I’ve used www.ninarose.wordpress.com for a while now, but I think a little change is in order…so I am switching over to “blogspot” for the time being. I hope you’ll click on over there, where I plan to continue sharing little glimpses into “this little life of mine.”
Nina Rose
Nina R. Hall
The Lord has oft commanded us to give abundantly,
For it is not our own to have; yet we hoard it selfishly.
It seems my little sacrifice, God really wouldn’t need;
But looking at the harvest field, we see there’s much to reap.
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And that is when our faith begins; and this self-willed life must end;
Our God has promised to provide, if our knees in prayer shall bend.
In those times of fear, when giving may not come with ease;
Look up to see the smile of God, and know that He is pleased.
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Living here by Faith is something taken step by step;
Once you’ve learned to trust in God, each step you won’t regret.
And then each time He asks for more than you have ever done before,
The choice is yours to stay the same or trust your God for one step more.
Saturday afternoon, I noticed a little note that was left on the kitchen table… “At church working on finances…Love, Jim.” Nothing unusual about that. Dad is often working on finances at work, at home, at church. A little while later, we noticed Hudson seemed to be missing as well. We figured he was outside playing in the snow again. However, within a short time, the door opened, and in came two beaming gentlemen with three bouquets of fresh flowers, wrapped in pink tissue paper for the three women in their lives. (aka Mom, Selena, and I) 😉
We’ve found over the years that Wegmans has beautiful, good quality flowers…and that’s exactly where the two of them had quietly snuck off to. They’re so sweet to surprise us, and make us feel so loved & special. A dozen red roses for Mom, and pink & purple tulips for Selena and I. We immediately put the flowers in a number of vases around the house to spread the radiant valentine cheer.
a charming reminder of Spring
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“Many years ago in the city of London, England, the Salvation Army was conducting its annual convention. The giant auditorium was filled with delegates, but for the first time in the history of the Army it founder and leader, General Booth, was unable to attend. He was old, nearly blind and in poor health. Gloom spread across the floor of the convention as the delegates realized that for the first time they would conduct their annual convention without the presence of their leader and founder.
Someone suggested that General Booth send a message to be read at the opening session. This he agreed to do. When the moderator engaged his gavel to the podium he said, ‘Ladies and Gentlemen, as I call to order the annual convention of the Salvation Army, I regret to inform you that our leader and founder, General Booth, is for the first time unable to attend. He has, however, agreed to send a message to be read at this time, as follows: Dear Delegates of the Salvation Army Convention: Others. Signed, General Booth.”
Philippians 2:4
“Snow men fall from heaven…unassembled.” – Anon
Came home Tuesday afternoon to find this little guy…after hours of playing in the snow, patiently awaiting the arrival of his Daddy.
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creative snowman friends
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Today is February 8th, 2010. It marks for me the day which commemorates the birth of my dear grandfather, so many years ago. Harry Augustus Hall, affectionately called “Baba” by his six grandchildren, would have been 81 today.
Memories of his life and person drifted back to me this morning in quiet reflections, and kicked up the dust of memory lane. His bright blue eyes, and tall stately figure… so often topped off with one of his caps from his famous collection that lined the rack on the wall of the entrance way to the old, brick house on the corner of Sunset Boulevard.
Opposite that hat rack, etched into a wooden plaque, the familiar sign read “An old Fishermen lives here, with the catch of his life.” I remember a few of those fishing trips, more often my brothers went, than myself; but there were fond memories of picnics with my grandparents – coolers filled with tasteful lunches packed with love by Nana; fishing pole and bait in hand as we attempted to learn the patient hobby.
Up the rickety stairs he’d climb to the warm, yellow kitchen, through the parlor to his worn, blue recliner. Whistling in his own cheery way, of which I have yet to find its match. Then calling on his grandkids to “help” him *grunt* his way out of the recliner when he was ready to leave. He had a witty sense of humor in his own quiet way.
He is remembered for the dimes he’d glue to safety pins, deeming them precious “diamond pins;” along with the corn seeds he’d mischievously place in precarious locations of soil – where one would least except them…leaving his mark, inducing a chuckle and smile.
The ancient apple tree that overshadowed the yard, scattering an abundance of its fruit across the grass, only to be continually raked together into pails by the strong, weathered hands. Memories of picking green beans in the garden of the same back yard; memories of the tire-horse that hung from the branches of that same apple tree; memories of fruity popsicles on those hot summer days…and that little red wagon that granted hours of riding pleasure down the bumpy side-walks of that familiar neighborhood, pulled along by none other than that dear old man.
Memories of trips to the zoo, the circus, the annual 4th of July Parade; of commuting together in the extra-long, gray Oldsmobile with its burgundy interior – always needing a little extra space in the parking lot; his flannel, button-down, or polo shirts that would only be worn provided they were equipped with a pocket in which to carry his ever-present reading glasses…the defined lump we always felt through his “Mr. Rogers-type”sweater when pressed up against him in a bear hug.
On nights we stayed over, I remember his regular glass of milk at dinner time, radio playing softly at his beside, 8 o’clock Nana brought each of us in to kiss him goodnight. I remember trips to the pond to feed to ducks, which reminds me of his notorious duck quack with which he frequently entertained his young grandchildren. Baba always carried lifesavers – peppermint, or wintergreen – always sending sparkles into our eyes when he offered them to our eager little hands.
And the walking stick – I will never forget the joy we got from Baba’s hand carved walking stick – he never seemed to mind when we borrowed it from its station in the corner of the mud room to “try it out” for a little while. Those are just the memories that came to me today…but there are many more that will stay with me forever. God blessed me with wonderful grandparents for those moldable, growing-up years – many which my siblings and I reminisce over with laughter, having shared them together.
And I will never forget the last moments I saw him. It still brings tears to my eyes to think of it…holding his hand, and kissing his warm cheek as he lay quietly in the hospital bed. It was one of the saddest times in my life – the first grandparent I had to let go of…
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But it is also the moment my mind always goes back to as feeling the most loved and cared for than I ever knew possible. Those family, church family, and friends who came to the funeral, or reached out to us in some way during that time…were there for us through it all. I cannot express in words how much every person meant to me as they streamed through the doors of the funeral home. The comforting words, notes, thoughtful actions, and hugs were cherished, and have not been forgotten.
One other thing I found that I thought I’d add to this post: Ben put this video presentation together for the funeral…
I’ve been reading “My Heart in His Hands” by Sharon James. It’s about the life of Ann Judson, wife of Adoniram Judson, missionaries to Burma in the early 1800s. There are many excerpts from Ann’s letters throughout the book, which have been a blessing and challenge to read. One of them especially caught my attention this morning as I read…
“An examination of the subject commenced on board the Caravan. As Mr. Judson was continuing the translation of the New Testament, which he began in America, he had many doubts concerning the word baptize. This, with the idea of meeting the Baptists at Serampore, when he would wish to defend his own sentiments, induced a more thorough examination of the Pedobaptist system. The more he examined, the more his doubts increased; and unwilling as he was to admit it, he was afraid the Baptists were right and he wrong. After we arrived at Calcutta, his attention was turned from this subject to the concerns of the mission, and the difficulties with government. But as his mind was still uneasy, he again renewed the subject. I felt afraid he would become a Baptist, and frequently urged the unhappy consequences if he should. But he said his duty conpelled him to satisfy his own mind, and embrace those sentiments which appeared most concordant with Scripture. I always took the Pedobaptist side in reasoning with him, even after I was as doubtful of the truth of that system as he.
We left Serampore to reside in Calcutta a week or two before the arrival of our brethren; and as we had nothing in particular to occupy our attention, we confined it exclusively to this subject. We precured the best authors on both sides, compared them with the Scriptures, examined and re-examined the sentiments of Baptists and Pedobaptists, and were finally compelled, from a conviction of truth, to embrace those of the former. Thus, my dear Nancy, we are confirmed Baptists, not because we wished to be, but because truth compelled us to be.
We have endeavoured to count the cost, and be prepared for the many severe trials resulting from this change of sentiment. We anticipate the loss of reputation, and of the affection and esteem of many of our American friends. But the most trying circumstances attending this change, and that which has caused most pain, is the separation which must take place between us and our dear missionary associates. Although we are attached to each other, and should doubtless live very happily together, yet the brethren do not think it best we should unite in one mission. These things, my dear Nancy, have caused us to weep and pour out our hearts in prayer to Him whose directions we so much wish and need. We feel that we are alone in the world, with no real friend but each other, no one on whom we can depend but God.”
Doesn’t the sacrifice and commitment of these dear people challenge your heart?
“I have been examining the subject of baptism for some time past, and, contrary to my prejudices and my wishes, am compelled to believe, that believer’s baptism alone is found in Scripture. If ever I sought to know the truth; if ever I looked up to the Father of lights; if ever I gave up myself to the inspired word, I have done so during this investigation. And the result is, that, laying aside my former prejudices and systems, and fairly appealing to the Scriptures, I feel convinced that nothing really can be said in favour of infant baptism or sprinkling.
We expect soon to be baptized. O may our hearts be prepared for that holy ordinance! And as we are baptized into a profession of Christ, may we put on Christ, and walk worthy of the high vocation wherewith we are called. But in consequence of our performance of this duty, we must make some very painful sacrifices. We must be separated from our dear missionary associates, and labour alone in some isolated spot. We must expect to be treated with contempt, and cast off by many of our American friends – forfeit the character we have in our native land, and probably have to labour for our own support, wherever we are stationed.”
Ann and Adoniram were baptized by immersion in the Lal Bazaar Baptist Chapel in Calcutta on September 6, 1812. William Ward, colleague of William Carey, conducted the service.
John 8:31-32 “…If ye continue in my word, then are ye my disciples indeed. And ye shall know the truth, and the truth shall make you free.”
Some time back, I came across this arrangement of an old hymn which has some spectacular harmonies. I’ve always loved hearing a capella men’s quartets sing…and simply seeing some young people having fun together while singing for the Lord is a blessing.
1. O Love that wilt not let me go,
I rest my weary soul in thee;
I give thee back the life I owe,
That in thine ocean depths its flow
May richer, fuller be.
2. O light that followest all my way,
I yield my flickering torch to thee;
My heart restores its borrowed ray,
That in thy sunshine’s blaze its day
May brighter, fairer be.
3. O Joy that seekest me through pain,
I cannot close my heart to thee;
I trace the rainbow through the rain,
And feel the promise is not vain,
That morn shall tearless be.
4. O Cross that liftest up my head,
I dare not ask to fly from thee;
I lay in dust life’s glory dead,
And from the ground there blossoms red
Life that shall endless be.
George Matheson, author of these lyrics, was the eldest of eight children. When he was twenty years old, he became blind, but he studied for the ministry anyway and became a pastor in Edinburgh, Scotland. O Love That Wilt Not Let Me Go is the only one of his lyrics that has lasted to this day.
Little girls…as opposed to my typical posts centered around our “little boy.” 🙂 It’s been a while since I’ve had someone ask me to french-braid their hair…but my two little cousins – Kristen and Jenna (who have beautiful, thick hair) were here the past couple days, and we had a blast with them. Hudson was especially thrilled to have them around as play mates for so long…
This Little Life of Mine 
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