The Christmas Cobbler

By: Jewell Burrow My mother, born in 1920, wrote this quaint children’s story. What a gift to find it again. She would love knowing that you read it to your children this year. Once upon a time, there was an old cobbler named Peter. Day by day, he worked away at his bench, a-tap-a-tap,a-tap-a-tap, trying to make each pair of …

Memories of Mama

I put down my book and looked at my watch—1:15 a.m. Surely I could fall asleep now. After all, I was already in bed. The events of the week had been tiring. A fifteen-hour flight back to the States. A graveside service for my 79-year-old dad. A stretch of tedious days and nights with my elderly mom. I wondered how …

Mama’s Doll

My training union teacher had the flu, and Mama was substitute teaching at our small, rural church. Pansy Baptist Church sat between two cotton fields, smelling of old hymnals and potluck dinners, with an attendance board that testified ten present that evening. I was the only child. As Mother and I settled in the classroom, I asked her to tell me a …

Mama’s Ingredient

“3/4 cup of Judges 5:25.” The first time I read this was in 1969. Printed on a torn slip of notebook paper, my Sunday School teacher gave me this assignment as I joined my mom at the door. All the way home in our ’66 Impala, I chattered about the cooking party the following Saturday. Each student in our rural …

Warm Snowballs

Holiday prep on the farm always involved the kitchen. And when you live twenty-one miles from the nearest grocer, you find stockpiling sugar, flour, and spices as traditional as evergreen, tinsel, and holly. Mama had lived through the depression, so our farmhouse had little chance of scarcity, especially during this time of year. Almost 600 square feet of its eighteen-hundred …

The Mothering Seed

As I think about my own mother this weekend, I continue to find evidence of her quiet, steady influence. She touched many lives in a patient and thoughtful way with tireless acts of service.  When I discovered her poem, “The Seed,” I thought, “That’s me…I was the heart into which she planted.” While this is true, I also continue to hear stories …

Mama’s Christmas Memory

Sorting through forgotten letters and old photographs, I found this little story written by my mother in about 1963. Since she gave it the title “What Does Christmas Mean to You?”, I wonder if she had written it for a local newspaper or maybe to present to her ladies prayer group. Either way, you will want to grab a cup of hot …