This morning I attended a small church where they were performing their annual Christmas program recounting  the Christmas story. I’m quite sure every child in the church had a part – there’s always room for one more angel or one more shepherd. It brought back a lot of memories. There are memories of when I was one of those children ,wearing of course, an angel costume.(Well, I think so…that was a long time ago.) Then their were memories of my two boys playing their parts as shepherds and wise men.

Today, I had no reason to be nervous – I wasn’t performing and didn’t know anyone that was. In fact, I was just visiting this church and knew no one. It was the first time I had gone to a Christmas church program and didn’t know a single person on stage. This put me in a unique position. My eyes weren’t focused on any one person. I had no reason to care if the wiseman’s crown was crooked, or if the angel was holding the hem of her white gown above her head, or if the shepherd boy was poking his shepherd friend in hopes of making him squeal, or if Joseph was sticking his tongue out at Mary. Knowing no one was delightful!

I had time to observe the observers as well. All those children in the front, had parents in the pews. Well, not so much in the pews – most were up and out of their seats with their cameras pointed to their special actors on stage. I noticed that many of the fathers were assigned this duty while the mothers were trying to get their child’s attention with various hand signals. I’m sure it is just our human nature to want our children to be perfect little angels while they are up on stage. Wouldn’t it be boring if they really were? The best part of Christmas programs are when we are reminded through these little children that none of us are perfect. And I enjoy being reminded that we don’t have to be perfect because Jesus took all our sins to the cross with Him. This is a season to spread hope to those that might not have much hope. I challenge you to pick out someone every day that looks like they could use a little hope and give them a good dose of it.  God created each one of us and He loves each one of us as if we were the only one to love. Now, that’s a message everyone would love to hear.

This last weekend I traveled back to the north central part of Nebraska where I grew up. The family ranch is located approximately 30 miles south of Ainsworth on the Calamus River. I lived here in the late 60’s and early 70’s, during my junior high and high school years. Since that time I have been back for many visits. The home ranch is still owned by my mother and managed by my sister and brother-in-law.

I want to tell you about the old country schools of Nebraska, and specifically about the one I attended. First, a little history. In  1918 there were 6638 one room school houses in rural Nebraska. With the coming of improved roads and declining rural populations,  the country schools throughout the United States began to close. By 1959, there were 2812 of these country schools left in Nebraska. By the end of the 20th Century, one room schools across the U.S. had nearly vanished. There were only 840 left in the entire country in 1984 and Nebraska claimed 45% of these or 385 schools. And since that time those have closed as well. The country school is now a thing of the past.

The country school I attended was actually one of the more modernized schools of that time. We had indoor plumbing with two bathrooms – one for the girls and one for the boys. If I remember correctly, the sink sat between the two. We  had the large room where the desks sat, but we also had a smaller room where there were multiple chairs that sat around a table. We only had one teacher, but she often used this smaller room to teach a class to the younger children, while the older children were supposedly studying in the larger room. For the most part, I believe that is what happened, although I also remember a few spit wads flying by on occasion or a few notes being passed from student to student. After all, it wasn’t a school for angels. I started 6th grade at the Raven School and we had 12 students, ranging from first grade to eighth grade. By the time I graduated from the eighth grade, we had eight students in the school and the eighth grade class made up half of those, helped out by a set of twins. The schoolhouse was close enough to one family that those children walked to school every day. My family lived the farthest and Dad would take me the ten miles each morning, and each afternoon my brother would pick me up on his way home from the High School in town.

For those of us that attended these schools and now see them abandoned and physically decaying across the grasslands, it causes  a twinge of sadness. So many events were centered around the school in those days and a lot of fond memories have been collected. Perhaps the Christmas programs were the most noted events, filling the schoolhouse with standing room only. Every child had “a piece” to say – a short poem that they had hopefully memorized. Plays were performed that were also memorized, and songs were sung. The students were dressed in their finest clothes. Santa always showed up to pass out candy at the end of the program, and neighbors visited long after the teacher was ready to turn out the lights.

On my trip back this last weekend, I  learned that the fate of the Raven School is better than most. I was delighted to hear that someone was making this building into a home. I couldn’t help driving up the muddy lane to see for myself. Sure enough, it is happening. New windows, new doors, a second floor, and a new roof have been installed. What fun it will be to watch the progression of it. You might ask who would take on this major project? It’s not hard to figure out. Of course – a former student of Raven School with a few fond memories.

 I see these well seasoned ladies playing hopscotch and cheering each other on, and realize I don’t want to ever grow up. Our golden years will be more fun if we don’t.

I can remember, fifty years ago, rushing out the school door at recess time. We packed a lot of hopscotch into 15 minutes. Or maybe it was Annie, Annie I Over, or 23 Skido0, or Dare Base, or Pump Pump Pullaway, or Steal Sticks. During the lunch hour, we could eat fast and have at least 30 minutes to continue a game we didn’t finish at recess. As much discussion was given around the supper table  to what happened during recess  that day as to what happened in the school room.  We not only got a lot of exercise, we also learned to play well with others.

It saddens me not to see kids out playing these games like we did. I wonder how many second and third graders would even recognize the names of the games in the previous paragraph.

I think back to my graduating class in 1972. There were 70 some in the class, and very few were overweight. Most of us leaned toward the thin side. Now, as I sit on the bench at Wal-Mart and people gaze, it’s not only overweight kids that walk by  – many are obese.

To be considered obese, a child’s body mass index or BMI percentile must be greater than 95%. A child is overweight if his BMI is more than 85% but less than 95%. It is estimated that 17% of children ages two through nineteen are obese.

A scientist with the Center for Disease Control and Prevention predicts that one in three children born in 2000, will become diabetic unless our habits change – meaning we need to eat wiser and exercise more.

Those are my thoughts for this week. Just what you wanted to hear after a big Thanksgiving meal, right? Well, do what I’m doing – consider putting a Ping-Pong table in the basement instead of a large screen TV. I’m not sure I’ve got my thin husband on board though or maybe he’s just scared I’ll beat him at Ping-Pong or maybe he’s grown up.

When we reflect back to the first Thanksgiving Day -we usually think of that autumn day in 1621 after the Pilgrims harvested their first season of crops here in the New World. This celebration lasted for three days. It is recorded that there were 90 Native Americans and 53 Pilgrims in attendance. Thanksgiving celebrations after this were sporadic for many years. In 1789, George Washington called for a celebration of Thanksgiving. As a nation, the people celebrated and gave thanks for the blessings they had received that year. But, it wasn’t until 1863 that it was proclaimed a national holiday. This was during the time of the Civil War. President Abraham Lincoln told the people of the United States to “give thanks and praise to the beneficent Father who dwelleth in the Heavens.”

Thanksgiving has become a time of family gatherings for many people, so much so, that those that aren’t able to spend the holiday with family often feel let down. We look around us and it seems that everyone else is either traveling to a Thanksgiving meal or hosting one in their own home. For those of us that aren’t able to be with family this Thanksgiving, we can still celebrate the reason Abraham Lincoln made it a national holiday. We can give thanks and praise to our Father who dwells in the Heavens. We can use the day as a special time to reconnect with our Father. We can pray for others that are missing their families on Thanksgiving. We can pray for those in the military overseas that are defending our freedoms. We can pray for those people in the United States that don’t have the financial means to be with family. We can pray for ourselves and ask God to help us have a thankful heart.

There are many of us that won’t be with our loved ones, but we can still make the day a special day. It’s a day of Thanksgiving – whether with family or not. Enjoy and give thanks!

Thanksgiving is just around the corner. As I think of the things I am most thankful for, my parents come to mind. Of course, there’s the obvious reason – were it not for them, I wouldn’t be here. But it’s much more than that. My childhood was a happy one. So many children can’t say that. For every one of them that can’t, I wish I could have given them a day of mine. My sister, brother, and I grew up on a ranch with parents that loved us, taught us, encouraged us, and yes…disciplined us when we needed it. (I’m almost certain my siblings needed it more than I.) I spent many of my young days riding across the hills on Ginger or sitting on the bank of the Calamus River with my fishing pole. There was always work to do too, but we worked together and it was rewarding to see what we accomplished as a family team. The setting of my new book, “Bound by Secrecy” was largely influenced by the life I lived on the ranch. My parents bought the ranch when I was in the 5th grade. I didn’t know how I was going to leave my friends in the eastern part of the state to move “out west.” I thought my life was over! That was a big trial for me as a 5th grader, but it became one of my biggest blessings. I wasn’t very grateful for the move at the time, but it only took a summer to change that thought around .  So, this week, I just want to thank my parents for the stable upbringing they handed us, and for the wisdom they had to buy a ranch despite the fact that one of their children thought it was the worst idea ever. We are three fortunate kids.