My Special Day

(Written for the Sandhills Writers who celebrated my 88^th birthday with me – 7/25/25)

By Sandi Fischer

The month of July, 1937 holds records of many significant events of various types: Amelia Earheart’s disappearance, Joe DiMaggio’s first grand slam home run, Buchenwald Concentration Camp opening, Japan invading China, and the U.S. Senate rejecting FDR’s proposal to enlarge the Supreme Court.

And on July 25^th, in a small town in Indiana at the home of the Little family, Dr. Flanagan, the town physician, made a house call and delivered a baby girl, named after a female character in a dime novel—Sandra. Voila! Me!

Today you can join me in saying, “You’ve come a long way, baby!” And it’s been a trip, through the end of the Great Depression, several wars, the civil rights movement, the start of the space age, the new millennium, the COVID pandemic, and more important segments in my personal journey. College, teaching, marriage, (63 years soon to be celebrated with the same man), three daughters, three granddaughters, bookstore ownership, retirement, southern transplanting, book publishing, and joining this group.

My life includes a history of some poor choices and investments as well. As time began to take its toll on my body, adding some pounds and flab, I bought an exercise bike at a garage sale, put a map of the U.S. on the wall with push pins to mark how many miles I would pedal across U.S. 6 from my hometown in Indiana to where it terminates in California. Within a few months I had pushed two pins, one on Waterloo, three miles away and one on Corunna, Indiana, six miles away. I sold the bike at our garage sale the following year.

As time went on I wished I had pooled the money I spent on wrinkle creams, vitamins, girdles, underwire bras, hair enhancements, and diet drinks and used it to buy stock in  IBM or Amazon. I wouldn’t be here to celebrate how far I’ve come with you; I’d be hiring my author friend, Lew as my yacht captain to take me on a world cruise like he did for others before retirement.

Aging is nothing new. Eventually, gravity will take over our bodies. What was once in one place will be slipping down to another—chins, waists, you name it. Even hair migrates from our heads, sprouting out in unseemly places—noses, ears and chins. Tweezers have become one of our favorite, well-used grooming implements.

So here I am still living in this tent that is sagging, wrinkly and grey on top, but there is good news afoot. I am blessed and grateful, because of the most important discovery about who I am. Composed of a material, mortal body and mind that is decomposing and will die, I sensed there is something more within and I found my spirit, an intricate, unique me that is eternal. As I searched for how to reckon this, I learned about how other people have done the same and have embraced various ideas about it. I believe that all people at some point recognize their individual being, their whole being of body, soul and spirit, so intricately made we are like snowflakes, no one made like any other.

I discovered too that it takes more faith to believe everything in existence happened by chance. I embrace a reasoned faith—everything that exists has been made and requires a supernatural Creator to have made it. Just like the watches we wear did not evolve but were intricately created, so are flowers and fish and us. Reckoning this I believe in the Triune God as the one Creator, Sustainer, Eternal, Sovereign LORD of all creation. The next discovery I made was how He gave us a conscience within us to discern the difference between right and wrong. He gave us the free will to choose and because our progenitors chose wrongly, we inherited that same nature. Recognizing this about myself, I made many wrong choices and suffered the consequences.

Guilt and shame come from within us; no one ever taught us to blush; it’s a natural response of the conscience put within us. Seeing my need for help, I met Jesus, the Savior, God incarnate in the flesh, coming to earth to offer Himself for my sins and those of the whole  world. I accepted His gift of grace, the best decision of my life, and I look forward to a forever life not measured in years but without time’s constraints.

That brings me to share how I view today and what you see of me and what you don’t see. You see my thin skin, easily bruised by a light touch, my thinning hair, slowing walk, fading voice, all under siege by time and trouble, but inside? The apostle Paul wrote about what’s going on inside in his 2^nd letter to the Corinthians. It describes me today and each day as getting more glorious:

 

And what greater joy can I have than sharing and bearing my soul to you, who love words as much as I do and want to use them to instill the love in this season and time where God has appointed us! Thank you for celebrating this one day, a small dot of eternity!

 

Tina’s Blessing Carol*

By

Sandra Fischer

The man dressed as Santa stood by the red pot, ringing a bell in front of the Five and Dime—“Help the needy—share the Christmas spirit!” Most people responded by pulling coat collars up over their ears and diverting their eyes to the slush below. They didn’t want to admit that many of them were recipients of help from the kettle. The dark clouds of the Great Depression hung over us, obscuring any spirit of Christmas.

Momma dropped my hand long enough to scavenge some coins from her purse and drop them in the kettle. “Bless you, ma’am,” Santa said.

 I tugged Momma’s sleeve in protest. “Momma! Why are you giving money away? We won’t have enough for our own Christmas.”

Momma stooped down to match my ten-year-old stature, her blue eyes capturing mine with that “teachable moment” stare I knew all too well. “Christmas is about blessing, child. God blessed us with the gift of His son, and we’re to bless others by sharing what we have that they don’t. Everyone has a blessing to share.”

I tucked the message in the back of my mind, thinking I would understand it when I grew up, but Tina Carver was to prove me wrong. Tina was in my class at school, and her family was on the charity list. Her father had hopped a freight to parts unknown when he lost his job, leaving her, her mother, and her two brothers to scrape by any way they could. They lived in an abandoned storefront near the tracks, its shattered windows covered by cardboard.

Some of the kids made fun of Tina. She wore her brother’s hand-me-down coats and trousers to school, making her stand out starkly from the rest of us girls, who wore dresses and leggings. Most times her clothes and hands were smudged with coal dust from picking up pieces along the tracks to feed their potbelly stove.

Momma’s “compassion” lesson began to take root when I donned a pair of my brother’s old pants and wore them to school to support Tina. The kids didn’t laugh, but Tina did. I knew then I’d found a new friend, so I offered to share lunch with her.

“I don’t have anything to give you.”

“Don’t have to. It’s a blessing. God blessed me with extra cornmeal mush so I could share.” But even as I shared my blessing, I began to wonder, What blessing did Tina have to share?

We walked home together. As I helped Tina pick up coal and tuck the pieces into an old knapsack, I began humming a Christmas carol. Suddenly, the voice of an angel burst forth, singing the words in perfect soprano.

 

I was dumbstruck. “Tina! Where did you learn to sing like that?”

Tina stopped. “Sorry. Never sung around nobody but my mom. Didn’t mean to hurt your ears.”
           

“My ears are fine and so is your voice—it’s beautiful! Tina, you have to sing in the school Christmas program.”

“Can’t.”

“Why not?”

“Uh… I don’t have a dress to wear.”

“No problem. I have one I outgrew. It’s just your size.”

The Christmas program was the same every year—classes crowded onto the gym stage and sang carols chosen by the music teacher, Miss Morgan. Parents applauded politely to the cacophony of voices until the final carol, “Silent Night,” brought relief.

However, when we all filed into the auditorium to perform, we instantly discovered that this year was going to be different, very different. Miss Morgan showed up with laryngitis, so Principal Hanley had to introduce the songs. Then we discovered Mr. Shricker, the janitor, had left a window open to air out the gym and cold moisture had thrown the piano out of tune.

“We’ll just have to sing acapella,” Miss Morgan whispered as she ushered the first graders onto the stage.

“I thought we were thinging ‘Away in the Manger,’” Willie Morgan lisped.

“We are, Willie, but we need someone to start us.”

Tina stood beside me behind the curtain as we waited for our turn. I pushed her onto the stage. “Go! You can start us!”

A hush fell over the room as everyone stared.

“Tina?” Miss Morgan rasped in surprise.

Tina fumbled with the lace trim on my hand-me-down dress and looked out over the audience. Her eyes met those of her mother, who smiled and nodded. Tina took a deep breath.

The next sound out of her mouth came straight from heaven. Tina’s melodic voice swept through the gym, singing the carol as we had never heard it sung. “Away in a Manger,” a humble message from a humble messenger in perfect pitch, resonated sweet tones of hope to hungry souls. The children joined in, and the audience applauded.

Tina’s gift proved Momma right—everyone does have a blessing to share.

 

*Story excerpt from the book, “Every Day is Christmas” by Sandra Fischer, illustrated by Becky Guinn.

 

 

“Pain Management” - Sandra Fischer For the joy set before him, he endured the cross Hebrews 12:2b NIV This world is full of pain. For Christians, it should not be a surprise. Jesus said, “In this world, you will have tribulation.” (John 16:33a NKJV) It’s a given. I don’t know anyone who says they have never experienced pain. Our first cry at birth shows how becoming flesh is shocking and painful. From that moment on we look for ways to prevent, endure or manage our pain.   We try to avoid it, deny it, or use any means to dull it. It may present itself in physical, emotional, mental, or spiritual form. We despair its presence, but it has purpose. Without it we may not realize we have a problem needing attention. And we do have a resource, an example to help us—Jesus.   Jesus experienced the same kinds of pain we do because He chose to put on flesh. From his first baby cry to his final one of agony, he suffered rejection from his closest friends, emotional despair of being separated from the Father on the cross, the struggle in his spirit at Gethsemane to do God’s will, and the unbearable excruciating horror of death by crucifixion.   Why was Jesus willing to bear such pain and suffering? “For the joy set before him, he endured the cross…” (Hebrews 12:2b) The joy was knowing he was doing the will of the Father, to take our sin upon himself and reconcile us to God. And in John 16:33b, Jesus implores us: “. . .be of good cheer, I have overcome the world.”   For Christians, our pain like Christ’s is temporary, and we can be of good cheer for our joy in what he has done. But for the lost who die without Christ, the pain will never end.   Father, help us endure our pain through Christ. Help us to share his grace with those who need the assurance of eternal life, free pain forever. Sandra is a FaithWriters Platinum member, check out her books or message her HERE.

 I love springtime in North Carolina, but each year in May I long for those days I knew in Indiana which meant the annual family tradition of mushroom hunting. Here's my reflection as found in my book, "Seasons in the Garden." -

"Remembering Springtime in Indiana"

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When I reflect on springtime in Indiana, I remember morel mushrooms. Hunting them and enjoying them in various culinary forms was a long-standing tradition in my family. My mother was the foremost morel aficionado, but one spring Mother couldn’t go mushroom hunting. After having surgery, she was recuperating at home. No scurrying off to the Hoosier woodlands to hunt the rare cone-shaped mushrooms, which have a short growing season. For Mother that was a real hardship; mushrooming was her gift.

Every year we kids would trail along, fanning out in different directions, searching in proven breeding grounds—patches of mayapple, rotting stumps, and fallen elm. But it was always Mother who called out suddenly, “Come see what I’ve found!” And in an unpromising pile of decaying leaves, half-hidden, would be precious honeycomb morel spikes peeking out.

I didn’t understand all the fuss. “Why can’t we just plant them in our garden and save the trouble of hunting them?”

Mother smiled, explaining that these mushrooms were special, sent by God to delight us. “He chooses where they grow.”

That spring, Mother longed to go mushrooming, but instead, she puttered listlessly in the garden. One day, while she was watering the tulips, I heard her cry, “Come see what I’ve found

There among the flowers I spotted something familiar—a morel! Soon we spied several, growing where they never grew before—and never did again. Mother couldn’t go to the mushrooms, so God sent them to her. I often think of how God blessed Mother with her heart’s desire that day. He delights in giving us such blessings when we delight in Him.

"Delight yourself in the LORD, and he will give you the desires of your heart." - Psalm 37:4

 The Sunflower—Not Just Another Pretty Face

Sunflower. The name itself elicits an image of a smiling face delighting in looking and following its namesake throughout the day. Like many flowers, it has inspired poets, songwriters and artists to capture its essence in their works of which Van Gogh’s several renditions are most famous. “The sunflower is mine,” he said, having painted several portraits of it, but I contend this yellow and orange blossom to be something special to all of us.

One of the tallest of flowers and having one of the largest of blossoms, the sunflower demands attention. Its bright face and foliage is a standout in any garden or bouquet arrangement. Its magnificent splendor is only part of what it offers us, as it is one of the most prolific of plants by what it provides.

Sunflowers have intrinsic properties allowing them to absorb poisons, such as lead and arsenic, so that the water and soil from which they are extracted are safe. Sunflower seeds produce versatile oils used in making butter, cosmetics, flour, plastics, and biodiesel fuel. They are also harvested as forage for animals, birds and for us—in the form of those roasted kernels we enjoy as snacks. The stalks are used to produce latex and the stems contain a fiber used in making paper. This plant is not just another pretty face!

While the blossom of the sunflower appears as one large bloom, it is comprised of thousands of disk flowers in the center with the outer edge border made up of sterile ray flowers. All the disks are arranged in a peculiar, spiral structure that has amazed and baffled scientists for centuries because of their unusual mathematical placement. The sunflower is indeed a “wonder” flower.

Oh, to be like this flower—presenting a glowing, happy countenance and a colorful personality while contributing so much more than these wherever I am planted in life’s garden!

Keep your face to the sunshine and you cannot see the shadows. It’s what sunflowers do

                                                                        – Helen Keller

Excerpt from "Seasons in the Garden" by Sandra Fischer - Available on Amazon