Storytime Tapestry Newsletter

The newsletter devoted to spreading love and cultural awareness around the world.

June 20, 2006

Fathers Day Stories

Today’s announcements

A very happy anniversary goes out to Lee and Marybeth Elliott at: meeee@comcast.net from all your friends at Storytime Tapestry.

Today the doctor confirmed that I am safe for another year from the dreaded cancer I had 8 years ago.  All my tests are normal......now I can breathe a sigh of relief.

Also, my nephew just arrived in Mississippi after months in Baghdad.  God Bless him and all our troops.  May they all have a safe journey home.

Sharon Bryant

Now onto the good stuff!

Animal awareness series, endorsed by Shiloh and Hank Baker our mascots; all stories must be endorsed by these very special dogs.

Today’s Queue Stories

~**~**~

Not Like Other Fathers

Helen Dowd

My father taught me to trust in the Lord at all times.  He taught me that money is not important, that faith is. He taught me to hide God’s Word in my heart.

  My father passed on to me, generosity, faith and perseverance. He taught me that “where duty lies, or danger, be never wanting there.”  One time when I was working at a summer job, the whole family was going to do something fun, but I had to go to work. I suggested that maybe I could take a ‘sick day.’ That’s when my father quoted me that line about “where duty lies, etc.”  Reluctantly I went to work and have never regretted that I was spared from lying to get out of work, just to do something pleasurable.

   I inherited some traits from my father that I could have done without, but one thing I wish that I had gotten from him was some of his “daring.”  He never would back down from things that were scary or dangerous.  He never lacked the courage

to do the seemingly impossible.

   My father taught me love.  I never once doubted my father’s love.  He would have died for any one of his children, if the need had arisen.  ‘Personal comforts’ were not in his vocabulary.  He sacrificed in order to send us to a Christian high school and Bible school. He went without himself, in order for us to have an education,

and the essentials of life.  I do not remember my father ever saying, “I love you.” He didn’t have to.  Actions speak louder than words.  In the days when I was growing up, being verbally expressive about love was not as popular as it is today. 

   My father was a great disciplinarian.  His word was law.  For breaking his law there was always punishment.  He was sometimes rash in his judgment, and I can remember one time in particular, when I was six that I was punished for something of which I was not guilty—stealing.  My only sin that time was that I was six and forgot that something wasn’t mine.  It wasn’t in the “rules” to try and talk our way out of anything.  Dad would sometimes punish first and ask questions later.  For that I never held a grudge. We talked about it after I became an adult, and he admitted that he was sometimes too harsh. But I am thankful that Dad loved us enough to discipline us.

Whenever punishment was administered, it was done in love. 

Then he would always pray with us afterwards. 

   My father was generous to a fault. I used to think that he was too generous to other people and not quite generous enough with my mother.  But she never complained.  She was just as generous, but with a bit more judgment.  I wish my father had taken more notice of special days, like birthdays and holidays, but he was such a hyper man that he could never take any time off for himself, so didn’t expect others to, either. But one thing I do remember about ‘fun’ things that we used to do, and that is that he loved to go on picnics. On the spur of the moment, he would say, “Let’s have a picnic.” And with Mom’s guidance and help, even though she herself didn’t like picnics, we would scramble together some bread, butter, and maybe cheese or hard boiled eggs, and jump into Dad’s old jalopy and head down to the river, where we would spend a few hours picking Saskatoon berries

and dipping our feet in the water. 

  Although my father was rather “slap-dash” in his ways, and would often be careless in how he did things, he was not sloppy.  He believed in keeping things neat, as neat as was possible in the humble home in which we lived.

  I will never forget this about my father. I used to have very bad nightmares.  I would be afraid that Jesus had come and I was left.  I would stand at the top of the stairs in the middle of the night, afraid to go down, for fear that Mom and Dad had been raptured, and I had been left behind.  Finally I would get the nerve to call timidly for Dad.  He always heard me and came up to my room, kneeling with me and praying, until I had the assurance that Jesus had truly saved me, as I had asked Him to do, at the age of 8.

My father had a great big heart!  He would literally give the shirt off his back to help out his fellow man.  He would pick up hitchhikers and bring them home, feed them, sometimes sober them up, preach to them, give them a bed for the night and send them on their way with a little red, “Gospel of John.” He once invited 21 people from a slum area, when they were about to be flooded out, to come and stay in our basement until the danger was over.  They stayed 3 weeks and left a trail of devastation behind that we all,

including Dad, had to clean up.

I held a great respect for my father.  He was one of a kind.  He was either liked very much by people, or extremely disliked.  He would do eccentric things, and many on-the-spur-of-the-moment things, that would sometimes made us--and Mom cringe.  We never questioned his judgment as children, but often, as we became older we wished he would be “like other fathers,” but none of us ever dared to express it.  None of us ever talked back to Dad—at least not out loud. We wouldn’t dare--until we became adults.  

 
       My father respected all of his children.  My two oldest sisters both became missionaries, and that was due to his influence.  I became a writer and wrote a family story, from notes I had gotten from him.  He was still alive when I was working on the manuscript, and in his senility, when I read him parts of it, he said, “That is exactly like it happened.  How did you know?”  He had forgotten that he had given me the information on his and mom’s early married life.  Dad was proud of me.  He also raised a son that went into mission work in this country.  His second youngest daughter was/is an amazing mother, and his youngest daughter is a fantastic pianist.

Dad raised four other sons by a second wife, after our mother passed away.

 
  My father was easy to talk to about doctrine, or the Bible, or missions or things like that, 
   but there were some topics that he never discussed, and that was anything to do with the ‘facts of life.  In our days, talk of ‘sex’ or ‘facts of life’ was a ‘taboo’ subject.

 I am glad that I had the father I had. He was like no other.

Bio

Helen Dowd enjoys spending time at her computer, along side her husband of 48 years, writing poetry, story poems, stories about pets and life in general, as well as inspirational and Bible stories. Her writings can be found on her website: www.occupytillicome.com. She has recently had a book published  – If You Only Knew!—a story of courage and faith, taking place during the Great Depression and beyond.  It can be viewed by pressing on the banner on the front page of her website.

~**~**~

Real Men – Real Dads!
Vance Agee

Who are “real men” is the question here today,
But may the concepts in your minds ever stay:

Real men –

Never worry about “macho” other men to sway!
Any friend who needs that is not a friend at all,
And worry not, he someday will have his great fall!

Real men –

Keep their promise, by their word forever bound,
Not to cause pain to all who them love;
Never to feel the pain of tears they cause all around!

Real men –

Find car or bike or hunt or game are all good
But are not ashamed of art or music or faith!
They take all of life and enjoy, as they should.

Real men –

Go to work, if not horrible sick,
Whether or not the job they get to pick!
Each day, whatever be their job:
Wealthy desk, bucket and mop,
Behind the wheel at another stop!
On down the road for wife and child.
On down the road in Land of the Free,
The same glory, rich or poor, to see!

Real men –

Take that check, however small, to the home;
To wife and kids or mom and dad – their own.
Not to corner bar or alley or house down the street!
‘Tis only the coward’s myth his cure to be “discreet”!

Real men –

Take their gift of time and share
With all about whom they care.
Play ball, go to park or game, fast food out?
Encourage kids to learn, maybe become a scout?

Real men –

Know their life is only brief at very best,
And will give it to protect friend, land, the rest!
What is given by own will stays forever theirs,
No greater gift can real men ever give to be ever blest.

Real men –

Are not perfect and do not always win.

As the writer, am I perfect?
No!
Real men may sometimes cry!
Real men do not need to lie,
But just forever,
Forever
TRY!
---------------------------------------------------
My dad came from Tennessee to Western New York, where he met my mom. He left a place where his family would have helped him get work. He became a janitor, but every day he got up at 5:00 a.m. and went off to work for us. Every Sunday after church he took me to the Buffalo Museum of Science. Many nights, before he fell asleep in his chair, he would play board games with me, his only child. When I became number one on the honor roll out of 2000 city students and was printed in the newspaper, he was very proud, but he never got to see me as valedictorian at this then prestigious high school, because he passed away after my sophomore year from a large stroke.

He was a very short balding man, who smoked and ate fatty food and candy, but now I know what constitutes a REAL MAN!

Vance G. Agee, Jr., Houghton College summa cum laude, M.S. in Ed. @ 4.0, Presidential Fellow in doctoral program at SUNY Buffalo – but more important, the dad of a young lady whom her mom and I started in gymnastics at 23 months, computer at 3 years, music at 3 years, microscope at 3 years, who could pop a softball with a regulation bat over a tree or 200 feet, who enjoyed fishing and flying kites. She now works in corporate in NYC.

Real men: rise up and take our Country and our families back for us and our kids! VA
vgagee@adelphia.net

~**~**~

Poetry Section

~**~**~

"HAPPY  FATHER'S DAY  WE  PROCLAIM"
Mary Carter Mizrany

Dads  are  quite  important
and  deserve a  special day . . .
although you'd never know it
by what we  hear  them  say ~

Like ~"Don't  buy me a present
a  card's  enough for me" . . .
or ~ "Save your money  for a rainy day"
"I'm contented as can be"  ~

Most of us don't listen though
instead  our  brains  we  rack . . .
thinking of  that  "just right" gift
he'd   not  dream of taking  back ~

'Cause when it comes to our dad
we know he deserves the best . . .
want him to truly know he's
loved much better than the rest ~

Remembering  all he's  given
that our lives could better be . . .
his  quiet  strength ~ his faithfulness
his encouragement &  integrity ~

So whether he's a senior citizen
or  fatherhood's  a brand~new game . . .
we want  dad  to KNOW  he's SPECIAL
"HAPPY  FATHER'S DAY" we  proclaim!
Mary  Carter  Mizrany

musingByMary@aol.com

Father's Day ~ 2005
protected by laws of copyright

~**~**~

The Departure
Joan Clifton Costner

He boarded the ship, with a smile and a wave.
And though he would like to stay,
He bade us farewell and we watched his ship
Sail silently away.

We clutched our breasts and wiped our eyes
But he, on the vessels bow,
Was happy and blessed; with no trace of tears.
For, nothing could hurt him now.

A shinning vessel, with white sails spread,
Sailed out on a timeless sea.
And oh, the mem'ries of so many years
Swept like a flood over me!

We know he is standing, with strength renewed,
In a glorious heavenly place.
We know he's contented and strong and free,
Greeted with cherished embrace.

Still we watch, as long as our eyes can hold;
'Til at last, we must say, "He's gone."
But, we must remember that other shore,
Where loved ones are shouting, "He's Home!"

"He is gone!"  "He is Home!"  From two different worlds;
The evident and the obscure.
God, help us develop our spiritual eyes ...
Until Heaven, by faith, is made sure!

© by Joan Clifton Costner

Jody@ptsi.net

http://underhiswings0.tripod.com

"Now Faith is the substance of things hoped for, the evidence of things not seen."
Hebrews 11:1

http://www.heavenlypoetry.com

~**~**~

What Makes a Father?

Joan Clifton Costner

Hearing the first lusty cry of your babe,
Sharing in caring for the life that you made,
Tending to kissing the bruises and aches --
Some of what being a father takes.

Working each day to provide for your own,
Zooing when you'd really rather be home,
Helping each child face the world of today,
Showing the wisdom of going God's way --

Standing and loving when they've broken rules,
Lifting when they've learned from life's hardest school,
Saying, "Goodbye," when they've got to go,
Feeling your heart break, but knowing it's so --

Talking long distance when you'd rather be
Fishing with them, again -- (even at three),
Watching them stand alone -- so straight and true,
Seeing that now they have no need of you --

Stepping aside, making room for one more
(As they bring home the mates they adore),
Joy and then sorrow, the pain and the aches --
Some of what being a father takes.

© by Joan Clifton Costner

Jody@ptsi.net

http://underhiswings0.tripod.com

Readers Feedback

Paula Booher, Can't wait to read more! I love the way your words just seem to flow. Mary M. Dees

JANICE ... FINLAY

I am so glad that Mary Carter Mizrany reentered her poem "She didn't know I listened" for fathers day.

I was setting at my table last night, thinking about Storytime and feeling a little sad that I didn't have anything joyful to enter about a father and then I thought of Mary's poem, that I was blessed to read a few weeks back. A smile came to my face and I thought to myself "first thing in the morning I'm going to write to Mary and let her know how much I thought her poem would be fitting for Storytime's fathers day entries. Much to my surprise I sat down here to check my e-mail and there it was, her beautiful poem.

Mary Carter Mizrany, Thank you for sharing, your words have touched my heart! Mary M. Dees

sad news but you express it so beautifully - thanks
for your poem!  SM THOMPSON: AUTHOR: POET AND
PLAYWRIGHT UK:

Senior Writers

Chief writer: Sharon Bryant

                                     Chief researcher/historian: Hartson Dowd

Agee, Vance; Apted, Violet; Baker, Kathy; Batt, Al; Berry, Nell; Blaine, Pamela; Boda, Ginger; Booher, Paula; Buhagiar, Victor; Cassady, B.J.; Cavalera, Robyn; Crider, Mark; Deming, Barb; Doherty, Maria;

Dowd, Hartson; Dowd, Helen; Gilbert, Robert, Jr.; Gold, Ron; Goodier, Steve; Braun-Haley, Ellie; Harris, Kathy Anne; Henry, Linda Ann; Hunt, Sharlett; Hymes, Christina; Jacobson, Gary; Kiser, Roger Dean; Kerens, Claudia; Kevin, Tim; Jenkins, Pamela; Liles, Norma; Lily Jodi Flesberg; Lock, Joyce; Marlor, Janice Bumbalough; Mazzella, Joe; Morris, Deepak; Ojeibge, Georgewaters; Petry, Dianna Doles; Roberts, Susan; Shiveley, Debra; Shaw, Bob; Sims, Richard; Streidel, Saskia; Swarner, Ken; Vaknin, Sam; Verhoeff, Jan; Walker, Bill; Walker, Joe; Warner, Gordon, K; Walsh, Sue; Weymouth, Barbara J.; Whirity, Kathy;

Wainland, David; Westerfer, Clara; White Robert;

Storytime Tapestry Staff

Carol Roach - Founder/publisher

Thelma Hartselle - Co-Founder, Moderator

Clara Westerfer – moderator

Bob Johnston - moderator