The last vestige of life

 As I was photographing birds this afternoon, this last vestige of Fall came into view and it struck a poignant chord in my heart. Life is short for every living thing and we share many traits that are often overlooked. This is the last leaf about to fall and join the thousands of others already scattered in the yard. Age, wind, weather and disease have beaten everything to the ground, not so unlike us. As we near the end of our brief tenure here on this earth, may we, like this season's final leaf, end it with a beautiful symbol of what once was. May we be remembered for all the joy we brought to others as they view the last vestige of our lives. Thinking of some beautiful loved ones who left us this past year.

My son David, my brother Ted and my sweet Cheryl all ended this season of life here on this earth during the past year, but a new season, or as scripture tells us, a new life begins for those who trust in Christ as their saviour. Unlike the leaves on the trees, our new season is eternal and it will be better than the one we experienced here on this earth. You know that life is brief but unlike the trees that will regenerate in the Spring, you will spend an eternity somewhere. I pray that somewhere is with your loved ones who have believed and are now experiencing the wonders and joy of Heaven. I pray that you look forward to that sweet reunion when we are reunited with those loved ones who have gone before us.

God bless you all.

The Titmouse's Prayer

 THE TITMOUSE'S PRAYER

Thank you Lord for this glorious day

For this cool drink I found on my way

Lord thanks for folks who seem to care.

There's always plenty of food to share

They provide me seeds that meet my need

And a few of those worms, what a treat indeed!

Thank you Lord for my wings to fly

That enable me to dart through the sky

I know you'll provide for all my needs

Like the poles in this yard that are full of seeds

And thank you for those human hands

Who fill the need of all that lands

(Overheard yesterday morning)

By DWar 2020 (no copying without permission from David Warbritton)

The Splendor and the Glory

 Every year I can tell when the Fall color is at peak, because the big golden maple in the backyard finally starts to turn. Within a week to ten days from then, it will be over. But it is usually glorious around my neighborhood, because we were once in a heavily wooded section and many mature trees were spared when our homes were built. I have trees 70-80 ft tall all around my house. White oaks, red oaks, blackjack oaks, red maple and golden maples, hickory, tupelo and many others are either in my yard or in one of my neighbors. They say that you have less color when you have more rain, but I don't think that is true this year. We have had a very wet year and yet we have brilliant, glorious color in our foliage .

When all is said and done, of course, all the leaves will be on the ground and then a new season starts. But until then, we will enjoy the gift that God once again provides and invites us to enjoy. In the midst of your troubled sea, in spite of your sorrow and grief, regardless of your disappointments and regrets, He is saying "Look at what I can do, look at the splendor and the glory that I give you here; just think of what I have in store for you when we meet in heaven."

Until then, I guess I'm going to have a few leaves to shuffle.

No one knows

 

Love is oft’ a seed that grows and grows,

When shared by two, it soars to heights untold

We fill our cups as if the whole world knows,

But no one knows the depth of love a heart can hold

 

What causes us to bond like child and mother

When storms of life rage wild and bold

We gain the strength from one another

But no one knows the depth of love a heart can hold

 

Until the ship is wrecked and broken

Until our brokenness is left untold

By words that can never e're be spoken

No one knows the depth of love a heart can hold.

 

For love is true that knows no bounds

And deep is the well from which it springs

When death doth part, a love dies too

But no one knows the depth of love a heart can hold.

Written by David Warbritton in honor of my sweet Cheryl

No copying without ecpress permission of David Warbritton

 Needlepoint by Cheryl Warbritton

 

THE WEDDING CAKE

   It all started when Tyler was about 10 years old. Cheryl and I were married in an outdoor wedding in the back yard of her Mom’s home. Tyler’s Mom, Donna, was Cheryl’s life long friend and volunteered to be our wedding coordinator. We had Tyler’s older brother Justin help run the sound system and play the music tapes for the wedding. One of the ways we found to save a little money was for Cheryl to bake our own wedding cake. She and her Mom attended some cake decorating classes and they produced a delicious concoction of sour cream and butter pound cake with alternate layers of strawberries and custard in the middle. Everybody raved about it, but Tyler and Justin enjoyed it more than anyone else. That’s when it all started.

   Over the years, on various occasions, Cheryl was asked to bring her delicious creation to serve for Tyler and Justin’s family on other occasions. The cake just really satisfied the boys taste buds. Then when Justin announced his wedding plans to Alisha, he asked Cheryl to bake her famous cake for his wedding also. He will never know how honored she felt for him to ask her. She baked it, and once again, it was a crowd pleaser. When Justin and his bride shoved a piece into each others face, he gave Cheryl a big smile and she knew it was a success.

   Five years passed and then Tyler met Holly, the love of his life, and they announced their wedding plans. Again, the distinctive honor was bestowed on Cheryl to produce her trademark wedding cake. Holly said she didn’t want the traditional bride and groom atop the cake, just for Cheryl to decorate it as she wished. Cheryl uses a three-tier stand with three different sizes of cakes that appear much taller than the usual wedding cake. The bottom cake is 14 inches, the middle is 12 inches and the top layer is 10 inches. She bakes two of each and so the cakes are stacked quite high and are very heavy.

   I can attest to you that this is a labor of love, and the greatest reward Cheryl receives is a smile on the face of those who partake of it. On the occasion of Tyler’s wedding, we had our grandson visiting for the week prior to the ceremony and Cheryl was worn out before she ever started the cake. We put our grandson on a plane Friday evening, but she had started baking Friday morning for the Noon Saturday wedding ceremony.

   We have two ovens and both were cranking out cakes for most of the day. She had to quit in the afternoon, as we were invited to join in the rehearsal dinner that evening. We had a great dinner and met some very nice folks, as well as visiting with some of our old friends. We returned home around 10:00 pm and Cheryl was still left with the daunting task of making the custard, cutting up the strawberries and decorating the cakes. I helped cut up the strawberries as she prepared the custard. At around 2:00 am, we were exhausted from staying up late every night for the past week, and scuttled off to bed.

   She awoke around 5:00 am and was able to assemble the cake layers and get the outer frosting shell on each of the cakes. She then made the different colors of frosting and filled the funnels with the proper tips for each. When she attempted to decorate the cakes, they were too warm and the frosting would not stick. It was now almost 9:00 am and we needed to get the cake to the reception room before 11:00 am. We both showered and dressed as quickly as possible and by the time we got the cakes, stand and frosting bags into the car, it was 10:30 am. It is a 20 minute drive to the Empire Room and we had to drive to the back entrance to unload.

   Being a mid-June ceremony, the temperature was rising into the mid-nineties for the day. The car heated up in the short time it took for us to locate a rolling tray to carry everything in. When we picked up the middle cake, the top layer shifted off the bottom for about an inch.  The elevator took about 7 minutes to get back to our level, and by the time we were able to get everything into the reception area, Cheryl had 23 minutes to decorate the cake before the ceremony started. She deftly straightened up the shifted layers and commenced decorating. At exactly two minutes till Noon, she finished putting on the final flower and leaf.

   I hid all the tools of her hastily finished project behind a curtain, and we proceeded to find a seat just before the groom came into the room. I know that Cheryl was exhausted and praying that everything would be all right. It seemed that at every turn, a new obstacle presented itself and tried to prevent her from making Tyler his favorite cake.

   The ceremony was beautiful and brief. Tyler was no longer the little 10- year old boy who helped his brother at our wedding. He was the handsome 6- foot tall groom who adored his beautiful bride Holly, and they both beamed at each other, as only true love allows. Little Haley (Justin’s 2 year old daughter) walked down the aisle holding hands with Tyler’s gregarious neice, Caitlin, who was the flower girl. When Haley arrived at the front she saw her uncle standing there and reached up and grabbed Tyler’s leg. It was a family affair, and they are a family of love and caring for each other.

   When the ceremony was over, all were invited to join the bride and groom for the reception dinner. I selected a seat close to the serving tables and the cake, so we would have a good view of everything going on. The food was good; we met some of Holly’s family and enjoyed getting to know them. The bride and groom released a flock of doves from the reception room windows. Finally, the traditional cake cutting ceremony was announced and the bride and groom walked over to the cake.

   No one in that room knew what I knew about this cake. No one could possible understand the labor of love and caring that Cheryl had poured into this cake. No one could know all the difficulties we had in getting it to this stand, at this time, for this very special moment. No one could appreciate that this was Tyler’s cake; because he had asked Cheryl to bake him her special cake that he had fallen in love with as a boy. No one could know that Cheryl had done her best, despite all obstacles, to please this young man whom she had known and loved since his birth.

   And no one could know the indescribable pride she felt when Holly placed a piece into Tyler’s mouth, and he grinned from ear to ear, as he loudly proclaimed,  

           “This is amazing- I mean it, This is absolutely amazing”.

He was looking straight at Cheryl.

Hope is the Key

HOPE IS THE KEY

Lord, thank You for those happy years, 

For watching o’er us in our fears, 

Thank You for the joy we shared,

And all the times You showed You cared .

In spite of every pain and tear,

We felt You ever close and near, 

For never were You far away, 

Just a silent prayer, both night or day.

When life’s short journey nears an end, 

When we can’t see around the bend, 

And though we fight the valiant fight, 

We know for sure the end’s in sight. 

We only trust what we have learned, 

We know Your word is never spurned, 

Our days are numbered that’s for sure 

Thank you for Your word that’s pure 

To lose a loved one You have given, 

To take them to their home in Heaven, 

Such sweet sorrow still breaks our heart, 

To lose the one, we would not part. 

 But in Your word we will endeavor, 

And hope with all our hearts forever, 

For Hope is the key to renew our love, 

To unite us again, when we meet above.

Written by David Warbritton in honor of my forever love, my sweet Cheryl

Romans 3:3-5

‘We can rejoice too when we run into problems and trials, for we know that they help us develop endurance, and endurance develops strength of character, and character strengthens our confident hope of salvation. And this hope will not lead to disappointment. For we know how dearly God loves us because he has given us the Holy Spirit to fill our hearts with his love.”

Froggin' on the Bayou

Imagine venturing out in a flat-bottomed jon-boat on the darkest night of your life, drifting into an alligator infested lake of lily pads, surrounded by towering cypresses and filled with strange exotic noises, amid a background crescendo of a million croaking bullfrogs. Throw in the fact that your Dad just advised you that the Black Bayou you paddled down to get here was dredged to a depth of 100-feet to accommodate the steamboats that steamed into the old port of Jefferson. So, aside from the fact that you are hopelessly lost, you are in pitch black and you are in a swamp filled with large fish, snakes, possible alligators, and deep enough to float an ocean liner-- you have nothing to worry about.

The good news is that you are in good hands. Your Dad is the Captain of the boat, and your two older brothers are fellow paddlers and crew members. It was a summer night and although the moon was out, the giant cypress trees overhanging the watery bayous made your passage dark and secluded. After paddling for a half hour, Dad said, “Duck your head boys, we’re going in here”. He sat in the rear of the boat and steered us through a narrow opening between two giant Cypresses. We immediately ducked to miss the low-hanging, moss covered branches and were greeted by several thousand mosquitoes; who had been lurking in the marshy edges of the bayou. We zigged and zagged between trees for a hundred yards and then, viola!, we emerged into a huge marshy lake that was totally covered in lily pads and thousands of bullfrogs. The larger the bullfrog, the greater the volume and the deeper the sound of his bellowing. We were inundated by hundreds of deep bass croakers. It was like a bullfrog farm where you can go and pick out your own breakfast. That, of course, was the intent of the entire excursion. And, since the cypress trees were no longer hanging directly over you, the moon shined brightly to illuminate your choices. The imagery was powerful; you are literally surrounded by a surreal setting painted in shadowy shades of grey and black and hiding unknown secrets dating back to the genesis of time.

 

Softly, we paddled toward a pad that promised a huge reward. Dad was now in the front of the boat, and my oldest brother, Mike, was holding a high beam flashlight pointed directly at the imminent prize. He was a beauty, sitting half submerged amongst the lily pads. As we got within range, he suddenly escaped beneath the surface. A blip on the surface of the water, and then he’s gone. Not to worry, for there was another just a few yards away. We stealthily approached the next one and he lingered too long; the frog gig was extended and snapped around the unsuspecting bullfrog. “Here” says Dad to my brother Ted, “Put this one in the sack”. Funny thing, the bullfrogs just sit there with the bright light mesmerizing them, until the trap is set, and then he goes in the bag. If you make a noise, or you approached them clumsily with the gig, they immediately dropped below the water and swam away. This continued for several minutes, and the bag was starting to fill up. Mike asked, “Can I try it?” He was already in junior high school, so he was big enough to handle the gig. Dad gave him explicit directions and then handed it over to him. He was not successful on the first try, but he learned quickly, and was soon handing bullfrogs back to put in the burlap bag. This routine continued for a couple of hours with continued success. In the back of the boat, I didn’t have a flashlight and I was at the mercy of those who are entrusted to handle them. As I looked over the side, I wanted to dip my hand in the water and feel the coolness, and splash around a bit. Primarily, my fear of what might be in the water, kept my hands well inside the boat. I knew that there have been alligators here because my Dad told me that my Grandad had killed one years before. My Dad didn’t lie; if he said there had been gators here, then there had been gators here. And of course, we had seen more than one snake swimming near the boat. I had never seen an alligator gar, but Dad said they lived in this lake too. Everyone’s Dad should be a hero to them; mine certainly was to me. Not in the sense of bringing home a chest full of medals, but in the sense of being everything that I would ever want to be. He was truly a pioneer born in the wrong era. He hunted and fished and trail-blazed paths through areas that I could never imagine doing myself. While floating around in this huge lake, I suddenly became aware of the fact that everything around us looked exactly the same. In fact, the lake of lily pads was completely surrounded by the towering cypress trees. How in the world were we going to get out? Soon the bag was full and the hour was late, so it was time to go home. Dad shifted to the rear of the boat to take over the steering and told us to paddle. We headed across the lake, and soon, he deftly steered us back in between two large cypress trees, as before. We ducked and dodged as we paddled through the marsh for another hundred yards, and then we popped out into the Black Bayou again. Wow, I thought, all that time and he brought us back to almost the same place we entered. I was so proud of my pioneer Dad, he didn’t even have a compass, and he navigated us like a pro. We had frog legs for breakfast. Years later, when I relayed this story to my children in front of their Grandpa, I told them what a great pioneering spirit he had always been. I told them how he was never lost, and what a great feat it was to steer us out of that marshy lake under such difficult circumstances. He looked at me and smiled proudly. “I’d like to take credit for being what you thought I was, son, but there was really no special talent in getting us out of that swamp. You see, when the spring floods come, the water rises twenty feet or more in that area. Local fishermen tie off rags onto the limbs of trees that are level with their boats at the time. By the middle of summer when we were there, their flags are 25 feet up in the trees. I just followed the rags in the trees back to the Bayou”. My Dad was still my hero, and still is today, even though he’s been gone for many years. The truth is, he lived a simpler life in a simpler world, and he used the markers left for him to guide his way through it. If he had never taken us frog gigging with him, I would not have learned a valuable life lesson; when you are in unfamiliar territory, follow the markers of those that have gone before. And oh yea, our Dad’s can always be our heroes. 

 Written by David Warbritton for the exclusive use of the Warbritton Family.