for the kingdom of heaven belongs to such as these.

It was pointed out to us last Wednesday by one individual that our children make too much noise during their regular Wednesday night activities. (This is my nice description of a ridiculously abrasive confrontation.)

My thoughts: Bologna! Noisy games are an avenue for sharing Jesus with children who do not hear about him elsewhere.

Jesus' thoughts:  Jesus said, “Let the little children come to me, and do not hinder them, for the kingdom of heaven belongs to such as these.” (Mat19.14)

Under Construction: about this blog

Since this blog has experienced a recent resurgence of author (that's me) activity, and since I finally have my first official "follower," I am in the process of updating the looks of things around here.

I'm keeping the dandelion background. Dandelions remind me of the days when simple things, like blowing those little seeds everywhere, were all it took to vanquish my cares. Also, one of my favorite cheesy education posters has a background of dandelions and says, "Dandelions are my favorite flowers because they refuse to stop growing." I loved making fun of that poster on Mrs. Strickland's door in high school. Cracks me up. But, it's stuck with me, and I suppose some truth rings through the cheese.

New name: Moville was another throw-back to high school days. A missionary I met in Chicago called me Mo-lissa, and my SBC friends have called me Mo since. I like it. But, it doesn't perfectly describe my hopes for this blog. So, I'm keeping Mo but renaming Moville. (In case you're wondering about the web address, a couple of other guys we met in Chicago decided my name should be Cookee. No idea why, but that still makes me laugh.)

Gentle Whispers: In 1 Kings 19, Elijah is afraid and depressed and needs a savior. God meets him where he is and, with a gentle whisper, reminds Elijah of his worth, his value as a servant of God to his people. Those who know me well know I struggle like Elijah to stay out of that cave of despair. But, God is faithful to meet me there when I call. This blog has been and is a record of some of God's gentle whispers, reminders of his faithfulness, of my worth, and of life's incredible value. To any regular or random readers, I pray you hear God in these gentle, yet powerful, whispers of hope.
-mo

she cried.

A high school senior, I invited my friends to watch a movie at my grandma's house. We were supposed to watch the movie for school, and she had a huge tv. She volunteered her house, excited to have a handful of young people in her usually lonely home.

We showed up; I introduced my friends; and she hugged us all. She was so happy to have our company.

We turned to the tv and found that grandma had no dvd player. We were unable to get together another day, so we had to leave grandma's house to watch the movie at Jamie's. Grandma was SO disappointed that she did not have what we needed. She had been so excited about enjoying our presence while helping us. Now, five minutes after our arrival, we were leaving her again to her quiet house.

She cried.

Now, remembering that day, the tears in her eyes as we left, I cry. Why didn't I stay? Oh, to have those moments back!
-mo

Going to Grandma's

I guess last weekend was pretty eventful. This is post #3 inspired by the two days.

I went to Grandma's house for the first time since somebody else has lived there. The new inhabitants have erected fences outside and walls inside. But to me, it's still Grandma's house. In my mind, I can still walk in from the carport, turn around the corner, and see her sitting in her chair, the ceiling fan whizzing above her. If I let my mind wander back almost ten years, the chair beside her is not empty. Granddaddy sits there. As I turn the corner, he says, "Hey, pretty girl! Whatcha know?" Their chairs are two of the four recliners in this one room. There's a couch along the wall - which is almost covered with pictures of Trussell children - between the door and Grandma, and there's a love seat on the wall across from the big screen TV and the little gas heater. A small bookshelf is below a window to outside, between the TV and the door. Between Granddaddy and the love seat is a hat (or coat) rack holding caps and gourds. Behind the two recliners on the far end of the room are a couple of bookshelves and the toys that have survived at least three generations of Trussells. On the wall with the love seat is a window into Grandma's kitchen. A small TV sits in the window so Grandma never has to choose between a meal and Wheel of Fortune.

I wish I were an artist and could paint the scenes of Grandma's house. So much of what is Grandma's house could never be conveyed on canvas, but I would like to try. I don't want to forget.

Unless you are one of the six (or 10, if you count the greats) who had the privilege of calling this place Grandma's house, you may not understand this post or the significance of what I have described. For us, I have described a picture of happy memories.
-mo

Moville

Grandma's house

Sometimes, I just want to go to Grandma's house. I want a giant magnolia tree. A dirt driveway. Brown carpet. A dozen recliners. An abundance of food. Someone to ask, "What ya know, Miss Priss?" The soft hum of a refrigerator and/or a box fan. Her occasional snore. No computer. Wheel of Fortune and Jeopardy on a weeknight or a Sunday afternoon nap during a Braves game. To wake up just in time for the last out. Quiet. Peace.

One year ago today, she was buried. Grandma's house will never know such peace again. Not sure I will, either. Only in sweet memories.
-mo
Moville

Swing with me

Today (actually, yesterday, according to the clock), I played. I visited the playground on which I spent countless recesses sitting on my "thinking rock" watching my classmates play. The rock is long gone, but the same wooden structure, as we called it, is there, the same swings, slide, tunnel, monkey bars, metal climby things, and wooden balance beam. I walked across the swinging bridge and slid down the fireman's pole. The trip down the pole was shorter than I remembered it. I walked across the balance beam, which was closer to the ground than I remembered it. I climbed to the top of the round, green, metal climby thing. We used to get in trouble for climbing to the top. A classmate of mine fell and broke his arm when he broke that rule. Today, I was safe. The climb was not as high as I remembered it. I walked under the monkey bars and grabbed them without having to jump. They were not as tall as I remembered them. I visited the cluster of trees that was so obviously a house to us, a fort to the boys. I was disappointed that it looked so much like trees today - not at all like I remembered it. The one redeeming factor of my trip to my childhood playground: whoever came along and changed all the rest of that stuff did not oil the swings. Those old, screechy swings were exactly as I remembered them. To the familiar tune of their screechy lullaby, I drifted into a nostalgic dreamland. Would that I could swing forever...
-mo
Moville

June 23, 1926

Eighty years ago today, Roy Everett Trussell breathed his first breath, nine months or so after his life began.

Many of my earliest memories are of being with him. He taught me that the best way to make a kid stop crying is to pretend to cry more loudly than the kid. (The kid - one of my sisters or I - is so confused that she just stops and stares.) On one of our many three-wheeler rides to feed the cows, he taught me to spit. (I am not sure he meant to teach that lesson, but I learned by modeling his tobacco-spitting.) He taught me to call the cows for feeding time: "Hey, cows, c'mon." (You can't really spell it like we said it... For a demo, call me or ask me to do it in person sometime.) He let me experience the tugging of a calf on the other end of a bottle I held. (He had to hold onto my hands to keep the calf from stealing the bottle.) He taught me that a ride in a pickup truck is not complete without some good, toe-tappin' southern gospel, and the rides were always better with a little dog named Tina. (After I demonstrate calling the cows, I can teach you how we asked Tina if she wanted to ride.) By his quiet example, he taught me that worship is appreciating the small stuff.

Thank You, God, for the life and legacy of Granddaddy.
-mo
Moville