A World Apart

(My brother's coffin and flowers.)


Each time I’ve visited national cemeteries, I’ve sensed a reverential silence hovering over them. Visitors, even very young ones, speak softly. Some kneel beside a grave or stoop to arrange a bouquet of flowers. Others sit in contemplative silence underneath shade-giving trees. The atmosphere there seems a world apart from the hustle and bustle taking place outside.

Such was my experience the day my family and I visited Punchbowl, the National Memorial Cemetery of the Pacific, located in Hawaii. Inside that almost perfectly round crater of an extinct volcano, we walked along on paved paths that meandered past the grass-covered graves of over 33, 000 men and women who had lost their lives while fighting to preserve freedom for the citizens of the United States and its allies.

As we strolled along that picture-perfect day, I became increasingly aware of the magnitude of the sacrifices that had been made. In addition to seeing row upon row upon row of marked graves, I saw, inscribed on the massive marble walls to the right and to the left of the series of steep steps leading to the upper areas of the cemetery, the names of Missing in Action soldiers (26, 280 of them!).

Each of the more than 100 national cemeteries contains the bodies of thousands of fallen military heroes. For example, over 250,000 are entombed at Arlington, which is near Washington, DC.

Thus, the price paid, in terms of human suffering, is astronomical, especially if this fact is taken into consideration: All those thousands of men and women left behind loved ones whose grief followed them to their graves.

But in the idyllic national cemeteries, there’s little evidence of the hellish conditions many of the soldiers experienced before death provided a merciful escape. Peace reigns in the garden-like places where their bodies rest. That’s as it should be, for no group is more deserving of serenity than those who experienced the atrocities of war.

These words of Sir Walter Scott, the Scottish writer and poet who lived 1771-1832, articulate far better than any words of my own the feeling in my heart as I’ve strolled past row upon row of graves in several cemeteries: “Soldier, rest! Thy warfare o’er, / Sleep the sleep that knows not breaking, / Dream of battled fields no more. / Days of danger, nights of waking” (The Lady of the Lake, 1810).

Every Memorial Day observance calls upon us to remember the sacrifices and the contributions made in the past. Each one also reminds us to give thanks and to pray for those who are currently doing their best, often at great personal cost to themselves and their loved ones, to ensure that the precious freedoms secured in the past are preserved until that future time when all wars will have ceased and the Prince of Peace will reign forevermore.

Then, “there will be no more death or mourning or crying or pain, for the old order of things [will have] passed away” (Revelation 21:4, New International Version).

©2010 by Johnnie Ann Burgess Gaskill, who welcomes comments.

The Tender Voice

One afternoon when two-year-old Peyton was almost asleep in my arms, the phone rang. When I answered it, Peyton could also hear her mother’s voice. Peyton sat up immediately and reached for the phone. She and Jennifer talked for a minute before Jennifer said, “Go to sleep. Mama will be there when you wake up."

Knowing Jennifer needed to go, I said, “Peyton, give the phone to Nana, please.”

She obeyed, though I sensed she wanted to keep talking. She lay in my arms and listened to me assure her mom that all was well.

As soon as I told Jennifer good-bye and started to put the cordless phone on the sofa cushion beside me, Peyton began to whimper and to reach for the phone.

“Mama’s at school,” I explained. “She had to say bye-bye.”

Peyton’s eyes filled with tears.

“Do you want to hold the phone?”

She nodded.

She drifted off to sleep, holding the phone close to her ear, hoping (expecting?) to hear her mother’s voice once again. Although I knew Peyton was very happy staying with me everyday while her mother taught school, I also understood that there was no voice as sweet or as dear to her as her mother’s. And that’s as it should be! I want her mother to hold first place in her heart.

That experience reminded me of a truth expressed by Henry and Richard Blackaby in their book, When God Speaks. It struck me the moment I read it. It still re-plays often in my mind, for it’s such wonderful advice for those of us who are seeking to hear the voice of the Lord and to obey Him. If there is no clear instruction, Blackaby says, wait until God does speak again.
Just keep doing whatever He told you last. (And don’t feel compelled to always be doing something.) But when God does speak, then do everything He tells you to do. (See p. 72.)

Like Peyton, we can rest peacefully, fully assured that soon we will hear the tender voice of the One who loves us even more than we love Him.

(c) 2011 by Johnnie Ann Burgess Gaskill

Children as Kites

Note: A friend e-mailed me the following article, attributed to Erma Bombeck. I regret that I do not know where the words were published because I would love to give proper credit. I took the photos on March 13, 2011, at the annual kite flying event at the University of Georgia Research and Education Garden in Griffin, GA, a beautiful garden that is open to the public. Free admission.

Children as Kites . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Erma Bombeck "I see children as kites. You spend a lifetime trying to get them off the ground. You run with them until you’re both breathless…they crash…you add a longer tail…they hit the rooftop…you pluck them out of the spout. You patch and comfort, adjust and teach. You watch them lifted by the wind and assure them that someday they’ll fly.

"Finally they are airborne, but they need more string and you keep letting it out. With each twist of the ball of twine, there is a sadness that goes with the joy because the kite becomes more distant, and somehow you know that it won’t be long before that beautiful creature will snap the lifeline that bound you together and will soar as it was meant to soar…free and alone. Only then do you know that you did your job."

Mother's Example

Note: Little did I know when I wrote this column on May 4, 2010, that it would be read at Mother's funeral on January 16, 2011.

At this writing, my mother no longer knows me—or anyone else in our family—but we know her and remember the love she gave us and the many things she did for us as long as she could. It feels very strange—and terribly sad, of course—to see Mother looking quite well (for someone age 93) and so familiar to us, yet to realize that, to her, we are just some nice “strangers” who’ve come to visit her. No mention of names of dear ones evokes any emotional response in her, because Alzheimer’s has erased all memory of them, as far as we know.

But, as I said, we do remember her, and we are still so very grateful for her loving care of us throughout the years and for the things she taught us. For example, she taught me how to cook and to sew, although I never reached her level of skill in the latter. She tried to teach me how to quilt, but, sadly, I wasn’t an eager learner.

However, I did learn many other things Mother taught me, among them: the love of reading, the value of quietly accepting whatever happens and making the best of it, the need to make good use of the time, the satisfaction of completing creative projects, the willingness to share with others whatever possessions and talents you have, the need to rely on God in every situation, and much, much more.

Mother and I are alike in many ways, different in others. Yet, we’ve always been very close. The older I get, the more I realize just how wonderful she was—and still is. Until the past few years, she was a treasure house of knowledge about our family and friends. She knew birthdays and other special days, ancestors and descendants, etc. She could tell interesting (and often funny!) stories about happenings in days gone by.

Mother has always been a quiet person, often looking frail; yet, she has incredible inner strength, even now that she is no longer able to take care of even her most basic needs. Each day, she exhibits dignity and grace and remains kind and cooperative. She never whines or complains about her situation. She simply does all she can to make it work for the best, as she has always done.

Now, as when I was a child, I cannot truly understand what life must be like for her. She has always made the hard things look easier than they really are. For example, when I was a child, Daddy worked in a town miles from where we lived. So, very early each Monday morning he drove off in the only vehicle we owned and didn’t return until late Friday afternoon. While he was gone, Mother did everything at home. She took care of the cow, the chickens, the garden, all the household chores, and, of course, my sister and me. We had no telephone at the time and no running water. But Mother seemed to manage just fine and didn’t fuss on Daddy for being away for days on end.

I often think about such things, especially when I read Proverbs 31 or Proverbs 1:8-9, which says, “Listen, my child, to what your father teaches you. Don’t neglect your mother’s teaching. What you learn from them will crown you with grace and clothe you with honor” (New Living Translation).

So, day by day, I give thanks for my precious mother and try even harder to follow the wonderful example she set for me.

© May 4. 2010 by Johnnie Ann Burgess Gaskill. For permission to use, please send e-mail to johnniegaskillATgmailDOTcom.

Increasingly Creative

For me, one of the most exciting things that happened during a day-long “water workshop” I attended was watching fellow camera club members become increasingly creative.


The two photography instructors had set up “stations” around the large room, each designed to provide a different kind of image. For example, one station had a glass baking dish half-filled with water to which a few drops of oil had been added. Underneath the dish was a multi-colored piece of fabric. All of that was sitting atop a light box, which lighted the dish from below. Other lights were strategically placed to illumine the sides.

After each student who photographed at that station gently stirred the water in order to move the drops of oil around, he or she began snapping images, varying the camera’s position and settings.

As the eleven of us worked, the instructors stayed nearby, offering guidance when needed.
As we experienced some measure of success at the various stations, we began to say, “I wonder what would happen if…” Soon students were working together, varying the lighting and the angles, changing out backgrounds and props, and so forth.

Because I was still recovering from having had blood clots in my lungs, I was more of an onlooker than an active participant, which allowed me to watch adults becoming increasingly creative—and having so much fun in the process, like children do.

A few weeks later, I was reminded of that experience the morning my grandson (age 3) began playing with Tinkertoys the three older grandchildren have enjoyed through the years. As he dumped the wooden sticks and circles and other components onto the bed where we were playing, the instruction sheet fell out.


“Nana, let’s make these,” Michael said, pointing to the diagrams.

“Honey, we can’t,” I said. “Some of the pieces we need are lost.”

Not upset by that, he began using the available pieces to make unique designs. For a time, I worked alongside him, creating fairly typical things like a flower, etc. But I began to notice that he wasn’t even attempting to create anything that already had a name. He was simply having fun fitting all the pieces together—in no particular order. And, let me tell you, he created some rather grand designs.

Naturally, I had to take pictures of him and his creations. So, for more than an hour he continued to be engrossed in his designs as I snapped photo after photo. (The external flash on my camera was pointed toward the white ceiling, causing reflected light to fall softly upon him, keeping him from being distracted—or blinded—by bright light.) While he played with his toys, I “played” with my camera by changing settings and lenses and shooting positions, and so forth. So, once again, as during the photography workshop, “A good time was had by all.”


As I reflect on that, I wonder why we adults rarely permit ourselves to enjoy creative activities. Why do we feel we ought to suppress that wonderful ability our Creator has placed within us? After all, He is creative! Beginning with the first book in the Bible, there are all sorts of acknowledgements of His creativity. Since He obviously enjoys expressing His creativity and surveying with pleasure His work, shouldn’t we?

©2010 by Johnnie Ann Burgess Gaskill. For permission to use, please contact her at johnniegaskillDOTgmailDOT com.

Drip! Drip! Drip!

Drip. Drip. Drip. One drop followed another, each splashing into a glass bowl half-filled with water. Our assignment was to photograph a drop after it hit the water and splashed upward. That was easier said than done!

Some of the 11 photographers who were trying to accomplish that ended up with a few beautiful images. As you might guess, not every picture was a keeper. One photographer said she tried more than 50 times to get a shot she liked. I finally managed to snap a few pictures of drops as they rebounded from the water; but, alas, none of mine were sharply focused. Therefore, I won’t be able to use them in any way. However, I plan to keep a few of the best ones on my hard drive, since they represent my first attempt at photographing a water droplet in motion.

Frequently throughout the all-day photography workshop, we had to use an empty detergent bottle to suction out the excess water in our bowls. I was surprised at how quickly the bowls filled up. After all, there was only one drop falling at a time. Drip. Drip. Drip. Yet, those individual drops made a difference!

A few days after the workshop, I listened to a speech that had been given at a photography workshop a year ago. The speaker reminded everyone that sales, even little ones, do add up. “It’s like water dripping from a faucet,” she said. “Drip. Drip. Drip. Your little successes may not seem like much, but, over time, they’ll add up.”

Her words encouraged me, not only in regard to photography, but to life in general. Little things we do consistently and to the best of our ability will, over time, make a difference.

For example, since I’ve rejoined The Wellness Center, I’m hearing about dramatic changes in many of the people who go there regularly to exercise. One friend has lost over 40 pounds. Another now has a full range of motion in knees that once were too stiff and sore to move very much. Another has lowered (significantly!) her blood pressure and cholesterol.

These changes didn’t happen overnight. Like the drip, drip, drip of the water, the frequent visits to the Wellness Center, over time, slowly added up, making a noticeable difference.

Rather than just sitting around wishing, hoping, and praying for change, the clients are working day by day to achieve their fitness goals. And, as I said, they are experiencing remarkable success.

No matter where we want to go in life or what we want to achieve, we reach our goal step by step by step, don’t we? Whether it’s restoring order to a cluttered space or training for a career, we do it bit by bit by bit.

As I reflected on all these things, I recalled a parable (an earthly story with a spiritual application) Jesus told. In the story, three servants are called to appear before their master to give an account of how they had managed the money he had given to them to use while he had been away. Two servants had managed the money wisely; one had not.

Read all about it in the 25th chapter of Matthew. Notice what the master said when he commended the two wise servants: “You have been faithful in handling this small amount, so now I will give you many more responsibilities. Let’s celebrate together!” (verses 21 and 23).

Being faithful in little things really does matter! So, let’s consistently take the small steps needed to get us to wherever we want to go. Step. Step. Step.

©2010 by Johnnie Ann Burgess Gaskill. For permission to use the photos and/or the text, please contact her.

Eyes That See

“Oh, my goodness! Come and look at this!” I said to my two oldest grandsons (ages 12 and 9) as I viewed the photos I’d taken earlier that day. “You can see the little straw-like thing that the butterfly is using to sip the nectar from the lantana!”

As we discussed the photo, I said, “I believe that little straw is called a proboscis.” A quick search on the Internet confirmed that.

Although I’ve taken lots of pictures of butterflies, I’ve either never taken a shot as sharp as the one I’d captured that day or else I’ve simply failed to notice the proboscis. But there it was!

That set me to thinking about how the Creator designed everything in great detail. No wonder, then, as He was creating the world and all that was in it, He often looked over His work and noted that it was good. (See Genesis, chapter 1.)

Photography enables me to get a closer look at His handiwork than I could with my natural eye. For example, I use a zoom lens to take a digital photo and then upload the image to my computer where I can magnify it even more, allowing me to see incredible details that I might have missed.

Thinking about this makes me wonder what else I’ve been failing to see, even though my physical eyesight is good (as long as I’m wearing my glasses).

As Jesus pointed out many centuries ago, “…people see what I do but they don’t really see. They hear what I say, but they don’t really hear, and they don’t understand. This fulfills the prophecy of Isaiah [6:9-10], which says, ‘You will hear my words, but you will not understand; you will see what I do, but you will not perceive its meaning. For the hearts of these people are hardened, and their ears cannot hear, and they have closed their eyes—so their eyes cannot see, and their ears cannot hear, and their hearts cannot understand, and they cannot turn to me and let me heal them’” (Matthew 13:13-15).

Since it is possible to have eyes that can see quite well yet often fail to see the incredible details all around us, it’s no wonder that we also fail to “see” (discern) deeper truths.

Thus, I hope that you, Dear Reader, and I will regularly use the words in the old hymn, “Open My Eyes That I May See,” as a prayer. Oh, how we need to see spiritual truths and to discern God’s will.

©2010 by Johnnie Ann Burgess Gaskill, http://www.jgaskill.com/.

A Sad Demise

As I watched a piece of heavy equipment tear down an old building that had long been an historic landmark in our town, I thought, “This is coming down much faster than it went up.”

According to an article in one of the local papers, those who attended the hotel’s grand opening in 1928 had deemed it “magnificent” and “gorgeous.” For many years, the four-story hotel attracted many visitors to the area and hosted civic club meetings, wedding receptions, showers, class reunions, and so forth.

But the years took their toll on the once grand hotel, and it had stood empty since the early 1990’s. Now, it’s being torn down, saddening many people and greatly altering the landscape.

I thought about the demise of the old hotel one recent morning as I heard a song on the radio that said, in part, “People don’t crumble in a day.” In other words, deterioration is usually a slow process, although when destruction is complete, it seems to have happened quickly. For example, through the years, neglect and the forces of time had been slowly destroying the old hotel. Yet, when the wrecking crews moved in, it was reduced to huge piles of rubble in a matter of hours. In about a week, all the debris had been hauled away, leaving the area ready to be used in a new way.

Similarly, we don’t often see the subtle changes that point to our demise. For example, we often fail to notice how our attitudes and actions are slowly propelling us down the path to pain and/or ruin. But, as the years pass, our condition becomes increasingly obvious. Our health begins to fail or our money runs out or our career ends abruptly or our reputation is ruined because of “little lapses” along the way.

Then, we, like the old hotel, come to an end that neither we nor anyone else expected when we set out upon life’s path. But as the song I heard also says, “It’s a slow thing when you give yourself away” or, to put it another way, when you and I give in to temptations that lead us down wrong paths.

As the Bible points out, there are definite steps that lead to destruction: ”Temptation comes from the lure of our own desires. These evil desires lead to evil actions, and evil actions lead to death” (James 1:14-15, New Living Translation.)

The King James Version, an older translation, describes the progression this way: “But every man [person] is tempted, when he is drawn away of his own lust, and enticed. Then when lust hath conceived, it bringeth forth sin: and sin, when it is finished, bringeth forth death” (James 1:14-15).

So whether we read the older version or a more contemporary one, the path to ruin is easy to understand, isn’t it? Desires. Deeds. Death. Yet, we often don’t see the progression, because, as in the case of the old hotel, deterioration can be imperceptible—on a daily basis. But as time passes, we begin to see how far we’ve gone in the wrong direction, sometimes to the point of total ruin.

Little wonder, then, that the Bible says, “Above all else, guard your heart, for it affects everything you do” (Proverbs 4:23, NLT). So, let’s keep watch over our daily choices, habits, and words, for they reflect the desires that are within our hearts.

© 2010 by Johnnie Ann Burgess Gaskill, http://www.jgaskill.com/.

The Teacher

We worked in silence most of the time, not because we had to but because we were concentrating hard on the 16x20 oil painting we were supposed to complete during the eight-hour session. As the instructor began to move from student to student, someone called out, “Help! I need the magic brush!”


Soft laughter erupted, and then several others said, “Me, too!”

That continued throughout the day. But while we waited our turn for help, we’d look more closely at the instructor’s painting that was projected on large TV screens and try to do what she had done.

Applying the paint to the canvas had looked so easy—effortless, actually—when the instructor had shown us how. But whenever we tried to paint the same part of the picture on our canvas, the clouds or the barn or whatever we were painting at the time didn’t look as wonderful as hers. So, we’d cry out, “Help! I need the magic brush!”

As soon as the instructor arrived at our easel, she’d make a cheerful comment and then take a long-handled brush like the one we were using, load it with some of the paint we’d mixed on our palettes, and then deftly apply it to our canvas. Within seconds she’d transform our round blobs into natural-looking rocks or our un-natural-looking water into a flowing, shimmering creek. Then she’d move on to the next student in need of the “magic brush.”


Actually, it wasn’t the brush that made the difference, else those of us who were using a brush like hers could have painted beautifully without any assistance. It was the teacher’s ability that brought about the transformation. Had it not been for her, many of us would have gone home with a mess rather than a beautiful oil painting we were proud to display.


Now, she didn’t do all of our work for us. Quite the contrary! We tried as hard as we could to do exactly what she had done, but whenever we called for help, she’d come right alongside us and show us what to do. Not once did she reprimand anyone for not listening carefully, for not remembering what she had said to do, for not trying hard enough, or for not being able to paint as well as she could.

She knew we wanted to learn. And even though some of us had to be told and re-told what to do, to be shown and re-shown, she remained patient.

As I reflected on that experience, I began to see how it paralleled, in some ways, that of Jesus and His disciples. What He did looked so easy, so effortless. But when they tried to perform a similar miracle, they couldn’t do it. More than once, they had to call on Him to do what they couldn’t do.


Naturally, they were terribly upset when He told them He was going away. However, He assured them they would continue to have a Teacher. “But when the Father sends the Counselor as my representative—and by the Counselor I mean the Holy Spirit—he will teach you everything and will remind you of everything I myself have told you” (John 14:26).


An ever-present teacher! What a gift! And there’s more Good News: the Teacher is always with you and me, too, enabling us to be and do far more than we (or anyone else!) ever thought possible.

© 2006 by Johnnie Ann Burgess Gaskill, http://www.jgaskill.com/. Scripture quoted is from the New Living Translation.