MY LITTLE SISTER

I was nine years old and I was at my aunt’s house with my two sisters and our grandmother when our mother popped in for a visit. I’m sure I already knew she was pregnant but that day was the first time I remember knowing. She stayed for a while and then she had to go. As she was leaving, I remember my aunt saying something like, “She’ll have that baby before the next full moon,” and I remember her confirming that she had been right when we heard that we had a new baby sister. We didn’t get to see the little rug rat as often as we wanted to but Momma would bring her to see us as often as she could and we would go visit them when we could.

My most memorable moment with her was when she was about two years old. Our Aunt Lee took us and our grandma to visit them. After several hours of playing and having loads of fun with her, it was time to leave. She was dirty all over from playing in the dirt and her face was the worst. She was giving everybody hugs and kisses and she came to me. We hugged and even though her face was covered with dirt, I was about to kiss her on the cheek. Just as I puckered up and came close to her face, she turned her head and kissed me right on my lips with the wettest, snottiest mouth you could imagine. I loved her, but I was spitting out the car window all the way home. It’s funny now and we’ve had several laughs about it over the years, but it wasn’t funny at all then.

When she was three years old, we moved next door to them. Then, we got to play with her all day, every day. We had lots of fun, but sometimes I guess we forgot that she was smaller and a bit more fragile than we were and she would get hurt. I liked pushing her in toy cars and on her tricycle. One day I noticed the extra dirt left over from putting our septic tank in the ground. It reminded me of one of the ramps that Evel Knievel would use to jump his motorcycle over different things. I couldn’t resist. I was thinking, “She has three wheels, she’ll be fine.” So, I told her to hold her feet up off the peddles, as I had before when I pushed her fast. Then I pushed her faster than ever, and I let her go with an extra shove just a few feet from the dirt mound. “Yes!” She jumped and landed on all three wheels without falling over or falling off the tricycle, BUT, she kept rolling for a bit too long. I saw her start wobbling and before I could get to her, she hit the front steps and fell over on them, and split her lip open. Momma wasn’t happy about that at all, so I felt bad for more than one reason. If you know what I mean.

We’re all grown up now and have children of our own, but I still have good memories of our childhood together and all the crazy fun we’ve had over the years. When I was seventeen, I wrote a song about her. It may not be a masterpiece, but here are the words.

SISTER MARY
by Teddy Lynn 
1985

VERSE 1
Eyes like diamonds, a smile bright as the sun
A dirty face from having too much fun
Snotty nose and a snotty kiss
I’m afraid someday I’ll be missing this

CHORUS
Sister Mary, I love you with all of my heart
We have to spend way too much time apart
I guess that makes me really appreciate you
Sister Mary, I’ll always be there for you

VERSE 2
Smiling from ear to ear reaching out for me
Your eyes full of tears when I have to leave
A heart full of love as big as the sky
Handfuls of kisses, but the days fly by

CHORUS…

BRIDGE
It won’t be long until you’re grown
You’ll marry and you’ll be gone
Everything may change and be rearranged
But my love for you will remain

CHORUS

Sister Mary © copyright 2010 Teddy Lynn – BMI

As I said, it’s not a masterpiece, that’s just how I expressed my feelings before blogging and social media came along. Siblings can sometimes have strained relationships and can sometimes even hate each other, but some share a great bond. I’m thankful for my little sister and the good relationship we’ve always had. Since we’ve grown up, we don’t see each other as often as we used to, but I still love her as much as I did when we were kids. There’s nothing like family, and there’s nothing like good memories, so cherish both, while you still have them.

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I MISS MY SISTER AND MY FRIEND

I was three years old, and my younger sister, Loretta, and I lived with our grandmother in a little house in Theo, Mississippi. Our mother came to visit one day and introduced us to our new baby sister. Her name was Shelia. She was the first baby I ever remember seeing, and she was so beautiful. She reminded me of a baby doll like Loretta had. I just wanted to hold her and never let her go, but soon it was time for her to leave. We didn’t want her to go but we all said our goodbyes and she was gone.

We were so sad, so I got my mother’s old guitar and told my grandmother I wanted to write a song about our new sister. She got a pencil and a piece of paper, and I began to “play” the guitar, and “sing.” Can you imagine what that sounded like? Years later, I came across that piece of paper with that song written on it in my grandmother’s things. It was only a few lines, so I rewrote it and gave it to Shelia in a picture frame on her birthday one year. She loved it and always said it meant the world to her.

When we were younger, mom and dad would bring her to visit from time to time, and we would go see them occasionally. Then, when she was five years old, she came to live with us. She was my best friend. I could tell her anything. We shared a lot together. I could always make her laugh. Several times, I have said, that if I could clone her, I’d always have an audience to laugh at all my jokes.

She had her share of problems but she didn’t let too many others see them. She had a good fun-loving personality and she usually had a smile on her face. People loved her. She had so many friends. She fought cancer for eight years before losing the battle. I felt so helpless sitting there watching her die, but there was nothing I could do. I just wanted to hold her and never let her go, but soon it was time for her to leave. We didn’t want her to go but we all said our goodbyes and she was gone.

I could never forget her, or the unconditional love she had for me. She’ll always be in my heart. I loved her from the first day I saw her. We were best friends when we were growing up. She never judged or condemned me and she would never allow me to say negative things about myself. She always had good things to say about me, and she always tried to encourage me. There are just no words to describe how much I miss her. I wish I could hear her voice again. I wish I could hear her laugh again, and see her encouraging smile.

Someday, my wish will come true. It’s such a blessing to know that she was saved and we’ll all be together again when Jesus returns. We’ll get to see her again, and Daddy and Momma, and our grandmother, and the rest of our family and friends who were born again before they died. I’m looking forward to that day.

It’s important to know that we’re saved. The Bible tells us that we can know (1 John 5:13). It’s sad when a loved one dies and leaves the family to wonder if they’re saved or not, but it will be even sadder for the person who dies without being born again. As long as we’re breathing, there is hope, but when death comes to our door, our fate is sealed. If we’re saved, we’re saved. If we’re lost, we’re lost. So don’t wait a moment longer. Make that decision today, and live forever in the presence of our Lord. You won’t regret it.

Related Article: What Must I Do To Be Saved?

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WHEN DADDY CAME TO VISIT

I was somewhere between three, and five years old, and it was early Autumn. It was cloudy, and dreary outside, so my sister and I were playing inside when we heard a knock on the door. As we wondered who it could be, our grandmother went to see. When she opened the door, there stood our dad. He came in and we ran over to greet him. We asked him where our mother was, and he said, “She’s at home. She don’t know I’m here.” He said, “Get ready, and we’ll go surprise her.” He told my grandmother to get ready, and we would all go to his house for a few days. She quickly gathered everything she thought we would need, and we were ready to go. We all crammed into his black, 1953 Dodge truck, and we were on our way.

When we arrived, my sister and I got out as quickly as we could and ran inside to see our mother and our little sister. Our mom was happy to see us and was glad to hear we were staying a few days. We asked her if she was surprised, and she said yes, and that it was a great surprise.

My dad and uncle went hunting, and we spent some time with our little sister, while our mom and grandmother spent some time together, cooking and talking. Later that evening, after dark, the hunters returned with a dead raccoon. They skinned it and made some sausages. I remember seeing my uncle wearing a Coonskin Cap that night. He probably had it already, but for years, I thought he made the cap that night from that raccoon. That would have been pretty nasty, I’m sure.

In my parent’s house, breakfast always consisted of mackerels, boiled in a bit of water, and biscuits to sop up the soup. It was pretty good. Then there was the “Thickened Gravy” made with chicken-flavored bullion cubes. It was always good, too. Mom and dad would take turns making the Chocolate Gravy, but, no matter which one made it, it was always delicious.

For lunch that day, we got to try the sausages. They tasted pretty good, but I don’t recommend it, since raccoons are scavengers. They’ll eat anything.

My mom always made T-Cakes when we would visit. She would mix it all up, and get it ready to make into cakes, then she would give us a little to eat before she cooked them. It was pretty good, but nothing compared to how good they were after twenty minutes in the oven at three hundred and fifty degrees. She was a pretty good cook, and she made the best iced-tea in the world.

That night, a torrential downpour came. It rained for the longest time. The roof was covered with tin, and we could hear every drop that fell on it. I remember Daddy coming in, soaking wet. As he took off his coat, he said there were small fish falling from the sky. I had no reason to disbelieve him at the time, but when I was older and got to know him better, I thought he might have been joking, when I would think about that night. I never thought to ask him if it really happened, but I do know there have been recorded reports of “Raining Fish” as far back as the 1600s, so I guess it’s possible.

Well, soon the time came to go back home. We were sad we had to leave, but our home was with our grandmother. She was a pretty awesome cook herself. We went back home to our quaint, little house, and resumed life as usual.

I’ve always been thankful for those few days, and for all the other times we got to spend with our parents. Those memories will always be dear to my heart, but I’m so grateful to my grandmother for raising us and taking such good care of us. Our mom and dad were not yet Christians at the time, but our grandmother was. I’m so thankful for the values she taught us, and for introducing us to Jesus. I’m looking forward to the day when Jesus comes and gathers the dead and the living believers, and we can all be together as a family once again. Until then I have my memories.

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MY FIRST CAR

My first car was a slightly used, green, Ford. I don’t think I ever knew what year, or exactly what kind it was. I was just so happy to be getting a car of my own, I don’t even think I asked. I got it from my dad when I was sixteen years old. He and my mom were separated, and he asked me to come to live with him. So I did. He got me a job where he worked, and we got to know each other a little better.

I remember him giving me the keys, along with a speech. I don’t recall what he said, other than something about keeping a check on the oil. I was too excited to pay much attention, and besides, I knew how to drive a car. I had been driving my cousins’ cars for some time. I didn’t think I needed any pointers. It felt so good to have my own car. Now I could go anywhere I wanted, any time I wanted. Freedom at last!

I don’t remember what I said, but I’m sure it wasn’t much more than okay. I wanted to get on the road as soon as possible and get my new adventure started, but I didn’t get far until trouble found me. The oil light came on just a few miles down the road, and that could only mean one thing. The car had to be low on oil. I stopped at the first store I came to. I got a quart of oil and poured it into the engine. I was back on the road in no time, headed to my grandma’s house.

Before I even got to her house, the oil light came on again. So I stopped at another store to get another quart of oil. I was thinking to myself, “I’ve bought an oil drinker.” So, instead of just getting one quart, I bought several, just in case that light came on again when I wasn’t near a store. I put another quart into the engine and took off again. I finally made it to my grandmother’s and visited for a while. Then I was back on the road again.

That light came on several times that day, and I kept pouring oil in and driving, driving, driving. I went to see my cousins, and friends for a while, and I ended up at my other grandmother’s house because she lived close to dad. When I started to leave from there, the car would not start. I tried everything I knew, which wasn’t much, but still, it just wouldn’t start. When the battery was finally drained, and there was no chance of getting it started without help, I walked back to dad’s house and told him the news.

He went and got the car later, and had it running in a couple of days. It turns out that the car wasn’t leaking oil like I thought it was. The problem was the oil light. It would come on sometimes, and stay on until the car was turned off. When it was started back up, it would be off for a while, then come back on later. The car didn’t need any more oil, but I was putting a quart in every time the light came on. Daddy drained the oil out and let me know I had put over a gallon too much in that engine. It had overflowed, and got into the starter, and ruined it. That’s why it wouldn’t start.

Ugghhh! I felt so stupid. My first car and I only got to drive it around for a few hours before I ruined it. I can just hear me now saying to myself, “Why does this always happen to me?” Well, for one thing, I didn’t listen when my dad was trying to tell me about the car, and the oil light. I thought I knew all I needed to know. I found out I didn’t know all I thought I did.

Over the years, I’ve also gotten in trouble several times by not listening to my heavenly Father. How about you? Many of us think we know all we need to know at times, but we need to remember this old phrase, “Father Knows Best.” He has given us clear instructions in his word, the Holy Bible, and he is just a prayer away at all times. He loves us and wants what’s best for us. So, listen closely to what he has to say every day. It will save you a lot of grief later.

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© 2016 Teddy Lynn – All Rights Reserved

My books are available in paperback and digital format on Amazon @ 
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