Tag Archives: WWII

So, I received an IN-vite

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So, I received an IN-vite. The #FiveMinuteFriday word prompt today is IN-vite. Let’s try that again, for this post only, if you want to keep your circle of friends, the emphasis must be on the first syllable. Make it long and drawn out and then cut off that second syllable as if it were offensive to you. INNN-vite! 

Growing up in southern Indiana, I may or may not always been grammatically correct in all of my speech. It wasn’t that I was illiterate, it wasn’t that I didn’t receive good grades or that my parents had not taught me better, but sometimes Hoosiers just choose to say some things differently. One such contraction is that of you’ns or you’uns; which when used properly, slides off the tongue closer to yuns. What in the world does it mean, you ask? Well, that is easy, it is just Mid-western slang for You guys, you-people-over-there, all you folks taking up space, or for my Tennessee friends and anyone south of Louisville, ya’ll. Or, all ya’ll which means anyone sitting close by, anyone related by birth or marriage, including sixth cousins twice removed and those connected to, or even remotely associated with those that you are speaking to at the time.

So, it is not strange, odd or even weird that other words were also possibly pronounced differently. Words such as INNN-vite, especially spoken by the Greatest Generation (for clarification purposes, that means those from the WWII era, not you millennials) were special. We knew they meant invitation but that was high-falutin’ (another fave), puttin’ on airs, and just too much trouble on a hot summer day to assemble and roll off the tongue. INNN-vite would do.

I remember my grandmother telling me when she received my wedding invitation in the mail, “Honey, I got your INNN-vite today and I will be there with bells on!” I can still hear her saying it as if it were the most important invitation she had ever received. Of course I knew that her shortened version was a verb and not a noun, I knew it wasn’t used correctly, but it wasn’t the pronunciation that was important; it was the fact that the invitation had been received. She was included, thought of and wanted, for a special occasion.

Jesus invited the woman at the well to experience living water. When the God of the universe issues an INNN-vite, you sit up and pay attention, you go call your friends and extend your own invitation for them to “Come, see a man who told me all that I ever did.”

The Pharisee invited Jesus into his home…

Peter invited the messengers of Cornelius to spend the night…

The Ethiopian eunuch invited Philip to sit beside him in his chariot and then Philip invited him into the Kingdom by preaching Jesus…

And Jesus continues to invite each of us to experience this living water, this New Birth. It was not just at the well in Samaria, it continues today, a couple of thousand years later, to everyone who reaches out to take it. He invites us to leave behind our past, our sins, our heavy burdens, shame, fear and so much more. The price has been paid, the debt no longer hangs over our heads and we can live victoriously as those who have been grafted in, who have been generously invited into this Kingdom, not as observers, but as children of God!

And we should continue to invite people to know Him. Invite them to church, invite them to small groups, to individual Bible study; just invite them to coffee! Extend a hand of fellowship, so to speak, and show the love of God, which is the magnet that draws them into the Kingdom.

Peter’s life was forever changed when Jesus invited him to “Come, follow me.” Our lives will never be the same if we respond to that INNN-vite; RSVP with a Yes and then don’t forget the next line on that card. It asks, “How Many?” How many are we going to bring with us, to how many will we offer eternal life and deliverance from the weight of sin? Don’t be afraid to ask, to extend that offer to just, “Come.” Most are waiting and just needing that sincere, down-to-earth nudge.

You give the INNN-vite; Jesus will do the rest.

For the kingdom

Bacon is a Memory

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“…he saved us, not because of righteous things we had done, but because of his mercy.” Titus 3:5
Bacon is a Memory

Today’s word prompt is awesome. Bacon, bacon, bacon!! Join me for a trip down memory lane…and check out some of the other great writers at Kate Motaung’s place for #FiveMinuteFriday!

Bacon. I can still smell it today. I can see my Mamaw Cammie standing in the tiny kitchen, before the sun would come up, getting breakfast and lunch ready for my Papaw Dubie. He worked in a stone mill after WWII and retired from there sometime in the 1970’s.

But Mamaw Cammie’s bacon wasn’t just any bacon. We called it Joe Bacon. Once I grew up, I discovered it was really Jowl Bacon, which is also pronounced JOEL, in some parts of the country so they weren’t that far off. (smile) What is jowl bacon? Just what it sounds like, it is the smoked cheeks of the pig. It is much thicker, heavily smoked and a little salty. It’s crunchy on the outside and chewy on the inside and of course, tastes heavenly, just like regular belly bacon. (Now for those that are freaking out over eating the jowls, first of all if you eat any pork at all, well, enough said. And if you eat a hot dog? Yeah, okay. Jowl bacon is much, much better than a hot dog!)  So, jowl bacon is delicious, smells heavenly in the frying pan and makes your entire breakfast taste better.

My beautiful grandmother took her Joe Bacon just one step further. She floured it before she fried it! Oh. My. Word. How these people lived past their 50’s is beyond me but they did. Floured it, fried it up and, even though it was deadly, it was fantastic. I always marveled that she fixed it every single day. Every day! Most of the time there were eggs and toast (she made the best toast ever), other days it was biscuits and gravy. Sometimes she mixed up pancake batter. (Hungry yet?)

Bacon is a Memory

This post isn’t just about bacon. It’s about memories.

For me, when I smell bacon frying, I am taken back to another lifetime with the radio playing in the background, the smell of Lucky Strike unfiltered cigarettes (deadly!) and sometimes the oven door open to help heat up the kitchen early in the morning.

It’s about my grandfather putting on his work boots, grabbing his silver, metal lunchbox with the black handle, and giving my grandmother a kiss as he walked out the door to work. And it’s all about the comfort, the safety and the love that I felt in that kitchen as my grandparents doted over me and my siblings.

My grandfather, my Papaw Dubie, never had a relationship with Jesus as far as I know. I DO know he believed in God and believed He gave His life for us but I always thought he kind of held a grudge because of the war. He was not a big talker and I had the impression that he was happy for all of us but religion wasn’t for him.

I prayed for him on his deathbed, I was the only one with him when he died because we had all been taking turns, and I DO believe in deathbed repentance. Of course I cannot say with assurance that he knew the Lord but I do pray he found that peace that we treasure today, that our sweet Savior lifted his heavy burdens that he carried from fighting on the front line in Italy. The torment that he suffered from losing so many of his friends haunted him the rest of his life. I placed him in the hands of a merciful God and prayed that he would let go of everything that had him bound and reach up for the One who makes all things new. Thankfully, we are not man’s judge nor do we know their heart.

“For you, Lord, are good, and ready to forgive; and plenteous in mercy to all them that call on you.” Psalm 86:5.

That’s what it is all about, isn’t it? Mercy. We have all been extended mercy and all we have to do is receive it!

Do you have a bacon memory? Or is there another food that every time you smell it you are transported back to another lifetime? I would love to hear about it and so would our readers.

If you are like my Papaw Dubie, bound by the past or listening to the enemy whisper that you aren’t good enough, strong enough or important enough for Jesus to rescue…those are lies! Our loving Savior is no respecter of persons and wants to reach down to you today and heal your hurts, calm your fears and erase your pain. He can do that if you just open your heart and ask Him in.

Perhaps you aren’t sure what that all means or how to go about it? Please respond here or email me privately at ynannette@gmail.com  I would be happy to help and pray with you.

Blessings to you and your memories today.

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Sharing with Faith Filled Friday, Fellowship Fridays, Grace and Truth, Modest Monday

Dubie…

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Dubie…

I guess he would be quite a bit over 100 if he were alive today. A common man. Made his living in the Indiana limestone quarries. He wasn’t afraid of hard work. Fell in love, married young, it was war time.

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James Lloyd McCammon, “Dubie” to his buddies and family, was a loyal father and husband. It wasn’t long, though, until his name was called. He left behind his wife and little girl to join his squadron and fellow soldiers to fight for his country in Italy.

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When the war was over, Dubie came back to many unknowns. Things had changed, he had changed. Many of his buddies didn’t return home with him. He was on the front line, and he saw things that most men never spoke of again.

He received a purple heart for his heroism. He and countless thousands of other heroes just like him that we are eternally indebted to.

But life goes on…

What happens inside of a man who gives all for his country and when he comes home is expected to be “normal” again? Some men are never “normal”. They appear to be on the outside, but inside they die a slow death. What they experienced, what they went through, the things they had to do are forever etched in their minds and 70+ years ago there was no help, no treatment, no support for men like Dubie.

He withdrew. After work he came home and would sit in front of the television, watch a John Wayne or an old war movie, smoke way too many Lucky Strikes, have a Falstaff, maybe two. Go to bed early. Repeat the pattern the next day.

As the years went by, he became more and more of a recluse. Once he retired? He only went out of the house for one more occasion…my sister’s wedding.

Dubie was my grandfather. He was a veteran.

This is his story.

It needs to be told. He died of lung cancer, untreated, afraid, sitting in his house just waiting. We couldn’t even get him to go to the hospital until he collapsed.

I was the only one with my grandfather when he died. My family had all been taking turns and my mother and grandmother were finally convinced to get some rest. Papaw Dubie was comatose but we were convinced he heard us, so, of course we talked to him.

Around midnight, I told him I was stepping outside to get a drink and would be right back. While I was gone, he slipped quietly into eternity. The nurse told me he was waiting on me to leave. I think she was right.  He never wanted to be in the way; he would want to leave quietly, just the way he came in.

But I wanted people to know, Papaw. I wanted them to know the good things you did, how hard you worked, how much you loved, how patient, how kindhearted you were.

And millions more just like you, whose stories need to be told.

My grandfather was the only Veteran in my immediate family. He has been gone a while and yes, I know the difference between Memorial Day and Veterans Day (smile). But he was a Veteran and even though he struggled with PTSD before it had a name, he was a hero who served, and in spite of the difficulties, he would have done it all over again.

On this Veterans Day we salute and say, “Thank you” to all of those who have served our great country in the Armed Forces. America is safer and stronger because of you.

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