes as a result of great
sacrifice and selflessness.

Again, in my life,
I have been doubly blessed:
I had a wonderful relationship
with a loving mother and
a wonderful friendship
with a remarkable mother-in-law
Both have been loving mothers,
wives and servants of Christ.

What was your mother’s history?

 What made her who she was?

 How did she influence your life?

The elevator doors opened.

As soon as I stepped out of the elevator, I realized I was on the wrong floor. The sound of the doors closing behind me and the metallic ‘ding’ of the chime sounded the deathblow for my job interview.

The eight o’clock job interview should have begun five minutes ago. As my frustration level increased, I pushed the down button and waited. The job really wasn’t desirable anyway. The corporate world had chewed me up and spit me out. Why go back? As I stood there, all the workers in the cubicles close to the elevator started staring at me. Not just a ‘Didn’t you just get off the elevator?’ stare but something more. The stares seemed uncontrollable on their part and extremely uncomfortable for me.

My uneasiness must have become noticeable and some regained their composure and went back to work. Others continued their vigilant stare.

I wanted to yell, “Stop it!” but instead stood looking at the lit button then to the floor indicator.

A gravelly male voice above the office clatter, “Mr. Boyd.”

I continued to watch the floor indicator and pressed the button several times.

Louder, right behind me, “Mr. Boyd. Mr. Boyd!”

A large man in a brown plaid polyester suit, three feet behind me was looking directly at me. I turned to see if anyone was in my vicinity. No one else was there.

“Mr. Boyd, you are needed in a meeting.”

Confused but curious, I went along. Maybe there was a hidden camera somewhere.

Those who had been staring seemed relieved and several said, “Good morning, Mr. Boyd.”

Walking under the migraine-inducing fluorescent lights, past cubicle after cubicle, I received the same greeting, “Good morning, Mr. Boyd.”

I wanted to yell, “My name’s not Boyd!” Normally this would be my response. But something isn’t normal here. They think I’m someone else. It’s obvious this guy is a big whig and this could be kind of fun for awhile . . . maybe I’ll just see how this all plays out.

In the conference room, we went through introductions and received cards. All eyes were on me.

The lights dimmed and a projector began to whine softly. After an uncomfortable length of silence, someone spoke up. “Mr. Boyd, are you ready for the presentations?”

“Sure, proceed.”

One after the other presented computer-enhanced graphs and passed out packets of information. All seemed very convincing. No one suspected my total ignorance as to what they were talking about.

After every presentation, the same statement and question, “Thank you for the opportunity to present this information. Do you have any questions?”

“No, thank you and I will give this my full consideration.”

After the meeting, the “big guy” led the way talking constantly about the presentations and which of them he preferred. As we walked, I watched the coffee sloshing in his cup occasionally spill a drop or two. We stopped at a doorway leading into an office suite.

“I’ll let you get to work. Sorry for the early morning meeting. Let me know when you want to discuss it more.”

Another voice: “Mr. Boyd, I have several messages for you.”

This must be my office.

Walking past the secretary’s desk, she handed me several sheets of paper with phone numbers, notes and names. She informed me of upcoming meetings and reports due today. I thanked her and continued into the plush office.

What a view. I must make big bucks! Why is my office so much nicer than the rest of the offices?

Pictures; there must be pictures. I looked around and found several photos in a variety of expensive frames on the credenza. That’s me!

Is this me? . . . No! Is that my family? They look like snobs. I had never been in those places. This is weird. They think I am this guy!

In the office, I eased into a soft leather chair overlooking a clean, clutter-free desk, not sure what to do next. The room was cavernous with leather sofa, overstuffed chairs, original paintings, a big screen TV, and a wet bar.

I think I may be a jerk!

It’s been said everyone has a double somewhere somehow. At a distance, you can mistake a stranger for someone you know. You wave, and then as you get closer you realize you were mistaken and say, “Sorry, I thought you were someone else.”

I realized my double might be on his way. He was probably stuck in traffic, or some other delay. I had to get out of there.

I walked to the secretary’s desk and asked her to prepare a ten percent pay raise for all non-executive staff, and an immediate bonus of $1,000 for all secretaries and maintenance staff. She got the CFO on the line and I asked him to take care of it and not to bother me with the details. I gave him full authority to proceed. My secretary was ecstatic.

Under my direction, she sent an “all staff” email, stating I was going to be remodeling and if anyone wanted anything out of my office to come get it now.

Leaning over, I laid a big kiss on her lips and said, “Next time I see you, I expect one in return. I have to go downstairs for a bit.”

I made my way through the appreciative crowd making their way to my office; a riot had already started.

Soon, I was alone at the elevator.

I pushed the button. The elevator doors opened and there he was, his head buried in the Wall Street Journal. He never looked up. I got on and he got off.

Now, he’s going to have an interesting day.

The elevator doors closed.

We have a tradition in my family started by my Pawpaw Higgins that has been passed down. I’m sure he was not the originator and my research tells me no one is quite sure how or why it started, however it predates George Washington and probably started as an Irish tradition. It’s called “Christmas Eve Gift”. When people who are playing the game wake up on Christmas Eve, there is a race to say “Christmas Eve Gift!”

Christmas Eve is best described as a game of verbal tag. The only catch is that once you’ve been “gotten” you are out of the game with that person for the year, and you have to wait 365 days to catch them again.

The rules of Christmas Eve Gift are simple:1. It can only be played on Christmas Eve. 2. You must say the words “Christmas Eve Gift” to them before they say it to you. 3. Whoever “gets” someone first is the winner. Whoever “gets got” is not only a miserable loser, they are a miserable loser for an ENTIRE YEAR.

I love Christmas! One year I put up our Christmas tree before Halloween. Several Children didn’t quite finish, “Trick or Treeeaat?” when they saw the tree as I opened the door. We decorate the house.We have Nativities.Kenett is a Christmas artist!I love everything about Christmas. I love celebrating the birth of my Lord. I love the secular aspects of Christmas. Even Santa! I love the commercialization of Christmas. I love Christmas! I love saying: “Merry Christmas!”

Think about the first Christmas.

Hotels were full, people were busy.

Money was tight because the government made everyone journey to the place of their birth lineage.

Christmas crept up on everyone. No one was expecting it.
On Christmas Eve no one knew it was Christmas Eve.

It had been predicted in writings, proclaimed by the prophets. But, it was not a fresh idea.
It was expected by a few, forgotten by most.

Two thousand years later a society actively pursues forgetfulness.

We are ignoring truth, celebrating obscurity and either actively or passively participating in the de-Christification of Christmas.

My perceived turning point in history is slowly, methodically becoming unrecognizable.
“Noel” – a shout of joy at Christmas for the birth of the Savior, the Birthday for “Emmanuel” – God with us.

Christmas happened. There was time before Christmas, then there was Christmas.

I for one never thought in America I would observe a debate about removing the word “Christmas” from Christmas!

But here we are. How did we get so far from where we started?

Luke 2:8-14 The New King James Version
Now there were in the same country shepherds living out in the fields, keeping watch over their flock by night. And behold, an angel of the Lord stood before them, and the glory of the Lord shone around them, and they were greatly afraid. Then the angel said to them, “Do not be afraid, for behold, I bring you good tidings of great joy which will be to all people. For there is born to you this day in the city of David a Savior, who is Christ the Lord. And this will be the sign to you: You will find a Babe wrapped in swaddling cloths, lying in a manger.” And suddenly there was with the angel a multitude of the heavenly host praising God and saying: “Glory to God in the highest, And on earth peace, goodwill toward men!”
The angels sang an old song they had sung from before the foundations of the earth, yet sang it as a new song with a new verse, “On earth peace, goodwill toward men!”

This is the desire of Christmas!

This is the hope of Christmas!Christmas Eve Gift

I remember the summer sun.
We played so hard,
Had so much fun.

I remember summer nights,
Played hide and seek,
And flashlight fights.

I remember the summer moon,
That lit our night,
Ended too soon.

My maternal grandparents were two of the most loving people in my life and their house provided only good memories.

On holidays, uncles, aunts and cousins attempted to make it to West Oak Street to
catch up on each others’ lives,
update one another on their latest struggles,
brag on their kids’ achievements,
compare sports observations, and
generally enjoy each others’ company.

The most important accomplishment
of the day was to enjoy Mema’s cooking.

Uncle Leon, Aunt Bernice, Kaye and Kris,
Uncle Dennis, Aunt Margie,
Denny-Ralph and Denise,
my family, great uncles, great aunts,
and second cousins.

Fascinating stories were told with great skill by my
Great Uncle Bill who was born in England.
His accent made the stories
even more interesting.
He and Aunt Ruth had no children and
traveled across the country.
They took lots of pictures and
in the evening we traveled with them
vicariously through slide shows.

Everyone had a funny story or
an unbelievable adventure to share.

The football or baseball game would be on the TV.
All the men gathered around.
Statistics and predictions permeated the air.
No one had more information memorized
than Papaw.

In the kitchen,
the women shared stories
or they were being entertained
by one of the children.

Outside, children were swinging on the porch swing
Papaw had made by hand
or chasing one of the neighbor’s cats,
or each other.

In the evening, those who remained would
make their way to the back porch
and sit on lawn chairs
or, if they were lucky,
the other swing Papaw had made by hand.
(I claimed partial ownership since
it hung on my old swing set frame.)

I can still hear its squeak;
it was music to our ears.

The best part of the whole experience
was mealtime.
It was a time when we all came together with
one purpose.
It was more than just the food.
It was the togetherness of the moment,
the noise of joy,
the aroma of family.

Uncle Dennis, Aunt Bernice, Uncle Bill,
all the great uncles and aunts,
Mema, Papaw and my dad are all gone now.

That wonderful house with over seventy years of
memories burned to the ground a few years ago.

I miss those moments,
the smells,
the noise,
the feel of love.

I know that one day there will be a
great meal laid before me.
It will be a wonderful reunion.
A celebration.
A great family meal.

I hope God lets Mema do the cooking.

Luke 22:27-30 (MSG)
“Who would you rather be: the one who eats the dinner or the one who serves the dinner? You’d rather eat and be served, right? But I’ve taken my place among you as the one who serves. And you’ve stuck with me through thick and thin. Now I confer on you the royal authority my Father conferred on me so you can eat and drink at my table in my kingdom and be strengthened as you take up responsibilities among the congregations of God’s people.”

How many of you have been separated from your very young children for more than twenty-four hours?

What happens when you return?

They come running and
throw you on the ground and
hug and kiss you.

I don’t have to wait twenty-four hours.
I just come home for lunch;
my daughter comes running.

She jumps into my arms and
we hug and kiss.

I sit down with her in my lap and
she tells me about her day.

She shows me the bruises and hurts
she recently acquired.
Then she updates me on the
healing of those injuries.
I kiss those hurts and make them “all better.”

She tells me of her many new experiences.
Anyone else might have difficulty
understanding what she says,
but I understand;
I listen intently.

These are special moments.

But the best moment of all
is when she looks up at me to say,
without prompting,
the beautiful words:
“I love you!”

Your God wants you
to come running to Him and
leap in His lap.
Then, He wants you to tell
Him about your day.

He wants you to show Him the
bruises and hurts
you recently acquired.
He wants to kiss those bruises and
make the hurts go away.

He wants you to tell Him
all of your experiences.
Anyone else would have difficulty
understanding what you say,
but He understands;
He listens intently.

These are special moments.

But more than anything
as He holds you in the safety of His arms,
He desires to hear you say,
without prompting,
the beautiful words:
“I love you!”

Deuteronomy 6:5 (NIV)

Love the LORD your God with all your heart and all your soul and with all your strength.

copyright © 2006 by Larry Toller All Rights Reserved

Although it was a boring responsibility,
I tried to liven it up with the Texas humor that
occasionally is admired in Kentucky,
but in most cases elicited only blank expressions.

I thought
the humor would loosen them up and
make them more receptive to God’s message or
at least thankful the message had finally come.

Often, after the service I was handed a note from a
retired English teacher.

The note pointed out my grammatical
mistakes for the week.

She once gave me a book on grammar
with a note in the front indicating the pages
I should read first,
written in red.

Throughout the book were markings,
underlines, stars and asterisks,
all written in red.

She really didn’t realize how much
of my poor grammar was real and how much
was for her benefit.
(You should have determined by now
it was all real.)

Even though she seemed
somewhat irritated with me,
I think the exchange brought her a little joy.

It was a fun game for me and I think it was for her.
I’m sure Nelva has gone on to be
with the Lord by now.

If she somehow becomes aware of these writings,
I am sure when I enter heaven,
I will be handed a note from Nelva,
written in red ink.

One aspect of this book
which may irritate some is
the centering of every line.

This is my favorite style of writing because it reminds me of the writing style of one of my heroes: Grady Nutt.
Soon, after getting to heaven,
I guess I will need to apologize to him.

If apologies are to be given in heaven,
I will be busy for a while.

Most of the time will be spent
apologizing to my Lord and Savior.

But before I get started,
He will put His finger to His lips,
say a gentle, “shhh”
and hand me a note,
written in red.

Hebrews 9:22 (NLT)

In fact, we can say that according to the Law of Moses, nearly everything was purified by sprinkling with blood. Without the shedding of blood, there is no forgiveness of sins.

copyright © 2006 by Larry Toller All Rights Reserved

God has wonders for me to observe.

He has jokes and humorous tales
which will create laughter
and joy.

He has emotional stories
which will stir hearts and
cause a tear to fall.

He has amazing adventures,
dramas and mysteries,
which will astound and amaze.

All told through my personal journey
and written on the pages of time.

God reveals Himself and His Truth
so clearly,
so obscurely,
so quickly,
so slowly,
sometimes with a faint whisper,
sometimes with a deafening yell.

As I walk the pathway
in this pilgrimage to know Him,
I must record
His story through my story.

copyright © 2006 by Larry Toller All Rights Reserved

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