Tuesday, May 31, 2011

Freda's Garden

Welcome to my Garden:
This is my late father-in-law's home in Hindsville, Arkansas
The house is no longer there.
I'm posting the following poem in honor of my dear sister
in Christ and my mentor, Anniebelle Hayes. Anniebelle
died last week at the age of 93. The last few years she
was confined to home and about the last six months she
drifted in and out of a coma. It was a blessing that God
called her home.

Yet, you Lord are our Father. We are the clay, you are the
potter; we are the work of your hand. (Isaiah 64:8

God made my house,
He formed it from the clay,
But this house is not me,
It was just a place for me to stay.

God said I need shelter
From the storms this life would bring,
So he built an earthly house
And gave it a voice to sing.

He gave my house two arms,
To hug those I loved so dear
And he gave my house two hands,
To touch and wipe away each tear.

He put windows in my house,
Two eyes, so I could see,
Each and every loved one,
That came face to face with me.

He gave my house two legs
And made them strong, so I could go,
To life's mountain peak,
Or walk the valleys low.

He gave my house a heart to love
And gave my house a mind.
But he did not make my house immortal,
Or promise it would not wear out in time.

The legs began to falter.
The voice no longer sang,
The eyes begin to dim a bit.
The house infirm became.

God came to remind me,
In this house I need not stay,
For this house is not me,
It's just a bit of clay.

So I've left this house behind me,
With its aches and its decay
And I've gone to seek a house immortal,
In the land of endless day.

Freda Fullerton
May 31, 2011

Monday, May 30, 2011

Freda's Garden

Welcome to my Garden:
This is a picture of the tomb of the unknown soldier,
Arlington National Cemetery.
Be sure to fly your flag today in honor of all
the fallen heroes that gave up everything for
our freedom.

They gave up all their tomorrow's,
For the freedom we enjoy today.
They gave up their hopes and dreams
That we might have a better way.

They marched across this nation,
With freedom in their breast.
They sailed across the ocean
To meet each and every test.

They endured at Valley Forge.
They marched through Tennessee.
They bled and died at Gettysburg,
So that we might live free.

They fought oppression in the Forest of Argonne,
Battled beneath the Verdun sky,
As they fought the war of wars,
Where so many were to die.

They stood on Iwo Jima,
And raised ole glory way up high,
As cries of fallen comrades
Reached far into the sky.

In the battle of the Bulge,
Were young men, brave and true.
They stumbled upon distant beach heads,
Trying to make it through.

They were there to aid Korea
Some, not knowing why?
Only knowing it was ordered,
And some would surely die.

They fought in Vietnam,
Not knowing friend from foe,
With peers at home protesting,
Wailing sad, sad songs of woe.

They showed up in Croatia,
Were there in Desert Storm,
Sought freedom for Afghanistan,
Protecting Iraq was just the norm.

They had plans for the future.
They left loved ones behind,
They were sacrificed for others
Heroes... the very valiant kind!

Freda Fullerton
May 30, 2011

Sunday, May 29, 2011

Freda's Garden

Welcome to my Garden:
This picture is the New Port Bridge, between
New Port and Jamestown R.I.

How did you wake up this morning?
What did you say?
Did you thank God for his protection,
Or say, "Oh God, is it day?"

Did you feel cold and lonely?
Did you start the day with dread?
Did you want to stay under covers,
And spend the day in bed?

Time will travel on without you,
So you must get up and say,
"I will make the best of things,
I will enjoy today!"

Start the day with thanksgiving,
Keep a song in your heart.
Thank God for each blessing.
And for giving you a new start!

Freda Fullerton
May 29, 2011

Saturday, May 28, 2011

Freda's Garden

Welcome to my Garden!
This is a picture of a maple tree in all its glory,
Fall in Huntsville, Arkansas.
We live in a Mobile Home Park. This past week
the management of the park had two beautiful,
old pepper trees cut down. One stood by the side
of the road and our mail lady parked her mail
truck under it and ate her lunch and occasionally,
the maintenance workers would take their break in its
I was so disappointed in the loss of that tree, I felt some,
sympathy for those protesters that chain themselves to
forrest trees.  So my way of protest is the following poem.

It stood so very proud,
And took a hundred years to grow.
It was beautiful to see,
But was felled in one swift blow.

It spread its branches out,
As if to reach the sky,
Some birds have lost their home,
I'm sure they wonder why?

It stood beside the road,
Its shade was there to share,
With those who came to lunch,
Or just rest a minute there.

Now, the land is bear,
The sun beats upon the ground.
No bird-song can you hear,
It's silent all around.

They say it's only God,
That can make a tree... you see,
But it's by the hand of man...
The death of a tree!

Freda Fullerton
May 28, 2011

Friday, May 27, 2011

Freda's Garden

Welcome to my Garden:
This picture is of Niagara Falls, in Canada.
the tiny speck you see in the middle is a large boat
that takes you right up to the falls. It is really some
experience to see and feel the power of the falls at
such a close range. I have had fun matching pictures
with my poems and reliving some of our travels.
Nature often shows us just how powerful God is.
But he is also a God who provides and we can trust
him for his love and care.

Thank God for what you have.
Trust God for what you need.
Believe in the power of prayer,
And that he will intercede.

Thank God for who you are.
Trust his mercy for what you lack.
Believe he will keep you close,
And his promises are a fact.

Thank God for each day,
Though some be hard to bear.
Trust him for his guiding hand,
And for his love and care.

Freda Fullerton
May, 27, 2011

Thursday, May 26, 2011

Freda's Garden

Welcome to my Garden:

Scripture Reference: Share with God's people who are in need.
Practice hospitality. Romans 12:13
Quote: No man is an Island, every man is a piece of the
continent, a part of the main. (John Donne)

Perky little violets
Speak of hospitality.
They always seem to say,
"Share a friend with me."

They love to find a place
On a friendly windowsill,
Or perk up a sick-room,
Of someone that is ill.

They are a perfect gift
For a neighbor, just moved in,
A way to say, "Welcome,
I want to be your friend."

You can even say, "I'm sorry,"
with this plant, you see...
Yes, violets really speak
Of hospitality to me.

Freda Fullerton
May 26, 2011

Wednesday, May 25, 2011

Freda's Garden

Welcome to my Garden:
This is a picture of an Amish horse and buggy, on a
country road, near Lancaster, PA.


Guide my footsteps,
Lord, this day.
Open my eyes,
Show me the way.

May I hear...
Your voice, I pray,
For I want to do,
Your will today.

Touch my heart,
For those in need.
Empty my soul...
Of hate and greed.

May I be your hands
And feet...
And be kind
To all I meet.

Freda Fullerton
May 25, 2011

Tuesday, May 24, 2011

Freda's Garden

Welcome to my Garden:
The above picture was sent to me by my friend, Dot Barr, along
with some other great pictures. They were titled:
"The day God dropped the  paint bucket."
My mind went to work and I couldn't help but make a poem out
of such a great title!


The day God dropped the paint bucket,
He spilled paint upon the hill.
He had a mixture of all colors,
To view them is such a thrill.

He mixed purple with the yellows,
And some orange and red are there.
He has such a brilliant palette,
No one can compare.

Nature can't be improved upon,
Though many, in the past, have tried,
The day God dropped the paint bucket,
Is nature's greatest pride!

Freda Fullerton
May 24, 2011

Monday, May 23, 2011

Freda's Garden

Welcome to my Garden:
This is a chapel by Lake Tekapo, New Zealand with a view of Mt Cook
through the window.


We don't know the whys,
That God calls us to make a stand?
We don't even know the wherefores,
Or even if we can?

We see a world that's forgotten him,
As it passes on parade,
And our faith in him is weakened,
We feel so alone and so afraid.

Satan would have us believe
That wealth, health or fame,
Are measures of God's love,
For those who wear his name.

But saints have always suffered,
Knowing their journey here is brief,
Trusting God to comfort them,
In all their pain and grief.

He too, was a man of sorrows,
And he suffered all alone,
Not for his sins, but others,
That he might for them atone.

Though we don't have all the answers,
As the anguished call out "Why?"
We know that he cares so much for us,
That he went to the cross to die!

And he reaches through the ages.
With his nail-scarred hand.
He asks only that we trust him,
We don't have to understand.

Freda Fullerton
May 23, 2011

Sunday, May 22, 2011

Freda's Garden

Welcome to my Garden:
The above picture is aerial view of Sydney Australia at dawn.

When the day is over,
And shadows around me fall,
As I come to you in prayer,
Father, hear me when I call.

When my footsteps are unsure,
When my faith seems oh, so small,
And I come to you in prayer,
Father, hear me when I call.

When my night is filled with pain,
When I can't see my way at all,,
When I come to you in prayer,
Father, hear me when I call.

When the dawn is breaking,
And things seem much more clear,
Father, hear me when call,
Let me know that you are near.

Freda Fullerton
May 22, 2011

Saturday, May 21, 2011

Freda's Garden

Welcome to my Garden:
The above picture is of dad and me. Dad died 11 years ago today one
day past his 88th birthday. Yesterday I mentioned his love for musical
instruments, he also loved gospel singing. When he was younger he led
singing at the little country church we attended. He also sang at countless
funerals. He loved the four part harmony and could sing all four parts.
Like the musical recordings, he recorded some of his favorite gospel
songs, with him singing all four parts. I had them play one of these tapes
at his funeral.
The poem below was on the program at his funeral. a friend
attending the funeral, asked if she could have it read at her funeral. Her
husband died first and she had it read and a couple of years later she died
and her children had it read at her funeral. I've had many of my poems read
at funerals down through the years and I'm so very grateful that I have been
able to bring a measure of comfort to many, during their deep sorrow!

God never promised,
That in all we would succeed.
But he did promise,
Strength for our every need.

He did not promise
Sight to all mankind,
But he did promise,
Seek and you shall find.

He did not promise,
Health, wealth or fame,
But he did promise,
We would wear his name.

He did not promise
A life free of pain.
But he did promise,
Heaven is our gain.

Freda McCoy Fullerton
May 21, 2011

Friday, May 20, 2011

Freda's Garden

Welcome to my Garden:

This is a picture of my dad, Clyde McCoy, showing his banjo
to my oldest grandson, Rich, Today is my dad's birthday. He
would have been 99. Beside s the banjo dad played the fiddle,
guitar and mandolin. He loved to play a tune with one of the
instruments and record it and play the same tune with another
and record it again until he had all four instruments on one
tape. He even composed some of the tunes he played. He
played in a senior band up until a few weeks before he died.
He was a farmer at heart and owned my maternal great-great
grandpa's farm until the early sixties. He sold the farm when
my mother became ill and they moved to SCOAL to be near
my family. Here, instead of crops, dad planted flowers. He loved
sweet-peas and grew them each spring. Instead of cows, chickens
and pigs, dad raised registered beagle puppies.
Today's poem honors my dad.

I am not far away,
If my memory you hold dear,
Hear a fiddle tune
And know I am near.

When someone plucks a banjo,
And you hear a lively tune,
You can imagine me,
Setting across the room.

When you hear a guitar,
Strumming a melody,
If you listen to the tune
You will think of me.

Take a walk at sunrise,
On a lovely summer day
You can see me there,
In the sun's bright ray.

Smell the sweet-pea blossoms,
As they waft upon the air,
Remember how I loved them,
You'll know that I am there.

Cuddly a little puppy,
Hold a chick, hatched that day
You can see me in all living things,
Know I've not gone away.

If you stop to look about you,
And think of the things I held dear,
Know that I'm still with you.
Memories will keep me near.

Freda McCoy Fullerton
May 20, 2011

Thursday, May 19, 2011

Freda's Garden

Welcome to my Garden:
This is a picture of a print by Thomas Kinkade. It reminds me of how fast
the mist disappears along the coastline.
The Scripture reference:
What is your life? You are a mist that appears for a little while then vanishes.
James 4:14

We don't know why,
God calls some home, so suddenly,
Or why some linger on and on,
Longing for eternity.

We only know that God is God,
And he does all things well,
Far more that we can dream or think,
Or the spoken tongue can tell.

Our life is but a vapor,
A mist, the Scriptures say,
We're not promised a tomorrow,
We only have today.

But we have a greater promise,
Than today's reality,
A home a life, with Jesus
Throughout eternity.

Freda Fullerton
May 19, 2011

Wednesday, May 18, 2011

Freda's Garden:

Welcome to my Garden:
This is a little village church in Vermont.

What can a man give in exchange for his soul?
Matthew 16:26

There was once a question asked
It's over twenty centuries  old.
What is there in life,
That man would exchange for his soul?

In answer to that question,
Some will boldly say.
"Don't think about tomorrow,
Just live for today.

Eat, drink and be merry.
Live it up my friend!
You don't don't have to worry
This world will never end!"

You don't always recognize old Satan
When he has his say...
But it's he that's doing the talking,
When someone talks that way.

He cares not if you suffer,
Or if your soul is lost in sin.
He will lie and cheat a lot,
Just so you'll let him in.

Your soul is something precious,
A very fragile thing...
No possession on this earth,
Is worth the exchange.

The soul is the most precious gift
God ere bestowed on man.
It is because of this great gift,
That a nail pierced His Son's hand!

Freda Fullerton
May 18, 2011

Tuesday, May 17, 2011

Freda's Garden:

Welcome to my Garden:
This is a picture of our oldest grandson, Rich. He was two
and Pepper, the puppy was two months old. He was my dad's
puppy. The poem below was written for a baby shower Sunday.
The baby boy is yet unborn, so I changed the last line to fit those
of us who have had a boy or boys. I hope you can relate!

Little boys are:
A pocket of rocks, muddy shoes,
Jeans with a tear,
A dirty face, a toothy grin,
And uncombed hair.

Little Boys Love:
Rain puddles and puppies,
Playing ball and hide and seek.
And look like Angels,
When they're asleep.

Little Boys Hate:
Being still, taking naps,
They think both are such a waste.
Dressing up and eating vegetables,
Are just not to their taste.

Little Boys Will:
Steal your heart,
And sometimes make you cry,
They will stretch your patience,
And make you sigh.

Little Boys Are:
A gift from God,
And will certainly do.
Aren't you happy,
One happened to you!

Freda Fullerton
May 17, 2011

Monday, May 16, 2011

Freda's Garden:

Welcome to my Garden:

This is another picture from my missionary friends, Roy and Kathi Merritt,
in Zambia, Africa. Roy called this ,"Morning Joy." I could not transfer the
whole picture. It showed the morning stars in the sky. I don't think anything
shows God's glory more than nature!
But what we do can bring glory to God as well, as I have pointed out in the
poem blow
To God be the glory
In all I do and say.
May the path I follow
Be his chosen way.

To have filled a need,
To have done a task,
To God be the glory,
This is all I ask.

I have been purchased
With a price I can't repay.
To God be the Glory.
As I walk with him each day.

Freda Fullerton
May 16, 2011

Sunday, May 15, 2011

Freda's Garden:

Welcome to my Garden
Christmas Past:
This is our Christmas table. We always have an abundance
of food and fellowship with family and friends. God has
blessed us abundantly. That abundance was the inspiration
for the poem below.

Dear God, out of my abundance
   help me to smile a little smile.
Out of my abundance
   walk that extra mile.
Help me to show a little kindness
   to someone every day.
Help me to see a soul that's burdened
   as I pass along the way,
In their lonely hours,
   they my need a loving touch.
Out of my abundance, help me give,
   I have so much!
It need not be a mountain, sea,
   or bit of sky,
Just, perhaps a minute,
   or a smile in passing by.
It need only be the caring of another,
   when the day is done,
For out of Your abundance,
   You gave Your only Son

Freda Fullerton
May 15, 2011

Saturday, May 14, 2011

Freda's Garden:

Welcome to my Garden:
This is a picture of a cactus plant from my garden.
I can grow cactus very well, but very little else!
Today's poem compares a prickly angry life to that
of a cactus plant.
A soft answer turns away wrath, but harsh
words stirs up anger. Proverbs 15:1
Some people cause happiness where-ever they go.
Some people cause happiness when-ever they go.

Cactus always grows
In a dry, arid land.
The stems are filled with prickles
That will stick you if the can.

Some have pretty flowers,
Others have fruit they bear,
But they have prickles in the way,
So you can't draw near.

They always seem..
Unfriendly plants to me,
Like an angry person,
Filed with hostility!

Freda Fullerton
May 14, 2011

Friday, May 13, 2011

Freda's Garden:

Welcome to my Garden:
This is a picture of my mom and dad and me, taken at the L.A. Zoo.
It was made in about 1936

Is there a way in this life,
That we never grow old?
Certainly, there is...
As memories unfold.

When I remember:
Certain things as a child,
My mom and dad
Are with me for a while.

When I remember:
My courtship... such fun,
I'm a young woman,
Choosing the right one.

When I remember:
Rocking my babies to sleep,
I'm a young mother,
With dreams to keep.

Memories are never old:
They are as fresh as morning sun,
And will be ever young...
Until life is done!

Freda Fullerton
May 13, 2011

Thursday, May 12, 2011

Freda's Garden:

Welcome to my Garden:
The above picture is from a Missionary friend, Roy Merritt
in Zambia Africa. The picture was taken at the Pilanesberg
game reserve, South Africa.
The poem below is a bit long. It was written as a song for one of
our Vacations Bible Schools , with the same name.


Form the tiny, little crab that crawls in the sand,
To the great, big elephant that walks on the land
And the little lady bug, you can see...
God made everything wonderfully.

From the house fly's intricate wing,
To the lowly sparrow, with a song to sing
They were not made by chance you see...
God made everything wonderfully.

The little snail carries his house around
And the tiny spider walks up and down,
He spins a web, how can that be?
God made everything wonderfully.

Those pesky, little ants, crawling to and fro,
They carry twice their weight, as onward they go.
Do you really think it chance they came to be?
God made everything wonderfully.

Catfish walk, as strange as it may seem,
And salmon can leap right up a stream.
A parrot can talk to you and me...
God made everything wonderfully.

Nature's wonders are far to great
To think they came by chance or fate.
It was all planned, as you can see...
God made everything wonderfully.

Freda Fullerton
May 12, 2011

Wednesday, May 11, 2011

Freda's Garden:

Welcome to my Garden:
This is me at Lake Louise in Alberta, Canada

I wish I had the power to touch each lonely heart
With an inner glow.
I wish I could find a way to ease the mind
Of those who are troubled so.

I would like to wipe each away each tear,
Erase each troubled frown.
I'd like to help the deaf to hear,
A lovely, lilting sound.

I'd like to help the blind
To see a red, red rose, an old oak tree.
A rainbow's arch,
And a sunrise on the sea.

All the old and helpless
That are forgotten so,
I'd like to say, "I love you,"
I'd like for them to know,

That the world is not so ugly,
As I know that it seems.
It is filled with lovely flowers.
And beautiful sunbeams.

I would like to cradle all the forgotten children,
Tenderly, to my breast,
And say "Rest on sweet one's,
Find sweet peace and rest."

But then I said, "I'm only human,
Faltering here below,
And God, I must leave you this task,
For I know you love them so."

And this is what he had to say:
"You may not make the blind to see
But you can...
Be his eyes for me.

The deaf may not hear the music
That pours forth from the harp,
But he can feel a melody,
Deep within his heart.

And the old and lonely,
I know you can't visit every one,
But that is no excuse,
You can visit some!

You can't take in all the forgotten children,
This I know is true,
But you could start with one,
This I know you can do!

You see, it's in the little things,
You can be my hand.
If you can't move a mountain,
Move a grain of sand!"

Freda Fullerton
May 11, 2011

Tuesday, May 10, 2011

Freda's Garden:

Welcome to my Garden:
These little critters  certainly have their eyes wide open!

Dear Savior, open thy servant's eyes today,
That I may see your will, I pray.

In everything I try to do,
May I closer walk with you.

May your word be written on my heart,
So your love for me will not depart.

When my life on earth is through,
Give me a home, Dear Lord, with you.

Freda Fullerton
May 10, 2011

Monday, May 9, 2011

Freda's Garden:

Welcome to my Garden:
The above picture is sheep at the Walter Peak Sheep Station
In Queenstown, New Zealand. In New Zealand sheep out
number the people.
He calls his own sheep by name and leads them out.
John 10:3

Jesus keeper of his sheep,
See us, even when we sleep.

Each tear that falls from the eye,
No, not one shall pass him by.

Each heartache he is sure to see,
For he died for you and me.

Freda Fullerton
May 10, 2011

Sunday, May 8, 2011

Freda's Garden:

Welcome to my Garden:
This is a picture of my mother. She died on Mother's Day 1993
Mom was a wonderful cook, gardener, and when we lived on
the farm she was a good vet. She had a way with sick animals.
She also crocheted and was an avid reader. It was from her that
I first learned about Jesus. She was a shut-in for several years
before her death and I never once heard her blame God for It.
She had a great faith! Today's poem honors my mother.

There was this gift that understands,
In the touch of my mother's hands.

The hands that held mine on a cold, dark night,
Reassured me that things would be alright.

Her cool touch on my fevered brow
Always made me feel better somehow.

There was this gift that understands,
In the touch of my mother's hands.

When disappointment spoiled my day
Her gentle touch made it go away.

When some naughty deed brought me shame,
I'd feel her touch, hear her call my name.

I always knew by her touch and glance,
That I'd been given a second chance.

It was God above I understand...
That gave that special touch to my Mother's hands.

When she stands before Him,
I know the first thing He'll see,

Are those special hands,
That meant the world to me.

Freda Fullerton
May 8, 2011

Saturday, May 7, 2011

Freda's Garden:

Welcome to my Garden:

This is a picture of my paternal grandparents.
Fred and Annie McCoy. Grandma did not have to
worry about clumsy, little hands breaking collectable
items in her home. After having raised 11 children and
having 30+ grandchildren, she had precious little expensive
items to break. She collected hearts, not things. She had
great reason to be often in prayer, having born 13 children, 2
died as infants. She had 5 sons in the military at the same
time, during World War 2 . Both grandma and grandpa had
a wonderful sense of humor and were both Christians.

Though my steps may be slower,
And my eyes somewhat dim.
Lord, please give me the strength
To keep up with them.

If a China piece is broken,
By clumsy, little hands,
They grow-up so fast,
Help me to understand,

That monetary values
Are not worth their precious tears,
Though I truly treasure,
Things I've collected through the years.

Please help me remember
Visits now are a delight,
When they are older,
Visits will be made to be polite.

While they are small and a lot of trouble,
I must take time for them, I see,
Or when they're all grown-up
They'll have no time for me!

Freda Fullerton
May 7, 2011

Friday, May 6, 2011

Freda's Garden:

Welcome to my Garden:
The above picture is Arlington National Cemetery,
in Washington, D.C.
During the Civil War President Lincoln  wrote a
letter to a bereaved mother and said, "Never has so
many sacrificed so much!" Unfortunately the sacrifices
did not end with that war. Mothers are still standing
by, while their precious sons come home in a flag
draped box!
Today I want to honor the mother's that have lost
sons in combat!

A mother gives birth
To a long awaited son.
She started praying for him,
Before his life begun.

She nurtures him through colic,
And watches him at play.
She has such dreams for him,
Some bright, future day.

She cheers him on in Little League,
Becomes a soccer mom,
And is there when he graduates.
Among the excited throng.

She teaches him to love his God,
And respect his country too,
He has a tender, noble, heart
And a patriotic view.

He feels called to serve his country,
In uniform, he, so tall, he stands.
He bravely waves good-bye,
As he sails to foreign lands.

Every night she prays for him,
And hopes God will understand,
She does not want him sacrificed
For this, out treasured land.

She stands by, with broken heart,
As they unload the flag draped box, her son!
She cries "Why Lord?
Why should he be the one?"

God stills her broken thoughts,
Picks up the fragments of her heart.
He whispers, "I only call the best,
Someday you'll never part!"

Freda Fullerton
May 6, 2011

Thursday, May 5, 2011

Freda's Garden:

Welcome to my Garden:

This picture is of our daughter, Janet Walker and
her three sons. Rich is the oldest Russ is the middle boy
and Jeremy, the youngest. Jeremy will be 24 in July and
is in the Army, going to medical school. I know Janet
has said many prays for these three boys and so have I!
The days do slip by and quickly fly away!

My God I thank You,
   for the life You give.
I thank You,
   for love laughter and the right to live.
I thank You, for each child you give,
   all Your love and grace,
As I hold them close to me,
   and see each loving face.
May I cherish each moment, spent with them,
   each tear, each hug, each smile.
Please help me to remember,
  they're small for such a little while.
As they begin to toddle,
   falter, walk and run,
I pray Your hand will guide them,
   each daughter and each son.
As the days slip into years
   and quickly fly away,
May I tell them of Your love
   and teach them how to pray.
What shall be my greatest gift to them?
   To bring to You each one.
When my task is finished,
   may I hear You whisper, "Job well done!"

Freda Fullerton
May 5, 2011

Wednesday, May 4, 2011

Freda's Garden:

Welcome to my Garden:
This picture is of my maternal grandparents.
Lester and Rosie Johnson. Grandpa was the
gentlest man I've ever known and grandma
was the strongest woman I've ever known.
In the early 1900's Influenza swept across
America, claiming thousands of lives, among
them were my grandma's mother and two
daughters. They say grandma was the one to
comfort everyone else! Then, bodies of the dead
were washed, dressed and laid out in home-
made wooden coffins. Grandpa was a carpenter,
 so he made the coffins for his children and grandma
washed and dressed them!

I had an old fashioned grandma,
With work worn hands,
With hair piled upon her head,
Of shinning silver strands.

Eyes that held such tenderness,
For those she loved so dear,
Lips that often praised the Lord,
For his watchful care.

A faith that never wavered,
Even in her deepest sorrow,
She held firm to the belief,
It would be better on tomorrow.

She believed deeply in the providence,
Of a living God,
And went often to him in prayer
To lead the path she trod.

She had a peaceful countenance,
Upon her old lined face,
That made her presence felt,
No one could take her place.

Lord, now that I'm a grandma,
Please help me to be...
The same old fashioned kind,
My grandma was to me.

Freda Fullerton
May 4, 2011

Tuesday, May 3, 2011

Freda's Garden:

Welcome to my Garden:
This is a picture of our granddaughter, Katie. This was one of
our trips to Disneyland when she was little. Our son used to say,
"I think aliens have captured my parents, because Katie's
grandparents are not the same parents that raised me!"

Grandma gives snacks when mommie don't
Grandma says yes, when mommie won't

Grandma takes you for a walk
Grandma listens when you talk.

If mommie says "No, it cost too much!"
You know that grandma is a real soft touch.

I thank God  up above,
Grandma is another word for love!

May 3, 2011

Monday, May 2, 2011

Freda's Garden:

Welcome to my Garden:
This poem was written a few years ago I must have felt
like I look in this picture ,"tired." Now... as then, at 78 and
counting I think, "How did I get from young to old so fast??
I still think young and try to learn new things and that does
keep me "young at heart."

The years have come up on me now,
Sometimes they feel heavy on my brow.

My steps are not the same swift pace,
Sometimes I falter in the race.

Sometimes I find it bittersweet,
That age is not an honored treat.

Yet, I feel within my heart's frame
Just as young as coming Spring.

My dreams are not of old,
But of youthful things untold.

This should prove right from the start.
That age is a matter of the heart!

Freda Fullerton
May 2, 2011

Sunday, May 1, 2011

Freda's Garden:

Welcome to my garden!
This is the first day of May and most of
this month will be dedicated  to women,
since Mother's Day is next Sunday.

This picture is of two sisters in Christ at a women's retreat.
We had an early morning call for prayer.

 Women of God,
Daughters and mothers,
Spend much time in prayer,
As you learn to serve others.

There are so many things
Our hands can do,
Spend much time in prayer,
That God can use you.

Not just busy things,
That fill up a day,
But prayerfully seek
To do things God's way.

We can't be defeated,
If we really care.
The world can be won,
By women in prayer.

Freda Fullerton
May 1, 2011