Simpler Times - Whatever Happened to Aprons?

by Cindy Hester

So what ever happened to aprons? Thinking back I can never remember either of my grandmothers being in the kitchen without one. Aprons were multipurpose garments. They served in capacities as diverse as keeping your clothing clean to being a fashion statement. 

In my former life (to borrow a phrase from Leon Hale), I received multiple aprons at the wedding shower for my first marriage. These were not just any old aprons...they were hand-made with love and care. They signified a rite of passage. I was becoming a woman with her very own home complete with her very own kitchen...AND I had aprons! (I didn't know anything much about life or cooking, but I had aprons.) 

I'll never forget the first time I tied one of those precious aprons around my waist. Back then, I had no knowledge of today's cooking icon, Paula Deen, If I had, hers would have been the reflection I saw in the mirror whenever I donned that apron. I felt it held the power for me to whip up any delicacy and wipe away all tears with a single touch. I had witnessed my grandmothers perform both miracles many times. 


Thinking back, I can see my Maw Maw Hood in her apron working away whipping up pie crusts, frying up chicken, and separating the cream from the milk my Paw Paw had gotten from the milk cow earlier that morning. I can see my Maw Maw Moore mixing meringue to go on top of her famous lemon meringue pies, or making one of my Paw Paw's favorite jelly cakes...a recipe she came up with during the Great Depression when money and supplies were sparse. I see them drying their freshly washed hands on their aprons, and I feel the dampness of the cotton as they held me close giving warm hugs and kisses as they finished their tasks. 

I hear the cluck and squawk of the hens and the roosters, and I see the feathers flying in excitement knowing that the bulging apron my Maw Maw holds by the edges is full of feed. I see her hard working hands fling the kernels of  feed, sprinkling it out on the ground in the chicken yard. Once the feed is gone, I see her entering the chicken coop to gather the fresh eggs, gingerly placing them within the skirt of her apron for carrying back to the house.

I hear that aprons are making a comeback, and I do so hope it is true. I read that aprons used to be simply a necessity, but it seems that these days they're more of an accessory. Maybe this is part of what is wrong with today's world. Maybe we've turned necessities into accessories and accessories into necessities. At any rate, while I'm thankful mankind has created KFC and The Cheesecake Factory, only God could have made my apron wearing grandmas. 

Simpler Times - The Beginning

by Cindy Hester

Everyone needs a sense of continuity. I am reminded of this each time I get within a few miles of my home town. I forget how much it means until I drive past a structure that used to house a store containing my favorite toys, or whenever pull into the driveway where I spent so many childhood days learning and growing. I have come to treasure the weekends I get to spend with Mom in Livingston more and more. These trips have more often than not become journeys down memory lane. Most of these trips Charlie likes to go out to the cabin at the farm during the day for a little quiet time, so Mom and I are free to roam wherever our sense of adventure happens to take us.

We have traveled to relative's old home places I visited as a child. We have frequented buildings that once held family owned businesses where I was fitted for new clothes and shoes, and others where I was allowed to choose a toy or candy whenever I behaved. We have driven past churches where my Dad held revivals, and stopped to reminisce beside Bold Springs Baptist church, the little country church where my grandfather pastored for over 40 years. This is the very same church my parents grew up in, where they were later married, and where my father is now buried.

Many of these relative's homes now stand vacant and and overgrown with weeds. The businesses I remember have long since been converted into restaurants and antique malls, or law offices and such. Many of the churches where my Dad held revivals have moved on to newer buildings, and the people I remember being members at Bold Springs Baptist Church have gone to be with the Lord. It is amazing, however, that within a second, in the deepest recesses of my heart, memories come to life.

Driving up to Aunt Agnese and Uncle Tom's old home place, I hear the laughter of children, and the voices of my grandparents.I hear the slamming of the screen door by the garage and see my Aunt Gertie walking over to visit from her house next door. Driving past old buildings downtown, in my mind I see H.B. Davis clothing store and Perry Brothers. I can almost smell the fresh popcorn and see the small toys separated out in their little glass bins lining the aisles. I hear the laughter and talking of neighbors as they gather on main street to watch Christmas parades. I remember the smell of the wooden pews and the old Heavenly Highways hymnals from which we sang those good old southern gospel songs at so many revivals. I see myself, my cousins and my friends running and playing tag before church at Bold Springs while all of the men sat on the porch of the fellowship hall and Sunday School rooms talking about their livestock and gardens while the women sat inside sharing tips on canning and jelly recipes. I remember Aunt Ramona leading the children's choir in songs like "Deep and Wide" and "Jesus Loves the Little Children" signaling that it was time for services to begin.

Dad always wanted to write a book entitled "Simpler Times". During his last days we discussed the possibility of a joint effort in doing so, but we did not quite get our project off the ground in time. My time spent reminiscing with Mom has been so precious to me that I am going to dedicate the next year or so attempting to share memories...for myself and for many of  you who may remember the same types of special times as well as those of you who are way to young to know of such happenings. I hope you enjoy reading each excerpt as much as I will enjoy writing it. These writings are dedicated to both my Mom and Dad for giving me such priceless memories to share.

John's Story



John today with son,  Randy, and wife, Chelsey



by Cindy Hester

“Momma, Momma, Mamma...God healed my ear...I can HEAR! I can HEAR I can HEAR!!!” The words sent a surge of shock and awe throughout my entire body. My son was crying tears of inexplicable joy, his words saturated in the wonder of it all. For John it was more than the incredulous healing...it was a direct touch from God.

This is not the first time God reached down from heaven to intervene on John’s behalf. His very existence on this earth was the result of a touch from God’s healing hand. I was working at a Savings and Loan branch in Tyler, Texas whenever I found out I was expecting John. Things had gone incredibly well until near the end of my 27th week of pregnancy when I went into premature labor. I knew when that morning something was not right. I had begun having contractions, but I tried to chalk it up to false labor. As the morning progressed I knew something was wrong, so I called my doctor who advised me to go directly to the emergency room.

Mother Frances Hospital, Tyler, Texas

Upon my arrival the desk clerk took one look at me and sent me straight back to an examining room. I forget the exact timeline events happened after that. As the day went on the contractions became stronger. My normally jovial doctor walked into the room with a somber look on his face. He proceeded to tell me that since I was only a little over 6 ½ months into the pregnancy, the dangers and complications of having the baby were immense at this point. He began preparing me to understand that we would be fortunate if the baby weighed 2 lbs, and that little boys had a much lower survival rate being born this early and tended to have more long-term problems than did little girls. He went so far as to say that he would be surprised if the baby lived. He was compassionate, but he wanted me to understand the severity of the situation.

I then learned that they had found a large tear in the amniotic sac that surrounds and protects unborn babies from infection. I had begun leaking amniotic fluid which to my understanding had triggered the premature labor. This presented a huge dilemma. There was a high probability of losing the baby should my labor progress to the point of giving birth. However due to the tear in the amniotic sac, there was an even higher risk of infection and the development of a condition called Pediatric Pulmonary Hypoplasia if labor were to be stopped and I carried close to full term. Pulmonary Hypoplasia is an incomplete development of the lungs and is a common cause of neonatal death and is a common finding in stillbirths. The medical prognosis looked grim, and all I could do was cry and pray, pray and cry.

The Methodist Hospital, Dallas Texas

The labor progressed. They began administering the drug Terbutaline to delay preterm labor. The use of Terbutaline is known to be risky for both the mother and the baby, but it was the only one that was working. I developed complications to the medication, and it had to be stopped. Labor resumed, and my doctor came in to say that it looked as though I would deliver that night. It was then determined that I needed to be transported by ambulance from Mother Francis Hospital in Tyler, Texas to The Methodist Hospital in Dallas, Texas. The Methodist Hospital was known to have one of the best neonatal units in the North Central Texas area where we lived at the time.

Devastated by the news, I cried and prayed. As they were prepping me for the ambulance ride, the sweetest little nurse came in to get me ready for the trip. I will never forget it as long as I live. She took me by the hand and asked if I would like for her to pray with me. Through my tears I told her that it would mean the world to me if she would. She put her hands on my stomach and began praying the sweetest prayer of intervention and healing. She closed the prayer with expressions of thanksgiving and faithful expectation but humble submission to God’s divine plan. Within an hour the contractions had slowed, and I was resting peacefully. They postponed the ambulance ride until the next morning in order to avoid unnecessary movement. The air ambulance remained on standby in case there was a need to get to Dallas in a hurry.

The next morning I was transported to Dallas by ambulance as planned. The doctors there were able to bring the contractions under control, but that is not the most amazing part of the story. Incredibly, they could no longer find a tear in the amniotic sac, and the fluid had ceased leaking! The doctor was amazed and had no explanation. Often a small tear can occur and heal itself, but he had never seen one of the magnitude I had experienced do so. I knew beyond a shadow of a doubt that God’s hand was on this child’s life.

John the day after he was born.

I spent six weeks in the Dallas hospital unable to get out of bed. During that time I spent many hours talking to John before he was born, which probably explains why he often tunes me out now! After a couple more weeks having to stay in bed at home, I was allowed to go into labor. John was born with some issues to the lungs, but nothing that did not develop with time, as you can easily see today by looking at the healthy man before you.

Fast forward five years...Stafford, Texas...late December, 1987. John had the sniffles and was feeling kind of yucky, but nothing that seemed out of the ordinary for a typical 5 year old kindergartner exposed to the normal childhood illnesses on a daily basis. Later that evening he began running a fever and was feeling bad, so I gave him Children’s Tylenol and put him to bed. I planned to keep him out of school for a doctor visit if he was not feeling better by the morning.

He had been asleep for a little over an hour whenever a blood curdling cry stopped me in my tracks. I ran to find him holding his ear in severe pain and burning up with fever. I had never seen anything develop this quickly, and I was terribly concerned as to what was causing him to be so sick in such a short period of time.

His Dad and I rushed him to the emergency room in search of answers. It was determined he had a severe ear infection, and due to the quick onset, the pain, and the high fever he was admitted to the hospital for observation. His condition continued to worsen with time. Further testing showed that he had developed a condition called Mastioditis, which is an infection of the mastoid bone of the skull located just behind the outside ear. We found out that it is usually caused by a middle ear infection that spreads form the ear to the mastoid bone of the skull. Complications of this disease range from destruction of the mastoid bone, dizziness, epidural and brain abscess, facial paralysis, meningitis, partial or complete hearing loss, and spread of infection to the brain or throughout the body causing anything from brain damage to death. Additionally, Mastoiditis can be difficult to treat because medications may not reach deep enough into the mastoid bone. Again I found myself crying and praying.

Things began moving quickly at this point. A spinal tap was ordered among numerous other tests. The result came back positive for viral meningitis. Although antibiotics were administered in an attempt to prevent spread of the infection in the mastoid bone, they would have no affect on the viral meningitis. It had to simply run its course. These are not the words a parent wants to hear. My human side found it hard to simply sit and wait on God’s timing. I firmly knew, however, that family and friends were covering John in prayer which brought me great comfort and hope.

John just before getting to go home from Southwest Memorial Hospital.

As the week progressed, John seemed to be getting better. Santa was able to find us in the hospital, and John perked up to play with his new toys. After about a week he was released to go home with follow-up treatments scheduled after the holidays. Thankfully it was Christmas break so school was not a factor. He was able to rest, recuperate, and not worry about falling behind.

A few days after returning home, however, John began complaining about pain in his ear again. His fever returned followed by nausea and listlessness. We rushed him to the doctor who sent him directly to the hospital. The Mastoiditis had returned with a vengeance, and this time it had brought bacterial meningitis along with it.

It turns out that bacterial meningitis is much more life-threatening than viral meningitis. Upon diagnosis John’s hospital room was immediately quarantined. All medical personnel entering or leaving the room had to wear gloves, a disposable paper gown, and a mask. We were told his condition was serious. The Mastoiditis in conjunction with the Meningitis had wreaked havoc on his little body. He was one sick little man. Throughout this time prayers were lifted up, not only for John, but for Rachel, Sam, and our family and friends who had also been exposed to the meningitis either directly or indirectly.

The morning after John had been admitted to the hospital we noticed him holding his head to the side. The doctor also noticed and ordered tests to determine if there was hearing loss. The tests revealed that the swelling from the meningitis and mastoiditis had completely killed the nerve that travels through a narrow passageway between ear and brain.

The vestibular nerve that controls balance on the right side had also been damaged. John could not walk unassisted, and he had to relearn how to balance himself. He began withdrawing in social situations because it was easier to tune everything out than to attempt to hear, especially in crowded places. He spoke quietly and tended to mumble which led to an even greater passiveness than his easy-going personality normally produced. We discussed the possibility of a Cochlear implant with his Ear Nose and Throat Specialist. He felt that since the implant worked in conjunction with the auditory nerve, the surgical risk was greater than any benefits John would receive from it.

I am so grateful to God that this story ends with hearing loss in one ear and not the loss of John’s life. There were so many things to be grateful for, but there were also many realities to face. He had to be cautious of activities that held the potential of trauma to his other ear. (Being the anxious mother I am, I always wanted him to learn sign language...just in case!) He had to learn how to adjust to directional noise, such as traffic. He was advised to stay away from contact sports, and certain occupations and activities would be off-limits. John was turned down for a tour in the military because of his hearing loss. Despite the fact I would have been so proud for him to serve, the Marine’s loss was a relieved mother’s gain. God had other plans for John.

John learned to live without hearing in his left ear in the same way that many have learned to deal with disabilities far more extensive. So why did God choose to restore John’s hearing? For the same reason he restored that amniotic sac and healed him from meningitis. God has a plan, and John has a story...a story of grace and healing. John, go forth and tell your story.

"Just like Caleb in the Bible,

May he grow in Your wisdom and Your power.

We lift him up, and give him back to You,

And pray Your will he’ll always do."

Thin Cinderella, Thin Cinderella, Wherefore Art Thou, Thin Cinderella

by Cindy Hester

Okay, is it just me, or does everyone have this much trouble losing weight after 50? I have walked, starved, prayed, begged, pleaded, cried, griped, and screamed my way through the past three months only to have lost 6 lbs! Now I know some of you are thinking I should be proud to lose 6 lbs, but I have seen days when I could sneeze and burn enough calories to lose 6 lbs.

I refuse to give up, though. I figure if I keep losing 2 lbs a month, I could reach my goal weight before my 55th birthday. Or maybe I should go easy on myself and shoot for 1 lb a month. Factor in the reduced metabolism each year, and I should reach my goal weight by no later than my mid-seventies. Woo hoo! Watch out Charlie boy!!

Almost Thanksgiving

by Cindy Hester

Wow, it is almost Thanksgiving. It is amazing how the world moves on seemingly oblivious of your absence despite the tremendous mark you left on it. I’ve been pouring over pictures from last Thanksgiving. How could we have known you would not be with us this year? If I had known, would I have done anything differently? One thought immediately comes to mind. I wish I had taken more time to savor the moments of that special day. I wish I had slowed my pace and captured my thoughts to live more in the moment...to worry less about the insignificant things...to focus on each word, each gesture, and each expression on your face. I wish I had lingered a moment longer whenever you hugged my neck in welcome.

With that said, I am so grateful to have the memories of last Thanksgiving and the many Thanksgivings before. I am thankful you were and still are a part of my life. I am blessed to know that to be absent on this earth is to be present with the Lord. I am fortunate to share your memory with a family who enjoys keeping that memory alive through stories of love, laughter and shared experiences.

I am sure that every day is Thanksgiving in heaven. I look forward to someday knowing the inexplicable joy you now experience. Until then, may I never take moments shared with family and friends here on this earth for granted. Lord, help me to live in the moment...focusing on each word, each gesture, each expression on the faces of those dear to my heart. And help me to linger a moment longer when giving and receiving those hugs of welcome.

Happy Thanksgiving.

This piece is dedicated to all my dear friends who lost their parents this past year. Please know that my heart is with you, especially this Thanksgiving.

Dearest Dad,

How can I put into words how much you are missed? I find myself drawn back home to be near you once again, if only in memories. I visited you today in many places. I left a little something from my heart on your grave site. I talked with you as we sat in the swing at the farm. I held your picture close as I sat in the study that was your sanctuary for early morning talks with God and where you prepared so many sermons to share. I felt your loving embrace as I snuggled deep into the recliner where you spent time napping, reading your newspaper, watching the Astros, or simply catching up on the evening news.

Momma feels the void even more deeply as fall approaches. She holds so many precious memories of you during this time of year. You would be so proud of her. She has displayed such strength and grace throughout the transition since your departure to heaven. I see in purest form how whenever God joins a man and a woman together they are no longer two, but one flesh. I see much of your strength and wisdom in Mom. I also see the pain of losing someone who is so much a part of you. She misses you so.

I hope you will forgive us, but we are turning your hay barn into the gathering place we always dreamed of out at the old home place. Somehow I think you would be proud of this place and what it represents. Working on this project has proven to be especially healing for us all. It has strengthened family bonds. It is the culmination hope for us. It is here that we gather to remember the past, enjoy the present and create memories for the future. It is on this dirt that our family heritage in Texas began. It is here that time slows and gives us pause to pass on the stories of this precious home place. It is here where our great, great grandparents lived and walked. It is here where your very life on this earth began. It is here that loved ones come to life in the memories of us kids, and in the imaginations of our children and grandchildren. It is here they will continue to know you. And it is here your presence is so strongly felt and remembered.

Your memory does live on, even in the youngest of the babies. Hollie and Kase point to your pictures and say, “Paw Paw.” Tyce and Drue still draw pictures for you sitting at your desk in your study. The most poignant moment took place yesterday as we were leaving to come back to La Porte. Little Randy ran to give Maw Maw Hood a hug goodbye. He then turned to ask if he could give Paw Paw Hood a hug. I explained that you were in heaven, but he could give your picture a hug and kiss. He gently picked up your picture from the desk and handed it to me. Standing in front of the picture frame, he lovingly took his little hands and traced your outline. He then gently pretended to remove your silhouette from the picture and held you next to his heart, squeezing you tight. Once done, he placed you back in the picture, and then tenderly placed a kiss on your cheek. You made such a lasting, loving impression on all generations of our family.

Somehow I feel like you know all these things, but I felt the need to tell you…just like I need to say one more time that you are loved.

From my heart to you in heaven,
Cindy

A New Day by Cindy Hester

Last night I cried. I cried so hard that I thought my heart would break. Charlie was playing music - music that stirred my very soul. I remembered your smile, your laughter, your gentleness, your fatherly embrace. I longed to hear your voice on the phone. I ached to see you and Mom walk through my door for an unplanned visit. My soul screamed in quiet agony wishing to be planning our next family trip to New Braunfels.

It all seemed to happen so fast. Last Christmas we all had a sense something would change. There was an eerie difference in that gathering of children and grandchildren. We all discussed it, but we couldn't quite put our finger on the source of it. It seems that you also knew. Looking back at pictures I see a telling look in your eyes...a foreshadowing of things to come. From there it all just seems like a whirlwind of surreal events and emotions. Now here we are without you on this earth.

This was the sadness I carried into my dreams last night. I guess it is all a part of saying goodbye. Grief is definitely not an event, but a process. The alarm clock brought these emotions flooding back as if I had only pressed pause to go to sleep. But that was before the sunrise.

Stepping out into the fresh morning air, God commanded my attention drawing my eyes upward to the most beautiful display of His splendor. The golden sun, hues of matching shades blending into a tapestry that no earthly artist could create. The sun's warmth bathed my face as if God Himself were reaching down from heaven to dry my tears. At that moment I felt the connection between this earth where I am bound and the heaven that is now Dad's home.

It is in moments such as this that my hope is renewed. It is these glimpses of God's majesty that remind me of the limitless beauty awaiting where Dad is. It is in these purposeful messages that God lovingly reminds me that He understands the pain of separation I feel. He omnisciently watches over me as a parent watches over a child anticipating Christmas morning. He knowingly smiles at the joy that awaits, but He asks me to trust, to hope, even to embrace this time of anticipated joy. Herein lies our hope...and thus begins a new day.