August 16, 2009

For Sara & Grandmother

Sara and Brandon (but mostly Sara, sorry Brandon),

Most of our shared childhoods were spent with our Grandmother in her kitchen. Oh sure, we'd run around with the boys, play with Pogo the poodle, swim. But I have very vivid, picturesque memories of being in the kitchen with you and our Grandmother with one of these three things in place: a flour sifter, a round biscuit cutter, or just a juice glass to cut the biscuits when the cutter could not be found. And she, in all her biscuit and sticky rice glory, would be wearing an apron. It might have been the white one with the Battenburg lace at the bottom or the green one with the tiny purple flowers. But I honestly cannot think of you, our childhood, our Grandmother, without thinking of those very iconic things.

And so Francis-and-every-other-Southern-woman-like, after everyone had filled their plates and found a seat, she would sit down either on a stool or one of those dark wood, creaky kitchen chairs, throwing one coolat pant covered leg over the other and proclaim, "well, I know it's not going to be any good."

So how appropriate for me to gift you with something so iconic of the matriarch of our shared families. My hope is that you will sift the flour, wear the apron, all the while recalling warm, vivid memories while making new memories of your own.

And Brandon, word to the wise: if the biscuits are burned and the rice is unintentionally sticky, just eat up. She's only carrying on a family tradition.

Love always,

August 7, 2009

Take my life...

I have decided I would like this song to be played/sung at my wedding. It is perfect. A wonderful pianist, David Nevue, does it beautifully.

Take my life and let it be
Consecrated, Lord, to Thee;
Take my hands and let them move
At the impulse of Thy love.

Take my feet and let them be
Swift and beautiful for Thee;
Take my voice and let me sing,
Always, only for my King.

Take my lips and let them be
Filled with messages from Thee;
Take my silver and my gold,
Not a mite would I withhold.

Take my moments and my days,
Let them flow in endless praise;
Take my intellect and use
Every pow’r as Thou shalt choose.

Take my will and make it Thine,
It shall be no longer mine;
Take my heart, it is Thine own,
It shall be Thy royal throne.

Take my love, my Lord, I pour
At Thy feet its treasure store;
Take myself and I will be
Ever, only, all for Thee.

Ah, so perfect.