Guest blog: God is Real by Gwyn Dooley

God is Real
God is real
And so alive
And not in some
Far, distant sky
But in my heart
With me each day
And ever near me
When I pray
He’s my comfort
And my help
Not an idol
On a shelf
But He is truth
And life and love
And every good thing
From above
For God is real
And so alive
And not in some
Far, distant sky
But in my heart
With me each day
And ever near me
When I pray
                     By: Gwyn Dooley

South Georgia

Guest blog: Teach Me To Walk by Gwyn Dooley

Teach Me to Walk

Teach me, Lord, to walk in Love
Lord, teach me how to Live
To walk by faith and not by sight
And help me to forgive


Guide me with Your still small Voice
Lord, light the way for me
And chase the dark clouds from my path
And still my stumbling feet

By: Gwyn Dooley



Guest blog: Gwyn Dooley’s poem, The Little Shoot

I would like to introduce a good friend of mine, Gwyn Dooley, from Georgia. She will join our, Guest Bloggers and hopefully bring us more of her writings from time to time.


Gwyn Dooley


In the garden of the Lord, I stand, an ancient, gnarled tree
I am not fair to look upon but the Lord delights in me
I was just a tiny, little seed when my life first began
So full of hope and promise, tucked safely in God’s Hand
Until one day He dropped me into the loamy earth
And stood by calmly waiting, until it gave me birth
I sprang forth green and tender, just a tiny, fearful shoot
To whom the Father whispered, “Someday you’ll bear much fruit!”
So, under the Father’s watchful gaze I grew up, stout and strong
And thrived beneath the loving sun when summer days were long
I lifted high my branches for all the world to see
I thought the Lord would notice and be so proud of me
But much to my dismay, He cut my fragile stem
And pruned back my long branches and thinned my wayward limbs
I cried, “Be gentle, Savior! I’m just a tiny, little shoot!”
My Father whispered softly, “Someday you’ll bear much fruit!”
As the summer came and went, I feared the autumn winds
That swirled and moaned around me, my branches sway and bend
But I did not snap or break but grew stronger with each puff
It hardened me for winters, when the icy winds were gruff
And so after many seasons, in all kinds of rugged weather
My limbs grew knotty and twisted, my bark as tough as leather
I hung my head when God walked by and looked upon my frame
I could not bear to see His Face, I felt such bitter shame
Oh, what a sorry sight I was, no more that tender shoot
To whom the Father whispered, “Someday you’ll bear much fruit!”
But much to my surprise, I heard Him say with glee
“You’re just exactly what I’d planned my little shoot to be!
For many birds do perch upon your limbs and rest
And feed upon your berries and build their tiny nests!
I AM so pleased with you, My tender, little shoot!
I always knew one day that you would bear much fruit!”

by: Gwyn Dooley


Taken from Port Tobacco Marina, Maryland

For as the earth bringeth forth her bud and as the garden causeth the things that are sown in it to spring forth; so the Lord God will cause righteousness and praise to spring forth before all nation.
Isaiah 61:11

Guest blog: Casual Conversation

I would like to introduce our new guest blogger known as, “sweetpea”.




Casual Conversation


Wall: “Hi”
Ceiling: “Hello”– in a soft sweet voice
Wall: “How are you?”
Ceiling: “Fine, how do you like my new design and colors?”
Wall: “It doesn’t match me-I’m so drab. Besides, who’s going to like a ceiling that looks like a sunny blue sky, with fluffy white clouds.”
Ceiling: “I do !! I love it” –she’s a sweet little girl and likes pretty things. “Wonder if you will get a new look.”
Wall: “Don’t know yet. I saw some pictures in the corner over there, but nobody could do that !”
Ceiling: “Don’t keep me guessing.”
Wall: “Well, for starters, there’s a can of ecru. What’s ecru?”
Ceiling: “A Victorian cream.”
Wall: “Oh, no , how boring. You look beautiful and I’m still going to be dull and boring.”


The people leave. Both the wall and ceiling are unhappy. And they have all night to think about what will happen next.


Suddenly people are in the room, moving ladders and stirring paints. The wall and ceiling are attentive and watching. The wall is still mad about the ecru and the ceiling has decided she wants birds in her clouds.


Wall: “(pouting) says “you do look beautiful, I’m so so ugly.”
Ceiling: “Wait, look, here comes brown, black, several shades of green and even some blue. What’s that blue for?”
Wall: ” I’m all ecru now, I look so clean and pretty. Wonder what’s next? I’m really getting excited.”


All the people leave. Tomorrow is another day. But the ceiling and wall can’t wait for the sun to come up.


Wall: “Wake up the people are coming back.”
Ceiling: “Yes, but they are different people. You are really going to be different from me.”


People are milling around, opening cans, mixing colors, testing big brushes and little brushes. They are looking at the walls from all angles.


Ceiling: “We are both so excited.”
Wall: “And both of us can watch what is going to happen next.”
Ceiling: “Oh, look at the long brown and black lines. They are developing into a huge tree! They have texture, color and depth. They have so much color. Hey, look at that guy on the tall ladder, what’s he doing ? He has the green and is painting all kinds of beautiful
leaves. Can you see them? From this side I can see everything.”


Wall: “Oh ! ! I have developed into a stunning work of art, I feel like summer in the sun ! But I want more. The pictures in the corner, remember
those? Well they are drawings, I think more is coming.”
Ceiling: “You always want more, but you are the greatest–I love you.”
Wall: blushing….” I love you too. Hey, sorry I didn’t feel your excitement earlier, look at me..I’m a wonderful tree!”

The people clean up again, they are so neat, we can really see so much while they’re gone.

Ceiling: “We are alone again to see the art. There is a little light in the corner and it adds so much ambience in ‘our’ new room.”
Wall: “Try to sleep, tomorrow should be a big day and so much fun. So, I wonder what is next?

And the people arrive…there is the little girl, she has come to look. She smiles and reaches to touch me, she says how real I am….WOW I’m a real tree ! !


Ceiling: “look, they are measuring her….strange….now those drawings are coming from the corner. Look the drawings are a tree house”
Wall: “I will be special, with my own real, live tree house.”


Carpenters begin to measure, cut, saw, hammer, nail boards, tie ropes and paint bright colors
and build a real live tree house in the corner , right in the tree.


Wall: “I can’t believe we are part of a real play room….the tree house fits the little girl exactly. She can climb up and peep out of the openings
By the ceiling….right by the tree…..


Ceiling: ” I can see her, she is a pleasant little doll. Suddenly she begins whistling. Look ! Look ! they’re opening the blue paint. We’re getting
Blue Birds of Happiness.

The sun shines brightly through the Windows, the colors are so real…….the playroom is done. The little girl comes back, with her little brother


Little Girl: “When you get as tall as me, you can climb into the tree house with me…we will have a picnic.”

As the Blue Birds of Happiness take flight from their nooks in the tree and from the sky ….all is good in the very special playroom………


This picture and the picture of the sweet peas were found on the internet for free.

The Outhouse

I would like to introduce, Gwyn Warren from Ellijay, Georgia, She is a very good friend of mine and she wrote the story below. As you can tell she’s a very good writer and storyteller. I believe Gwyn will be a very nice addition to the”Guest blogs” section.


The Outhouse


I don’t remember a lot about the days prior to Daddy’s funeral.  In those days the body was taken to the home rather than left at the funeral home as they are now.  Inasmuch as we didn’t live in Ellijay, his body was taken to my grandparent’s house.  Jo and I were led into the room where his body lay.

“Why isn’t he wearing his glasses?”  I asked.

“He’s asleep.”  Mom answered.  “He never wore his glasses to bed.”

“Why is he dressed like that?” Jo wanted to know.

“He was a veteran.  That was his Army uniform.  That’s the way I want people to remember him.”

We were then whisked away to some relative’s house to spend the night.

My next memory was of the funeral service.  I remember the 21-gun salute; but, I mostly remember the playing of “Taps”.  That’s when I remember crying for the first time.  That was the saddest music I had ever heard.  It would be more than fifty years later before I could listen to taps without crying.

After the memorial service, we returned to my grandparent’s house.  Our furniture was already there.  I didn’t understand and neither did Jo.

It seems in those days it was considered unseemly for a widow to live on her own, even if she had children living with her.  So, while Daddy lay in state, Mother’s brothers got together and moved us from Dalton to Ellijay.  We were going to be living with our grandparents and we didn’t even know them well enough to know how to address them.  We finally settled on Grandma for Mother’s mother, and Dad for her father.  She called him Dad, and since we no longer had a Daddy, Dad seemed a fitting name for us.  So began our days with Grandma and Dad.

Jo and I had been raised in the city.  At seven and eight years old respectively, we knew nothing about living in the country with no electricity and no running water.  We had a refrigerator, so Mother insisted on installing electricity in the house.  She agreed to pay for it herself.  It was cold weather, (Daddy died in January.) and it was too much for Jo and me to have to walk to the spring three times a day to get the milk and butter.

On “wash day”, we had to carry water from the well.  Mother’s wringer washing machine was there, but we had to fill it and then fill tubs in which to rinse the clothes.  Dad would take us to the well and fill 8# lard buckets with water for us to carry to the house, while he filled a couple of 2-gallon water buckets to carry himself.  He wouldn’t let us get near the well even though we wanted to explore everything about it because we had never before seen one.

It seemed to take forever to fill the machine; and, by the time we were finished our hands ached from where the wire handles cut into them.  The tubs were usually already partially filled because Grandma caught rainwater in them to rinse clothes.  We had to get the bugs out of the water that had drowned, of course, but I was always glad when those tubs were full on wash day.

While we adjusted to primitive living fairly well, there was one thing in particular we totally hated:  the outhouse.  It was in the middle of the cornfield; and, to two little girls a very long walk from the house.  It was called a two-seater because there were two oval shaped holes on the right side and a large square hole on the left side.  I was an adult before I knew the reason for the large square hole.  Dad had even built a step so that Jo and I could reach the seats.  The smell wasn’t so bad in the beginning because of the cold.

One morning Jo and I awakened to a snow-covered world.  We had to use the outhouse, so we waded through the snow together.  When we arrived, we saw that snow had blown in between the planks in the siding and the seat was white.  I suggested we use one of the catalogs to wipe off the seat.  (Did I mention they didn’t use toilet paper?  Instead they used old Market Bulletins and catalogs.) Jo decided a better idea would be to climb up on the seat and squat over the hole.

It sounded reasonable to me, so I suggested she go first till we figured out where exactly we had to be to hit the hole.  Standing between the two holes, she lowered her underpants.  In so doing, her feet started sliding and one went in the hole on the right and one went in the hole on the left.  She hit the space between the two holes with a thud and started screaming “Get Grandma!”

I ran back to the house as quickly as I could and explained to Grandma that Jo had fallen in the toilet.  I didn’t give her details, so based on how quickly she moved, I’m sure she must have thought Jo was down in the mess below.  She opened the door and saw Jo’s predicament and started laughing.  I had never seen anyone laugh so hard.  Tears were flowing down her cheeks and she wasn’t moving.  By this time Jo was crying because her legs were getting numb; I was terrified that Jo wasn’t going to be able to get out of those holes; and Grandma was laughing uncontrollably.

When Grandma could finally speak, she said “I’ll go back to the house and get Richard to come help you get out.”  This sent Jo into another frenzy because she didn’t want Dad to see her with her underpants pulled down.  Finally, Grandma and I together managed to get her pulled out of the holes.  Of course, she had peed on the seat and I didn’t want to sit down because the seat was wet.  Afterwards, Grandma and Dad agreed that if all we had to do was pee, we could go below the smokehouse in the back yard.  That was the best news we had had since moving in with them.

We lived with them for just over six months until Mother found us a rental house and we could move out on our own.  We were back to being city kids again, complete with electricity and running water.  Mother had two very happy little girls.


This is not a picture of the outhouse in Gwyn’s story. It’s from a collection of free stock photos, that I found on line.