Good morning all. Hope you are faring well. Me? I'm fine and as always, thank you for being so polite as to ask. We will move our story of Gina a bit further along in the building the foundation of her faith in a moment or so. But first, let me tell you that I finally made my trip to the nursing home yesterday and it was nerve-wracking, humbling and endearing at the same time. It was nerve wracking in that, though I had a captive audience for my singing, they didn't necessarily have to remain quiet (but they were); humbling because I realized that, but for the grace of GOD, there be me and endearing because they gave me their honest opinion about which songs they liked best, which voice of mine they liked best and even asked about my poetry in a sweet and innocent manner. They said that they were looking forward to hearing me sing more songs. The microphone at the nursing home was broken so I had to improvise with the highs and lows in my voice. I got a little bit of a strain from doing it that way, but that's okay. Why, because it was all done in love and service to Jesus. I look forward to my next trip and I will be taking a microphone with me. (Smile)
They were an endearing group of people, no pretenses, just simply accepted me as I was. If you have not thought of visiting the nursing home as a way of giving back, then do. It will prove to be a rewarding experience. You can send out cards on special occasions that most people do not think about during the year. I, for one, am going to kick my nursing home work up a notch or two. I think that they maybe the most neglected and forgotten group in our society... You and I, along with all,of the other "you' sand I's can do something about that. I mean how much time does it take to send a card. You know, I just thought about something. I wonder if there is someone there that never, I mean never gets calls or visits? We could consider sort of adopting that person... Hmm-mn. Something to think about, ya know?
Now to Gina. Where were we? Oh yeah, the pick-up truck backed up into the yard. The pick-up truck was in a non-description condition. Gina wondered why the man had backed all the way up to the door. If he needed directions, all he had to do was get out and ask. At any rate the man was standing at the door with his hat in his hand. He seemed sort of agitated. He yelled He yelled at Gina, Where's that boy that was going to help me unload this stove? Gina's eyes bugged as she exclaimed, "You mean that there is our stove?" The man said, it's been sitting on my front porch for a month and my wife has,been asking me to haul it off to the thrift store or something.
Well this morning, a young fellow that helps my neighbor around his place, walked over to my workshop and asked me plain as day, "Whatcha gonna do with that there stove, Mister?" I playfully said, "Give it to the thrift store. To which, he chimed, "No Mister! Don't do that. Give it to me.My momma would like a new stove."
So here I am, and here is the stove. Now where is he? Just then. Gina's baby brother came charging into the hard, pell-mell. Here I am, Mr. I had to finish stacking the wood for Mr. Johnson.
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