A very special Christmas Eve for a 6-year-old girl Joan, age 6, was very excited as Christmas approached in 1944. Each year her little hometown of Camak, Georgia, (population 350) held a Christmas Eve service at the depot. It was a highlight of the year. And this year she was going to get to open the service with the traditional recitation of Luke 2:3-14: Joseph also went up from Galilee, out of the city of Nazareth, into Judea, to the city of David, which is called Bethlehem, because he was of the house and lineage of David, to be registered with Mary, his betrothed wife,[a] who was with child. So it was, that while they were there, the days were completed for her to be delivered. And she brought forth her firstborn Son, and wrapped Him in swaddling cloths, and laid Him in a manger, because there was no room for them in the inn. . . The ceremony was to be a brief respite from the gloom of war that had settled on the town in 1944. Many houses had a blue star in the window, indicating that it had a person in the military, Joan’s among them. Her father had been drafted. There was a banner behind the altar at the Methodist Church lined with similar stars. And below it was a banner lined with gold stars to honor those who had given the ultimate sacrifice. There were so many in service that the town’s meager population had visibly declined. What made the Christmas Eve service so special was that the whole town participated. The mayor and council provided the tree and the manger, and each grade school class trimmed the tree and prepared a song or poem to be performed at the ceremony. And both the Baptist and Methodist congregations were involved. But Joan’s part was arguably a major highlight of the event. She wore a brand new red dress that her grandmother made just for the service, and she had new shoes her mother bought by saving her ration stamps. At the beginning of the festivities she was to stand on the tallest mail cart underneath the depot roof, right in front of the Nativity scene, and recite the Bible verses before virtually everyone in town. She studied hard in preparation and knew the words by heart. It was for her a rite of passage. But around noon on Christmas Eve, word began to circulate that the entire event might be in jeopardy. It was planned to start at 7 p.m. as it was every year, but this year a trainload of wounded German prisoners of war was expected to stop in Camak for water at that same hour. Soon afterward, another message was received that a trainload of wounded American soldiers would arrive at the depot about the same time. Everything was thrown into confusion. The town leaders involved in the ceremony pondered what to do. And to Joan’s dismay there were some who advocated canceling it. But after much deliberation they decided it should go on as planned. The night air was crisp but fairly mild for the time of year. Promptly at 7 that evening Joan was lifted on to the tallest mail cart at the depot, stood in front of the Nativity in her new red dress and new shoes, and awaited the signal from her pastor. With a nod of his head she began, Joseph also went up from Galilee, out of the city of Nazareth, into Judea, to the city of David, which is called Bethlehem . . .”
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By Ted Smith Marion T. "Ted" Smith is the author of a new book, “Life in the Park: A Novel.” It is available on Amazon and at Barnes & Noble.
But no sooner were the words out of her mouth than a train whistle was heard in the distance. Joan stopped mid-sentence and the large crowd of townspeople began to whisper quietly among themselves. Soon a big black locomotive arrived at the depot belching steam and with metal wheels screeching. It was pulling a long line of passenger cars with bars on the windows and a banner on the side marked with a red cross and the words, “Prisoners of War.” Before the assembly could decide what to do - except Joan, who sat down beside the baby Jesus - another train whistle was heard in the other direction and soon another big black locomotive with a long line of passenger cars pulled into the depot parallel to the first. Once the locomotive stopped, the place became deathly quiet except for a few soft but unintelligible words coming from the open windows of the POW cars. Then a lone voice could be heard singing: “Stille nacht, heillige nacht, Alles schlaft, eisam wacht . . .” The words embodied the hopes for peace of everyone present and soon the American soldiers began to sing along, then the townspeople. The volume swelled into what is as close to a heavenly chorus as is humanly possible by the last line of the song “Schlaf in himmlischer ruh/ Sleep in heavenly peace.” As the song faded her minister lifted Joan onto his shoulders and began to walk between the passenger cars clasping hands extended through the windows and the bars. Others followed and countless greetings were exchanged in German and English. Soon the train engines came alive and the people at the depot watched them roar away, left once again in silence but this time wondering if it had all been a dream. Then Joan was placed on the mail cart but this time her recitation took on a new meaning, especially, “peace on earth, goodwill to men.” I first heard this story in Warrenton, Georgia, in the 1980s but I had the pleasure of meeting Joan several years later. Much of this story is taken from her account of the events that Christmas Eve in 1944. Joan Biles grew up to be a Methodist minister herself. She attained a doctorate from the University of Georgia, was a former mayor of Winterville, and pastor of several churches. In addition she was a strong advocate for children with dyslexia and animals in need. She died peacefully at her home in Loganville in 2015.
“Enjoy the little things, for one day you may look back and realize they were the big things.” - Robert Brault
charge. As she did this, she was so ashamed as she stood behind the desk in that warm office with her warm coat on. (You know, the cozy one with the fur, for it was so cold that day, and after all, she had been to a Christmas luncheon.) Being unable to locate the one in charge, she asked one standing in the office to fix a box of groceries. The mother followed down the hall, but the little girl remained. She was so enamored with the decorations of Christmas. Her special joy was a reindeer on the desk that held small packages which were a part of the arrangement. She said, “Oh, you already have some Christmas presents.” The answer was that they were only decorations and that they were empty boxes. The child kept going back and forth, asking if she could touch them. Upon telling her it was okay, but they were only empty boxes, the true Spirit of Christmas came. The child ran as fast as she could and picked up one tiny package and held it to her heart, and said, “Oh, I would love to take it home with me.” Then again she had to be reminded, that though she could certainly have it, that they were only empty boxes. By this time her mother had returned, rejoicing over the food, and they went on their way. Also, by this time, she had taken off her warm coat. (You know, the one with the fur collar that was so suitable for a cold day, for after all, she had been to a Christmas luncheon). Later upon investigation, she found out that the parents in this family were not really trying to help themselves. She also found out that the
church had helped them Thanksgiving, and that they probably would help them again for they lived near the church. She also reminded herself that even though parents should not be helped so much, children should not have to suffer. She also determined in her heart that these children would certainly have gifts for Christmas. Gifts not from Santa Claus, but from one who gave gifts to them because Jesus is the true reason for the season. Then she looked down on her desk at the large stack of Foreign Missions offering envelopes to be used that Sunday, and thought of the millions around the world who do not know of the Christ of Christmas, and said their holiday will be just like the empty box on her desk, so beautiful on the outside, yet so empty on the inside. And, yet she knew, too, that for many, Christmas would not even be beautiful on the outside. Once again, she tried to minister, but was ministered unto. Once again, the Spirit of Christmas came, and she was especially grateful that it came early this year. Once again, she put on the warm coat. (You know, the one with the fur, that was warm for that very cold day, for after all, she had been to a beautiful Christmas luncheon). Somehow, she felt that her heart had been warmed more than any coat could have warmed her on this especially cold day, at this very special season of the year. Somehow, she wanted to wish the whole world a very Merry Christmas, for certainly, she had already experienced the true Spirit of the season.
“Autumn is a season followed immediately by looking forward to spring.” – Doug Larson
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what I like to hear. Lora: If you could open for anyone who would it be? Raquel: Reba, Dolly or Loretta which are some of the greats. I would love to talk about the music business with them, their personal lives and all they have seen and done throughout their careers. Lora: What big name artist if any have you worked with? Raquel: I got the opportunity this past summer to sing at Loretta Lynn’s ranch and Conway Twitty’s son Michael; unfortunately Loretta couldn't come down and sing. She was still recovering from her stroke, but we got to be with her family and several great artists. I've worked with Lee Ann Womack on my showcase in Nashville. I met and worked with so many great songwriters and publishers over the years who were the driving force of the industry. To me, they were my musical heroes. Lora: Tell me about teaching vs. performing for you? Do you prefer one over the other? Raquel: I love teaching because of my students and seeing them develop their skills. It is so rewarding, but of course I love performing too and making people smile while touching their hearts through music. So, it's a tie I guess because both really complete me now. Raquel has a wonderful dedication to her students and their success. You will get every ounce of knowledge she has to share if you choose her for your teacher. She is quick to remind everyone that she knows where her blessings come from and that her faith is at the forefront for all that she is and does. It is a true testament to who she is and how she has not forgotten where she comes from. I hope you all enjoyed getting to know Mrs. Raquel Rae.
”The way to develop the best that is in a person is by appreciation and encouragement.” - Charles Schwab
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response speed of any literary entity. If we pass on your style, it isn’t personal. Lora: What extensions of the SCE has the collaboration brought about to date? Clifford: To date, we have honed our journal of culture, “Blue Mountain Review,” into an online magazine I never imagined so many would revere. Our two-year-anniversary issue comes out fall of 2017. All genres of expression are in there. We are not only about what’s below the Mason-Dixon. “Everyone is south of somewhere.” It’s an ability to relax like an Otis Redding tune and have enough tact to tell a hater exactly how to go away with a smile. We never want an argument. However, we will not weep in the corner because someone had only enough talent to attack us on Twitter. We’ve been called racist and sexist because “Southern” is in our title. Though we include all regions, I refuse to be ashamed God graced me with my birth in the great state of Georgia. If you don’t dig it here, there are 49 other states to choose. Go pick one and gripe there. “Dante’s Old South” is our NPR program recorded out of Chattanooga, Tenn. We feature folks from within our ranks, and great acts that we support. Thank God it’s not live because I can’t seem to get through a single one without swearing when I screw up. Richard Winham, the station manager, does an amazing job at duct-taping our talent into an hour that sounds so smart. The secret is: If you can’t laugh, no one else will.
Life is too serious already. Laughter lets you live longer. We recently focused our efforts at literary festivals that break the mold of poetry readings that are rife with the most awful acts known to mankind. I won’t attend a “poetry reading.” Our Visions of Verse and larger production, Collective Sessions, draw such large, satisfied crowds because it’s unlike anything else. There’s music, readings that don’t make you want to run into traffic, and constructive criticism from experts eager to inspire a budding talent, not beat it down in fear of a competitor. Art is only a small pond because small-minded children run the playground. If you’re unhappy with the way the world works, change it or whine somewhere far away from me. Clifford has been busy working on some of his own books as well. His first book “Draw of Broken Eyes & Whirling Metaphysics” will be reissued in the spring of 2018, “Exiles of Eden” was released in October 2017, and “Athena Departs: Gospel of a Man Apart” will be published and released in November 2017. He is no stranger to hard work and dedication. He is a true testament to how successful a career in the arts can be. I always enjoy my conversations with Clifford and hearing of his love and labors for his own works as well as the art world itself. I highly recommend you visit a Visions of Verse reading, purchase one of his books, and check out some of the publications of the Southern Collective Experience and revel in the artistic talents of its members.
”You cannot do a kindness too soon because you never know how soon it will be too late.” - Ralph Waldo Emerson
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It was from these backgrounds that people from all walks of life came to East Ellijay to scratch the itch that each had about tiny homes. Unspoken, at first, was the question of whether a tiny home might somehow fit into their specific future. As the sun rose higher in the sky and temperatures began to soar, so did the conversations between spouses and even total strangers. The benefits and the negatives between one feature and another were debated. The tiny home movement is said to have begun in California, where Jay Shafer designed and then occupied a 96-square-foot tiny home on wheels. He subsequently went on to found Tumbleweed Tiny House Company and later Four Lights Tiny House Company. In the aftermath of Hurricane Katrina in 2005, a line of tiny alternatives to FEMA trailers was introduced on the Gulf Coast. These “Katrina Cottages,” as they were called, began at 308 square feet and provided a heightened awareness of the potential of the scaled-down homes. The couple from Valdosta in South Georgia were middle-aged farmers, with another 15 years to go until retirement. Their idea was to purchase a tiny home now to be placed on their sprawling acreage near the Florida line. Between now and the arrival of their first Social Security checks, they would split their time between the primary residence, and their get-away place less than a mile down the road. “Not only will this concept be better perfected by the time we’re ready to retire,” the husband explained, “but we’ll get to see if we’re tiny home material, without having to give up everything in our current life.”
”The only people with whom you should try to get even are those who have helped you.” - John E. Southard
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