Well Mom,
So somone spilled the beans and you have been reading along with everyone else for the last few weeks. Here is what you may not know. In the last 29 days, your Blog received over 1,000 hits from over 400 unique users. These hits spanned all 6 inhabited continents including 12 countries. I have requests from people wishing to use your stories and dramas in worship. I have received report of people who were deeply moved and blessed by your ministry.
I am now faced with the decision of what to do with this blog. I could simply leave it up for people to use as a resource. However, it has been my experience that blogs and websites alike fade if they are not getting new content. I can not continue to post everyday i would quickly run out of material and time. So what i have decided to do is to post devotional thoughts excerpted from other less widely read Salvationists from history. as well as continuing to post your stories for you.
Sunday, May 10, 2009
Look, Look Mommy Show You
Today's post is not by Major Betzann Carroll rather it is a tribute to Major Betzann Carroll, written by Cadet Helen Johnson. This tribute is written in a surprisingly similiar style to that of Mrs. Carroll. Thank You Helen for your tribute.
Steve
Look, Look Mommy Show You
By. Helen Johnson
As a very independent child, I did not accept help easily. I was born with many health problems and later was discovered to have a speech problem and many learning disabilities. When I was a young child, medically I fought to survive. Then, I fought to prove myself in school. As a result, I became an independent and determined person sometimes to a fault.
I am honored to have 2 parents who love God, each other, my brother & I and The Salvation Army. They taught me about the Lord, gave me morals and work ethic and instilled in me a love for others. Many times, my stubborn independence stopped me from listening to my parent’s teaching. Yet, my mother continually said: “look, look, mommy show you,” even if I rebelled against her help.
She would patiently take my untied shoe and say: “look, look, mommy show you” and I would pull the shoe away saying: “I can do it!” The older I become the more grateful I am that my mother was always there to show me, help me and love me and I am more willing to accept her help.
Betty, my mom, was one of the poor kids from the projects that were picked up in The Salvation Army van every Sunday. She had a difficult childhood. First, she lost her father at a young age then, had an abusive step-father. She went to training, young, single and innocent. Later, she married my dad and as a young officer with 2 sick kids they struggled to remain in the Lord’s calling.
Mom has always been very transparent in her journey to holiness. I could always see her growth in the Lord. She was excited about the Word. She had a commitment to serve others and a passion to evangelize. Her heart breaks for other’s pain. There were times when she was discouraged. There were times when she got tired in well doing. There were even times when she was bitter in her ministry. Yet, she would seek the Lord’s healing and wholeness openly. My mother showed me by her example how to seek the heart of the Lord. She said: look, look, mommy show you by her actions and showed me how to be a woman on God.
The lessons my mother taught me were always shown in her life. She showed me how to love my husband through the way she treated my father. She showed me how to love my daughter through the way she treated my brother and I. She showed me how to love others through her constant service and dedication to others in The Salvation Army.
My mother is the most humble person I know, always giving to others above herself. I clearly remember when she came to a deeper understanding of God’s love for her. Always giving to others, she was convicted of not loving herself enough. She persistently tried to share the truth of God’s amazing love with me. When I was a teenager, I had low self-esteem and stubbornly would not listen to my mother. Even in through my tough teenage years, my mom was there for me.
As I learn to be a good wife and mother, my mom is still there to show me and help me whenever I need it. While I’ve been in training I have looked to my mother for advice and comfort. When I am an officer, I will continue to look to my mother to show me how to love others, how to preach with power, how to lead and manger effectively and how to seek holiness. Thank you Mom (and dad)!
Steve
Look, Look Mommy Show You
By. Helen Johnson
As a very independent child, I did not accept help easily. I was born with many health problems and later was discovered to have a speech problem and many learning disabilities. When I was a young child, medically I fought to survive. Then, I fought to prove myself in school. As a result, I became an independent and determined person sometimes to a fault.
I am honored to have 2 parents who love God, each other, my brother & I and The Salvation Army. They taught me about the Lord, gave me morals and work ethic and instilled in me a love for others. Many times, my stubborn independence stopped me from listening to my parent’s teaching. Yet, my mother continually said: “look, look, mommy show you,” even if I rebelled against her help.
She would patiently take my untied shoe and say: “look, look, mommy show you” and I would pull the shoe away saying: “I can do it!” The older I become the more grateful I am that my mother was always there to show me, help me and love me and I am more willing to accept her help.
Betty, my mom, was one of the poor kids from the projects that were picked up in The Salvation Army van every Sunday. She had a difficult childhood. First, she lost her father at a young age then, had an abusive step-father. She went to training, young, single and innocent. Later, she married my dad and as a young officer with 2 sick kids they struggled to remain in the Lord’s calling.
Mom has always been very transparent in her journey to holiness. I could always see her growth in the Lord. She was excited about the Word. She had a commitment to serve others and a passion to evangelize. Her heart breaks for other’s pain. There were times when she was discouraged. There were times when she got tired in well doing. There were even times when she was bitter in her ministry. Yet, she would seek the Lord’s healing and wholeness openly. My mother showed me by her example how to seek the heart of the Lord. She said: look, look, mommy show you by her actions and showed me how to be a woman on God.
The lessons my mother taught me were always shown in her life. She showed me how to love my husband through the way she treated my father. She showed me how to love my daughter through the way she treated my brother and I. She showed me how to love others through her constant service and dedication to others in The Salvation Army.
My mother is the most humble person I know, always giving to others above herself. I clearly remember when she came to a deeper understanding of God’s love for her. Always giving to others, she was convicted of not loving herself enough. She persistently tried to share the truth of God’s amazing love with me. When I was a teenager, I had low self-esteem and stubbornly would not listen to my mother. Even in through my tough teenage years, my mom was there for me.
As I learn to be a good wife and mother, my mom is still there to show me and help me whenever I need it. While I’ve been in training I have looked to my mother for advice and comfort. When I am an officer, I will continue to look to my mother to show me how to love others, how to preach with power, how to lead and manger effectively and how to seek holiness. Thank you Mom (and dad)!
Saturday, May 9, 2009
Four Flights of Stairs
Four Flights of Stairs
By Betzann Carroll
The four flights of stairs looked very different first thing in the morning, than they did after walking home from a long day’s work. With the wind whipping against my face and my frozen feet sliding along ice encrusted snow mounds in every direction, I trudged on to my fourth floor apartment without an elevator. The stairs seemed to be my enemy. Having made it up those stairs, I comforted myself with the assurance this freezing February 14th would be spent right where I was. As soon as I thawed out I would prepare for a guest.
When my guest arrived, he had another plan. He wanted to go for a ride and discover a new place. I thought it better to visit a new place on the Discovery Channel. We could play a game, read together, or even talk. He was the most handsome and exciting man I had ever dated. I enjoyed his company and applauded his values and faith. Yes, a stimulating conversation would be much more challenging than another trip down “those” stairs. Determination was also one of his virtues. I have since learned he doesn’t give up easily. It was Valentine’s Day and I did not see any flowers or candy behind his back. Maybe he had something in the car. I did want to be with him, in a nice warm room. His authentic New England accent convinced me to bundle up and meet him at the stairs, “those” stairs.
The walk to the car was more pleasant than I imagined. This strong man guided me safely to the car as he covered me with his blanket of muscles. The car was still somewhat warm. Looking over my shoulder I could see the Boston skyline as I glanced around, still looking for hidden flowers or a package. No, nothing in sight. So what, I was in a warm car with the man of my dreams going somewhere, anywhere. I was just fine.
He seemed to be turning off the highway now. The way was dark as he pulled his small Vega under some huge pine trees. When he turned off the headlights, it was pitch black. Always looking ahead, I worried whether we would get stuck in this snow. The engine stopped and there was silence. Please don’t say let’s get out and walk. “Where are we?” I asked. Walden Pond!
It wasn’t so cold. In fact, I think I was getting warm, even hot. “I have something to ask you”, he said. Now my heart was pulsating and anticipation was taking over. There was no music, flowers or candlelight. Until, you guessed it. He asked me that question and twenty-nine years later I am still thrilled.
The cold was not a problem. The biting wind now felt like a summer breeze. And the stairs, I think I floated instead of walked. However, we never lived on the fourth floor after that.
By Betzann Carroll
The four flights of stairs looked very different first thing in the morning, than they did after walking home from a long day’s work. With the wind whipping against my face and my frozen feet sliding along ice encrusted snow mounds in every direction, I trudged on to my fourth floor apartment without an elevator. The stairs seemed to be my enemy. Having made it up those stairs, I comforted myself with the assurance this freezing February 14th would be spent right where I was. As soon as I thawed out I would prepare for a guest.
When my guest arrived, he had another plan. He wanted to go for a ride and discover a new place. I thought it better to visit a new place on the Discovery Channel. We could play a game, read together, or even talk. He was the most handsome and exciting man I had ever dated. I enjoyed his company and applauded his values and faith. Yes, a stimulating conversation would be much more challenging than another trip down “those” stairs. Determination was also one of his virtues. I have since learned he doesn’t give up easily. It was Valentine’s Day and I did not see any flowers or candy behind his back. Maybe he had something in the car. I did want to be with him, in a nice warm room. His authentic New England accent convinced me to bundle up and meet him at the stairs, “those” stairs.
The walk to the car was more pleasant than I imagined. This strong man guided me safely to the car as he covered me with his blanket of muscles. The car was still somewhat warm. Looking over my shoulder I could see the Boston skyline as I glanced around, still looking for hidden flowers or a package. No, nothing in sight. So what, I was in a warm car with the man of my dreams going somewhere, anywhere. I was just fine.
He seemed to be turning off the highway now. The way was dark as he pulled his small Vega under some huge pine trees. When he turned off the headlights, it was pitch black. Always looking ahead, I worried whether we would get stuck in this snow. The engine stopped and there was silence. Please don’t say let’s get out and walk. “Where are we?” I asked. Walden Pond!
It wasn’t so cold. In fact, I think I was getting warm, even hot. “I have something to ask you”, he said. Now my heart was pulsating and anticipation was taking over. There was no music, flowers or candlelight. Until, you guessed it. He asked me that question and twenty-nine years later I am still thrilled.
The cold was not a problem. The biting wind now felt like a summer breeze. And the stairs, I think I floated instead of walked. However, we never lived on the fourth floor after that.
Friday, May 8, 2009
I Was So Excited…
It's getting closer to mothers day and its amazing how many of my Mother's pieces reveal her 'mother's heart' possibly non more than this one.
I Was So Excited…
Major Betzann Carroll
I was so excited…no, that is incorrect!
I was overcome, overwhelmed, even obsessed with anticipation of what the next day would bring. Try as I did, there was no way to visualize in my mind’s eye what would actually take place. Often as similar anxious times approached I could imagine what would transpire and get some sense of composure, but not that night. I fought my way through a restless sleep, until finally, I surrendered and gave in to my thoughts. “As a man thinketh in His Heart, so is He.” I did trust God. And as soon as my mind and heart caught up with each other on this roller coaster of emotions, I knew I could resume my daily pace. How many times can you open a refrigerator door before realizing that there is nothing of interest inside?
Finally it was time to leave for the doctor’s office. We should be in and out in no time. Actually, we should be finished in time for both of us to get to work. We would know once and for all. Yes or no, but no more guessing. I went into the office alone and Steve was waiting somewhat patiently in the car. He had not slept well last night either.
Then as quickly as I left I had returned. The answer, it was yes of course. A child was coming! We were beside ourselves. The excitement grew. Just a few weeks later and our baby was not.
They say that time has a way of healing all pain and memory. They say that babies who abort early on in pregnancy most likely have physical problems and it is usually best for both baby and parents. I have never been able to figure out just who “they” are. They were wrong. Time does not heal. God heals. He allows us courage and strength to see that we are not alone. It is time, which has placed this event behind us. But sometimes I still revisit.
That was twenty-eight years and two children ago. We are grandparents now. Both of our children, with serious congenital diseases, are doing well. Stephen, after two heart surgeries, is a minister with a son of his own. Helen, who was never to see her fourteenth birthday, will soon have a baby of her own.
However, in our hearts is a space shaped just like that tiny baby who never actually felt our touch or heard our voice. Our baby was as real as his parents, which conceived him. We had three children and one quickly left us. But he was our baby.
I Was So Excited…
Major Betzann Carroll
I was so excited…no, that is incorrect!
I was overcome, overwhelmed, even obsessed with anticipation of what the next day would bring. Try as I did, there was no way to visualize in my mind’s eye what would actually take place. Often as similar anxious times approached I could imagine what would transpire and get some sense of composure, but not that night. I fought my way through a restless sleep, until finally, I surrendered and gave in to my thoughts. “As a man thinketh in His Heart, so is He.” I did trust God. And as soon as my mind and heart caught up with each other on this roller coaster of emotions, I knew I could resume my daily pace. How many times can you open a refrigerator door before realizing that there is nothing of interest inside?
Finally it was time to leave for the doctor’s office. We should be in and out in no time. Actually, we should be finished in time for both of us to get to work. We would know once and for all. Yes or no, but no more guessing. I went into the office alone and Steve was waiting somewhat patiently in the car. He had not slept well last night either.
Then as quickly as I left I had returned. The answer, it was yes of course. A child was coming! We were beside ourselves. The excitement grew. Just a few weeks later and our baby was not.
They say that time has a way of healing all pain and memory. They say that babies who abort early on in pregnancy most likely have physical problems and it is usually best for both baby and parents. I have never been able to figure out just who “they” are. They were wrong. Time does not heal. God heals. He allows us courage and strength to see that we are not alone. It is time, which has placed this event behind us. But sometimes I still revisit.
That was twenty-eight years and two children ago. We are grandparents now. Both of our children, with serious congenital diseases, are doing well. Stephen, after two heart surgeries, is a minister with a son of his own. Helen, who was never to see her fourteenth birthday, will soon have a baby of her own.
However, in our hearts is a space shaped just like that tiny baby who never actually felt our touch or heard our voice. Our baby was as real as his parents, which conceived him. We had three children and one quickly left us. But he was our baby.
Thursday, May 7, 2009
I Can’t, I Can’t
I still can't
I Can’t, I Can’t
By Major Betzann Carroll
Dedication to Stephen M. Carroll Jr.
After heart surgery, Stephen was a real boy in every way. He was making up for lost time. He had a real talent for being right in the middle of any and every disturbance. At home, school, or church, Stephen was consistent. His dancing eyes told the story of his quest for excitement and adventure. He wanted to do everything, all at once. He climbed poles in the school hallway, performed stand-up comedy routines during class time and carefully adjusted the temperature dials on Auntie Donna’s aquarium and cooked all the fish inside. He even tried a new language on the school playground, which was interpreted and reported to his father and me, who promptly visited the principal. It was almost as if he was out to prove that although he had a slow start, he could keep up with his friends. “I don’t mean to be bad, Momma. It just happens,” was Stephen’s statement. As hard as he tried, he was always in trouble.
Every morning before I walked him to school we would pray, just Stephen and I. I would take his little hand and say, “Dear Jesus, please help Stephen to have a good day and to be a good boy.” Then he would look up into my eyes, squeeze my hand and say, “I will be good momma.” Then off we would go. When it was time to pick him up there was usually a special message waiting for me. I remember going to visit his kindergarten classroom for Open House. The teacher’s desk was in the room and a student desk was right beside it. I thought to myself that the child who sat at that desk must be hard to control. Later Stephen asked me if I saw his desk. He told me it was the desk right next to the teacher’s desk. He said, “I am the only one in the whole room allowed to sit there.” I had to smile.
One day we were late. It was my delay. I left his sister who was eighteen months younger sleeping and rushed him out the door and down the street. When we were almost there I handed him his snack and pushed him down the street. I encouraged him that he was a big boy and could go the rest of the way by himself. I turned and started for home, when I recognized a scream that stopped me in my tracks. It was Stephen! I knew his cry. “Momma, wait!” he screamed. “I can’t, I can’t!”
Stephen continued to scream as he ran towards me. I could not imagine what had happened. Tears were rolling down his cheeks. I picked him up and tried to comfort him, but there was no comfort for him. He looked me in the eyes and said, “I can’t, I just can’t go to school without my prayer. I will really get in trouble. I need you to say my prayer, so I can be good.” Right there on the sidewalk I held his hand and prayed. He wiped his tears away all by himself and picked up his snack. With a big sigh, he said, “I am a big boy, Momma, and you can go now.”
“Greater is He that is in you than He that is in the world.”
I often close my eyes and remember his words. Being big means we are able to go alone, but never without the presence of the Living God. He learned early where strength was found. Stephen soon began to ride the school bus. Later, he rode a motorcycle. Today, Stephen is in college. He has over come many obstacles, some I would have really struggled with. He is a fine son. I pray he will always realize the value of prayer.
I Can’t, I Can’t
By Major Betzann Carroll
Dedication to Stephen M. Carroll Jr.
After heart surgery, Stephen was a real boy in every way. He was making up for lost time. He had a real talent for being right in the middle of any and every disturbance. At home, school, or church, Stephen was consistent. His dancing eyes told the story of his quest for excitement and adventure. He wanted to do everything, all at once. He climbed poles in the school hallway, performed stand-up comedy routines during class time and carefully adjusted the temperature dials on Auntie Donna’s aquarium and cooked all the fish inside. He even tried a new language on the school playground, which was interpreted and reported to his father and me, who promptly visited the principal. It was almost as if he was out to prove that although he had a slow start, he could keep up with his friends. “I don’t mean to be bad, Momma. It just happens,” was Stephen’s statement. As hard as he tried, he was always in trouble.
Every morning before I walked him to school we would pray, just Stephen and I. I would take his little hand and say, “Dear Jesus, please help Stephen to have a good day and to be a good boy.” Then he would look up into my eyes, squeeze my hand and say, “I will be good momma.” Then off we would go. When it was time to pick him up there was usually a special message waiting for me. I remember going to visit his kindergarten classroom for Open House. The teacher’s desk was in the room and a student desk was right beside it. I thought to myself that the child who sat at that desk must be hard to control. Later Stephen asked me if I saw his desk. He told me it was the desk right next to the teacher’s desk. He said, “I am the only one in the whole room allowed to sit there.” I had to smile.
One day we were late. It was my delay. I left his sister who was eighteen months younger sleeping and rushed him out the door and down the street. When we were almost there I handed him his snack and pushed him down the street. I encouraged him that he was a big boy and could go the rest of the way by himself. I turned and started for home, when I recognized a scream that stopped me in my tracks. It was Stephen! I knew his cry. “Momma, wait!” he screamed. “I can’t, I can’t!”
Stephen continued to scream as he ran towards me. I could not imagine what had happened. Tears were rolling down his cheeks. I picked him up and tried to comfort him, but there was no comfort for him. He looked me in the eyes and said, “I can’t, I just can’t go to school without my prayer. I will really get in trouble. I need you to say my prayer, so I can be good.” Right there on the sidewalk I held his hand and prayed. He wiped his tears away all by himself and picked up his snack. With a big sigh, he said, “I am a big boy, Momma, and you can go now.”
“Greater is He that is in you than He that is in the world.”
I often close my eyes and remember his words. Being big means we are able to go alone, but never without the presence of the Living God. He learned early where strength was found. Stephen soon began to ride the school bus. Later, he rode a motorcycle. Today, Stephen is in college. He has over come many obstacles, some I would have really struggled with. He is a fine son. I pray he will always realize the value of prayer.
Wednesday, May 6, 2009
Whose Time?
Whose Time?
By Major Betzann Carroll
Dedicated to Stephen Carroll Jr.
It seems like we waited so long for the arrival of our first son. Finally, our 7lb.7oz.son was born. At two weeks old, Stephen was diagnosed with Aortic Stenoses and at two years old he was scheduled for open-heart surgery. His biggest concern at this time was to have a Mickey Mouse watch for his very own. He wanted a Mickey Mouse watch and in his own words, “what the Mickey Hands go round and round.” His daddy promised that after the doctors were all done and his surgery completed, he could have his very own Mickey Mouse Watch. Stephen was fascinated with clocks and watches, and had even attempted on one occasion to take a clock apart and see how it worked.
The day came to hand our only son over to the surgical team at Boston Children’s Hospital. I admit that it may have been the most difficult thing I have ever done. My husband took Stephen from my arms and gave him to the doctors, while I watched. It was difficult, but not as difficult as the waiting. We spent time in the hospital chapel. There we found a woman trying to meditate with chants and movements. There we found a couple trying to light a candle. Between the two, they could not steady their hands long enough to get the candle lit. Still another man was flipping through the “Readers Digest”, obviously looking for some comfort and strength.
We were then asked to wait in the private room, which was connected to Stephen’s surgical team. We would be notified of his condition during various phases of the procedure. This is where we would stay, waiting for the telephone to ring.
Time seemed to stand still. I imagined how I would feel if the telephone rang, and all was well. I could visualize Mickey’s white gloves turning round and round the face of Stephen’s new watch. I thought how exciting it would be to fasten the little red strap about his wrist, the very wrist that was now hooked up with wires of every sort. There was strength in the assurance of God’s Word.
“But when the fullness of time was come, God sent forth His son, made of a woman, made under the law. To redeem them that were under the law, that we might receive the adoption of sons.” Galatians 4:4,5
God is God! We reminded ourselves that His timing is perfect. God sent His Son to be born at just the right time. The length of our physical life may not be as long as we desire, but our eternal life is forever through Jesus Christ our Lord. We realized that whether Stephen was allowed many more years or just a few, perhaps none at all, he had the assurance of eternal life. God was the very author of time.
Stephen has since out-grown his Mickey Mouse watch. He has also out grown his Super Sports watch, his G.I. Joe watch, and even his underwater Swatch watch. I don’t even think he has a watch today! The physician said the surgery was successful and done at just the right time, which was very important. He could not guarantee that Stephen would have a long life span, but who is guaranteed a long life.
There will come a day when time as we know it will cease. Time will no longer be measured in minutes and hours. Mickey Mouse will retire. When time shall be no more, we shall live forever. God sent His Son at just the right time.
By Major Betzann Carroll
Dedicated to Stephen Carroll Jr.
It seems like we waited so long for the arrival of our first son. Finally, our 7lb.7oz.son was born. At two weeks old, Stephen was diagnosed with Aortic Stenoses and at two years old he was scheduled for open-heart surgery. His biggest concern at this time was to have a Mickey Mouse watch for his very own. He wanted a Mickey Mouse watch and in his own words, “what the Mickey Hands go round and round.” His daddy promised that after the doctors were all done and his surgery completed, he could have his very own Mickey Mouse Watch. Stephen was fascinated with clocks and watches, and had even attempted on one occasion to take a clock apart and see how it worked.
The day came to hand our only son over to the surgical team at Boston Children’s Hospital. I admit that it may have been the most difficult thing I have ever done. My husband took Stephen from my arms and gave him to the doctors, while I watched. It was difficult, but not as difficult as the waiting. We spent time in the hospital chapel. There we found a woman trying to meditate with chants and movements. There we found a couple trying to light a candle. Between the two, they could not steady their hands long enough to get the candle lit. Still another man was flipping through the “Readers Digest”, obviously looking for some comfort and strength.
We were then asked to wait in the private room, which was connected to Stephen’s surgical team. We would be notified of his condition during various phases of the procedure. This is where we would stay, waiting for the telephone to ring.
Time seemed to stand still. I imagined how I would feel if the telephone rang, and all was well. I could visualize Mickey’s white gloves turning round and round the face of Stephen’s new watch. I thought how exciting it would be to fasten the little red strap about his wrist, the very wrist that was now hooked up with wires of every sort. There was strength in the assurance of God’s Word.
“But when the fullness of time was come, God sent forth His son, made of a woman, made under the law. To redeem them that were under the law, that we might receive the adoption of sons.” Galatians 4:4,5
God is God! We reminded ourselves that His timing is perfect. God sent His Son to be born at just the right time. The length of our physical life may not be as long as we desire, but our eternal life is forever through Jesus Christ our Lord. We realized that whether Stephen was allowed many more years or just a few, perhaps none at all, he had the assurance of eternal life. God was the very author of time.
Stephen has since out-grown his Mickey Mouse watch. He has also out grown his Super Sports watch, his G.I. Joe watch, and even his underwater Swatch watch. I don’t even think he has a watch today! The physician said the surgery was successful and done at just the right time, which was very important. He could not guarantee that Stephen would have a long life span, but who is guaranteed a long life.
There will come a day when time as we know it will cease. Time will no longer be measured in minutes and hours. Mickey Mouse will retire. When time shall be no more, we shall live forever. God sent His Son at just the right time.
Tuesday, May 5, 2009
When Did She Start Coming?
When Did She Start Coming?
Major Betzann Carroll
(A conversation between two individuals and God)
Speaker #1 Hey, who is that woman up there in the second row, third seat?
Speaker #2 I don’t know, she sort of just appeared one day. I sort of remember two weeks ago Major asking who was new, and there she was.
#1 So, is she a Sally?
#2 A Sally, now what is a Sally?
#1 Don’t be difficult; a Sally is a Sal---va---tion Army soldier. Get it! Is she a Sally?
#2 I told you I don’t know who she is, she appeared a couple of weeks ago and I don’t know if she is a Sally. You don’t know? Why don’t you know if you know everything?
#1 Okay, I deserved that. I was on vacation for the last couple of weeks, remember. I don’t know who she is because I haven’t been here.
#2 Well, that’s simple. Just ask Major when you get a chance; after church or next week. You know. It doesn’t seem like she is going away. Besides, why all the fuss?
#1 I just would like to know.
#2 Why?
#1 Why not? Don’t you want to know when a new person comes? Maybe she would like to come to the dinner. Maybe she is from another corps. Maybe she just moved this way. I would like to know.
#2 Repeat, why?
#1 For the same reason you should want to know; to welcome her and make her feel a part.
#2 Part of what?
#1 Part of us, part of our corps, part of a community. If she is new, well, maybe, we can be friendly.
2. I am listening!
#1 Maybe she can help with something.
#2 With what?
#1 Anything! But maybe she would like to have someone to sit with.
By the way, there seems like there are few new folks here this morning.
#2 I hadn’t noticed.
#1 Well, I see some new folks. When welcome time comes I will meet them.
#2 Lord, if she goes to meet new folks, well, what do I do?
#3 You are no longer foreigners and aliens.
#2 I know that! It is them I am thinking about!
#3 You are members of God’s household. Built on the foundation of the apostles and prophets with Christ Jesus himself as the chief cornerstone. In him the whole building is joined together and rises to become a holy temple.
#2 So, if I hear your Word correctly, we all get a seat here? Even new people?
#3 Yes, especially new people. They don’t just get a seat! They can have any seat.
#2 Part of us?
#3 They are not just part of “us” (which I assume you mean the corps) they are a part of Me. They are part of the universal church. We all grow together.
#2 Will you love me any less? Will l have to share your love, your approval? Will I have to share my spot in this church? Share other things?
#3 Share My Love. I am God. I am love, the source of love.
There is no lack of love with me. There is more than enough to go around. Now about your spot! Which I think you’re most worried about. There is more than enough room in the family. You will see. As the family grows so does my work. We grow together. Make room. Now, go ahead, introduce yourself.
#2 You love me! I feel secure in your love. I can reach out and share!
Major Betzann Carroll
(A conversation between two individuals and God)
Speaker #1 Hey, who is that woman up there in the second row, third seat?
Speaker #2 I don’t know, she sort of just appeared one day. I sort of remember two weeks ago Major asking who was new, and there she was.
#1 So, is she a Sally?
#2 A Sally, now what is a Sally?
#1 Don’t be difficult; a Sally is a Sal---va---tion Army soldier. Get it! Is she a Sally?
#2 I told you I don’t know who she is, she appeared a couple of weeks ago and I don’t know if she is a Sally. You don’t know? Why don’t you know if you know everything?
#1 Okay, I deserved that. I was on vacation for the last couple of weeks, remember. I don’t know who she is because I haven’t been here.
#2 Well, that’s simple. Just ask Major when you get a chance; after church or next week. You know. It doesn’t seem like she is going away. Besides, why all the fuss?
#1 I just would like to know.
#2 Why?
#1 Why not? Don’t you want to know when a new person comes? Maybe she would like to come to the dinner. Maybe she is from another corps. Maybe she just moved this way. I would like to know.
#2 Repeat, why?
#1 For the same reason you should want to know; to welcome her and make her feel a part.
#2 Part of what?
#1 Part of us, part of our corps, part of a community. If she is new, well, maybe, we can be friendly.
2. I am listening!
#1 Maybe she can help with something.
#2 With what?
#1 Anything! But maybe she would like to have someone to sit with.
By the way, there seems like there are few new folks here this morning.
#2 I hadn’t noticed.
#1 Well, I see some new folks. When welcome time comes I will meet them.
#2 Lord, if she goes to meet new folks, well, what do I do?
#3 You are no longer foreigners and aliens.
#2 I know that! It is them I am thinking about!
#3 You are members of God’s household. Built on the foundation of the apostles and prophets with Christ Jesus himself as the chief cornerstone. In him the whole building is joined together and rises to become a holy temple.
#2 So, if I hear your Word correctly, we all get a seat here? Even new people?
#3 Yes, especially new people. They don’t just get a seat! They can have any seat.
#2 Part of us?
#3 They are not just part of “us” (which I assume you mean the corps) they are a part of Me. They are part of the universal church. We all grow together.
#2 Will you love me any less? Will l have to share your love, your approval? Will I have to share my spot in this church? Share other things?
#3 Share My Love. I am God. I am love, the source of love.
There is no lack of love with me. There is more than enough to go around. Now about your spot! Which I think you’re most worried about. There is more than enough room in the family. You will see. As the family grows so does my work. We grow together. Make room. Now, go ahead, introduce yourself.
#2 You love me! I feel secure in your love. I can reach out and share!
Monday, May 4, 2009
One, Two, Free!
One, Two, Free!
By Major Betzann Carroll
Dedicated to Helen Carroll
I wonder if the enormous spiral slide, which had a prominent, place in the center of the “Cabot Park”, a playground in Newton, Massachusetts, still stands? If the slide seemed enormous to me, I can imagine what my three-year-old daughter thought, who was much smaller than other children her age. Her fragile body ranked in the third percentile for height and weight. But for determination, she was number one.
It had rained all morning and every five minutes Stephen, our five-year-old, would give us a weather report. “Still some more minutes of partly rain,” he would say. By early afternoon Helen and I were racing down the street to keep up with Stephen. Stephen was eighteen months older than Helen. “Helen, you will play on the baby swings and you can wave to me when I get to the top of the slide. You are too little for the slide and besides, you are a girl!”
“No Stephen (Steben), I can do anything I try, right, Momma,” was Helen’s reply.
She was so competitive. How Helen reached the slide before Stephen I can’t remember. Perhaps Stephen stopped to pick up a rock or look at a bug. Helen was at the base of the slide looking up when Stephen noticed her. Her hands gripped the rail. She began to count and take a step with each count. “One, two, free…One, two, free…” Her hearing loss caused her to mispronounce the “th” sound. My heart began to pound as I watched her climb. Could I allow her such a challenge? Was she really ready? She was so fragile. At the top of the slide she froze for a moment.
“Go Helen”, yelled Stephen. He was sure now was not the time for indecision.
Helen sat down and was instantly gone. She turned round and round and before we could reach the base of the slide she hit bottom…Splash! She landed in a mud puddle larger than herself. Covered with mud, she climbed to her feet. She refused any help I could give. Wiping the mud from her eyes and licking her lips she quickly said, “Momma, I did it!” So anxious to conquer the slide, she never saw the final destination, nor did I.
She was the talk of the park. Stephen was furious to return home without even one ride. It was not a pretty sight. I led this pitifully dripping child home. I know it was not the anticipated pleasure Helen was expecting either.
Later that night when she was squeaky clean, I tucked her into bed. When I began to pray with her a big grin was on her face. “Momma, let’s thank God that I can do anything I wanna. I can do anything I try!”
I believe Helen has God-given determination. Not a puddle, nor a ladder; not a heart defect, nor fluctuating hearing loss; not a lung disease, not even dyslexia can stop Helen. Her God-given desire to “over-come” helps her climb one step at a time.
“Faithful is He that calleth you, who also will do it.” I Thessalonians 5:24
Continue to climb, Helen. In the power of God’s Spirit climb and you will count,
One, Two, Free!
By Major Betzann Carroll
Dedicated to Helen Carroll
I wonder if the enormous spiral slide, which had a prominent, place in the center of the “Cabot Park”, a playground in Newton, Massachusetts, still stands? If the slide seemed enormous to me, I can imagine what my three-year-old daughter thought, who was much smaller than other children her age. Her fragile body ranked in the third percentile for height and weight. But for determination, she was number one.
It had rained all morning and every five minutes Stephen, our five-year-old, would give us a weather report. “Still some more minutes of partly rain,” he would say. By early afternoon Helen and I were racing down the street to keep up with Stephen. Stephen was eighteen months older than Helen. “Helen, you will play on the baby swings and you can wave to me when I get to the top of the slide. You are too little for the slide and besides, you are a girl!”
“No Stephen (Steben), I can do anything I try, right, Momma,” was Helen’s reply.
She was so competitive. How Helen reached the slide before Stephen I can’t remember. Perhaps Stephen stopped to pick up a rock or look at a bug. Helen was at the base of the slide looking up when Stephen noticed her. Her hands gripped the rail. She began to count and take a step with each count. “One, two, free…One, two, free…” Her hearing loss caused her to mispronounce the “th” sound. My heart began to pound as I watched her climb. Could I allow her such a challenge? Was she really ready? She was so fragile. At the top of the slide she froze for a moment.
“Go Helen”, yelled Stephen. He was sure now was not the time for indecision.
Helen sat down and was instantly gone. She turned round and round and before we could reach the base of the slide she hit bottom…Splash! She landed in a mud puddle larger than herself. Covered with mud, she climbed to her feet. She refused any help I could give. Wiping the mud from her eyes and licking her lips she quickly said, “Momma, I did it!” So anxious to conquer the slide, she never saw the final destination, nor did I.
She was the talk of the park. Stephen was furious to return home without even one ride. It was not a pretty sight. I led this pitifully dripping child home. I know it was not the anticipated pleasure Helen was expecting either.
Later that night when she was squeaky clean, I tucked her into bed. When I began to pray with her a big grin was on her face. “Momma, let’s thank God that I can do anything I wanna. I can do anything I try!”
I believe Helen has God-given determination. Not a puddle, nor a ladder; not a heart defect, nor fluctuating hearing loss; not a lung disease, not even dyslexia can stop Helen. Her God-given desire to “over-come” helps her climb one step at a time.
“Faithful is He that calleth you, who also will do it.” I Thessalonians 5:24
Continue to climb, Helen. In the power of God’s Spirit climb and you will count,
One, Two, Free!
Sunday, May 3, 2009
Listen This Time
It's Funny what we actually remember. I remember that clearly too. I remember how upset I was that i was being punished for winning the fight. I remember my mom's comment when she saw that the kid out weighed me by a good 40 lbs and was 2 years my senior. I also remember how proaud i was of my mom for standing up to the bully of a princible when she tried to push her around her. My mom did listen to me that time, even though i had given he no reason to trust me, and something changed about our relationship that day.
Steve
Listen This Time
Major Betzann Carroll
Listen this time! Had there been other times? Yes, too many to count! Stephen had open-heart surgery at the age of two. Up until that point he was a perfect little person. So after his surgery he began making up for lost time. He was diagnosed with Attention Deficit Disorder. Later, the doctors said he had minor motor skill difficulty due to his surgery, which made it almost impossible for him to accomplish detailed work with his hands. Dancing was not high on his list either, and I don’t think he ever learned to skip. He could not participate in organized sports, because of his heart condition.
With all the “could nots” Stephen learned quickly the “coulds”. He made people laugh. He was ingenious and creative when it came to communication skills. His stories were captivating and his delivery superb. He was not disrespectful to adults but he did and said some funny things. He was the class clown. Most of the time I had to turn my head and laugh too. When he got to high school he joined the drama club and excelled at stand up comedy. Until high school his problem was finding a place to fit. We moved constantly and Stephen struggled to fit in. I was often called to school. I remember one night around 8:00 PM, having a second grade teacher call and say she just didn’t know what to do with Stephen. “Today he climbed the pole in the hall of the school.” She was a young teacher and was crying at 8:00 PM. I thought this poor teacher needed a break.
I told her, “the next time Stephen climbs the pole tell him to come down.” I talked to him that morning.
Sometimes he would put his little head in his hands and cry, “I don’t mean to be bad Momma. It just happens.” And it did, all the time. So it was no shock that I was summoned to the school on that hot Wednesday afternoon.
Stephen and Helen were both attending the Wesleyan Academy, a private school in St. Thomas, USVI. We were stationed there. I left The Salvation Army right away. I had to walk in the blistering sun, because my husband was picking up a donation at the waterfront. I grabbed my pocketbook, locked the door behind me and started the 45-minute emergency journey to the school, all up hill. Mrs. Joseph the principal, said it was imperative that I come right away. Nothing ever happened right away on the Island.
What was it this time? Last week they were reprimanding Helen for having two pencils on her desk. The week before Helen had entered an island-wide contest by making an art poster for the centennial. She came home in tears because the winners were being announced at the community gathering, which her school attended, and her poster was still sitting in the corner of the classroom. When I inquired, the teacher said that no one else submitted one, so she didn’t bother to submit Helen’s poster. Although Helen had dyslexia, she was an excellent student, at least until that week. It was not unusual to get a call about Stephen though. What had he done now? I was ready to punish him this time. If I made it! My face was beet red. The sweat was dripping down my forehead. The road, which was all up hill, was full of rocks, broken glass, and holes.
Roads, which tourists did not use were, at best, paths, shared with animals of every sort. With every step I thought how I would handle this incident. No television, no desserts, no friends over, no no, no!
My feet were now covered in dirt, the same dirt that was causing my throat to cough. I hunted in my purse for some change. There was a little food stand at the top of the hill and it had bottled water. I hunted but without success. Even the contaminated water at the fountain was looking good.
When I finally reached the school, I stopped to empty the stones from my shoes. There were no mirrors in the bathroom, which was just as well. As I reached the principal’s office I saw Stephen, my eighth grader, sitting on the floor outside the door. My child looked lost for more than one reason. But I had no time for sympathy now, I was too angry. How could he be in trouble again? “Get up, we are going home!”
“Mom, please, you have to listen,” he begged. I was not listening and I didn’t think I could. I could see the door was partially open, and a woman was with Mrs. Joseph. I asked Stephen if that was the other boy’s mother in the office. “No, Mom, it is one of my teachers. The other boy is back in the class. That is why you have to listen.”
I could barely hear the conversation coming from the office, but I knew they were discussing my son. I looked at Stephen and asked, “Has the other boy’s mother had been there already.”
“No, and I don’t think she’s coming. Shymel is back in class, Mom, and that is what I am trying to tell you. Shymel bumped into me at lunch and my tray spilled on his sneaker. I said I was sorry and tried to wipe it up with a napkin. Shymel wanted me to lick his shoe. When I said no, he punched me. The next punch, I punched back. Now I am getting kicked out and Shymel is back in class. Please, mom, you have to listen.”
As I thought for a minute, the teacher walked out of the office and Mrs. Joseph beckoned me with her finger. “Stephen, you sit down and stay there while I talk to your mother!” The sharpness in her voice was a wake up call, because she had never used that tone of voice with me. “You sit here Mrs. Carroll, and I will lay out Stephen’s conduct and why he is going home. He was fighting, and fighting is not allowed. Sign here and then you can go get his things. He is not allowed in the class.” I asked Mrs. Joseph if she had talked with Stephen. “Absolutely not. I talked with the teacher. He was fighting and that’s that. Sign here please, I have someone waiting for me.”
“Is it the mother of the other child who Stephen was fighting with? Is that who is waiting? What was the other boy’s name and has he been dismissed.”
She, Mrs. Joseph, took up the paper, and seeing that I had not signed it handed it back to me. “Please Mrs. Carroll, just sign the paper.”
As I picked up the pen, Stephen pushed the door open and started crying and screaming, “No Mom, you have to listen, you have to listen!”
“Out of the room Stephen. Take your foolishness “out the room”,” was Mrs. Joseph’s scolding.
Stephen had one hand on the mahogany chair squeezing so tightly that his knuckles were pure white, and his other hand was on my arm holding tight enough to draw blood. He had never been this emphatic or pathetic. He dropped to his knees and my seventh grader was now pleading with me to listen. “Get up Stephen and take your place outside my door on the floor, Now!” said Mrs. Joseph.
“No, Mrs. Joseph, I think it is time we both listen to what Stephen has to say. I am not leaving until he is respected enough to express himself.” I pulled Stephen to me and held him for a few minutes, helping him find his composure. Stephen was small in stature and thin for his age. His little back was heaving up and down and his heart (his specially stitched heart) was pounding so hard I thought it would pound right out of his shirt. His trembling hand wiped the tears from his face. He turned around to face his accuser. Then he began to tell the whole story. I asked Mrs. Joseph what a child was to do if someone punches him. Her response was that they were not to fight. “So should Stephen stand there and get beaten?” She said he was to come to the office or tell a teacher. “What teacher do you want him to tell, the one who was here minutes ago laughing? She refused to answer. I asked where Shymel was.
Her reply was, “He is in class.” I asked if his mother was coming and if she was taking him home. The answer was no. Now it was my turn to get excited, but I was not falling to my knees, nor was I going to be ordered around by a school principal. She had belittled Stephen and I had just watched. Memories of Helen’s tears came to mind. Perhaps, just perhaps this time Stephen was right. I was so glad I listened.
“Mrs. Joseph, I know that Stephen gets into mischief,” I continued. “I also know that he tells the truth. If you want to send him home for fighting, that is your decision. However, you are not sending him home without the same treatment for Shymel who started the fight. You are not making my son sit on the floor in the hall to wait for his mother, while the other mother was not even summoned. Mrs. Joseph, I walked here from the market place thinking there was an emergency, and I was right. The emergency is that you are being unfair to my son and I am taking him home. However, I will take the necessary steps to see that this and other incidents are handled correctly. My husband and I will be here tomorrow. As far as I am concerned, Shymel owes Stephen an apology. If you and your teachers choose to show favoritism, then my husband and I will deal with it. There is more to this incident than a fight. It is a fight for fairness for every child.”
Mrs. Joseph was speechless. As she would put it, she was not “a custom” to a parent or student talking back to her. I guess I was surprised myself. Upon reaching the outside steps of the school Stephen stopped. He took his hands and pulled my face directly even with his and said, “Mom, I am sorry and I love you. Thank you for listening and believing me.” I didn’t speak. We sat down on the steps and I just held him for a while. It was my turn to cry. This was my son, my only son. How could I allow him to be hurt?
My husband is much more forceful than I. He handled Mrs. Joseph just fine. It was a defining moment for my son. He knew I believed in him. I wish I could say he never had another problem in school, but there were a few. He graduated from Arlington High School, Eastern Nazarene College, and Salvation Army Training School. He is now a minister with a son of his own. He and I will always remember the day Mom listened.
How thankful we can be that God looks at us in fairness. And He always listens!
Steve
Listen This Time
Major Betzann Carroll
Listen this time! Had there been other times? Yes, too many to count! Stephen had open-heart surgery at the age of two. Up until that point he was a perfect little person. So after his surgery he began making up for lost time. He was diagnosed with Attention Deficit Disorder. Later, the doctors said he had minor motor skill difficulty due to his surgery, which made it almost impossible for him to accomplish detailed work with his hands. Dancing was not high on his list either, and I don’t think he ever learned to skip. He could not participate in organized sports, because of his heart condition.
With all the “could nots” Stephen learned quickly the “coulds”. He made people laugh. He was ingenious and creative when it came to communication skills. His stories were captivating and his delivery superb. He was not disrespectful to adults but he did and said some funny things. He was the class clown. Most of the time I had to turn my head and laugh too. When he got to high school he joined the drama club and excelled at stand up comedy. Until high school his problem was finding a place to fit. We moved constantly and Stephen struggled to fit in. I was often called to school. I remember one night around 8:00 PM, having a second grade teacher call and say she just didn’t know what to do with Stephen. “Today he climbed the pole in the hall of the school.” She was a young teacher and was crying at 8:00 PM. I thought this poor teacher needed a break.
I told her, “the next time Stephen climbs the pole tell him to come down.” I talked to him that morning.
Sometimes he would put his little head in his hands and cry, “I don’t mean to be bad Momma. It just happens.” And it did, all the time. So it was no shock that I was summoned to the school on that hot Wednesday afternoon.
Stephen and Helen were both attending the Wesleyan Academy, a private school in St. Thomas, USVI. We were stationed there. I left The Salvation Army right away. I had to walk in the blistering sun, because my husband was picking up a donation at the waterfront. I grabbed my pocketbook, locked the door behind me and started the 45-minute emergency journey to the school, all up hill. Mrs. Joseph the principal, said it was imperative that I come right away. Nothing ever happened right away on the Island.
What was it this time? Last week they were reprimanding Helen for having two pencils on her desk. The week before Helen had entered an island-wide contest by making an art poster for the centennial. She came home in tears because the winners were being announced at the community gathering, which her school attended, and her poster was still sitting in the corner of the classroom. When I inquired, the teacher said that no one else submitted one, so she didn’t bother to submit Helen’s poster. Although Helen had dyslexia, she was an excellent student, at least until that week. It was not unusual to get a call about Stephen though. What had he done now? I was ready to punish him this time. If I made it! My face was beet red. The sweat was dripping down my forehead. The road, which was all up hill, was full of rocks, broken glass, and holes.
Roads, which tourists did not use were, at best, paths, shared with animals of every sort. With every step I thought how I would handle this incident. No television, no desserts, no friends over, no no, no!
My feet were now covered in dirt, the same dirt that was causing my throat to cough. I hunted in my purse for some change. There was a little food stand at the top of the hill and it had bottled water. I hunted but without success. Even the contaminated water at the fountain was looking good.
When I finally reached the school, I stopped to empty the stones from my shoes. There were no mirrors in the bathroom, which was just as well. As I reached the principal’s office I saw Stephen, my eighth grader, sitting on the floor outside the door. My child looked lost for more than one reason. But I had no time for sympathy now, I was too angry. How could he be in trouble again? “Get up, we are going home!”
“Mom, please, you have to listen,” he begged. I was not listening and I didn’t think I could. I could see the door was partially open, and a woman was with Mrs. Joseph. I asked Stephen if that was the other boy’s mother in the office. “No, Mom, it is one of my teachers. The other boy is back in the class. That is why you have to listen.”
I could barely hear the conversation coming from the office, but I knew they were discussing my son. I looked at Stephen and asked, “Has the other boy’s mother had been there already.”
“No, and I don’t think she’s coming. Shymel is back in class, Mom, and that is what I am trying to tell you. Shymel bumped into me at lunch and my tray spilled on his sneaker. I said I was sorry and tried to wipe it up with a napkin. Shymel wanted me to lick his shoe. When I said no, he punched me. The next punch, I punched back. Now I am getting kicked out and Shymel is back in class. Please, mom, you have to listen.”
As I thought for a minute, the teacher walked out of the office and Mrs. Joseph beckoned me with her finger. “Stephen, you sit down and stay there while I talk to your mother!” The sharpness in her voice was a wake up call, because she had never used that tone of voice with me. “You sit here Mrs. Carroll, and I will lay out Stephen’s conduct and why he is going home. He was fighting, and fighting is not allowed. Sign here and then you can go get his things. He is not allowed in the class.” I asked Mrs. Joseph if she had talked with Stephen. “Absolutely not. I talked with the teacher. He was fighting and that’s that. Sign here please, I have someone waiting for me.”
“Is it the mother of the other child who Stephen was fighting with? Is that who is waiting? What was the other boy’s name and has he been dismissed.”
She, Mrs. Joseph, took up the paper, and seeing that I had not signed it handed it back to me. “Please Mrs. Carroll, just sign the paper.”
As I picked up the pen, Stephen pushed the door open and started crying and screaming, “No Mom, you have to listen, you have to listen!”
“Out of the room Stephen. Take your foolishness “out the room”,” was Mrs. Joseph’s scolding.
Stephen had one hand on the mahogany chair squeezing so tightly that his knuckles were pure white, and his other hand was on my arm holding tight enough to draw blood. He had never been this emphatic or pathetic. He dropped to his knees and my seventh grader was now pleading with me to listen. “Get up Stephen and take your place outside my door on the floor, Now!” said Mrs. Joseph.
“No, Mrs. Joseph, I think it is time we both listen to what Stephen has to say. I am not leaving until he is respected enough to express himself.” I pulled Stephen to me and held him for a few minutes, helping him find his composure. Stephen was small in stature and thin for his age. His little back was heaving up and down and his heart (his specially stitched heart) was pounding so hard I thought it would pound right out of his shirt. His trembling hand wiped the tears from his face. He turned around to face his accuser. Then he began to tell the whole story. I asked Mrs. Joseph what a child was to do if someone punches him. Her response was that they were not to fight. “So should Stephen stand there and get beaten?” She said he was to come to the office or tell a teacher. “What teacher do you want him to tell, the one who was here minutes ago laughing? She refused to answer. I asked where Shymel was.
Her reply was, “He is in class.” I asked if his mother was coming and if she was taking him home. The answer was no. Now it was my turn to get excited, but I was not falling to my knees, nor was I going to be ordered around by a school principal. She had belittled Stephen and I had just watched. Memories of Helen’s tears came to mind. Perhaps, just perhaps this time Stephen was right. I was so glad I listened.
“Mrs. Joseph, I know that Stephen gets into mischief,” I continued. “I also know that he tells the truth. If you want to send him home for fighting, that is your decision. However, you are not sending him home without the same treatment for Shymel who started the fight. You are not making my son sit on the floor in the hall to wait for his mother, while the other mother was not even summoned. Mrs. Joseph, I walked here from the market place thinking there was an emergency, and I was right. The emergency is that you are being unfair to my son and I am taking him home. However, I will take the necessary steps to see that this and other incidents are handled correctly. My husband and I will be here tomorrow. As far as I am concerned, Shymel owes Stephen an apology. If you and your teachers choose to show favoritism, then my husband and I will deal with it. There is more to this incident than a fight. It is a fight for fairness for every child.”
Mrs. Joseph was speechless. As she would put it, she was not “a custom” to a parent or student talking back to her. I guess I was surprised myself. Upon reaching the outside steps of the school Stephen stopped. He took his hands and pulled my face directly even with his and said, “Mom, I am sorry and I love you. Thank you for listening and believing me.” I didn’t speak. We sat down on the steps and I just held him for a while. It was my turn to cry. This was my son, my only son. How could I allow him to be hurt?
My husband is much more forceful than I. He handled Mrs. Joseph just fine. It was a defining moment for my son. He knew I believed in him. I wish I could say he never had another problem in school, but there were a few. He graduated from Arlington High School, Eastern Nazarene College, and Salvation Army Training School. He is now a minister with a son of his own. He and I will always remember the day Mom listened.
How thankful we can be that God looks at us in fairness. And He always listens!
Saturday, May 2, 2009
You’re the One, The Only One!
You’re the One, The Only One!
Major Betzann Carroll
(Responsive Reading – God listening in on a conversation of two individuals)
You know me, you know me better than I know myself,
From the day I was born to the day I die
Every hair on my head, every blink of my eye,
Through the good and the bad, Lord it’s easy to see,
That you, oh you, you know me.
(Praiseworks)
Speaker #1 That is a great song, fair tune, and an okay voice, however?
Speaker #2 However?
#1 However! I wonder if anyone actually knows who he or she is. I mean, in the scheme of things, which we are (in the scheme of things, of course), it gets so muddled. Am I who I am because of my environment, my experiences, what I have made myself or what my parents have made me? You know!
#2 Right, I understand. I am not from around your neighborhood and you sure are not from around mine. We have not had the same space, opportunities, or even meals.
#1 Obviously!
#2 One of us has had a few more, meals that is.
#1 So if we don’t quite get it, how does God?
#2 Well, God’s got an advantage, you know. He made us. And He knows everything.
#3 I agree with that!
#1 He is the creator as far as the Bible is concerned. I know what you mean. Evolution and all that! Well, the some people may think about that and have an opinion or two. But when it comes to most people, people like you and me, we want the real truth. Hey, this is flesh and blood we are talking about. And I am not sure I can even figure out why I do what I do, so God would have to be good at figuring it all out.
#3 I am perfect, I am omnipotent! I know everything…it is not hard for Me.
#2 You’re right. We are pretty complex. Women are different from men, men are different than women, family members are different, husbands and wives, kids … they are different; not to mention culture and distance…
#1 And just plain being who we are, that makes us different.
#3 There are differences!
#2 But there are likenesses too. You know mothers talk about children, and fathers talk about the cost of raising children! Then Bosses talk about employees or is it the other way around? And doesn’t everyone talk about the Red Sox!
#1 No…and politics is not universal either. Politics and Religion…two subjects not to talk about because we don’t agree.
#2 Yea, but that means there are likenesses. Seems some things are the same no matter where you go.
#3 That is because I created man in my image. That’s not too hard! Perhaps they will get to that.
#2 Do you believe then that God is the creator?
#1 Well, someone had to do the creating it didn’t just happen… It is easier for me to believe God created rather than some other theory. And I don’t see any one person smart enough.
#3 Here it comes. This is one of the hardest concepts. Man can believe I created the world, but when it comes to them. To believe that I created them, loved the and want to be a part of their lives, well…
#2 Why would such a mighty God care about the one person? Take me for instance, who has never been president, never been a famous person, never been on TV, except local TV. I have never been places or done things.
#1 But we have to be important to someone.
#2 Ah ha! My mother ones me, most of the time.
And I Once sang in the Sunday school play and they clapped.
#1 Come on, be serious.
#2 I am, who can know me, cares about me? God is too busy, too powerful, too preoccupied.
#1 If that is the case, we are on our own. We will believe in God and his creation, but flounder like a fish, please!
#3 I do know you, you are valuable to me.
#2 I think the song might be right. I choose to believe God loves me, me.
The person I am now…even if I never make a home run or get on TV.
#1 Well, you won’t be disappointed about TV then. Some things just are not meant to be. I wish I could believe. It would be nice to know that someone is in my corner.
#2 Me too. He knows me, loves me, and I can keep going.
#1 Every hair on my head though, that’s a little much.
#2 Not for some, think about it. Every worry in my heart, every tear from my eye, now that’s hard.
#3 Hard for you, not for me. I can do all things. I am interested in every aspect of your life. I know all about you and love you more than anyone else could, more than you love yourself. I created the world. I love the creatures in the world. I sent my Son to save my creatures and make them my children. I want to claim them – My Son died so that there might be life! You are all different, but special. Only one of a kind!
Major Betzann Carroll
(Responsive Reading – God listening in on a conversation of two individuals)
You know me, you know me better than I know myself,
From the day I was born to the day I die
Every hair on my head, every blink of my eye,
Through the good and the bad, Lord it’s easy to see,
That you, oh you, you know me.
(Praiseworks)
Speaker #1 That is a great song, fair tune, and an okay voice, however?
Speaker #2 However?
#1 However! I wonder if anyone actually knows who he or she is. I mean, in the scheme of things, which we are (in the scheme of things, of course), it gets so muddled. Am I who I am because of my environment, my experiences, what I have made myself or what my parents have made me? You know!
#2 Right, I understand. I am not from around your neighborhood and you sure are not from around mine. We have not had the same space, opportunities, or even meals.
#1 Obviously!
#2 One of us has had a few more, meals that is.
#1 So if we don’t quite get it, how does God?
#2 Well, God’s got an advantage, you know. He made us. And He knows everything.
#3 I agree with that!
#1 He is the creator as far as the Bible is concerned. I know what you mean. Evolution and all that! Well, the some people may think about that and have an opinion or two. But when it comes to most people, people like you and me, we want the real truth. Hey, this is flesh and blood we are talking about. And I am not sure I can even figure out why I do what I do, so God would have to be good at figuring it all out.
#3 I am perfect, I am omnipotent! I know everything…it is not hard for Me.
#2 You’re right. We are pretty complex. Women are different from men, men are different than women, family members are different, husbands and wives, kids … they are different; not to mention culture and distance…
#1 And just plain being who we are, that makes us different.
#3 There are differences!
#2 But there are likenesses too. You know mothers talk about children, and fathers talk about the cost of raising children! Then Bosses talk about employees or is it the other way around? And doesn’t everyone talk about the Red Sox!
#1 No…and politics is not universal either. Politics and Religion…two subjects not to talk about because we don’t agree.
#2 Yea, but that means there are likenesses. Seems some things are the same no matter where you go.
#3 That is because I created man in my image. That’s not too hard! Perhaps they will get to that.
#2 Do you believe then that God is the creator?
#1 Well, someone had to do the creating it didn’t just happen… It is easier for me to believe God created rather than some other theory. And I don’t see any one person smart enough.
#3 Here it comes. This is one of the hardest concepts. Man can believe I created the world, but when it comes to them. To believe that I created them, loved the and want to be a part of their lives, well…
#2 Why would such a mighty God care about the one person? Take me for instance, who has never been president, never been a famous person, never been on TV, except local TV. I have never been places or done things.
#1 But we have to be important to someone.
#2 Ah ha! My mother ones me, most of the time.
And I Once sang in the Sunday school play and they clapped.
#1 Come on, be serious.
#2 I am, who can know me, cares about me? God is too busy, too powerful, too preoccupied.
#1 If that is the case, we are on our own. We will believe in God and his creation, but flounder like a fish, please!
#3 I do know you, you are valuable to me.
#2 I think the song might be right. I choose to believe God loves me, me.
The person I am now…even if I never make a home run or get on TV.
#1 Well, you won’t be disappointed about TV then. Some things just are not meant to be. I wish I could believe. It would be nice to know that someone is in my corner.
#2 Me too. He knows me, loves me, and I can keep going.
#1 Every hair on my head though, that’s a little much.
#2 Not for some, think about it. Every worry in my heart, every tear from my eye, now that’s hard.
#3 Hard for you, not for me. I can do all things. I am interested in every aspect of your life. I know all about you and love you more than anyone else could, more than you love yourself. I created the world. I love the creatures in the world. I sent my Son to save my creatures and make them my children. I want to claim them – My Son died so that there might be life! You are all different, but special. Only one of a kind!
Friday, May 1, 2009
Two for One
Everyone Pleave note that the 'Steve Carroll' in this story in not me but my dad let's be clear i would never have invited to girls to the same date. Well except the time...
Two for One
Major Betzann Carroll
It is said that there is someone for everyone, but this time there were two!
Two for one!
Could it be true? Steve Carroll, a tall, handsome, and very intelligent man asked me out. We were actually going to a special farewell for mutual friends. It was all I thought about for two weeks. Meet him at the switchboard in the main hall of The Salvation Army Headquarters at 4:00 PM. Details played over and over in my mind. I had to work until 4:00 P. M., but surely I could get off a few minutes early.
The day had been overwhelming: five volleyball casualties, four lost lunches, three early dismissal complete with special arrangements, two nose bleeds, and one accident. (Use your imagination!) The last child left our summer day camp at 3:48 P.M. There were exactly twelve minutes to change my clothes, run a comb through my hair and get to that switchboard. I can do it, I will do it, and I have to do it. I flew across the street, praying that my body could keep up with my legs. In front of the main door I took a deep breath and tried to walk in calmly, straight toward the switchboard. “When what to my wondering eyes should appear, but …” There stood a young woman who was quite attractive, conversing with the switchboard operator. She had a southern accent and looked about as excited as I was. I had never seen her before and I worked at the headquarters office three days a week. I asked a friend who was passing by, “Who is the woman at the switchboard?”
My friend seemed surprised that I had to ask. “That’s the visitor from Carolina who stopped to see Steve Carroll. She is meeting him here at the switchboard at 4:00 PM.”.
“Are you sure? You mean Steve Carroll, Steve Carroll who works up-stairs?” “Yes, that is exactly who I mean, I just spoke with her. She is to meet Steve Carroll at the switchboard at 4:00 PM.”
Now it’s 4:02 PM and I wanted to run. My day seemed mild compared to this dilemma. Then the elevator door opened and my wondering eye beheld Steve Carroll in person. I eased back trying to make myself invisible, while Miss Carolina made a mad dash for him. Was this the right switchboard, the wrong time or a bad dream? I wasn’t sure. Why would she go to a farewell for folks she didn’t know? After she finished greeting him, she placed her arm in his and said, “I am ready.” Ready for what would have been my reply, but I never spoke.
I watched as he looked around, as though he were missing an umbrella. No, not an umbrella, he was looking for me. He saw me standing against the wall, which I wished could have swallowed me up. “There you are. Are you ready to go?” I didn’t know whether to laugh or cry. Was I ready? I had been ready for two weeks!
I just was not ready for Miss Carolina. Being the gentleman that Steve was, he introduced me to her. He said she had arrived unexpectedly and wanted to see him before she went home.
This was the only night she had free. He told her he was going to a farewell and she said that was just fine. Thus, two for one! My first date with the man of my dreams and now I was sharing it with the woman from Carolina. She clung to him like flypaper.
Miss Carolina was sweet, mushy, and very comfortable. I was the exact opposite.
Well, a little sweet. I tried to make an excuse so I wouldn’t have to go. “There is a nose bleed, no I mean a child I had to check on. My friend standing near offered to check on the child for me and urged me on. How unbelievable was this! We walked down the street to get to the subway, with none other than Steve Carroll in person; Miss Carolina to his left and I to his right. It was a long night, not to mention the ride home. When they dropped me off, Miss Carolina wanted a picture to remember the great evening. “Could you all take a picture of me and Steve?” she asked me in her southern speech. Could I take the picture? I wanted to do more than take her picture. I reminded myself that love was kind.
Two for one is great when it comes to special offers at the grocery store, but not for Steve Carroll. He was (is) a kind person, who never wanted to hurt anyone. He was gracious. I wasn’t as gracious in this situation. Disappointed, bewildered, perplexed for starters, but I was not gracious. Two for one, not for Steve Carroll! He was the man of my dreams and thirty years later I am right by his side (the right side).
I love you Steve.
Two for One
Major Betzann Carroll
It is said that there is someone for everyone, but this time there were two!
Two for one!
Could it be true? Steve Carroll, a tall, handsome, and very intelligent man asked me out. We were actually going to a special farewell for mutual friends. It was all I thought about for two weeks. Meet him at the switchboard in the main hall of The Salvation Army Headquarters at 4:00 PM. Details played over and over in my mind. I had to work until 4:00 P. M., but surely I could get off a few minutes early.
The day had been overwhelming: five volleyball casualties, four lost lunches, three early dismissal complete with special arrangements, two nose bleeds, and one accident. (Use your imagination!) The last child left our summer day camp at 3:48 P.M. There were exactly twelve minutes to change my clothes, run a comb through my hair and get to that switchboard. I can do it, I will do it, and I have to do it. I flew across the street, praying that my body could keep up with my legs. In front of the main door I took a deep breath and tried to walk in calmly, straight toward the switchboard. “When what to my wondering eyes should appear, but …” There stood a young woman who was quite attractive, conversing with the switchboard operator. She had a southern accent and looked about as excited as I was. I had never seen her before and I worked at the headquarters office three days a week. I asked a friend who was passing by, “Who is the woman at the switchboard?”
My friend seemed surprised that I had to ask. “That’s the visitor from Carolina who stopped to see Steve Carroll. She is meeting him here at the switchboard at 4:00 PM.”.
“Are you sure? You mean Steve Carroll, Steve Carroll who works up-stairs?” “Yes, that is exactly who I mean, I just spoke with her. She is to meet Steve Carroll at the switchboard at 4:00 PM.”
Now it’s 4:02 PM and I wanted to run. My day seemed mild compared to this dilemma. Then the elevator door opened and my wondering eye beheld Steve Carroll in person. I eased back trying to make myself invisible, while Miss Carolina made a mad dash for him. Was this the right switchboard, the wrong time or a bad dream? I wasn’t sure. Why would she go to a farewell for folks she didn’t know? After she finished greeting him, she placed her arm in his and said, “I am ready.” Ready for what would have been my reply, but I never spoke.
I watched as he looked around, as though he were missing an umbrella. No, not an umbrella, he was looking for me. He saw me standing against the wall, which I wished could have swallowed me up. “There you are. Are you ready to go?” I didn’t know whether to laugh or cry. Was I ready? I had been ready for two weeks!
I just was not ready for Miss Carolina. Being the gentleman that Steve was, he introduced me to her. He said she had arrived unexpectedly and wanted to see him before she went home.
This was the only night she had free. He told her he was going to a farewell and she said that was just fine. Thus, two for one! My first date with the man of my dreams and now I was sharing it with the woman from Carolina. She clung to him like flypaper.
Miss Carolina was sweet, mushy, and very comfortable. I was the exact opposite.
Well, a little sweet. I tried to make an excuse so I wouldn’t have to go. “There is a nose bleed, no I mean a child I had to check on. My friend standing near offered to check on the child for me and urged me on. How unbelievable was this! We walked down the street to get to the subway, with none other than Steve Carroll in person; Miss Carolina to his left and I to his right. It was a long night, not to mention the ride home. When they dropped me off, Miss Carolina wanted a picture to remember the great evening. “Could you all take a picture of me and Steve?” she asked me in her southern speech. Could I take the picture? I wanted to do more than take her picture. I reminded myself that love was kind.
Two for one is great when it comes to special offers at the grocery store, but not for Steve Carroll. He was (is) a kind person, who never wanted to hurt anyone. He was gracious. I wasn’t as gracious in this situation. Disappointed, bewildered, perplexed for starters, but I was not gracious. Two for one, not for Steve Carroll! He was the man of my dreams and thirty years later I am right by his side (the right side).
I love you Steve.
You’re the One, The Only One!
You’re the One, The Only One!
Major Betzann Carroll
(Responsive Reading – God listening in on a conversation of two individuals)
You know me, you know me better than I know myself,
From the day I was born to the day I die
Every hair on my head, every blink of my eye,
Through the good and the bad, Lord it’s easy to see,
That you, oh you, you know me.
(Praiseworks)
Speaker #1 That is a great song, fair tune, and an okay voice, however?
Speaker #2 However?
#1 However! I wonder if anyone actually knows who he or she is. I mean, in the scheme of things, which we are (in the scheme of things, of course), it gets so muddled. Am I who I am because of my environment, my experiences, what I have made myself or what my parents have made me? You know!
#2 Right, I understand. I am not from around your neighborhood and you sure are not from around mine. We have not had the same space, opportunities, or even meals.
#1 Obviously!
#2 One of us has had a few more, meals that is.
#1 So if we don’t quite get it, how does God?
#2 Well, God’s got an advantage, you know. He made us. And He knows everything.
#3 I agree with that!
#1 He is the creator as far as the Bible is concerned. I know what you mean. Evolution and all that! Well, the some people may think about that and have an opinion or two. But when it comes to most people, people like you and me, we want the real truth. Hey, this is flesh and blood we are talking about. And I am not sure I can even figure out why I do what I do, so God would have to be good at figuring it all out.
#3 I am perfect, I am omnipotent! I know everything…it is not hard for Me.
#2 You’re right. We are pretty complex. Women are different from men, men are different than women, family members are different, husbands and wives, kids … they are different; not to mention culture and distance…
#1 And just plain being who we are, that makes us different.
#3 There are differences!
#2 But there are likenesses too. You know mothers talk about children, and fathers talk about the cost of raising children! Then Bosses talk about employees or is it the other way around? And doesn’t everyone talk about the Red Sox!
#1 No…and politics is not universal either. Politics and Religion…two subjects not to talk about because we don’t agree.
#2 Yea, but that means there are likenesses. Seems some things are the same no matter where you go.
#3 That is because I created man in my image. That’s not too hard! Perhaps they will get to that.
#2 Do you believe then that God is the creator?
#1 Well, someone had to do the creating it didn’t just happen… It is easier for me to believe God created rather than some other theory. And I don’t see any one person smart enough.
#3 Here it comes. This is one of the hardest concepts. Man can believe I created the world, but when it comes to them. To believe that I created them, loved the and want to be a part of their lives, well…
#2 Why would such a mighty God care about the one person? Take me for instance, who has never been president, never been a famous person, never been on TV, except local TV. I have never been places or done things.
#1 But we have to be important to someone.
#2 Ah ha! My mother ones me, most of the time.
And I Once sang in the Sunday school play and they clapped.
#1 Come on, be serious.
#2 I am, who can know me, cares about me? God is too busy, too powerful, too preoccupied.
#1 If that is the case, we are on our own. We will believe in God and his creation, but flounder like a fish, please!
#3 I do know you, you are valuable to me.
#2 I think the song might be right. I choose to believe God loves me, me.
The person I am now…even if I never make a home run or get on TV.
#1 Well, you won’t be disappointed about TV then. Some things just are not meant to be. I wish I could believe. It would be nice to know that someone is in my corner.
#2 Me too. He knows me, loves me, and I can keep going.
#1 Every hair on my head though, that’s a little much.
#2 Not for some, think about it. Every worry in my heart, every tear from my eye, now that’s hard.
#3 Hard for you, not for me. I can do all things. I am interested in every aspect of your life. I know all about you and love you more than anyone else could, more than you love yourself. I created the world. I love the creatures in the world. I sent my Son to save my creatures and make them my children. I want to claim them – My Son died so that there might be life! You are all different, but special. Only one of a kind!
Major Betzann Carroll
(Responsive Reading – God listening in on a conversation of two individuals)
You know me, you know me better than I know myself,
From the day I was born to the day I die
Every hair on my head, every blink of my eye,
Through the good and the bad, Lord it’s easy to see,
That you, oh you, you know me.
(Praiseworks)
Speaker #1 That is a great song, fair tune, and an okay voice, however?
Speaker #2 However?
#1 However! I wonder if anyone actually knows who he or she is. I mean, in the scheme of things, which we are (in the scheme of things, of course), it gets so muddled. Am I who I am because of my environment, my experiences, what I have made myself or what my parents have made me? You know!
#2 Right, I understand. I am not from around your neighborhood and you sure are not from around mine. We have not had the same space, opportunities, or even meals.
#1 Obviously!
#2 One of us has had a few more, meals that is.
#1 So if we don’t quite get it, how does God?
#2 Well, God’s got an advantage, you know. He made us. And He knows everything.
#3 I agree with that!
#1 He is the creator as far as the Bible is concerned. I know what you mean. Evolution and all that! Well, the some people may think about that and have an opinion or two. But when it comes to most people, people like you and me, we want the real truth. Hey, this is flesh and blood we are talking about. And I am not sure I can even figure out why I do what I do, so God would have to be good at figuring it all out.
#3 I am perfect, I am omnipotent! I know everything…it is not hard for Me.
#2 You’re right. We are pretty complex. Women are different from men, men are different than women, family members are different, husbands and wives, kids … they are different; not to mention culture and distance…
#1 And just plain being who we are, that makes us different.
#3 There are differences!
#2 But there are likenesses too. You know mothers talk about children, and fathers talk about the cost of raising children! Then Bosses talk about employees or is it the other way around? And doesn’t everyone talk about the Red Sox!
#1 No…and politics is not universal either. Politics and Religion…two subjects not to talk about because we don’t agree.
#2 Yea, but that means there are likenesses. Seems some things are the same no matter where you go.
#3 That is because I created man in my image. That’s not too hard! Perhaps they will get to that.
#2 Do you believe then that God is the creator?
#1 Well, someone had to do the creating it didn’t just happen… It is easier for me to believe God created rather than some other theory. And I don’t see any one person smart enough.
#3 Here it comes. This is one of the hardest concepts. Man can believe I created the world, but when it comes to them. To believe that I created them, loved the and want to be a part of their lives, well…
#2 Why would such a mighty God care about the one person? Take me for instance, who has never been president, never been a famous person, never been on TV, except local TV. I have never been places or done things.
#1 But we have to be important to someone.
#2 Ah ha! My mother ones me, most of the time.
And I Once sang in the Sunday school play and they clapped.
#1 Come on, be serious.
#2 I am, who can know me, cares about me? God is too busy, too powerful, too preoccupied.
#1 If that is the case, we are on our own. We will believe in God and his creation, but flounder like a fish, please!
#3 I do know you, you are valuable to me.
#2 I think the song might be right. I choose to believe God loves me, me.
The person I am now…even if I never make a home run or get on TV.
#1 Well, you won’t be disappointed about TV then. Some things just are not meant to be. I wish I could believe. It would be nice to know that someone is in my corner.
#2 Me too. He knows me, loves me, and I can keep going.
#1 Every hair on my head though, that’s a little much.
#2 Not for some, think about it. Every worry in my heart, every tear from my eye, now that’s hard.
#3 Hard for you, not for me. I can do all things. I am interested in every aspect of your life. I know all about you and love you more than anyone else could, more than you love yourself. I created the world. I love the creatures in the world. I sent my Son to save my creatures and make them my children. I want to claim them – My Son died so that there might be life! You are all different, but special. Only one of a kind!
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