Past
Having just written about the “narrow escape” of my little brother Ken, I began to ponder the many instances in his life that were humorous, frightening, irritating, or producing some similar emotion. One particular incident in which I played an unfortunate role comes to mind. When Ken was about six years old, he was invited to a friend’s birthday party. My parents were both otherwise occupied that Saturday afternoon and so my mother asked me to supervise Ken—getting his clothes laid out, hair combed, and birthday gift ready to go. The party was just two houses down the street so it wasn’t a big deal. Things went wonderfully, until I noticed his sideburns. They seemed a little long to me. So being the officious big sister that I was, I grabbed my Mom’s scissors and began to shorten them. I just couldn’t seem to get both sides even with the result that I had to keep altering one side and then the other. I think, when I finally stopped, that his sideburns were approximately mid-temple area. Well, I could see that would never do. So I took my mother’s eyebrow pencil and proceeded to color them in. I happily sent him off to the party, all dressed up in his best khaki pants and button down shirt. It was, however, a hot summer day. When the party was over, he trudged back home with big tears rolling down his face. In the summer heat and sweating from playing games at the party, his “sideburns” had rolled down his face and dripped onto his shirt. He was in tears from the teasing. I was in tears much later from my parents’ justifiable reaction!
Present
As an adult, the only person close to me who trusted me with a pair of scissors was my husband—and that is because he never knew about my fiasco with Ken’s sideburns! Sometimes, the repercussions of one’s actions last a long time! I thought about this in light of the Syrian refugee situation. Now strange as that association may seem, bear with me a moment. It may make me seem a heartless human being, but I cannot feel that it is a responsible action to allow a group of people into our country whose religion dictates that Christians and Jews should be killed. There are those who will say that these are innocent men and women. However, men—and a woman—who were evidently believed to be “innocent” were responsible for the slaughter in Paris. Why are we importing individuals whose background may be questionable? Even the FBI states that in a war-torn country such as Syria, there is no guarantee of accurate background checks. Do we listen to our government who believes we should allow everyone in or should we listen to the Islamists themselves who claim that they have long been infiltrating this country? For many years now, the murderous actions of these Islamists have been multiplying. I honestly feel that my past actions with the scissors should be forgiven. After all, it was only one isolated incident. However, when actions are repeated until a pattern is formed, only the stupid would allow an individual a pair of scissors. The Bible says, “But if any provide not for his own, and specially for those of his own house, he hath denied the faith, and is worse than an infidel.” (1Timothy 5:8). We must take care of our own first and then we will be financially, emotionally, and spiritually able to care for others.
Recipe
Mom’s Fudge
1 stick of butter
3 cups of sugar
1 can of evaporated milk
1 teaspoon of vanilla
1 11.5 oz pkg. of semisweet chocolate chips
1 7 or 8 oz jar of marshmallow crème
A bunch of pecans (at least a cupful!)
Mix the butter, sugar and evaporated milk in a large pan. Heat over medium high heat, stirring constantly until the mixture reaches 234 degrees or the soft ball stage. Remove from the heat, add the vanilla, chocolate chips and marshmallow crème, stirring well until completely blended. Pour into a greased pan and refrigerate until set.
This was my mother’s recipe. Where she got it from, I do not know. However, it makes a creamy, delicious fudge that doesn’t last long. I cut it into squares and wrap them as gifts. I am still allowed to work with knives in spite of the scissors incident!
Having just written about the “narrow escape” of my little brother Ken, I began to ponder the many instances in his life that were humorous, frightening, irritating, or producing some similar emotion. One particular incident in which I played an unfortunate role comes to mind. When Ken was about six years old, he was invited to a friend’s birthday party. My parents were both otherwise occupied that Saturday afternoon and so my mother asked me to supervise Ken—getting his clothes laid out, hair combed, and birthday gift ready to go. The party was just two houses down the street so it wasn’t a big deal. Things went wonderfully, until I noticed his sideburns. They seemed a little long to me. So being the officious big sister that I was, I grabbed my Mom’s scissors and began to shorten them. I just couldn’t seem to get both sides even with the result that I had to keep altering one side and then the other. I think, when I finally stopped, that his sideburns were approximately mid-temple area. Well, I could see that would never do. So I took my mother’s eyebrow pencil and proceeded to color them in. I happily sent him off to the party, all dressed up in his best khaki pants and button down shirt. It was, however, a hot summer day. When the party was over, he trudged back home with big tears rolling down his face. In the summer heat and sweating from playing games at the party, his “sideburns” had rolled down his face and dripped onto his shirt. He was in tears from the teasing. I was in tears much later from my parents’ justifiable reaction!
Present
As an adult, the only person close to me who trusted me with a pair of scissors was my husband—and that is because he never knew about my fiasco with Ken’s sideburns! Sometimes, the repercussions of one’s actions last a long time! I thought about this in light of the Syrian refugee situation. Now strange as that association may seem, bear with me a moment. It may make me seem a heartless human being, but I cannot feel that it is a responsible action to allow a group of people into our country whose religion dictates that Christians and Jews should be killed. There are those who will say that these are innocent men and women. However, men—and a woman—who were evidently believed to be “innocent” were responsible for the slaughter in Paris. Why are we importing individuals whose background may be questionable? Even the FBI states that in a war-torn country such as Syria, there is no guarantee of accurate background checks. Do we listen to our government who believes we should allow everyone in or should we listen to the Islamists themselves who claim that they have long been infiltrating this country? For many years now, the murderous actions of these Islamists have been multiplying. I honestly feel that my past actions with the scissors should be forgiven. After all, it was only one isolated incident. However, when actions are repeated until a pattern is formed, only the stupid would allow an individual a pair of scissors. The Bible says, “But if any provide not for his own, and specially for those of his own house, he hath denied the faith, and is worse than an infidel.” (1Timothy 5:8). We must take care of our own first and then we will be financially, emotionally, and spiritually able to care for others.
Recipe
Mom’s Fudge
1 stick of butter
3 cups of sugar
1 can of evaporated milk
1 teaspoon of vanilla
1 11.5 oz pkg. of semisweet chocolate chips
1 7 or 8 oz jar of marshmallow crème
A bunch of pecans (at least a cupful!)
Mix the butter, sugar and evaporated milk in a large pan. Heat over medium high heat, stirring constantly until the mixture reaches 234 degrees or the soft ball stage. Remove from the heat, add the vanilla, chocolate chips and marshmallow crème, stirring well until completely blended. Pour into a greased pan and refrigerate until set.
This was my mother’s recipe. Where she got it from, I do not know. However, it makes a creamy, delicious fudge that doesn’t last long. I cut it into squares and wrap them as gifts. I am still allowed to work with knives in spite of the scissors incident!