Posted on by kellyyarborough

Grandpa Reese- A Story of Amazing Grace

Today, I am thankful grateful, and blessed to have known and loved my grandfather, Kermit Walter Reese. He was born on December 12, 1919, and died on June 18, 1991. Grandpa was first and foremost a servant of God, humble, and strong.

Before I delve into his story, I am going to share a few of my favorite memories of Grandpa Reese. On any given Sunday, after lunch, if there were 12 or 30 in the house, Grandpa would always steal away to his bedroom for a nap. I have no idea how he slept with all the clamoring; but he did. Grandpa smoked a pipe, and unfiltered Camels. I loved the smell of his pipe. He even let me try it once. I coughed up a lung, because I inhaled. Grandpa loved sitting on his front porch with his children and grandchildren, even in the dead of winter, you could find him there. It makes sense to me why I love porch sitting so much. Grandpa was a hard worker and didn’t mind doing menial jobs. He knew his primary responsibility was to proclaim the Good News of the Gospel.

Grandpa made some poor choices early in his life and marriage. Choices that could’ve wrecked his life and family. However, Grandpa, like Paul, had a Damascus Road experience. He saw his great need for God, called out for mercy, and clung to the cross of Jesus. This one impactful decision changed the whole trajectory of his family, and continues to change it still today. I imagine his cry to the Lord was similar to David’s, “Have mercy on me, O God, according to your steadfast love; according to your abundant mercy blot out my transgressions. Wash me thoroughly from my iniquity, and cleanse me from my sin! For I know my transgressions, and my sin is ever before me. Against you, you only, have I sinned and done what is evil in your sight, so that you may be justified in your words and blameless in your judgment.”
‭‭Psalm‬ ‭51‬:‭1‬-‭4‬ ‭ESV‬‬

God answered the cry of his heart that day, and Grandpa always remained humble. He knew that he could not “do life” alone. He understood that his sin had cost Jesus his very life. He felt the love and acceptance of God in a very tangible way. But Grandpa understood that there would always be times of temptation to return to his former life. He also knew that in moments of despair and desire to go back, he could call on the name of Jesus. Jesus would give him the power to resist the temptation.

There is great strength in humility and Grandpa certainly was doused with both. He never forgot his past, but he also did not allow his past to define him. He knew that he was a child of God and that God was working a complete restoration project in him. Grandpa knew that apart from Jesus he could do nothing; but by choosing to remain in Jesus, he could proclaim with great authority and strength that the power of the cross had set him free and would do the same for anyone who believes. “Humble yourselves, therefore, under the mighty hand of God so that at the proper time he may exalt you, casting all your anxieties on him, because he cares for you. Be sober-minded; be watchful. Your adversary the devil prowls around like a roaring lion, seeking someone to devour. Resist him, firm in your faith, knowing that the same kinds of suffering are being experienced by your brotherhood throughout the world. And after you have suffered a little while, the God of all grace, who has called you to his eternal glory in Christ, will himself restore, confirm, strengthen, and establish you.”
‭‭1 Peter‬ ‭5‬:‭6‬-‭10‬ ‭ESV‬‬

Grandpa, I am so thankful, grateful, and blessed because of you. My life would not be what it is today if you had not fallen on your knees and begged for mercy. Never underestimate the power of a life that has been changed.

“I have been driven many times upon my knees by the overwhelming conviction that I had nowhere else to go. My own wisdom and that of all about me seemed insufficient for that day.”
― Abraham Lincoln

Posted on by kellyyarborough

Mr. Ken- A True American Hero

A True American Hero

One day as we were out walking we struck up a conversation with our neighbor, Ken.

He had been experiencing back problems and we were concerned. He began to tell us of all the surgeries and metal he has in his body. Once he finished, I said, “Wow, you’re like the bionic man.”

His response was not expected but intrigued me, “No, I am a NAM POW.”

Now he had my attention but I’ve learned that it is a subject you tread lightly, “Really? That’s fascinating. Can you tell us about it?” I inquired.

“My helicopter went down. Everyone escaped. I was caught under the helicopter and when I finally got free, I was captured by the Viet Kong. They thrust me into a deep pit with other POWs and I remained there for about 91 days until I was able to escape.”

Because I cannot do his story justice I will stop there but what struck me the most about his entire experience was that he didn’t have to be there. He was not drafted. His brother was drafted and Ken took his brother’s name and took his brother’s place. Why? Because his brother had a family, a wife, and a new baby. Ken did eventually have to tell them he was not his brother but he waited until there was nothing the Army could do about it.

In my opinion, Ken is a true American Hero. Not only did he serve his country well, but he also did what many of us are unwilling to do, he gave up his freedom for that of his brother.

Today is a day we get to honor those who have served. I am honored to know this man as well as many others, including family who have served our great country.

To all who have served, thank you from the bottom of my heart. Thank you for choosing to give up your freedom so that I have mine. You are what America is all about…..the land of the free because of the brave #veteransday #heros #thankyou

Posted on by kellyyarborough · 2 Comments

A Woman Named Joyce

Today I am thankful, grateful and blessed for having known and loved Joyce Brown Jackson. Born December 31, 1944 died April 28, 1983. 

I cannot tell you when I met her, but what I can tell you is that I loved her at first sight.  She was magnetic.  An unmistakeable personality, a woman filled with love for life and love for her family, but more importantly, love for her Jesus. 

I met Joyce around the time her melanoma had returned. I am still not certain how my mom found out about her, but I am certainly glad she did.  

Joyce had four boys and one girl. When I first met Joyce, I didn’t know her children.  Later, I would become acquainted with them and become fond of each one. 

Mom would take me to visit with Joyce. She would drop me off, and I would spend hours with her, helping do chores, talking, and helping her cook. Honestly, I think Mom was hopeful that being part of Joyce’s journey with melanoma would help me deal with the grief of losing my daddy to melanoma. 

I spent many hours and days with Joyce.  In fact, she’s the one who taught me how to know when pasta is cooked. One day I made spaghetti for them, and when I was boiling the noodles, she said, “Take one out and throw it on the backsplash.  If it sticks, you know it’s done. If not, cook it a little longer.”  A lesson I have always remembered. 

As Joyce’s health declined, some days I would simply sit and talk to her.  She dearly loved her family, especially her Jerry. He was her strength. Oh, how she loved him.  Her children were her lifeblood.  She loved them so. But Joyce had a confident faith, and she knew God was preparing her place and would come for her when He was ready. 

She became like a second mom to me.  I loved her. I loved spending time with her.  And when she became deathly ill, her family asked me to be with them in the hospital. I was with her and her family in her final moments of life. 

I was heartbroken when she died.  At her celebration of life ceremony, a gentleman stopped me and said, “I know who you are.  You are one of Joyce’s kids.” 

I quickly responded, “Oh no, I am not one of her children.  I am just a friend of the family.” 

He said, “Oh no, she told me all about you and she considered you one of her own.”

I put my hands over my face and cried until the tears were no more. Not only was I overwhelmed at the thought that she considered me as one of her own but again I felt the searing pain of loss.

Many moons have passed since her death in 1983 but the beautiful memories of her, I will always treasure in my heart.  The lessons I learned from Joyce were to love well, live life purposefully and soak up every minute because you never know what the future holds and if the noodles don’t stick put them back in the pot. And now, looking back, I do believe that it helped me through the grief of my daddy’s death; although I didn’t see it at the time. 

Her life is a great reminder that we are born with a birthdate and an expiration date but it’s what we do with our dash that makes the difference.