Friday, July 15, 2016

How Do You Know?

Hello, all. Did you begin your day with prayer? In this mean world that we live in, we ought to always be prayed up.  Just sayin'.

I am working on my post for today. I will be posting sometime, before 11 a.m., CST, if the Lord wills. Did you think about the subject that I gave you to ponder on yesterday? Well, as you can see, I entitled my blog for today that very same thing.

Until later today...
Alma Jones

     11:a.m. - I am back. I have been chatting with a college roommate of mine for the longest, today. She had been on my heart for the past two weeks, so you must realize that when she called me, I had to take the call. As a point of reference for you, this lady is the college roommate that I made mention of on pages fourteen and fifteen of our book, W.O.W. created w.o.w. Enough said, right?
     Needless to say,  I will not have the portion of the blog finished by eleven today that I had wanted posted. This is to allow you to hear from me and to let you know that I am diligently working on getting today's portion done. I ask you to bear with me and check back periodically today for updates to today's posting. Lord willing, I will get it done!  Fair enough?
Alright, let me get back to work...


I am back yet again. Take a look at what I have posted for you and let me know what you think: There are two occurrences that I want to go back to in my life. Both events took place when I was eight years old and they both were to have powerful impacts on my life. (More about how later...) 

I came home from school and found a warm pan of cornbread on our stove. My brothers and I walked through the house looking for my mother because we knew she was home. Why did we know that she was home? We knew because when she was home, we were greeted by the smell of freshly cooked food from our three-mile walk home. To make a long story short, Momma was not home. We fixed our plates with the beans that Momma had cooked that morning, and ate good hot cornbread, pinto beans, and a little fat back meat that Momma had put in the beans. Uhm! Uhm! Uhm! We ate until we were full. After I scraped out the plates and put them in the sink, I went into the front room to do my homework. What I have painted for you is a scene of perplexed but contented joy (as seen through the eyes of a hungry eight-year-old) even though we could not figure out who had cooked the cornbread.
When my Momma came home, she thought that I had cooked the cornbread. I cried and told her that I had not because I did not even know how to light the stove. (We were not allowed to mess with the gas stove. We would get a whipping if we did.) My Momma was getting ready to whip me for not telling her the truth about the cornbread, and she did. Then she informed me that I would be fixing cornbread every evening after I came home from school. My brothers, it turned out, knew how to strike those old paperbook matches without burning their fingers. It would be their job to light the gas stove for me and mine to cook the cornbread. Ha, ha, needless to say, the cornbread the next evening was a disaster. Why?
1) could not turn the stove on (had to bother my brothers to come in and light the stove for me, which they complained to Momma about,)
2) did not stir the bread correctly (lumpy),
3) did not use the right amount of baking powder (sour tasting) and
4) made the bread too thick.

But you know what? I can make a pan of cornbread with the best of them now. Tee hee

 I think that that is enough for today's blog. We will begin with the second thing that I wanted to paint a word picture of on tomorrow. Just remember to remind me that it was from a favorite children's story, Jack and the Beanstalk.   
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