Freda Jane Wood—Devoted Church Volunteer's Life Set a High Bar For Giving

Freda Jane Wood came into this world on August 26, 1957, a Baby Boomer by generation, only daughter and fourth child born to Bob and Jane Wood. At the time she was given the named of her aunt, Freda, and her mother’s name as her middle name. Growing up in Bryan with three brothers, she quickly learned to love sports, which would remain an important part of her life forever. She loved her family dearly, and she grew up in First United Methodist Church of Bryan, and clearly idolized her parents, Robert “Bob” and Jane Wood.[Photo, FUMC Bryan Directory, 1995, Jane and Freda Wood]

It was in 1993 I first met Freda, at the former 6pm Sunday evening worship services led by Rev. Bob Richers, formerly of FUMC Bryan. Freda would bring her mother, Jane, to our group of about 100 gathered for an evening opportunity to praise and worship God once again that day, furthering our resolve to live better lives in the coming week.

Two ladies, Anita and Jan, alternated playing the piano for 6 pm worship at this service you’d hear traditional “Methodist” golden oldie hymns, and a Cokesbury song or two. Freda could have easily been part of the Sanctuary Choir as she had a good second soprano voice, but that wasn’t one of her goals.

Different times over the Sunday nights, I learned from Freda a lot of the history of our church. Having grown up there, she knew virtually every member, old and new; she’d been present for each of the many developments and growth and building phases that happened through the years. Not any different than anywhere else in the United States in the 1960s, the church’s administrative structure would be described properly when you said, “The men of the church.” That was indeed the composition of those who made decisions, and those who financed with personal funds, the growth of their church.

Her father was an accountant, and the CPA firm formerly known as Durst, Wood, Milberger, et al. was part of her family history. She worked there in the office for many years, until her brother Gene opened his own accounting practice, and she joined Gene there. That was Freda by day. By night, she was at FUMC virtually “every time the doors opened,” for two reasons: (1) she loved it, and (2) she knew she might be needed to do something.

Doing “something for her church” came naturally to Freda. Never once did she have to be asked because she had already volunteered, rounded up a team, and was well on her way to fixing whatever was broken, as she saw it. The quality of never having to be asked to help because you see a need and just move to repair is rare, as things go.

[Photo, FUMC Bryan Directory, 1999, Freda and Jane Wood]

When it came to her church, every action she took was merely what she learned from childhood. She saw her father, one of the “pillars of the church,” work together with others, such as the late Joe Hanover, Holland Porter, and others who remain with us today. If something broke, they took out a pen, opened their checkbooks and paid for it. Never did a fund-raising campaign have to be initiated. No magic appeal or consultants were required. And then the church grew larger and larger.

Back then the church was a frequent part of estate giving for local families, and the Permanent Endowment Fund was often grown as individual gifts and trusts were set up to provide funding for the future of FUMC. Church leadership changed over the past forty years as more women were brought into that role, matching what was going on around the country, albeit slightly slower than the national scene.

Women were offered and excelled in leadership roles, and were also found to be most generous in financial support. I have yet to hear one of them named as a “pillar,” but that definition is no longer used contemporarily anyway. Pillars are made of some kind of clay and held together with mortar, and it all depends on the foundation as to how long and how strong it will prevail.

I first saw Freda’s impact in action ca. 1995, but she’d been at it long before that. Freda was a favorite of the town’s older generation, as she was a willing volunteer who would do anything she could for widows who might not have children immediately nearby to help out with simple tasks. I remember Frances Allen describing her at one time as “you would hear that we’d be expecting a freeze soon on the weather forecast, and you’d look out your window and see Freda wrapping your outdoor water faucets to prevent them from freezing up. She didn’t wait to be asked.

And so a long-term friendship would be cemented between generations. Freda did all these things with the love and approval of her mother, Jane, for whom she was devoted daughter and caregiver until Jane’s passing in October, 2015. Freda’s ministerial efforts were all indirect for years and she chose the people to help who had been devoted to her church all of her life.

She took ballet as a child from wonderful angel Jane Lee and Freda adored her. In her later years, she preferred functional comfort to fashion so if you haven’t known her more than 20 years, you’d have missed the beautiful outfits and matching jewelry that she always wore for church directory photographs and other special occasions. A few pictures here from past directories underscore that fact.

It was when a new senior pastor was appointed to FUMC in 1995 that would ultimately change the church forever, at least in terms that I perceive (your mileage may vary). For the first time in memory, the Methodist church was less about the changeup of ministers every few years to a new trend of allowing them to remain in place longer term. At least that is how it felt to those of us who had always heard of the process of fairly quick rotation. It was a guarantee that if you didn’t resonate with the style of one pastor, another would be along soon, so keep worshiping consistently and trust in the Lord even if you didn’t in the Bishop’s wisdom.

Early on, that newly appointed senior pastor decided he would change things up and reroute everything that once was one direction to flow another direction, his way. Early decisions and changes were well received, but one day, one decision split the congregation in half. It’s not unusual in any church to have such earth-shattering changes.

Every congregation is made up of volunteers and devoted members who believe passionately in what they believe to be true and correct. The senior pastor’s challenge is to maintain common ground among the membership so everyone still feels as though it is “their church,” when in fact it is always God’s church, subject to decisions and actions of the Bishop and her/his appointees. I say this because it would be at this point where my discussions with Freda would become less about the Houston Astros, to whom she was their #1 most devoted fan, and more about the wisdom of some of the things ongoing in our church. The discussions were always pleasant, never unpleasant, but her determination to support a path I didn’t agree with was unrelenting.

About that time some senior church ladies took me to lunch for my birthday and Freda was included. I was opening cards and Freda handed me a small package. Inside was a glass desk decoration with a quote from President Dwight D. Eisenhower. It reads:

“What counts is not the size of the dog in the fight, it’s the size of the fight in the dog.”

She was not forecasting purposefully, but did I ever come to see firsthand what that meant in terms of her devotion to pursuing a goal relentlessly, thoroughly, and with the kind of tenacity akin only to a bulldog unwilling to let go of a perceived invader. And yet, never was an unpleasant word spoken between us. She proceeded to rally support for her chosen path, succeeded, and prevailed. Anyone who might have doubted her abilities was “taken to school,” as the saying goes.

The amount of goodness Freda gave to FUMC Bryan over the past thirty years that I observed was virtually uncountable—there’s some you will see clearly but others (most in fact) that she did behind the scenes that most will never even know of, because that is how she operated. She preferred being behind the scenes, even if she was front and center briefly to have to do something before going back to her other pursuits.

For example, today FUMC enjoys a magnificent online and media ministry and that is thanks to Mike Holmes, Rev. David Henry, Gregg Barfield, and Freda Wood, to name just four people that I know of, though of course many others were involved. It began, the way I recall, when the then-senior pastor (ca. 1993) wanted “someone” to take photos of new members who joined the church each week, so they could be included in the weekly newsletter. Freda volunteered, went out and got a new 35mm camera and came down the aisle as church ended each week to snap the pictures.

Next, there was a need for a video ministry that occurred as the radio broadcasts of the weekly worship service were becoming less available to the homebound members of our community and, as you’d expect, Freda volunteered to be part of that team immediately.

The next thing you knew, Freda was up in the gallery loft above the back of the congregation running the board on the multimedia elements of all services, whether it was 8:30 am worship, 11 am worship, or even going to the Gym between those two services to run the media board in the 9:00 am service, known today as the Awakening Service led by Rev. Jennifer Webber.

That was what she did and she was still just as frequent a financial supporter of the church, particularly when it came to the youth of the church. Every time the church would place lilies on the altar for Easter, Freda would join with her brother Gene and sister-in-law Wanda and donate funds sufficient to give in memory of every beloved angel of yesteryear in the church as well as her beloved senior widows—often being 50% of the needed donors, to assure the youth funds would be sufficient to send every child who wanted to go to Lakeview would go to Lakeview.

[Photo, FUMC Church Directory, 2004, Freda Wood]

One of very few things that might cause Freda to leave the FUMC campus for a time would be precious trips to see her beloved Houston Astros play baseball at home. She went to as many games as she could and listened or watched all the others faithfully. She helped get plenty of church buses going that way as well, and she was the best advocate the team could have here locally.

Freda was named Media Assistant to the FUMC staff and the need for her presence became more full-time than part-time, and she loved all that she did. Whether official church staff or lifetime volunteer, Freda did anything that she could do. Even though as a child she didn't attend Lakeview church camp, as an adult she became the Registrar for the annual Methodist camp activities at Lakeview each year and brought excellent order to the registration process and did it essentially solo for many years. Her personal philanthropy had made it possible for many of our children to attend; she truly put her heart into each thing she did for her church.

Freda had the admiration of so many church members that I could name and name and name and still it would not be a complete list, because if you were a new member last week at 28th and Houston, you’d have met her and been welcomed to “your” church by her. You never saw her without a smile, even if the Astros didn’t win, because she was determined they could do it the next game. It was not the smile of a person of simplicity; rather, it was a determination to use each day to help anyone she saw in need, without being asked.

Her dogs were another part of Freda’s life’s joy. If you had her e-mail address, you know her handle, “Fredasdogs,” and her Facebook pages are overflowing with photographs of dogs—hers as well as the photos of local lost and found pets as she was always willing to help spread the word of a missing pet and, more importantly, a found pet.

Many people have known Freda Wood longer and better than I do. They know personally of her service to FUMC Bryan and appreciate her for her wisdom, sense of humor, willingness to follow up on any need for anyone she knew, and most of all her faith in God. It was not something she spoke of as much as it was her actions.

Her faith in action reflects the words of Matthew 25:40 (NIV)

“And the King will say, ‘I tell you the truth, when you did it for one of the least of these my brothers and sisters, you did it for me.’”

When a dear friend shared the news of Freda’s passing with me yesterday, the very first image that came to mind was a memory of the lobby of the former College Station Medical Center. Freda was about to undergo knee surgery. Although many of us might consider that a routine procedure today, it was a rare happening in Freda’s world to be in the hospital. She was not alone; of course Wanda and Gene were there, and perhaps her nephew Tom and his wife Dana were, plus her primary doctor and longtime friend Dr. Philip Alexander (at the time on the hospital board, no less). Yet, one simply could not miss the other crowd of Methodist ministers all standing together, from her childhood pastor to her pastor of the hour, there they were. She smiled her 750-Watt smile at that sight, seeing them one and all.

If memory serves, Reverends Morris House, Carroll Fancher, Harral Dunnam, and Bob Richers, gathered in the informal collective of the lobby to assure Jesus and all of his archangels surrounded Freda with love and a genuine regard for returning her to her church world as to carry on in her ministry as unimpeded as possible.

It is with blessed assurance that I know Freda entered the kingdom of Heaven greeted by her beloved parents, her brothers Porter and John who preceded her there, and Reverends Morris House and Carroll Fancher awaiting the reunion of another in their congregations who joined them and all the now angels among those she tended to here on Earth. She leaves her funeral service to the most capable pastor, Rev. Rick Sitton, whose ministry here these many years has been blessed and enhanced by Freda’s media ministry and friendship to him and his family.

As Pastor Sitton wrote of her in his morning tribute, “Well done thou good and faithful servant.” Faithful church volunteer Rose Cates shared a copy of Freda’s father’s business card he had made upon his retirement, which gave him more time to do good works. When the man you know and love as father on Earth has “this” philosophy with him all of his life, it’s easy to see that the apple didn’t fall far from the tree. [Photos courtesy of Rose M. Cates]

Freda Jane Wood will always be remembered, uniquely for one so young, as one of the “pillars of the church” at First United Methodist in Bryan. And though she never sought acclaim for anything she did, I think she would have been pleased. Godspeed, Freda, and thank you for all that you did for those whose lives you touched.

Reflections on 2020, Prayers and Wishes for 2021

About 2 am on New Year's Eve day, I left the computer and set my alarm for “early,” not wanting to miss a minute of productivity on the last day of the year. That’s how holidays flow for freelancers.

You work when you can and when you can’t, you figure out what you can work on next until more work appears. I’ve been blessed with work to the point that on these “holidays,” I am still found at the computer, my choice, my pleasure.

So when the day unfolded, I had no idea what awaited me that would bring me such excitement and amazement.

Throughout the holidays, friends-as-family have been abundant in reaching out and keeping tabs on me, how I’m doing, making sure I never feel alone.

I call this a blessing—and I’ve had so many of them during the holidays this year. This morning my checklist only had two items on it, but the text message that came through added a third, which is not unusual. That blessing would come later in the day.

The year 2020 has been what my late friend, Dr. Thyra Plass, used to call “a whale of a year.” Meaning open to interpretation, but at the minimum—overwhelming. As the past 365 days have passed, the mere mention of the year 2020 causes people to wrinkle their faces, as they jump immediately to people and things we have lost in our lives. That’s natural as for many of us the ravages of COVID-19 have impacted us all directly and indirectly.

Children have been resilient in their willingness to adapt to new kinds and forms of education; my favorite 8.5-yr-old pal shared, earlier this summer, that he was not going to have a traditional birthday party this time due to ‘coronavirus’ and didn’t have a single ounce of regret in his voice, only acceptance. Said the entire word better than most professional news anchors, too.

At the time I recall thinking about how I wished others were more stalwart about the limitations our world had been dealt to combat an unanticipated foe. His ability to cope with disappointment about his party hit me like a ton of bricks…natural leaders are born and this is how they grow up. This year we’ve seen leadership of all styles from exemplary to horrible and at the end of the year, all any of us want now for the next year are essentially empathy, kindness, and health and safety for all whom we love.

That’s not much to ask for and we also need it as much as want it. Thus, 2021 is welcome and as everyone scrambles to find black-eyed peas to cement the deal, so will our hearts seek out validation for understanding how we all managed to make it through last year.

The first line of defense includes our medical and safety emergency front line teams—from doctor’s offices with gifted nurses to hospitals and specialists, to police, fire, and 911 teams, our community has been fortunate in leadership, including Dr. Seth Sullivan and our municipal leaders in Bryan, College Station, and Brazos County, who stood together in unity, addressed issues early and head-on and always gave us reason to trust in their word, and we followed their directions for the most part.

All year long we’ve seen and heard of neighbors’ kindnesses to each other, the amazing things that our community has done in collecting food for the Brazos Food Pantry, serving hot meals to our healthcare providers, making sure children had meals at school with continuity, and our own BTU utility gave us 15% discounts two months in a row (at least) to help with the costs to survive COVID while jobs were eliminated, reduced, or strained.

Overall, we have emerged stronger and even more empathetic as ever. It’s not safe to take chances and we are still safest at home, but our spirits have been uplifted with every telling of tales of kindness shown on a regular basis. It’s one of the reasons, of many, I remain here as my home. In 2021, we will continue to make progress towards achieving health and returning life to normal for as many people as we possibly can, because we all work together to do that. People take time for each other here, and one dear friend is constantly my inspiration as I see what all she does for so many.

Other friends are strong in their faith, others strong in their actions, more are strong in prayers for those in need, and on and on it goes. We all have our special gifts to offer and every action and gift means something to others. Meeting the needs…that’s what you all do for all of us here.

It was close to noon when I scanned Facebook and saw a post from a young woman who was reaching out to anyone who happened to be reading—it was on a private group page that will stay private for purposes of maintaining anonymity but that person, whose name was previously unknown to me, posted that she had reached her very lowest point and felt close to ending her time on earth, in need of a professional to talk to today but not knowing how to find one.

Within minutes, group members posted phone numbers, prayers, two strangers said she should go to the ER and she could private message them her phone number and they would meet her there so she wouldn’t be alone.

New Year’s Eve; the end of a year in which despair was an operative emotion, where depression was so common none of us want to admit it was real to us, but it was, and here is an honest soul reaching out. The answers were overwhelmingly positive and uplifting and one more time, love was shared, hope was offered, and faith flowed freely. A final update on the post tonight confirmed that things were better for her and that good care was being given. Prayers were answered and it was the miracle of the day. Turns out it wasn’t the only miracle of the day.

Later in the day I received notice that a family whose loved one they’d been expecting to pass away today had occurred, and we made arrangements to meet this afternoon. Before I left the house, the strangest feeling came over me. I had 3 Russell Stover chocolate candy bars on my dining table, remaining from stuffing little cherubs’ stockings. I looked over at them and thought about taking them with me, but I couldn’t figure out why. I ignored the impulse and headed to the garage. At the laundry room, I paused, turned around and shook my head as I picked up the candy bars and put them into my jacket pocket and off I went.

In my five years as a celebrant, I have never taken anything but my pen and notebook to meet with a family. So, as I walked in and greeted the family members, I had no control over what I said or did as I reached into my jacket and pulled out the candy bars and said, “These are for you!” and I had no more wondered why I offered up the candy or where those words had come from, but I had my answer in the blink of an eye. The looks on their faces said it all. “He loved chocolate” they both said in unison!! “It was his favorite thing!” The visit was wonderful as they shared the many reasons they loved him.

Then, on the way home I saw a text where a favorite memory had been shared on Facebook, which reminded me instantly of another God moment that had happened, January 2016, when my best friend was reflecting aloud about something she never knew about her parents' lives before she came along. We can all relate to not having asked enough questions while they were here.

Another of those fortuitous happenstances produced an answer in the blink of an eye as we went looking through some things. Presto, that answer appeared almost like magic, a supernatural gift, particularly as her parents had been gone for many years. Some five years later, that memory came up again today—a reminder that miracles happen every day, and that memories of those miracles are new once again, each time they come to mind.

I can only conclude that because so many of us have texted, Facebook IM’d, posted, talked on the phone, Skyped and Zoomed through 2020 about how we couldn’t wait for this year to be over, that there is a collective sigh of relief as we turn the page onto 2021. But I’ve determined to remember all of the good things that happened as people gave from their hearts, of themselves, in faith, hope, and love for others as we banded together to survive.

The lessons of 2020 included the loss of several people close to us, unexpectedly, some from COVID and others gone too soon to cancer, as well as a few other reasons. Alumni from my childhood school (grades 1-12) remain close some 50+ years later on yet another Facebook group. This year we learned of the passing of some of our classmates, each one of us impacted by the loss of one of us. One especially stood out in our hearts and minds as he was the unofficial “Dean” of the group—a wise attorney and brilliant humorist named David. David had gone to Keystone School for 12 years and was another school "lifer." Brilliant, wise, and funny as heck, David always knew the right thing to say. He was a caring, brilliant attorney, and the word “wise” should be specially reserved for David.

It was memorable that Supreme Court Justice Ruth Bader Ginsburg died on Rosh Hashanah, the “cusp” of the end of the year, symbolic in its own right as she is considered “a person of great righteousness.” David, a man of decided righteousness, died the next day, September 26. Surely, the Justice needed a solid right-hand attorney to work up responses to cases that would eventually find their way to us. Justice is ahead for 2021.

Throughout this year, I, and so many others in our community, have been blessed by the example of faith of a young 18-year-old woman, Rebecca, whose life serves more than just one purpose in this world. Coming from the loving family of faith she does, if ever you considered yourself a person of faith, you've been praying for her, joining in the legions of us who know her story.

For those who approach life from a different faith journey, just the fact that she is among us still today would cause you to understand that when logic, reason, and rational thought fail, faith fills that gap and explains so many things. Why this precious child and her family have had such a decade of suffering is a question I will one day demand answers to, should I gain entry into the great beyond.

It hurts to know what she has endured, and still, and yet, this child is an angel on Earth, sent in part to remind us that we must believe in things unseen, any way we can find our way to do so, because love and faith explain why science and medicine cannot.

Answered prayers are the only reason that makes sense, and her Earthly work is not done, not by a long shot. She plans on graduating from Harvard and all wise bets are on her to do just that, as she received word of her early admission already.

Yes, 2020 was a year we bid farewell to many in our lives whom we would prefer would still be here with us, anticipating the great things to come in 2021. They should be here with us to see how things turned out, to experience the good times that are hopefully on their way. It just emphasizes that each moment with those we care about, love, and call our family—real or extended—is precious and we should not take a moment for granted.

This coming year comes with no guarantees and indeed we face many challenges to come, but with faith comes hope, and in hope we find love, for real, for always. May each of us be blessed in all the ways that we need to succeed to have a healthy life. May we remember always to be kind. We may not know how others feel but we can have empathy, a quality long missing in 2020 as we all had plenty of reasons to miss it in some leadership, and may we seek and model truth in all that we say and do this year. Happy New Year!

Lots of love and thank you to each of you who have filled my life with joy, hope, and friendship,

Dawn Lee

An Eight-Year-Old Perspective on Election Day, Education, Faith, and Freedom

This morning I greeted the day enthusiastically, calmly, and confidently…for about five minutes at which point my brain started doing its usual analysis of the fact that it was the birthday of John H. Eargle, Jr., co-founder of Keystone School, long since gone from this world, about how important education had been to my mother, and how our school used to hold mock elections every four years to teach civics and garner enthusiasm in voting, which we can all benefit from, those of us who have gone through levels of enthusiasm and anxiety when it comes to “politics.”

As a child I used to sit quietly around the table as the grownups had interesting and active discussions of the politics of the days, the 1960s, and at first I found the entire topic boring. I never once heard the sharing of differing opinions rise about conversational level, though. By the 1970s, my high school classmates and I were watching presidential hearings after school or the reruns late at night.

Though family and friends' discussions were passionate, there was always a collegiality about the discussion of opposing sides and when it was done, and the visit was concluded, or moved to another topic, the visits always ended with hugs and kisses. I grew to like politics or at least tolerate them long enough to pay attention to details, make up my mind and await the day I was old enough to vote.

I remember even in elementary school, asking my mother why politics were so frequently talked about and she said, “it’s a good thing in our country when there are two sides and people talk about the benefits of each side.” She continued, “Dawnie, the day people stop speaking aloud about politics is a day to beware of, because that will mean we are no longer a free country. I hope you will never see a time like that.” Some 50 years later, it had almost reached that point.

Facebook, Twitter, and other mediums where platforms are frequently expressed became a graveyard for anger, epithets, mockery, and hate-filled speech. Many people were quick to write about who they supported and voted for, and why those who didn’t see that way could remove them from their list of friends. And so we arrived today at many people afraid to say who they voted for, lest they lose half their friends, or make someone mad, or anger their bosses and scotch any chances of a raise—win or lose, you could lose. That’s not how it is supposed to be, but it is.

This morning, something more important in the lives of some I care about was going on—something far more important than the country’s future…was going on. A beautiful young woman in San Antonio was in the midst of critical life/death surgery to try and repair some major damage that had happened during a prior surgery. This beautiful young brilliant woman has been through about 90 of these surgeries in the past decade, and what she experiences would crater most mature individuals, while she is in massive pain but copes with it with what can only be described as “the peace that passes all understanding.”

Rebecca, her name, is not originally of this world. Really, I’m fully convinced she was an angel let out of Heaven long enough to be born and to live and to grow to teach people she knows, and others she doesn’t, how to pray—unceasingly, fervently, and to expect a perfect outcome of an answered prayer. That’s the only reason I can think of (logically) as to why a child should ever have to endure what she has while here on earth, and her family to have to experience these ongoing tests of faith. This is an answer I’ll have to wait until I get to Heaven to understand but it’s high on my list of questions. Of course, I have a list of questions…you know me.

Following a prayer in my early morning path that involved me actually speaking out loud with the Lord, when my prayers are usually silent, I then took to scanning the local paper online. I indulged myself in a moment to enjoy the diversion of my horoscope. I wasn’t looking for answers outside God. I was looking for what might be there to surprise me. It read:

Consider consequences and options first. Quiet the mind through meditation. Psychic communication with wild creatures will be especially lucid. Your creative talents shine. Use your imagination. A child or new friend inspires you. Tonight: You might just want to luxuriate and take a nap.

Hmm…I’d been quiet and meditated (if that’s what you perceive as meditation, quieting the mind to receive a gift of thoughts). No wild creatures here…Barney’s still across the street, sleeping, and won’t arrive for a while. Luxuriate and take a nap? Not a chance. Hmmm, a child or new friend inspires you. Wasn’t planning on being out except a trip to the post office.

And then my phone rang, it was FaceTime and it was my eight-year-old pal! I immediately smiled as the call connected and I saw the sky. The sky, not my pal. He said, “Hi there!” and I said, “Hi! Whatcha doing?” “Fishing,” he said. “Did you get the day off from school?” I asked. He said, “Yes, it’s Election Day.” I said, “Oh, that’s interesting. Are they using your school as a polling site?” I am entirely forgetting he’s only eight and might not know what a polling site is. I worry too much.

He said, “No, it was a polling site last year but not this year.” Eight years old. Okay. I said, “Where are you?” as I could see only sky. He said, “At a creek not far from my house.” I said, “Beautiful sky, honey” and he said, “That’s what Pippa said when I talked to her a few minutes ago.” I laughed. Pippa and I often postulate how pretty clouds are during drives along the roadways.

So, he explained that he had just caught a channel catfish that was fairly large but he threw it back into the water. I asked about his bait and he said, “Today, I brought some bread and it’s working pretty well.” We discussed bait, hooks, fishing poles (he has two fishing rods, thank you very much), and how we were both not fans of minnows. Worms didn’t rate discussion. He said quickly, “Let me call my Dad to check in.” “Okay,” I said, brightly.

We talked about school and his favorite subject. He knows I groan if he tells me “Recess” whenever I ask, so he said that Math was pretty good. He also said that one of his neighbors used to come fishing with him but couldn’t be away from the house right now. He was actually under about 14 watchful eyes by phone who can keep the proverbial eyes on exactly where he is and use the GPS to be there in two minutes. So if you have concerns about his being “on his own,” forget it. Lewis & Clark were solitary explorers. The training wheels are still on for him, but he’s not aware of them.

He said, “I’m going to leave the iPad where it is and then move over to a different spot to see if I can get better fish there. You probably can’t see me, but I’ll be there.” Oh wow…this child…channels messages to me in a way that hit me like the proverbial 2x4…my concerns and fears this morning for Rebecca and her surgery….it was like God telling me, “You can’t see me but I’ll be right there.” Trying not to tear up, I said, “Okay, honey.”

We got back to talking. He asked me whether I’d voted in the Election this year. I said, “Yes, I voted on the second day of Early Voting.” He paused and said, “Who did you vote for?” I paused. I said, “Actually I voted for a lot of people this year. There were so many on the ballot.” I was being cautious not to influence him with ‘my’ politics when he was at an age where discernment of who a family votes for, who extended family votes for, who the country votes for—all those factors are in play. I didn’t want to say anything wrong.

I thought about all the ways in which my friends whose careers in entertainment had given their time to encourage voting. Carl Giammarese recorded a version of James Holvay's and Gary Beisbier's hit for The Buckinghams, "Susan," for a group called "You Can't Stop Me from Voting." Then, Kiki Ebsen and others joined voices at the invitation of Terry Wollman on his fabulous collaborative song (with Lillooet Fox and Rachelle Lynn Gislason), "Beautiful (The Sound of Us)," featuring Ray Jupiter and Donald Webber, Jr. and a multivoice choir to encourage voting this year. Also, Kiki was invited to contribute two songs to a genius playlist ,"Music to Vote By," designed by Kelly Fitzgerald, John Diggins, and Michelle Mangione. If you're stuck in line, you're not stuck when you have music. All these wonderful events with talented musicians using their gifts to uplift were developed to encourage Americans and inspire them to get out and vote this year. My mind wandered and I found myself so proud, smiling at my friends' accomplishments, staying positive while they couldn't pursue their own careers, and taking time to give to others.

My eight-year-old future Supreme Court justice pushed me, “Who did you vote for in the Presidential election?” Yes, he speaks this way in full, intelligent, complete sentences all the time because that is how his parents and others speak to him, with him. I paused and said to myself, “I have always told this child the truth and I’m not about to change now, and I’ve always answered his questions.” So I told him. He said, “What do you like about him?” and I gave a one-sentence true answer. He said, “Okay.” He said, “How do you feel about (the other guy)?” and I said, “I’m not a fan. He took it all in, didn’t question, didn’t comment. I liked that. He asked, I answered.

Our discussion went back to Halloween and I said, “What did you all do for Halloween?” He said, “on Halloween itself, we didn’t go out. It wasn’t safe.” I said, “I’m sorry about that honey, I think next year things should be different.” He said, “Longer than that, because (presidential candidate he said by name--they are currently both presidential candidates so no guessing allowed) said the vaccine won’t be ready until 2022 at least.”

I wanted to cry and beam with pride at the same time. Eight years old. Knows what a vaccine is and that next year might not be a time when kids can return to normal Halloween. This was the same child who explained matter-of-factly and not at all sadly that “this year my birthday doesn’t have the usual kind of party because of Coronavirus.” He didn’t say anything less than Coronavirus. I know adults who forget its formal name and refer to it as “this thing.”

Birthday and Halloween denied to my little pal thanks to the pandemic. His parents had created loving, wonderful alternatives to celebrate both events but what the usual was, wasn’t this year. And he was not the least bit feeling sorry for himself. This child, Lord help.

Ha. “Lord, help” was a trademark expression of the cofounder of Keystone…a native of deep east Texas and it was his point of exasperation that was reached before he uttered it. I laughed as that is what I find myself uttering as a prayer without even realizing it. Ah, the things we learn as children.

I asked if he had packed anything for lunch. He said, “I might have some of the bread I brought for the fish, but I am getting a little hungry.” He said, “I will stay here a little longer.”

"Would you look up places to find turtles in (the name of his subdivision)?" he requested. Off to Google I went and then we discussed a particular nature conservancy, and he knew exactly where that was. I said, “You really love turtles, don’t you?” and he agreed. He knew all the correct names of the parts of a turtle. Asked him about reading and I was delighted to hear he’d been enjoying two books recently and I said, “That’s good; I love it when you like to read.”

He said, “It didn’t used to be something I like, but I like it right now.” I said, “Well, I’ve got a series of books that may be a little old for you because the oldest boy in the family is 12, but maybe you would like it. If you like one, I have a whole series.” I’m thinking that I want to send him “The Happy Hollisters” from my young days as a budding solver of mysteries that would lead my mother to christen me “Miss Marple, Jr.” or “Nancy Drew, Jr.,” depending on her choice at the time. Only those old enough will know who or what a Miss Marple is.

My heart was thrilled when he said, “I’ll try one and see how I like it.” I’ll be wrapping up volume one for mailing soon. Fingers crossed.

He proclaimed, “Next year I’m in 4th grade!” and I said, “Yes, that’s great.” He said, “But I love 3rd grade right now. It’s my favorite so far!” and his heart soared, you could hear it over the phone. I was working on something on the computer and he was busy fishing while we conversed, just two pals hanging out while we accomplished our goals. He is one of two pals I do that with; especially during the isolation of the pandemic, it makes a difference to be on FaceTime, Skype, and Zoom with your friends and to just hang out for a while. You emerge from that renewed as it’s the next best thing to being there. The fact that he is eight is irrelevant. Any time spent with him is time well spent.

All of this to say that today the future of our country will be determined when all the votes are in and counted and the winner is announced. As long as we are alive, I hope there will always be at least two parties and room for an independent when it comes to needing an option. I hope that people will always continue to vote and remain active in each election. Whether or not they wish to share their opinions on a public social forum that can often lead to separation and bad feelings, may we always live in a society free enough to express our opinions openly, without fear or favor resulting. And may we always have gratitude for the blessings we have received in life so far and reasons to always be optimistic for the future ahead.

May each of you have a powerfully fruitful Election Day and Evening. May we improve our circumstances and quality of life to preserve life, rather than lose any more lives. That continues to be my regular prayer. And, if a miracle for Rebecca is your will, “Lord help” remains my fervent prayer. May my eight-year-old pal continue to be a fisher of men as he is today a fisher of fish. I see his future unfolding and he will be whatever he was destined to be, or wants to be, and it might just be that he will be a Supreme Court Justice. To me, he will always be supreme. As Ruthie Foster sang on "Austin City Limits" last Saturday, “Woke up this morning with my mind, stayed on freedom.” To which I add the other lyric, “Woke up this morning with my mind, stayed on Jesus.”

May God bless America, always. Amen.