Author: Tammy M Cardwell

The Aphantasia Guide

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The above photo is from the Aphantasia Guide

I learned about aphantasia back in February when I discovered I had it. That graphic you see above? I’m a 5. I always assumed phrases like “close your eyes and imagine” and “enter the theater of your mind” were figures of speech. I had NO idea what those words meant to most of the people around me. You can read the start of my aphantasia journey in my post entitled “I Can’t Imagine.”

In my research, I discovered the Aphantasia Network, and today I received an email from them that contained a link to the Aphantasia Guide. Yes, I’m linking to it twice in one post. There’s a reason. It’s that good.

If you have recently (or not so recently) discovered that you have aphantasia, you probably have myriad questions. The Aphantasia Network has created a free guide that contains answers to those most commonly asked and links to articles that offer deeper study. It also links to online aphant hangouts like the Facebook Aphantasia Support Group.

If you know someone who has aphantasia, I encourage you to check out the guide as well. It will give you a much greater understanding of the differences between you and them. In sense, we seem to live on different planets, so understanding helps – from both sides.

It’s a fascinating study, really. God has designed our brains so precisely, and with such diversity, that it never ceases to amaze me. Am I handicapped because I have no visual imagination? Of course not; I’m just different. Frankly, I wouldn’t trade places with a non-aphant if I had the chance. That’s the honest truth.

And, just for fun, here’s a third link to the Aphantasia Guide!

Celebrating Jesus!
Tammy C

American Women: “Mother Bailey”

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“MOTHER BAILEY”

No braver dames had Sparta,
No nobler matrons Rome.
                                    W. D. Gallagher

Anna Warner was born in Groton, Connecticut, on the eleventh of October, 1758, and married Captain Elijah Bailey of the same town, in 1774. He. participated in the hardships and dangers, and she in the trials of the struggle for Independence. He is dead; she is still living.*

She was a witness of the terrible massacre at Fort Griswold, in Groton, on the sixth of September; and the following morning she hurried off to the scene of carnage, a distance of three miles, to search for an uncle who was among the brave defenders. She found him among the fatally wounded: at his request that he might see his wife and child before he died, she ran home, caught and saddled a horse for the feeble mother, and taking the child in her arms, carried it the whole distance, that it might receive the kisses and benediction of its dying father!

In the month of July, 1813 a blockading fleet appeared off the harbor of New London; and on the thirteenth, demonstrations were noticed of an intention to attack the place. Intense excitement now prevailed not only in New London, but in all the adjacent towns. Fort Griswold was once more occupied; small cannon–all to be had — were planted, and every preparation possible was made for a vigorous defence. The greatest deficiency was in flannel for cartridges; and in the emergency a messenger was dispatched to the village to consult with Mrs. Bailey on the most expeditious method of obtaining a supply. She promptly offered to see that each family was visited, and the wants of the soldiery made known. This was done, and each individual in the neighborhood cheerfully presented her and her co-laborers whatever of the desired articles could be spared, some in garments and some in the raw material. When these were delivered to the messenger, and there was still found a deficiency, she slyly slipped an under garment from her own person and charged him to give that to the British. As the enemy did not deem it expedient to make an attack, it is difficult to tell what aid that garment rendered; nor does it matter: its patriotic surrender showed the noble spirit which has always actuated “mother Bailey,” and was an appropriation for her country which never caused her a blush. **

*We are Informed by the Postmaster of Groton, in a letter dated the tenth of December, 1850, that Mrs. B is still living, and that her mind is somewhat Impaired. She ls now in her ninety-third year. 

**The editor of the Democratic Review, to whom we are indebted for a portion of these facts, visited the heroine of Groton in the fall off 1846, in the number of his periodical for the January following spoke of her as a remarkable woman, physically, as well as mentally und patriotically. She was then eighty-eight years old, yet as agile as a girl of eighteen, and neither sight nor hearing had began to fail. “Such then,” he adds, “is Mother Bailey. Had she lived in the palmy days of ancient Roman glory, no matron of the mighty empire would have been more highly honored.” In the same article Mrs B. is spoken of as the Postmistress of Groton, an office, which the present Postmaster assures us, she never held.

Since the above was originally stereotyped, Mrs. Bailey has died. Her demise occurred in the winter of 1850-1.

______

Excerpted from Noble Deeds of American Women
(Patriotic Series for Boys and Girls)
Edited by J. Clement
——
With an Introduction by Mrs. L. H. Sigourney
Illustrated
BOSTON: Lee and Shepard, Publishers
Entered by Act of Congress, in the year of 1851,
by E. H. Derby and Co., in the Clerk’s Office of the Northern District of New York
______

Sometimes You Just Need a Do Over

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Back to the Beginning

Years ago, my aunt gave me starts from my grandmother’s hen and chicks plant. That plant, which grew quite large, was my favorite of everything I had. It was the only plant I brought with me to my new place.

But on the day of the move I was tired and stupid. I parked a plant that had been inside for nearly a year outside in full sun while we were in a drought with hundred degree days. I cooked Granny’s plant.

Once things calmed down and I’d regained a few brain cells, I went outside to check it out and discovered a few (exactly 7) pieces that were still hanging on. In hopes of salvaging something, I cut them off and put them in water to hopefully root.

They did root, and today I was able to put them in this cute little planter on my window shelf. And I felt better. Granny, or the plant she nurtured, is with me again just as I’d hoped. Even better than I’d hoped, actually, because while this little planter works on my window shelf the larger plant could only be outside.

Sometimes we mess up. Sometimes we blow it so completely that we destroy something we love. But then there is grace. God cares about even the little things in my life, and though I’d personally signed that plant’s death warrant He saved part of it for me.

So…I start over. I’ll care for this new pot and get to watch my plant grow all over again, see the crazy ways it spreads out, and start new plants off fallen leaves. Grace gave me back what I’d thought completely lost and now I’m totally prepared to move on forward without feeling quite so bad about that particular mistake.

Sometimes going back to the beginning is a blessing.

Celebrating Jesus!

Tammy C

Tiny House Part 3: The Purge

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I entitled this “The Purge,” but the purge actually happened in waves.

I’d already gotten rid of much of the junk my hoarder husband had insisted on keeping, and passed several of his things along to kids and grandkids, but in March I began the first true purge. There was a charity auction coming up and, even though I knew I would still be living in the apartment for another 5ish months, I pulled out everything that I 1) knew I could live without, 2) felt would bring at least something at an auction, 3) had confirmed that my kids wouldn’t want, and 4) couldn’t possibly take in the move, and I donated it all to the auction. I knew I still had a lot to let go of, including some things I really wanted to hang onto, but this move forward felt like an enormous success! It also helped raise hundreds of dollars.

The second wave of the purge happened as our floor plan was refined. There were some things that were non-negotiable. I had a queen mattress and, though I knew I’d be buying a new frame for it, I was not willing to drop down to a smaller bed. I also had a good-sized desk my son had just given me that I was determined to keep on the grounds that I needed it and it would serve as both work space and dining table. These two things were worked into the floor plan with about an inch to spare and determined the length of the bathroom (Which is the perfect size, by the way!) I was also set on keeping my lingerie chest, which provides an amazing amount of drawer space for its footprint.

With these things in mind, it was time to get real about what I needed, wanted, and couldn’t keep no matter what. The furniture that hadn’t gone in the auction was either given away or promised to others. The massive artwork that I felt would be completely out of scale for such a small space was also handed off to some who could appreciate it. I knew I would have limited closet space, so I hard purged my closet, getting rid of anything other than special occasion dresses that I hadn’t worn in the past year. I then pulled my out-of-season clothes and packed them away; I’ll explain that later. Then I measured what I had left. I was shooting for 3 linear feet of current hanging clothing. A lot hit the floor. I sent bags of clothes out the door.

I dealt with other things in similar manner, and worked towards actually living in that apartment the way I would end up living here. By that, I mean I figured out how I would store my shoes, I kept clothing in a small area, I rearranged my lingerie chest to accommodate my new lifestyle… In other words, I did my best to start tiny home living while still in the apartment.

The third wave of purging happened in those last few weeks. I’d hung onto some things just because, but in those final weeks I was giving away, throwing away, and donating things left and right. I knew I wouldn’t be doing much more than microwaving over here, so the only baking dishes I kept were two that will fit in my microwave. It and my electric kettle are my cooking team. Oh, and the toaster I just bought because I’ve been wanting peanut butter toast and hot Pop Tarts.

One of the most challenging parts of the purge was my book collection. If it weren’t for my kindle and my ability to store hundreds of books there, I would be in serious trouble. The book purge, itself, was actually a multi-step process as I slowly peeled my fingers off the spines of some of my long-time favorites.

I should mention that I’d been offered the option of storing some things elsewhere in the building, but I’d refused. I came into this journey determined to REALLY live in my tiny house. And truly, as I’ve lived here for the past several weeks, I’ve still found myself purging. Only when I got in here did I realize things like the fact that I had a ridiculous number of washcloths for one person – that’s actually what I passed along most recently. There have been several times when I’ve left things on my sister’s bar and texted to let her know they were there if she wanted them.

I’m still settling in, still finding the best way to have things stored, arranged, and used. I’ve gotten rid of things, purchased a few (very few) things, and tweaked left and right. Most excitingly, I had a friend who specializes in reimagining spaces come in and help me get out of the box. She made many suggestions that I was delighted to act on; created new storage solutions, decor, and art for me; and restaged the place. I love it even more today than I did before she came here last.

And so we’ve set the stage for the rest of my story. As we walk through this series, I’ll share things I’ve learned, specifics about choices that were made, and lots of photos showing how I live in my tiny dream home.

Celebrating Jesus!
Tammy C

The Trifecta – Lessons Learned

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If you’ve heard my story before, stick with me anyway. Please.

My life, until shortly before I turned 19, was filled with worry. I cannot sufficiently express how completely the worry consumed me. It was so bad, so constant, that it felt normal. And then the pastor of the church God had led me to only months (weeks?) earlier had an altar call for those battling worry.

I was there. So were many others. We lined the altar, standing shoulder to shoulder. Pastor Ronnie started at the end to my right; he prayed for people and they went to sit down. Pray, return to seat. Pray, return to seat. Pray, return to seat. And then there was Tammy.

He stopped in front of me, met my eyes, and said, “Stay right here.”

WHAT?!

Maybe you can imagine how I felt standing there. Worry was obviously a factor. What?! Why?! What was he going to do? Why was I different? How long did I wait? I was so far beyond all kinds of awkward that I have pretty clear memories of those relative hours I spent watching more and more people be prayed for and return to their seats.

After what felt like a month, he came back to me. He was completely serious, and kind, and loving as he stood before this 18-year-old girl he was only just getting to know. We never discussed this moment later, so I don’t know what he was thinking, but I know for a fact that he understood two things.

1. He was aware that my issue was beyond normal worry, that there was a spirit of worry he’d have to deal with.

2. He knew that my brain would need extra help.

As he stood in front of me, he had me hold out my arms. Then he took off his suit jacket and laid it across them. Again looking me in the eyes, he said, “I want you to imagine a river of blood running at your feet. I’m going to pray for you, and when I finish you’re going to drop my jacket. Think of it as your worries and see them disappear under that blood. And realize you’ll have to reach through the blood to pick them up again.”

Now, it’s been over 40 years, so obviously that’s not an exact quote, but you get the idea. He prayed. I don’t remember what he prayed, though I’m sure part of it was dealing with that spirit of worry, then he said amen and I dropped the jacket. I was free. I knew something big had just happened.

And now to why I entitled this “The Trifecta.” Pastor Ronnie, like Moses, did his part. God, just as was true in Egypt, did His part; He delivered me out of bondage to worry. Now it was time for me to do my part, to get the worry out of me.

I look back and I am so grateful! In comparing my walk to that of the Jews entering the desert, I see how easily I could have returned to letting worry rule over me, to go back to sacrificing myself on its altar. I didn’t in part because a wise man of God knew that I needed a tool, something to remind me that in order to carry the worry again I had to reach through the blood of Jesus to pick it up.

Once the spirit of worry was dealt with, the choice was mine, and it was an every day, every hour choice that I had to actively make. It is a choice I still have to actively, consistently make. In fact, I wrote a post not long ago entitled, “Drop It,” where I shared the new tool God had given me to help me deal with worry as well as a few other things. The devil knows what worked on me before, so he often tries to work the same tactic again. (Remember this when God delivers you from any addiction.)

Jesus said something along the lines of, “Don’t be afraid,” 365 times, and worry is a form of fear. So yes, He is well aware that it’s something we all deal with and yes, He is telling us it is something we can control.

For me, I kind of think it’s like Paul’s thorn in the flesh. God never removed that thorn, whatever it was, but He gave Paul the grace to deal with it. “My grace is sufficient for you,” God said in 2nd Corinthians 12:9. In 2nd Corinthians 9:8 we are told that God can cause all grace to abound towards us so we have every sufficiency for every good work. He gives us what we need to overcome.

Now, I will step to the side a second and say this. Sometimes He gives us the tool called medicine. A couple of times in the past 13 or so years, I spent a few months on antidepressants, and for years I carried a bottle of anti-anxiety medication with me. My occasional need for the anti-anxiety meds ended shortly after my husband passed away (which kind of makes clearer the stress I lived under). I am grateful that I had the medical help I needed when I needed it.

So, to bring this web-bound book to a close, when we need big things in our lives, it’s a team effort. God must be in the mix, a minister or other faith-filled believer may be needed, and we will have to do our part. Our part involves walking by faith, and that faith will require us to make the right choices and do the right things.

The three working together? That’s powerful!

Celebrating Jesus!
Tammy C

American Women: Humanity of Hartford Ladies

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As the rivers farthest flowing,
    In the highest hills have birth;
As the banyan broadest growing,
    Oftenest bows its head to earth,
So the noblest minds press onward,
    Channels far of good to trace;
So the largest hearts bend downward,
    Circling all the human race.
                                               Mrs. Hale

The sympathies of a free people are always aroused when a nation is struggling for freedom. Hence the war between the Turks and Greeks not only called forth the eloquence of American orators, but the mothers and daughters of the land, reminded of the long struggle of their husbands and fathers for liberty, were alive to the interests, and prayed much for the ransom of the latter people. Nor was this all; the sufferings to which the war reduced the Greeks, so much moved the hearts of females that, in one instance at least, they made a demonstration of their sympathy worthy of record. The ladies of Hartford, Connecticut, sent out a ship to the women of Greece, containing money, and articles of wearing apparel, wrought by themselves expressly for an offering to suffering humanity. Mrs. Sigourney, the Secretary of the Ladies’ Committee, wrote the following letter to accompany the contribution:

“United States of America, March 12th, 1828.
     The Ladies of Hartford, in Connectiout, to the Ladies of Greece.

“SISTERS AND FRIENDS, -From the years of childhood your native clime has been the theme of our admiration: together with our brothers and our husbands, we early learned to love the country of Homer, of Aristides, of Solon, and of Socrates. That enthusiasm which the glory of ancient Greece enkindled in our bosoms, has preserved a fervent friendship for her descendants: we have beheld with deep sympathy the horrors of Turkish domination, and the struggles so long and nobly sustained by them for existence and for liberty.

“The communications of Dr. Howe, since his return from your land, have made us more intimately acquainted with your personal sufferings. He has presented many of you to us in his vivid descriptions, as seeking refuge in caves, and, under the branches of olive trees, listening for the footsteps of the destroyer, and mourning over your dearest ones slain in battle.

“Sisters and friends, our hearts bleed for you. Deprived of your protectors by the fortune of war, and continually in fear of evils worse than death, our prayers are with you, in all your wanderings, your wants and your griefs. In this vessel (which may God send in safety to your shores!) you will receive a portion of that bounty wherewith He hath blessed us. The poor among us have given according to their ability, and our little children have cheerfully aided, that some of you and your children might have bread to eat and raiment to put on. Could you but behold the faces of our little ones brighten, and their eyes sparkle with joy, while they give up their holidays, that they might work with their needles for Greece; could you see those females who earn a subsistence by labor, gladly casting their mite into our treasury, and taking hours from their repose that an additional garment might be furnished for you; could you witness the active spirit that pervades all classes of our community, it would cheer for a moment the darkness and misery of your lot.

“We are the inhabitants of a part of one of the smallest of the United States, and our donations must therefore, of necessity, be more limited than those from the larger and more wealthy cities; yet such as we have, we give in the name of our dear Saviour, with our blessings and our prayers.

‘We know the value of sympathy – how it arms the heart to endure -how it plucks the sting from sorrow – therefore we have written these few lines to assure you, that in the remoter parts of our country, as well as in her high places, you are remembered with pity and with affection.

“Sisters and friends, we extend across the ocean our hands to you in the fellowship of Christ. We pray that His Cross and the banner of your land may rise together over the Crescent and the Minaret–that your sons may hail the freedom of ancient Greece restored, and build again the waste places which the oppressor hath trodden down; and that you, admitted once more to the felicities of home, may gather from past perils and adversities a brighter wreath for the kingdom of Heaven.

” Lydia H. Sigourney,
“Secretary of the Greek Committee of
                        Hartford, Connectiout.”

______

Excerpted from Noble Deeds of American Women
(Patriotic Series for Boys and Girls)
Edited by J. Clement
——
With an Introduction by Mrs. L. H. Sigourney
Illustrated
BOSTON: Lee and Shepard, Publishers
Entered by Act of Congress, in the year of 1851,
by E. H. Derby and Co., in the Clerk’s Office of the Northern District of New York
______

I Need These Nights

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I just got home from our church’s monthly worship night. It’s one hour of nothing but worship-me and God. I need these nights. I need them for a variety of reasons.

One is that it’s a service for which I have no staff responsibilities. If you are on staff at your church, you know this is huge. For regular services, although I am definitely taking part, I am also sensitive to anything I might need to deal with as a staff member. In services, for instance, my phone is by me at all times in case another staff member texts with a question or needing help. At WILD Worship, we all put our phones away so they can’t distract us.

Two, I’m a worshipper. Yes, I worship in service. Yes, I worship at home. The atmosphere on these nights, though, is distinctly different. There is no substitute for groups of people coming together for the express purpose of worshipping God. This is true unity and it is a blessing.

Three, there are no distractions. It’s more than just putting away cell phones. It’s low lighting that helps minimize visual distractions. It’s going in knowing people are free to get up and move around, which means you don’t even think about them. You can more easily focus on God and God alone.

Four, and this is the point of the night: God. This hour is ALL about my personal relationship with God. It’s not just me singing awesome words to a song I know or being uncomfortable with a song I’ve never heard. I would get into these nights if the songs were sung in a language I don’t even understand.

Why? It’s WORSHIP. It’s getting face to face with God, Jesus, and Holy Spirit. Part of the time that means me singing the songs with an engaged heart. Part of the time it’s me singing or praying in tongues. Part of the time it’s just us, God and me, talking. A lot of the time it’s me listening while He talks.

And He does talk to me on these nights. While He has my undivided attention, He reveals things to me, gives me visions, explains things I’ve been wondering about, and more. I go into these nights knowing we will talk, expecting Him to be right there with me, and He has never failed to come.

Five, when He’s there with me, I have no choice but to self-check. I live an active God-focused life — praying, studying His Word, and in general spending time with Him every day, pretty much keeping up an ongoing conversation. Even so, knowing that I will sense Him there beside me during that hour, I start these evenings with my focus on me, checking my heart, seeing if I’ve let my attention shift in the past month, and repenting as needed. This is my monthly reality check, and I value it in part for that reason.

I value these nights. I treasure them. I need them. I dare say we all do.

Celebrating Jesus!

Tammy C

Tiny House Part 2: The Plan

Tammy M Cardwell4 Comments

If you haven’t read last week’s post, The Dream, you may want to start there. It’ll be a quick catch up.

So we had the basic area, and in coming weeks we discussed various fine points about the floor plan as they worked on it in the evenings and on weekends. This was a pretty constant back and forth as each of us realized or thought about certain things. For instance, they decided quickly that there was no way I’d be comfortable with the small shower stall we’d been considering, so they opted for a 36″ shower instead. (Bless them!) It wasn’t a huge difference, but it did affect the floor plan.

Too, I was determined to bring my washer and dryer, no matter what it meant giving up, so we measured and measured and measured again before settling on where these two appliances could go and exactly what base cabinets we could allow for the kitchen area.

One of the first things I did was get my hands on a pad of graph paper and start playing. I drew and redrew (to scale) as we adjusted and changed our minds about the big stuff (bath, washer, dryer, kitchen area, etc.), and then I cut out little pieces of sticky notes to represent the things I had to keep and the things I wanted to keep.

After a bajillion attempts, and a lot of help from them, we finally settled on this.

On the side of this image, you see a couple of pieces labeled pink chair and bookcase. Those were the last two “want to keep” items I had to get rid of. Everything else was “have to keep.” Well, I suppose that, technically, the bookcase could have gone, but it fits where it is and when I reach the point of posting pictures you’ll see how important it is to me.

Even after we settled on this, a few changes were made. I nixed the area of the closet labeled “shelves,” for instance, when I stumbled across a plan that would work and save them some time and money. Saving them time, effort, and money was a challenge. Several times I had to convince them that I didn’t need certain things – like flooring over this stained concrete that I love, and an actual door on the bathroom. I LIKE my bathroom curtain, and it’s only me here, so…

They wanted to give me perfection but with the limited time they had for the actual construction, perfection really wasn’t an option. Honestly, as I type this, there are still things needing to be finished as he finds the time to work on them because the calendar caught up with us. They literally only paused the work long enough for me to move in and then picked it back up for a few days to get things close enough to finished that they felt I could live here comfortably.

They have been absolutely amazing, and I bless God every day for this home that I’ve been in for a little over a month. In fact, as I was talking to God just yesterday I realized that I am as happy here as I ever have been in any other home I’ve ever lived in, happier than in most.

I’m literally living the dream.

Celebrating Jesus!
Tammy C

Only in the Night

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Eleven years ago, a friend and neighbor called me late at night, telling me that I absolutely had to head over to witness something she was sure I had never seen. She was right.

Night Blooming Cereus, at least the particular plant you see in this admittedly not-great photo, only blooms at night, and only blooms once a year. I’d seen it many times during the day and it was a remarkable plant – remarkable in that it wasn’t all that attractive. She cared for it tenderly though, and nurtured it, because of how glorious it is on that one night a year.

I spent a lot of time over there that night, chatting with my friends and admiring a thing of beauty that was entirely new to me. What if I’d not been home? What if I’d refused to respond to the invitation? I would have missed out, and I would’ve had no idea what I was missing.

The fact is, there are a lot of beautiful things we can only see in the dark. Plants like this one, fireworks, the stars…

The same applies to dark times in our lives. Frankly, there are many truly wonderful things that can only be seen and understood when we let God lead us through the night.

Do we want to walk in the dark? Not really, no. But just like I would have missed that one-night-only flower if I’d refused to accept the invitation and step out, we miss many nighttime-only lessons when we refuse to let God lead us through those dark days of our lives.

Uncomfortable? Undeniably.

Potentially fear inducing? Yep.

Profitable? Beyond our wildest imaginations.

Celebrating Jesus!

Tammy C

American Women: A Christian Woman in the Hour of Danger

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O rainbow of the battle-storm!
    Methinks thou’rt gleaming on my sight;
I see thy fair and fragile form
    Amid the thick cloud of the fight.
                                                Sara J Clarke

One grain of incense with devotion offered,
Is beyond all perfumes or Sabean spices.
                                                Massinger

The following incident, we are informed by Mrs. Ellet, was communicated to a minister- – Rev. J. H. Saye –by two officers in the Revolutionary war. One of them was in the skirmish referred to; the other lived near the scene of action; hence, it may be relied on as authentic. The name of the heroine is unknown, which is greatly to be regretted:

“Early in the war, the inhabitants on the frontier of Burke county, North Carolina, being apprehensive of an attack by the Indians, it was determined to seek protection in a fort in a more densely populated neighborhood in an interior settlement. A party of soldiers was sent to protect them on their retreat. The families assembled, the line of march was taken towards their place of destination, and they proceeded some miles unmolested -the soldiers marching in a hollow square, with the refugee families in the centre. The Indians who had watched these movements, had laid a plan for their destruction. The road to be traveled lay through a dense forest in the fork of a river, where the Indians concealed themselves, and waited till the travelers were in the desired spot. Suddenly the war-whoop sounded in front, and on either side; a large body of painted warriors rushed in, filling the gap by which the whites had entered, and an appalling crash of fire-arms followed. The soldiers, however, were prepared; such as chanced to be near the trees darted behind them, and began to ply the deadly rifle; the others prostrated themselves upon the earth, among the tall grass, and crawled to trees. The families screened themselves as best they could.The onset was long and fiercely urged; ever and anon amid the din and smoke, the warriors would rush, tomahawk in hand, towards the centre; but they were repulsed by the cool intrepidity of the back-woods riflemen. Still they fought on, determined on the destruction of the victims who offered such desperate resistance. All at once an appalling sound greeted the ears of the women and children in the centre; it was a cry from their defenders – a cry for powder! ‘Our powder is giving out,’ they exclaimed. ‘Have you any? Bring us some, or we can fight no longer!’ A woman of the party had a good supply. She spread her apron on the ground poured her powder into it, and going round, from soldier to soldier, as they stood behind the trees, bade each who needed powder put down his hat, and poured a quantity upon it. Thus she went round the line of defence, till her whole stock, and all she could obtain from others, was distributed. At last the savages gave way, and, pressed by their foes, were driven off the ground. The victorious whites returned to those for whose safety they had ventured into the wilderness. Inquiries were made as to who had been killed, and one running up, cried, ‘Where is the woman that gave us the powder? I want to see her!’ ‘Yes!- yes!-let us see her!’ responded another and another; ‘without her we should have been all lost! The soldiers ran about among the women and children, looking for her and making inquiries. Directly came in others from the pursuit, one of whom observing the commotion, asked the cause, and was told. ‘You are looking in the wrong place,’ he replied. ‘Is she killed? Ah, we were afraid of that!’ exclaimed many voices. ‘Not when I saw her,’ answered the soldier. ‘When the Indians ran off, she was on her knees in prayer at the root of yonder tree, and there I left her. There was a simultaneous rush to the tree–and there, to their great joy, they found the woman safe, and still on her knees in prayer. Thinking not of herself, she received their applause without manifesting any other feeling than gratitude to Heaven for their great deliverance.”

______

Excerpted from Noble Deeds of American Women
(Patriotic Series for Boys and Girls)
Edited by J. Clement
——
With an Introduction by Mrs. L. H. Sigourney
Illustrated
BOSTON: Lee and Shepard, Publishers
Entered by Act of Congress, in the year of 1851,
by E. H. Derby and Co., in the Clerk’s Office of the Northern District of New York
______

TAMMY’S NOTE

I hope you’re enjoying these glimpses into American History. At one point, I collected antique history books both because they were a pleasure to read and because, as we know, the closer you get to the source the more accurate your information is likely to be. Even as I handle the book, while pulling from its pages, it astounds me that I have the honor of holding a piece of American History that is over 160 years old!

Celebrating Jesus!
Tammy C