Precious Memories

My cousins Cathy and Judy were just a couple of years apart in age. My first real memory of them took place in 1958 at a big family reunion held at our grandparents’ home in Altamont, Kansas. Their parents brought them home from California that summer and we all went to Altamont for the reunion. We ran around and played childhood games with them and all our other first cousins while our parents enjoyed their time together.

The next time I saw them was in 1960, when their father passed away and was brought back from California, to Kansas for burial. I remember going with our parents to meet the train in Parsons, Kansas, and I remember them stepping off the train with their mama—two of the prettiest little blonde girls about 7 and 5 years old.

That scene came back to my mind this week when their mother my aunt passed away, all these many years later, the sad picture in my mind of that young mother with two little baby girls to raise all by herself.

That young mother raised those sweet little girls to adulthood, then helped them in raising her grandchildren. She served the Lord faithfully all those years in the church. She always had a smile and loved many people into the kingdom of God. Her last years in the nursing home were spent praying for all those who needed prayer, and all of the nursing home workers loved her dearly.

Our minds are strange, but wonderful, with all those little hidden memories that spring up at the slightest thing. Two or three musical notes bring songs with all the words flooding back to our minds. Multiplication tables come back when we balance our checkbooks. The smell of  hand cream reminds us of  our grandmother who has been gone for 30 years.

The Bible teach us about the memory. “Your word I have hidden in my heart, that I might not sin against You.” Psalm 119:11.

My memory also holds all those wonderful family memories/ It also holds the Word of God that I memorized when I was a child.

Lavon Hightower Lewis

Email me at

Kernels of Corn

When I was in grade school, Mom used to say that I ate more corn-on-the-cob than their old mules did on the farm. I love corn on the cob. I could eat it every day, three times a day, 7 days a week all summer long. White corn, yellow corn, mixed white-and-yellow corn, field corn, home-grown corn, any corn. I even eat canned corn, frozen corn.

One year, my friend and I bought 3 bushels of corn between us to eat and freeze. We sat in the backyard, shucking corn, all morning. I was even eating it uncooked, right off the cob, while I shucked.

She said, “What shall we have for lunch?” I looked at the corn, I looked at her, I looked back at the corn. She said, “After all this shucking, you want to eat corn?” I nodded. So we cooked 4 ears each and I ate one of hers. And we had plenty left over to freeze.

The oldtime farmers saved some of their corn kernels back to plant the next year. They ate the corn, gave some of it to the horses, then saved some back to plant. They didn’t eat it all. They couldn’t run down to the feed store to buy seed.

One ear of corn has about 16 rows, about 100 kernels each. If you planted those 100 kernels and all of them germinated, you would have 100 stalks of corn. There are usually 4 ears of corn on one stalk, so that is 400 ears of corn from that one original ear of corn, in one corn season. Next year when you plant the corn kernels, then from those 400 ears of corn with 100 kernels each, you would get 40,000 stalks of corn times 4 ears each equals 160,000 ears of corn. (It took a lot of figurin’ to cipher that out. And of course this is assuming that every kernel germinates and every stalk of corn has 4 ears.) From one ear of corn. What a harvest that would be.

In II Corinthians 9:7, Paul said, “Remember this: Whoever sows sparingly will also reap sparingly and whoever sows generously will also reap generously.”

Don’t eat all your corn. Plant generously in your local church.

Puppies Under the Table

One of my earliest and happiest memories is of our family’s little reddish-blonde cocker spaniel. We have pictures of him with us in about 1958 in which you can see my hair is the same color as his. Then we had a black and white doggie named ……what was his name? Spot? Tippy?

Another one I remember well was our next-door-neighbor’s dog. He was a big, husky, long-haired dog, who followed our friend Velta around all the time. He was very over-protective of her.

Our little dog when I was a teenager was black with a tiny bit of white and brown. Probably part dachshund, with short legs, short hair, and the prettiest eyes. She was a mouser. She’d start nosing around, sniffing, whining, and we’d just let her go. Soon she’d be dragging a mouse out of the closet.

We are so attached to our little pets, as they become part of our families. Some people might not consider our pet animals to be a very spiritual thing, but in the New Testament Jesus spoke about dogs. A little lady came to Jesus asking for healing for her daughter.

 “Then he said to the woman, “I was sent to help the Jews—the lost sheep of Israel—not the Gentiles.” But she came and worshiped him and pled again, “Sir, help me!”

 “It doesn’t seem right to take bread from the children and throw it to the dogs,” he said.

 “Yes, it is!” she replied, “for even the puppies beneath the table are permitted to eat the crumbs that fall.”

 “Woman,” Jesus told her, “your faith is large, and your request is granted.” And her daughter was healed right then.” Matthew 15:24-28. The Living Bible.

She had the wisdom and audacity to believe that he would want even the little pet dogs under the table to have the crumbs from the master’s table.

We are not just his little pets, we are his children, so it is our privilege to sit at the Master’s table and eat the good things God has prepared for us, and not just settle for the crumbs that drop off the Master’s table.