Friday, August 24, 2007
Ignorance is Not Bliss--A Child's Perspective
I was five years old when World War Two started. The only "war" I knew anything about was the "bob war" fence I had to wriggle through to reach the spring where we got our water in the tiny community of Spring Grove, Texas. I couldn't understand why the adults were is such a tizzy.
Soon our family of seven had to walk to the nearby school house and register for books of stamps in order to buy things that were in short supply, such as sugar. Since we didn't have enough money to buy sugar, anyway, we gave most of our stamps away.
The only way Daddy had of earning money at Spring Grove was cutting trees with a crosscut saw and selling the wood to neighbors. When the war effort needed most of the rubber that was available, replacing the worn out tires on his old pickup was impossible, and his income dried up. He hitchhiked back to Flomot and worked for an old friend until he could make enough money to move the family back to home territory.
I heard just enough adult conversation to know the dull green planes that flew overhead had something to do with the war and bombs. Somehow I thought the bombs were carried on top of the wings, and whenever one banked to turn, I started looking for a safe place to hide from the bombs that were sure to fall off. But where do you hide from a bomb?
After we moved back to Flomot and I started to school, somewhere I saw a swastika. Having no idea what it meant, I thought it looked really neat, so I took a piece of chalk and drew a swastika on every board of the old unpainted shack we lived in. Boy! I might as well have printed the cuss words I was learning.
We had no radio or newspaper, so our news had to come by word of mouth. One day I saw Daddy running across the field from the landlord's house, a spectacular sight for an old man in his fifties. He had just got news that the war was over. No more swastikas.
Cora Gail Gunn Trent
www.cgtrent.com
Soon our family of seven had to walk to the nearby school house and register for books of stamps in order to buy things that were in short supply, such as sugar. Since we didn't have enough money to buy sugar, anyway, we gave most of our stamps away.
The only way Daddy had of earning money at Spring Grove was cutting trees with a crosscut saw and selling the wood to neighbors. When the war effort needed most of the rubber that was available, replacing the worn out tires on his old pickup was impossible, and his income dried up. He hitchhiked back to Flomot and worked for an old friend until he could make enough money to move the family back to home territory.
I heard just enough adult conversation to know the dull green planes that flew overhead had something to do with the war and bombs. Somehow I thought the bombs were carried on top of the wings, and whenever one banked to turn, I started looking for a safe place to hide from the bombs that were sure to fall off. But where do you hide from a bomb?
After we moved back to Flomot and I started to school, somewhere I saw a swastika. Having no idea what it meant, I thought it looked really neat, so I took a piece of chalk and drew a swastika on every board of the old unpainted shack we lived in. Boy! I might as well have printed the cuss words I was learning.
We had no radio or newspaper, so our news had to come by word of mouth. One day I saw Daddy running across the field from the landlord's house, a spectacular sight for an old man in his fifties. He had just got news that the war was over. No more swastikas.
Cora Gail Gunn Trent
www.cgtrent.com
Saturday, August 18, 2007
Fear
"Aren't you afraid to live by yourself?" people have asked.
Afraid of what? I think.
A cowardly rapist is looking for a helpless female. Out in the yard, a 175-pound basketball player with a hoe or shovel in her hand doesn't exactly look helpless. When in the house my .45 is handy, the same weapon that has put a hole through the narrow body of a rattlesnake. The torso of a menacing man for a target should be no problem.
But the main reason I don't tremble with fear is that I have the greatest protector of all, the Lord who is the author of joy and peace. Whatever happens to this mortal body, he has promised me eternal rest for my faithful soul. Not one of his promises has ever failed.
At the age of 70, my body shows signs of wear. Blood veins in my hands bulge beneath the mottled skin, reminding me of the intricate design God has built into all things. Nature is the first book of faith he published for us, and the best is yet to come. So what is to fear?
Read Blessed are the Peacemakers at www.cgtrent.com.
Cora Gail Trent
Afraid of what? I think.
A cowardly rapist is looking for a helpless female. Out in the yard, a 175-pound basketball player with a hoe or shovel in her hand doesn't exactly look helpless. When in the house my .45 is handy, the same weapon that has put a hole through the narrow body of a rattlesnake. The torso of a menacing man for a target should be no problem.
But the main reason I don't tremble with fear is that I have the greatest protector of all, the Lord who is the author of joy and peace. Whatever happens to this mortal body, he has promised me eternal rest for my faithful soul. Not one of his promises has ever failed.
At the age of 70, my body shows signs of wear. Blood veins in my hands bulge beneath the mottled skin, reminding me of the intricate design God has built into all things. Nature is the first book of faith he published for us, and the best is yet to come. So what is to fear?
Read Blessed are the Peacemakers at www.cgtrent.com.
Cora Gail Trent
