It's the Little Things That Really Matter

It’s the Little Things that Really Matter

OR

A Turnip in the Vegetable Soup

I like to think about the little things that can make a big difference to a person, event or thing. I can remember as a classroom teacher getting positive cards and thank you notes from parents and students. Through the years, if I was having a bad day, or week, or month, or year, I’d pull out some of those cards and notes and read them just to reassure myself that someone,somewhere, sometime liked and appreciated me!  I’ve gotten some that weren’t so nice over the years too, probably deservedly so, but those I tossed. No sense dwelling on the negative. One doesn’t forget what they say anyway.  It takes a lot of positives to overshadow one bad word or event. Often a little word, a smile, a pat on the back or even a “like” on Facebook can make the difference in one’s attitude and outlook. Many motivational books and programs are written about this and it is a reality.  That’s probably why the Bible has so much to say about our words and thoughts.
 It is the little things that really matter.

On the subject of foods and cooking, it’s no secret that ingredients make all the difference in the outcome and what one cook puts in his or her special dish is the singular thing that can make it stand out from all the rest.  I am always amazed at what a little salt will do to anything--even sweets! Salt  is useful to clean with, it heals and cures meat and sore places on people. No wonder Jesus told us that we were to be the salt of the earth!  This old evil world needs the salt of good people to balance out all the negativity  that is rampant today.
Spices and seasonings can make all the difference in a dish being special or bland. Think about that pan of Thanksgiving dressing--just a little sage or too much sage and the taste is entirely different.
It’s the little things that really matter.


As I write this, I have a pot of vegetable soup simmering away on the stove.  This morning I dug out a soupbone that was stuck back in the freezer and put it in the pressure cooker with some onion, salt, and pepper.  I lit candles everywhere  because that soupbone and onion cooking together sure stink up the whole house.  But it is so good as a stock for my vegetable soup made like Mama made hers.  I add tomatoes and okra canned over the summer, carrots, English peas (out of a can), corn frozen from the garden, macaroni, and ONE SLICED TURNIP.

I wrapped myself up in my rain gear, work boots, and gloves and braved the deluge of this morning to go out to the garden and find that one turnip to put in my vegetable soup.
It’s the little things that really matter.

My mother was a wonderful cook but her specialty was just good ole Southern food. I always thought she was a born cook, but after her death, I discovered her journals and learned that she did not know how to cook when she married. I found one of her cookbooks that she must have gotten when she married--it is copyrighted 1924. There were several recipes and dishes in there that were exactly how Mama made them.  That was very encouraging to me because I couldn’t boil water when I married and felt so inadequate compared to Mama when it came to cooking.  Even though she has been gone for 28 years, I still find myself wanting to call her and ask her how to make something!

Growing up, I remember coming home from school and walking in the back door into the kitchen to the aroma of a big pot of vegetable soup on the stove.  I literally could eat a gallon of it over the course of a day.  It was so good!   Over the years, when I married and was teaching, Mama would call and tell me to come by and get vegetable soup! She would call the grandsons and everyone would go home with a quart jar of her vegetable soup. Once I teased her that she must have been making it in her big canner since she gave so much away.   It was so good.

Mama became ill with cancer in 1987.  Over the next few years, she valiantly and gracefully fought her illness and chemo ( so different in those days than it is now) and finally succumbed to her illness on April 30, 1990. Over the next few weeks, my siblings and I were faced with the inevitable yet sad, task of emptying her house and disposing of a lifetime of possessions.  My oldest brother, David, and his family lived in Gainesville, FL. The second born of the family, Daniel, was living in London at the time but had come to stay for an extended visit during Mama’s last days and for a few months after.  My sister, MG, who lived in Inman, and I would work during the week cleaning out and categorizing.  The sons would do their part when they came home for the weekends.
It was a hard thing to do, and as we got closer and closer to clearing out Mama’s house, my sadness and grief over the whole experience seemed to intensify. I was doing well during the day and I held it together in front of my 13 year old and 7 year old.  But at night, in the bed with my husband sleeping soundly beside me, I silently wept and grieved for Mama.  I prayed to God that He would somehow assuage the grief and help me to embrace the fact that she was no longer with us because she was free of pain and in a better place, reunited with her “Bill”.

The days became routine with the same activities and the nights continued to be filled with grief and loss.

We came to a point where we had finally cleaned out all the rooms and finished the dispersing of family things.  My sister and I had saved Mama’s freezer until last. Why we did that I do not know.  Probably one of the instances when God winks. Finally the day came when we made our way to the back porch and her freezer.

Now the reader must understand that Mama was a product of the Great Depression. She saved everything including aluminum foil, string, rubber bands, twist ties--you’ve seen the FaceBook videos.  That was my Mama.  So when we opened up the freezer, we saw bread bags stuffed with leftover cornbread, bread heels, and biscuits ready to be used for the next pan of dressing.  (That’s another post.)  We saw little freezer containers of leftovers, veggies, and the like. A piece of that and a portion of this.  Most had to be discarded.  Some of the Cool Whip containers had things in them that will never be identified!
But on one shelf, we saw several pretty cookie tins.  Each one had a family member’s name on it. The cookie tins were filled with Mama’s chocolate pecan fudge. Mama was known in the family for her fudge. My husband always got fudge for his birthday and Christmas. It wasn’t an event until you got Mama’s fudge.  She had made the fudge for us, labeled it, and stored it in the freezer during a time when she was able.  There was no note, but we knew that she had done that purposely for us!  I can’t describe the feeling I got knowing that Mama had done that, but I did know that she somehow had wanted us to know that it was okay.  Even during her pain and end of life, she was thinking about us and wanted us to have something special from her.
It’s the little things that really matter.

On the next shelf up were two Tupperware bowls that were labeled “Cathy” and “Martha Gail”.  It was frozen but we knew immediately what it was.  It was vegetable soup!  I remember my sister and I saying that we didn’t want to eat it because we knew it was the last vegetable soup of Mama’s that we would ever get.  Finally after a time, memory doesn’t serve me how long, but we broke down and ate the vegetable soup.  I can’t describe how comforting it was and how much it made me feel closer to Mama.  It was like she was there!  I came to realize that even though she was gone, the memories and things she taught me would never leave me.
It’s the little things that really matter.

Over the course of the next few weeks, I still grieved but the open wound was slowly closing and I was beginning to work my way through the grief.  One day, my youngest son and I went to White Oak Nursing Home in Spartanburg to visit our Auntie Gail, Mama's sister (she gets her own post someday) who had fallen and broken her hip shortly before Mama’s death.  Going to see her was always emotional and as we left the building, I was weeping.  My youngest son took my hand, looked up at me and said, “Mommy, I want you to feel better. It hurts my heart to see you crying.”  I decided then and there that I had to move on for the sake of my children and husband.  That night as I lay in the bed, the tears came again and I prayed to God.  “Dear God, please take this grief away from me. I don’t want to feel this way anymore. Just let me have good memories and be able to rejoice that Mama is in Heaven with you!”  Immediately, I felt a sense of peace that seemed to ease all the pain and grief away. As a calmness enveloped me,  I was left with peace and comfort. It was real. It was palpable.  Just as God is real. He hears our prayers and knows our pain and grief.  If we just turn things over to Him, He can make it right.

My sister was the first to decide that she wanted to “recreate” Mama’s vegetable soup and make a big pot to share.  She made the soup and like Mama would have, called me and told me to come and get some!  I got my jar of soup and took it home, eagerly anticipating that special feeling that came from eating Mama’s soup.  MG’s soup was delicious.  It was filling.  It was nutritious.  But it wasn’t like Mama’s.   Something was missing.

Then it was my turn.  I decided I WOULD make vegetable soup like Mama’s.  I did the soupbone like she did with the little pieces of beef in the soup.  I prepared the vegetables.  I added shredded cabbage, onions, peas, carrots, canned tomatoes, okra, and potatoes.  When my pot of soup was ready, I sampled it.  It was delicious.  It was filling. It was nutritious.  But it wasn’t like Mama’s.  Something was missing.  But what?  I had added every vegetable I knew to add to her soup!

Over the months, my sister and I became  resigned to the fact that Mama’s recipe for soup had been lost and we would never know what we were doing wrong. Often we see it written  and hear it said that we wish we had gotten Mama or grandma or whomever to write down those special recipes!  But we never do it!  Make it a family project now to get those favorite dishes’ recipes written down!

At some later point in time, my sister and I were visiting with Mama’s younger sister, Elizabeth--Aunt Ibby to us.  She and Mama were close in age and shared many life experiences together over the years as they raised their families in Spartanburg, SC.   We were talking and reminiscing and for some reason, the subject of Mama’s vegetable soup came up. We told her we had tried and tried and we just couldn’t get the taste right.  I asked Aunt Ibby, ”Do you know how Mama made her vegetable soup?”  She replied that she might.  She said to tell her how we had been making it.  My sister and I went over the ingredients and how we had been preparing it. She laughed and said, “Well, you forgot the turnip!” 

That was it.  The one thinly sliced turnip.  Just one.  Too many and the flavor is overpowering--I know because I tried it.  If one turnip is good, then several ought to be delicious, right?  Wrong.  JUST ONE TURNIP is all it takes.
It’s the little things that really matter. 

We couldn’t wait to get home and make a pot of vegetable soup to see if that turnip was the missing ingredient in Mama’s vegetable soup.  Of course it was!  Aunt Ibby was right.

Since that time, we have been happily and joyfully making Mama’s vegetable soup and lovingly remembering her with every bite we take!
It’s the little things that really matter.  

The Prayer Rock Back Story Part Two

I am going to share my experience with breast cancer but I want to be sure that anyone reading this post understands that each cancer experience and diagnosis is different for each person. The process I went through is mine and would not be the same for another woman or man. Cancer is a very personal experience and while some treatments and protocols may be common, the journey is never the same.  If diagnosed with cancer, each person has to work with her or his medical team to determine the best treatment plan.

I hope my walk through this faith experience can encourage someone and bring honor to God for answered prayers and His providence in my life.

In 2005, I left the principal position at Mabry Junior High School and moved to work at the District Office in the area of curriculum and special programs.  That first year at the District Office was a great learning experience, and while I missed the daily interactions with the students, teachers, and parents, I didn’t miss the long hours and stress that came with being a principal. 

That spring 2006, my successor at New Prospect Elementary, Mrs. Cathy Bird, passed away unexpectedly and I returned to finish the year out at New Prospect from mid-March until June.  It was a very sad and challenging time and is still hard for me to think about. 

Fast forward to Labor Day weekend, 2006.  I have always been one of those people who tried to keep up with physical exams, dentist appointments, other specialists, and try to be healthy.  I have been blessed to have good insurance so getting to the doctor for physicals and keeping up with all the screening tests was never a hardship.   Although at the time, there was no breast cancer in our immediate family, I had always been religious about the self-exam and mammograms.  In fact, I had just had a mammogram about 2 months ago that was normal. 

I was watching TV, reared back in the recliner, when I casually ran my hand over the top of my right breast.  I felt a thickening—not a lump really, but a thickening about the size of my little finger and about an inch long.   That had not been there when I had done my last monthly self-check.

I didn’t panic and I didn’t tell Harry. 

Tuesday morning I called my doctor and reported what I had found and by 11:00 AM that morning, I was in his office and he was checking it out.

He felt what I felt and said that I needed to have an ultrasound scheduled. 

A few days later, I went in for the ultrasound, Harry with me.  The ultrasound was conducted and results given to the doctor.  He said that nothing really showed up on the ultrasound. He couldn’t tell what it was but it “didn’t look like anything to be concerned about.”   

The theme of these series of blogs is the Prayer Rock.  Sometime between the time I found the thickening and had the ultrasound, I had sat on the rock and prayed about it.  I remember saying to God that I didn’t have a good feeling about this.  I think women know their bodies and our bodies do speak to us.  I just didn’t feel good about this event and I was preparing myself for bad news.   I asked God to take care of me and to help me make the right decisions as this situation went on.

When the doctor said he didn’t see anything to be concerned about and that we could “watch” it for 3 months or take it out, I emphatically replied, “NO!  We take it out now and we don’t watch it.”    

That still small voice had said to me quite clearly and rather loudly,  “Don’t wait. Don’t watch it. Get it out now.”   I said to the doctor, “ I realize that you don’t see anything, but we know it is there. And if you can’t tell me what it is or isn’t, then we need to take it out as soon as possible.”  He agreed with me and his next question was who I wanted for a surgeon.   I had never had a surgeon and the only name that I could think of was the nice young surgeon who had performed our son’s emergency appendectomy, Dr. Darren Chapman.   The doctor said that was a good choice and Dr. Chapman was doing almost exclusively breast surgery now.   So, two days later, I was in Dr. Chapman’s office discussing the minor surgery that was to take place. 

Dr. Chapman felt that the thickening we were feeling was nothing to be concerned about, but he agreed that since it wasn’t showing up on the ultrasound, the best course was to be safe and take it out.

And so on Oct. 3, 2006, I found myself at Mary Black Hospital being prepped for surgery.   I remember Dr. Chapman coming to the gurney where I lay awaiting surgery.  He took my hand and said, “I want to check that this thing is still there. I have known you ladies to pray them away.”   He checked and it was still there.  He looked me in the eye and said, “I really don’t think you have anything to worry about.   We’ll just take it out and it will be fine.”  He prayed with me and things got underway.

When I woke up, the first thing I remember is having my right hand held by Dr. Chapman and my left hand held by Harry.  I only had to look in their faces to know.  Even today, I feel so sorry for Dr. Chapman.  He had the sickest look on his face and I said, “Well, let’s have it.”  

He said that he was completely blown out of the water. He never expected to find cancer. When he removed the thickening we had all felt but couldn’t identify, it was benign.  Completely harmless.  However, hidden behind the growth, masked so that it didn’t show up on the ultrasound was a 1.3-centimeter tumor.  Breast cancer.   He had cleared all the margins and it was being sent for testing but we would need to talk in his office in two days. 

While he was upset that he had missed the diagnosis, I have a different perspective.  I think in my heart, even though everyone said I had nothing to worry about, I had known that it was not going to be good. 

I really believe that God put the growth there.  The tumor had not shown up in my recent mammogram. Perhaps it was fast growing and wasn’t even there when I had the mammogram. I had not felt it when I did my self-exams.  If I had not felt the thickening and taken action, it might have been too late.

And I thank God every day that He spoke to me so emphatically so that I was compelled to demand that the growth be removed immediately.  Had we waited 3 months to watch it, it might have been too late.  The type of cancer with which I was diagnosed is aggressive.  I don’t like to think about it.  

And so began a journey that I might do differently if I had it to do over, but again, maybe not.  I think all women must contemplate what they might do if they were ever diagnosed with breast cancer and for me, I had always told myself that I would have a mastectomy and not question it.  Treatment of breast cancer has come a long way and today, a total mastectomy is not always the first course of treatment. But for me, I still had that voice telling me to have a mastectomy. The course of action I would have taken differently, however, would be to have met with the oncologist and gotten a treatment plan first before having the mastectomy, but in October 2006, all I could think was that I wanted the offending breast removed as soon as possible.

During this time, I spent a lot of time on the prayer rock.  I mentioned in an earlier post, that my mother had died of colon/liver cancer in 1990.  During the 3 years or so that she was sick, I never heard her complain or question God.  She never asked ‘why me?” She was always positive and hoping for the best.  She might be in pain, but she would never let you see it.  A cousin remarked that his aunt had shown how to live life as a Christian and how to die as a Christian.  I remembered that.   And so, as I sat on the rock and talked to God, my prayer was that I would be brave like Mama, strong like Mama, and gracious like her.  And that no one who worked around me was going to be uncomfortable or feel like they had to tippy toe around.  I asked for peace, grace, a sense of humor, and strength to get through what was ahead.

Dr. Chapman and I made an appointment to have the right breast removed on October 13, 2006.  He would remove the breast and also perform a sentinel node biopsy at the same time.  This is a procedure where radioactive dye is injected into the breast and travels to the lymph nodes.  If the lymph node or nodes are  “hot”, then that indicates that cancer has spread to the lymph nodes.

The Rose Bush from Hell

My mother gave many of my plants and bushes to me.  She was a wonderful gardener and she got it honestly from my grandfather, her father.  He lived in Charleston, West Virginia, and was an educator but he gardened for pleasure. His garden was beautiful, and even though he died before I was born, I remember his garden, especially the iris.  Mama had many plants in her yard and garden that she had gotten from his garden when she married and moved to Spartanburg. 

 I didn’t care much for gardening when I was a kid and teenager at home—most normal teenagers don’t care for pulling weeds out of the rose bed or picking green beans.  I do remember occasionally helping weed flowerbeds but it was usually under duress or guilt. 

When I married and moved to our farm, gradually I became interested in plants and having a lovely yard of my own.  Mama was more than happy to help me and give me plants.  Plant swapping is a given in the south, especially those prolific plants that have to be divided and thinned anyway.  Mama was always ready with advice and suggestions for planting and cultivating and I am grateful for that and that I listened.

Mama had a favorite rose bush that was rooted from a cutting from her father’s garden in West Virginia.  It is the 1932 New Dawn Rambling Rose.  And it was a new rose bush in 1932 when Grandfather acquired it for his garden.  I saw this rose in the rose garden at Biltmore Gardens when my son and daughter-in-law took me there for a Mother’s Day gift to see the Downton Abbey costume display.  Anyway, the 1932 New Dawn Rose is there and even if I do say so myself, Biltmore’s rose bush doesn’t have anything on mine. 

But my rose bush has quite a story.  NOW, it has a place of honor in my garden, neatly trained on a sturdy iron trellis crafted by a local iron craftsman, Ed Simmons.  It wasn’t always on that trellis though.

When Mama first gave me the rose bush which she had rooted for me, she told me it needed “room”, so we planted it near the pasture fence located where our vegetable garden is now. But then, over 45 years ago, it was in a remote part of the yard, near the fence, and had the run of the place.  I failed to mention that my version of the New Dawn Rose is a rambler—not a climber.  There is a difference.  A climber rose basically will send shoots UP and can be trained on a vertical trellis easily.  A rambler does just that—it rambles. It sends out long canes in a horizontal direction and if these canes are on the ground, they will easily root and send out more shoots.

Over the years, the bush had gotten so big that rabbits made beds in it; birds nested in it, and was literally the size of a small living room.  Really.  Our oldest son was convinced that it was the rose bush in Mrs. Frisby and the Rats of Nimn, where one descended under the bush into the ground.  I also failed to mention that this rose has large, ferocious thorns.  Between the canes that shoot out and the thorns, and the size of the bush, it reminded one of an animated tree in a Disney movie.  Everything would be fine until Harry mowed the grass.  He hated that rose bush!  Understandably so. Invariably, thorns would attack him as he tried to keep it tamed with the mower.  I’d hear him complain about the Rose Bush from Hell as he dubbed it …as I doctored his wounds.

Finally, I consented to let him dig most of it up and transplant it along the side of a newly constructed hay storage barn.  I was fine with that because it would be out of the way, look nice against the barn wall, and be out of the yard where he had to mow.  So, New Dawn got moved to the new barn where she flourished and grew for about four years. 

My mother passed away in 1991 and the plants and bushes she had given me were a comfort.  As long as I had her rocks and her plants, I had a part of her with me always.  Anyone who has lost someone can understand how possessions or objects belonging to that person become important and cherished.

One day, I came home from school and saw that along the length of the hay barn, a big swath of dirt had been moved and the dirt laid bare.  My rose bush was gone! Nothing but a big scar of red dirt remained.  My father-in-law, bless his heart, had decided that water was running into the barn and would damage the hay, so his solution was to have a bulldozer operator from down the street come up and do some repair work.

I loved my father-in-law, but I was angry, hurt, and devastated that my rose bush was gone!  I understood that water didn’t need to get in the hay barn, but couldn’t he have at least waited until I could move the rose bush?  Well, McMillan men are not known for their foresight when it comes to bushes.  Harry’s mother loves to tell about the time she came home to find her prized camellias pruned to the ground with the chain saw by this same man.  That’s another blog. 

Anyway, I was so hurt and crushed.  By this time, Mama’s yard was not the same as it was when she was living and there was no chance of going to her house and getting another cutting from the bush.  So I mourned her and the rose bush for several weeks.   Then one day, I happened to be walking in the yard and ventured down near the barn where the bush had been—I’m sure that I wanted revisit my anger and hurt and truth be told  --POUT.   But like a phoenix rising up from the ashes, what did I see but sprigs of the rose bush coming up bold and strong out of the ground!  Several nice sprouts were coming up and I knew then that this rose bush was going to survive!  What a testament to resilience and hardiness!   It was then that I determined that the bush was going to be moved to a spot where I could protect it and not worry that it would be bulldozed again.

So, I found the trellis which Harry placed in the ground for me and transplanted the rose bush.   I wish I could say that all was wonderful and pleasant after that. But even though I had transplanted the rose bush and had her in a safe place, I had not changed anything genetically in the rose bush’s DNA. She still had thorns and she still had those accursed rambles.   So, even though she had been in this spot for at least 20 years, she had to routinely get pruned way back, which only encouraged her to send out even more thorny rambles.   And I still had to make sure that the rambles were contained within the garden and trellis so that when Harry mowed the yard, the Rose from Hell wouldn’t attack him.  Still, she did well there and provided many years of beautiful blooms that start out a deep pink and gradually as the buds open, become snow white.  The fragrance of the blooms is wonderfully strong and powerful, not like some of the more grand roses bushes that are all show and no smell.

Sometime in early fall 2017, we had one of those freak thunderstorms with high winds that did some damage in the area. The rose bush was a casualty. The wind was so strong that is was blown off the trellis and so damaged that there was no way to get it back where it belonged.   So, unbelievable still to me, I invited Harry to help me really prune the bush back and start over.  We armed ourselves with the best leather work gloves we own, long sleeves, and good shoes.  This rose bush doesn’t play!  After several hours, we had New Dawn really trimmed up with a lot of dead wood and old canes removed.  I was worried that we had really trimmed her up too much, but why would I question the ability of this rose to resurrect itself?  

Now, while she won’t have the profusion of blooms she usually has, this spring she does look healthier and stronger for the pruning.  

And if the reader would like to have her own Rose from Hell, or 1932 New Dawn, I have several cuttings ready to go.  The bush is easy to root. I guess that’s why all my grandfather’s children had one in their yard.  I root it simply by taking one of the rambling shoots and burying a portion of it in an old pot, covering it with dirt, weighing it down with a rock, watering it often, and just waiting a couple of months. Pretty soon, it will be rooted and another plant will be ready to go.

Just like Mama’s 1932 New Dawn Rose, we all need pruning from time to time.  God reminds us that pruning is good for plants and good for the soul. Jesus was very specific about the benefits of pruning and discarding what is not productive.

 We can all stand to have Him help us prune out the bad, diseased wood that is not productive and not good for us.  Pruning exposes new wood and encourages new growth.  Pruning makes way for renewal and restoration.  Pruning strengthens the plant and helps it prepare for the blooming or growing season.  Pruning strengthens us and gets us ready for what is coming.

And just like the rose bush, life has thorns. I’m thankful that the fragrant blooms of New Dawn remind us that even in the midst of trouble, we can still find beauty.  

The Prayer Rock Backstory Part One

Recently, I posted a blurb on Facebook about the prayer rock that Harry moved into a new place for me. I thought I would share the backstory of how I got the prayer rock and some of the experiences I have had there over the years.  This will be a little more biographical than just gardening. Be forewarned.

I think it must have been in the late 1980’s that Harry bought a new Massey Ferguson tractor that had a big front-end loader on it. This works like a bucket and can be moved up and down to move material.  I don’t know why we were riding around in the pasture on the tractor; maybe so he could “play” with the new loader and show me his skills.  The far border of our farm property is a stream.  It is not a very bold stream and is spring-fed in several places, but in one particular place there was a natural waterfall and many large rocks along the bank.  I am pretty sure that some of these large rocks are part of some of the same boulders that we used to make my rock retaining wall and all might have originated from the same geological event at some time in the long past.  Anyway, Harry saw a large flat rock and said he thought that if he could get it with the bucket, it would make a nice seat or focal point for my garden area.  Even then, he knew the way to my heart was with rocks!  So, after much maneuvering and manipulation with the bucket, the large flat rock and several others were transported to the house.  We set up the rock seat near the edge of the woods that border our yard and there it sat for many years.  It was only recently that it got a new place in the garden.

It didn’t start out as a “prayer rock”, only a nice flat rock that was nice to sit upon and reflect. But it is hard for me to be outside in nature, listening to the birds, smelling the fragrant flowers, looking at the blue sky and the mountains in the distance without my thoughts and my adoration turning to God.  And so, over the years, the rock became for me, a place where I could sit and commune with God. But there have been times when instead of communing, I cried out in pain, sadness, bewilderment, and faith. 

My mother went going through a battle with cancer, which ultimately took her life and over the approximately three years she was sick, I found many occasions to sit on the rock and pray for her healing, her comfort, and at last, her deliverance.  During those long days, I would sit on the rock and ask God to guide me and help me to be a good daughter to her and do everything I could to honor her and help her last days be as happy and free from worry as could be.  Mama showed us all how a Christian approaches death with faithfulness and grace.  I like to think that that the faith that sustained me through that time came, in part from sitting on the prayer rock and talking it through with God.

Fast forward several years, and I was serving as principal at New Prospect Elementary School.  I had been principal there for 8 years, and during that last that year, I had become burdened and convinced in my heart that my effectiveness and leadership were waning.  I have an educational administrative theory that the longer a person remains as a principal in the same school, sometimes it becomes harder to make the tough decisions that have to be made. Over time, you become close to the people in the school, you live through many life experiences with them, and you become friends and family. That makes it hard to lead and even harder to have those tough conversations with friends and even harder with family.  But as the leader of a school, you have to be able to do this if the organization is to continue to thrive and goals met. So that is where I was in early spring 1999.  It may not be true for every administrator but for me, I was becoming increasingly aware that I needed to make a change. However, I did not want to leave District One. 

 I remember sitting on the prayer rock one cold day in early spring when I got home from school and having a very frank conversation with God.  “God, you know that I am not feeling good about my leadership at New Prospect. And you also know that I am not applying for jobs, I don’t ever want to leave District One, and I am really at a loss.  So, I’m giving it all to you.  If you want me to be principal at New Prospect, then you give me some assurance that I am doing the right thing and I am going to give it all and be the best one I can possibly be.  But, if you don’t want me to be principal there, then you are going to have to take care of it because I am giving it to you!”  It was certainly an audacious way to talk to God, but I think He appreciates our honesty and our frankness with Him. I gave it to Him, and quite honestly, forgot about it.

Over the next few months, I dove deep into planning for the next three to five years of things I wanted the school to accomplish and the direction I wanted us to go.  I wanted the school to be a Palmetto’s Finest winner.  I went so far as to say we should be a National Blue Ribbon School! I met with teachers and enlisted their help with where I thought the school should go and how we would get there. I felt confident, renewed, and ready to face the next few years at New Prospect.  Apparently, God wanted me to stay right there! 

Then, something happened that I could never have anticipated and even today it remains one of those singular life events that will always be a bad memory.  A disgruntled employee accused me of something that could ultimately cost my position and bring much discredit to the school.  Over a period of about 10 days, while we were dealing with the allegations, I spent many an hour sitting on the prayer rock in anguish with God. I couldn’t believe that this was happening.  I am basically a very trusting person, and it is hard for me to recognize when people are just bad, evil, and manipulative.  I couldn’t believe that an employee would be so vindictive as to accuse me of a crime.

I distinctly remember sitting on the prayer rock and crying out to God.  “God! I know I said if you didn’t want me to be principal of New Prospect, you would have to take care of it…but I never meant that I wanted to go to jail!”  I can laugh about that now, but I wasn’t laughing then.

I was able to weather that particular episode, but that is not the point of sharing this experience.  Many times we offer up prayers to God and then try to answer the prayer ourselves.  I had forgotten about the prayer and challenge I gave to Him.   God does hear our prayers and He answers them in His own time, and often in ways that we could never dream of.  If I have learned anything in the experiences I have had in my Christian walk, it is that we can’t fathom how God works so that is why we just have to trust Him.  His ways are not our ways and we can’t even imagine how He makes provisions for us. Remember, I said to God while sitting on the prayer rock…”God if you don’t want me to be principal of New Prospect, you take care of it.  I’m giving it to you.”  

Certainly, that was the last thing on my mind as I struggled with the allegations of that former employee.

The middle of May arrived and I was deep into planning for the next year, testing, and end of year activities.  Sadly, the mother of one of our teachers passed away quite unexpectedly.  The Superintendent and I were going to another city to visit with the family.  I remarked that I had read where a longstanding principal in another good Spartanburg County school district had resigned to go to a place I considered less desirable to work.  “I could possibly see myself leaving New Prospect to go to District ______maybe, but down there?  I don’t think I could do that.”  

He looked over at me and said, “Well do you see yourself leaving New Prospect to go to Mabry?”   Well, suffice it to say that knocked me for a loop and it was one of the rare times I was left speechless.  As far as I knew, there wasn’t a vacancy at Mabry. 

Then I heard a still small voice speaking in my right ear. Really, that is what happened.  “Cathy, you gave it to me.”   That was all.  “Cathy, you gave it to me.”  

Then and there, I knew that God had heard my prayers, and even though I thought that He had forgotten that bold challenge I had issued to Him, He had not.   I knew that the Superintendent didn’t say things like that without meaning it.  I knew what he was asking. And there was no stalling for time or asking for time to talk it over with anyone. I knew that God had spoken and that He was in the midst of this conversation.  

I looked at the Superintendent and replied, “Well, I have always said that I would do whatever God and ________   _______ asked me to do.” His response to me, which we still laugh about it today, was, “ I don’t know about God, but this is__________ talking!”   On June 14, 1999, I was named principal at Mabry Junior High School.

Psalm 62:7

On God my salvation and my glory rest; 

The rock of my strength, my refuge is in God.

Psalm 62:2

He only is my rock and my salvation, 

My stronghold; I shall not be greatly shaken.