It was raining when I pulled into the teacher’s parking lot. I reluctantly maneuvered my car into a space for I wasn’t looking forward to the drenched trek across the well puddle lot to the building. I switched off the ignition and sat for a minute thinking of how different it was teaching in a large, city high school from the small town one I had just left this fall. It was not the microscopic increase in pay that had attracted me, but rather the fact that I would be close to the university where I was taking my masters. I could hardly wait to complete my studies and return to my safe, out of the way community in the valley. Most of the time I had been here I felt awkward, uncomfortable, and unhappy. The only time I felt at home was in my class. I loved teaching and my students. I had actually instilled a liking for Shakespeare in them. Now that’s what I call bridging the generation gap!
Can a woman be a priest, a pastor, a CEO, a butcher, a baker, a candlestick maker? Is her only domain the kitchen, and being barefoot her only permissible fashion statement? Is her absolute, written-in-stone occupation, childbearing?
During America's suffragist movement, women suffered tremendous abuse for the "crime" of petitioning their government to accord them with the same rights men enjoyed. Their English sisters didn't fare much better in their quest for equality.
THE IMPORTANCE OF ESTABLISHING A GODLY HERITAGE
BY CONTRASTING TWO VERY DIFFERENT MEN.
Max Jukes, and unbeliever and a man of no principles, married a girl of like character. Among 1,299 of his known descendants there were 310 professional vagrants, 440 lives physically wrecked by debauchery, 130 prisoners (including 7 murderers), 100 alcoholics, 60 habitual thieves, and 190 public prostitutes.
Compare that to Jonathan Edwards, the Puritan Preacher who committed his life to Christ when he was four years old.
During the summer months my family, which consisted of a mother and a father, with a brother thrown in, lived on a farm in Pennsylvania. I remember most vividly an experience I had the summer I was 11.
Gary, my brother and Vernon, a neighbor boy were constant companions. Vernon owned a pony; I remember that pony well, and not just because he had one blue eye and one brown eye. A barnyard separated our two farms, and I can recall scurrying across to the other side with that animal chasing me, and just dying to get a nip at my hastening self. He was a large pinto pony, and had the disposition of a Gila monster. And to top off this conglomeration of bad news, Vernon had named him Prince. Prince indeed!
A lone eagle circles above a canyon river in a hot summer sky. His powerful wings catch the shimmering heat waves surfing him higher into cooler air while from a nest high on the side of the canyon wall his mate nestles protectively on two eggs tucked beneath her feathers. She watches the male's glorious flight as he navigates between the canyon walls guarding against intruders.
Suddenly the eagle hears a sound behind him. Screeching a warning, he skews about, talons ready to slash the unwise invader.
One of the most fascinating memories of my childhood has to do with Blaine Miller. He was either old when I knew him, or he just looked old as most adults do to young children. His sheep farm was about 10 miles from our apple orchards. Blaine's son, Dale, grew up with my dad in the muted softness of Pennsylvania's gentle green hills.
Dale never married. Although, I did hear my mother make reference to a woman that Dale had been courting for about 5 years or so. "But I don't imagine they'll marry until Blaine dies," she would say, shaking her head. "Dale would never leave his father, and no woman would come and live in that house."
Edith Burns was a wonderful Christian who lived in San Antonio, Texas. She was the patient of doctor by the name of Will Phillips. Dr. Phillips was a gentle doctor who saw patients as people.
His favorite patient was Edith Burns. One morning he went to his office with a heavy heart and it was because of Edith Burns. When he walked into that waiting room, there sat Edith with her big black Bible in her lap earnestly talking to a young mother sitting beside her.
Edith Burns had a habit of introducing herself in this way: "Hello, my name is Edith Burns. Do you believe in Easter?"
One of my favorite writers is Louise Dickenson Rich. Louise and her family lived deep in the Maine woods. So deep that you brought in supplies twice a year. If you miscalculated and ran out of canned milk, you made biscuits with water, ate your cereal dry, and hoped for an early thaw. But Louise, her husband, and two children thrived in their forest primeval. A trip to the "outside" as she called town only hastened her desire to return to her beloved forest depths.
One night a terrible storm awakened Louise and her family. She and her husband gathered the kids into their room where they huddled all night listening as the forest crashed madly about them. They fully expected to be crushed under a roof-crushing pine before daylight.
Kathy Kearney, published author of Christian short stories, Christian articles, Plays, Monologues, Old Fashioned Melodrama's -- Also Bible Study Teacher and public speaker.
Her Bible Studies are on the site in a Blog format. You can access those from the site. We post two to three new studies per week so check back often, or better yet sign up on the RSS feed to be notified when a new one is posted.
