It was on the banks of the Jordan, that I had a life-changing experience. Although I did not know what it was at the time, I was overcome with the feeling that I must go forward in a worship service that evening, to make a public statement that I wanted to be a Christian.
Lest you think this happened at the Jordan River in the Middle East, I should clarify that it was the bank of the Dry Jordan, in Harrison, Arkansas, around 1960. My parents had a business on the banks of Dry Jordan, called Home School Supply. The name is misleading these days, because the phrase "Home School" implies one gets their education at home, instead of at a public school. Back when my parents chose that name for their business, it simply meant that they sold items for both homes and schools. (see photo of Home School Supply Building on South Pine Street)
My family had been attending a revival (which in those days meant church at night with a guest preacher, who emphasized making a decision to be a Christ-follower) at the Cumberland Presbyterian Church, just two blocks from our home at the corner of Maple and Holt streets. I now realize that once I heard this message of how Jesus had died for my sins, I needed to make a public commitment to Him, in order to take advantage of His gift of salvation, I felt compelled to go forward the following night, to make such a commitment at the revival. The entire day following that conviction, I remember walking over and over in a small circle on the bank of the Dry Jordan, repeating over and over, "I must go forward, I must go forward." I was very scared to take those first steps to "walk the aisle", and tell the guest preacher I wanted to be a Christian. But I somehow did it, and remember feeling such a relief from the conviction I had been under. I now know that it was the Holy Spirit that had convicted me, that I had a decision to make. The Holy Spirit had not condemned me, but convicted me. I have since learned it is Satan that condemns us, not the Holy Spirit. After church that night, I remember mother took us to Jerry's Drive-In, to have a delicious Orange Slush frozen beverage, to celebrate. She told me she was proud of me for making that decision, without any outside pressure from her or my father. Arrangements were made for me to have the Presbyterian form of baptism, which is called "sprinkling", the following Sunday. When my Parrish grandparents heard of my decision, they two decided to be baptized ( "sprinkled" ) at the same time that I was, such that we all three joined the Cumberland Presbyterian Church on that same Sunday morning.
I am thankful I made the decision to put my trust in God at an early age, because some of the events that occurred in my life afterwards, made me rely heavily on prayer, and God's promises. That is because I developed a skin condition that make me appear very different from my peers, and required frequent visits to a dermatologist in Little Rock. I am extremely thankful for a core group of friends who accepted my condition, with "unconditional" love. Of course, there were a couple of boys who said and did mean things to me, but I remember the junior high principal, John Wallace Hudson, telling me if anyone was mean to me, to let him know, and he would correct the situation. This was before any organized "anti-bullying" campaigns in school, so it was very intuitive of Mr. Hudson, to make the comment to me.
The next big event that tested my faith was May 7, 1961. I remember Mr. Brandon came to our house in the middle of the night, waking up me and my mother. (My sister was away at college and my father was spending the night on his houseboat at Bull Shoals Lake). Mr. Brandon lived in an apartment building beside Crooked Creek, and had been evacuated because there was a flash flood that covered the apartment building. Since he knew we had a store in the path of the flood, he came to alert us. My mom and I went down to the area while it was still dark, and could not see our business. We got as close as we could to the edge of the rushing waters, where I climbed up on top of a shed, and could see just the top of our two-story business. I had the grim job of climbing down, and telling my mom, that our business was destroyed.
When the waters receded, we were allowed through the police barricades to survey the damage to our store. The entire bottom story had been covered in seven feet of water. We also had a printing business, and the gigantic, massively heavy metal printing press had been shifted off its base, as a result of the torrent of water passing through the building. All of the typewriters, microscopes, mimeograph machines, cameras, binoculars, slide projectors, movie projectors, sports equipment, school letter jackets, wool letter blankets, and paper supplies that we sold, were all ruined. As a youngster, I could not grasp the degree of loss, but looking back, I can only imagine how completely devastated my parents must have been, to see all their work of the past decade destroyed. And there was not flood insurance. We just got to work, mopping out the mud and debris, and picking up the pieces. Yet in all this massive loss, I never heard my father or mother blame God for their losses, or shake their fist at the heavens, cursing their Creator. My seventh grade classes never resumed after that day, as Harrison schools abruptly closed, because the students were needed to help with the clean up efforts. That was the year I was taking geography, so I have always blamed the May 7 flood, on my insufficient knowledge of geography! When I had been of as much assistance as a 13 year old can be to my parents, (or else I annoyed them to their breaking point), they encouraged me to go down to the Harrison square, and help business owners there, who had been flooded. I remember I went to the the Perry Harness shoe store, to help with clean up. Mr. Harness had us separate out shoes that were not completely ruined, and place them in new shoe boxes for a future "Flood Sale". He taught me how to put shoes properly in a box, to that the potential purchaser, could see both the front, bottom, and sides, of the shoes. He even gave my friend and I a few coins for every pair of shoes we re-boxed. It was my first time to "earn" money, from someone besides my parents! There were lots of Flood Sales in Harrison that spring, and I still have one of the shirts I bought at the Flood Sale at Walter's Dry Goods on the square. Normally, the prices for clothes at Walter's was more than my parents wanted to spend, but when the price came down for the Flood Sale, I was able to buy an item there.
As bad as the material losses were, the fact that human lives were lost, is even sadder. I remember, it was on the bank of the (normally "dry") Jordan, that I saw the first dead body I had ever seen outside of a funeral. The body of an elderly man who lived across the Jordan from out store was found a while after the waters receded, and I was standing on the bank, near his home, when I saw an open vehicle drive by with a body in the back that was partially covered, but his swollen and discolored feet were still visible to me. Although I did not know the old man personally (even though he was a reclusive neighbor who refused to leave his home when asked to do so because of the flood) I felt remorseful and never forgot that scene.
Another thing I remember during the time we were at our South Pine store location during the clean-up, was the much-anticipated daily stops by a humanitarian group, such as The Salvation Army, who would come by and bring us donuts, coffee, water, and hot chocolate. It is for this reason, that I now like to include them in my charitable giving.
The frustration my father felt was magnified when the federal program called Urban Renewal, came in and took steps to seize his property by imminent domain . They offered a small amount of money to him, but an amount substantially below its market value. So my father sued the federal government, to assure a fair market value for his business. I remember going to the Boone County Courthouse on the day of the trial, and it was my first time to ever be in a court room. The verdict was to increase the amount they paid my father, but no amount of money could make up for the great business location he had on State Highway 7 South, near the high school. The Urban Renewal project paved over Dry Jordan, and created a "weir", called Lake Harrison. I remember my father using that new-to-me word, "weir", saying it was a "weird" thing to do to a free-flowing stream, like Crooked Creek. And apparently, he was right, because decades later, the Arkansas Game and Fish Commission recommended that the dam that was constructed to make the "weir", be removed, so that Crooked Creek could be restored to its natural state! After the Urban Renewal project covered Dry Jordan, and did away with the South Pine street bridge than spanned Dry Jordan, there would no longer be any evidence of my childhood "play house". I would take big cardboard cartons from my parents store, and make a playhouse in Dry Jordan, under the bridge. I still remember the musty smell that the damp cardboard would retain in the humid Arkansas summers. My friend, Betty Sue, that lived next door to our store, and I, would walk in Dry Jordan, down to where it ran into Crooked Creek, and play for hours in the water. We have both commented after we were adults, how amazing it was that our parents left us unattended for hours on end, playing in Dry Jordan, and Crooked Creek!
Fast forward a few years, to when my parents built a new building for their business located at the corner of Central Avenue and Cherry Streets in Harrison. They worked diligently at the business, and became a major supplier of Underwood typewriters, used by many schools and businesses. When the Underwood typewriter company was bought out by the Italian-owned Olivetti corporation, an incentive plan was offered by the Olivetti company that would give an all-expense paid trip for two to Italy to the salesmen who sold the most Olivetti typewriters and adding machines. My father met their quota and won the trip. Since my mother did not want to go, I had the wonderful experience of two weeks in Italy with my father . ( I wrote about that in a blog that can be found in the archives)
Another church-related activity that helped shaped my development, was when the Harrison Presbyterian youth group that I was a part of, was invited by the Presbyterian Church of Bentonville, Arkansas, to come for a week-end in their town. We stayed in the home of Walmart founder, Sam Walton, and his wife, Helen, gave us a tour of their beautiful home there. The thing I remembered most was that it had SEVEN bathrooms! I also remember Mrs. Walton showing us the bedroom of their daughter, Alice, which was lined all around the top of the walls, with fancy prize ribbons she had won at horse shows. In case you are wondering what would cause such a kind gesture on the part of the Waltons to a church group from Harrison, Arkansas, remember it was the 1960's when racial tensions were very high. My home town was very white, and the Presbyterian Waltons, wanted us to see there were other Presbyterian youth in Arkansas, who had a different skin color from me!
On a beautiful, sunny day in May, my freshman year in college, my room mate, Miss Jeffrey Lynn Taylor, and I went to Lake Wedington (just outside Fayetteville) to sunbathe and study for our final exams. As we were studying, a beautiful young co-ed came over to use, saying she was from Oklahoma State University, and was part of a group called Campus Crusade for Christ, who came to Lake Wedington, to tell people about Jesus. We told her we were already Christians, and she replied, "Great, and would you like to have an even better Christian life than you already have right now? We said, of course, so she told us about John 10:10 that says, "I have come to give you life, and to give it to you more ABUNDANTLY!" So we gave her our contact information and from that point, got connected with Campus Crusade for Christ. That organization was very helpful in keeping me pointed in the direction of Jesus during my college days.
As the years clicked by, I tended to put everything except Jesus as First Place in my life. That began to change when I joined a nation-wide, Christ-centered program called First Place. The name comes from Matthew 6:33, that says "Seek FIRST the kingdom of God, and his righteousness, and all these things will be given to you as well."
To finish out this testimony, I will give you one more story that has the word "Jordan" in it, which happens to also be the name of the river where John the Baptist, baptized Jesus. It was at Jordan, on the banks of Lake Norfork, in Baxter County, Arkansas, where my husband and I took a scuba diving advanced course, called "Rescue Diver". The phrase "rescue" is what Jesus did for me, by taking the penalty for my sins, through His death on the cross. I deserved to die, but He died in my place--he RESCUED me from an eternity of damnation, and saved me for an eternity with Him.
So may those of us who have accepted God's gift of salvation, "RESCUE THE PERISHING"!!
Remembering how I have been rescued, gives me "MILES OF SMILES"! Tricia
Decades later, it was at Jordan, where I took a scuba diving course called "Rescue Diver". Just as Jesus had been baptized in the Jordan River, my husband and I were "baptized" into the world of being a life-saving diver, by the instructor at Jordan Marina, on Lake Norfork , in Arkansas
It was not until I started reading some of the news releases being circulated about the sesquicentennial (150 years) of the Civil War, that I found out the origin of the Memorial Day holiday. I knew that when I was growing up, my relatives would refer to it as "Decoration Day", and decades ago, "Decoration Day" was also a time they would have "dinner on the grounds" at some small rural church with a cemetery beside it. This month I learned that the holiday we now call Memorial Day, had its origin immediately following the end of the Civil War. (As you may recall, the Civil War was fought from 1861 - 1865; hence the sesquicentennial will run from 2011 - 2015.) The first known observance in the north was May 5, 1866, in Waterloo, New York. In the South, there is a record that a Decoration Day was celebrated on April 25, 1866, in Columbus, Mississippi. By 1868, general John A. Logan (Commander in Chief of the Grand Army of the Republic) issued a proclamation that "Decoration Day" should be observed nationwide. It was observed nationwide for the first time on May 30 in that same year. May 30 was chosen because is was NOT the anniversary of a battle. I had always felt a connection with the Civil War, because of the many oral traditions passed down in my family, telling of our relatives who fought in the Civil War. I knew my mother had been instrumental in working with a veterans organization to get an official marker for the grave of her grandfather who fought in the civil war, so I decided I needed to make a pilgrimage to that cemetery to see the marker for myself. My sister and I traveled to Pickins Cemetery near Green Forest, Arkansas, recently, and photographed the Rudd family grave sites, including the special bronze marker shown in the top photograph of this collage. The lower photo shows the educational tool that is being used in the state of Arkansas to teach Civil War history. You can get a passport of your very own (along with directions on how to use it to "earn" a commemorative coin or patch of the Civil War Sesquicentennial) by visiting http://www.arkansascivilwar150.com/ .
Even though my great grandfather, Civil War Veteran Benjamin Rudd, died long before I was born, I always felt a tangible connection to him because of the hand-woven items his wife made that have been used in our family's homes for generations. When Benjamin Rudd returned home after the civil war ended, he married a woman almost twenty years younger than him, which explains why she was still alive when I was born. She was a prolific weaver, and made the woven rug and pillow case shown in this photo collage, as a baby gift for me, shortly before her death in 1950. My mother often told the story of how her Granny Rudd received a small government pension (I think it was $25/month), because she was the widow of a Civil War Veteran. What is interesting about this, I think, is that her husband had been a soldier for the side that "lost"; yet, when the nation came together at the end of the war, all soldiers were considered veterans of the United States of America---not just those soldiers who fought on the side that "won". Furthermore, mom said that each month, her Granny Rudd would give a portion of that check to my grandmother, Mrs. Grover Parrish, (the former Effie Rudd). The top photo of this collage shows me, my daughter-in-law, Stacy, and my son, Grover (named after his maternal grandfather) holding the hand woven rug and pillow case made by Julia Rudd, the widow of a civil war veteran. Julia's tombstone (also at Perkins Cemetery) is shown in the lower photo of the collage. 
This photo collage shows some of the many woven items that Julia Rudd made, that I have scattered around my home. Last year, I had a professional in the field of textile art, look at some of the items to teach me more about them. She seemed to be most fascinated by the history of the fabrics that were used to make the multi-colored rugs. (see middle left photo for a close up of these strips). She said these were most often made from old clothes that were no longer wearable, and hence were torn into strips that became the "yarn" that makes up the body of the woven item. I recall visits to the home of my great grandmother, Julia Rudd, and climbing the steep stairs to the second story room that contained the wooden loom where she made these items. I remember as a child, the loom seemed huge to me, appearing to take up an entire room with its framework. 
There is a verse in the Old Testament (Joshua 4:6a) that starts out: For your children will ask in time to come, "What do these stones mean to you?" And you will say to them............. the words I have written above to tell the story of THEIR connection to the Civil War through their ancestors, Benjamin Rudd and Julia Rudd. Thanks to the Christian foundation laid by these ancestors, I have had an abundant life, full of God's many blessings. 
One of the many good parts of the drive along California Highway 1, as it climbs up, down, and around bluffs above the sea, is getting to see the beautiful wildflowers in bloom along the route. The ones in this photo collage are just a sampling of ones that we DO NOT have blooming along the roadsides, that make similar twists and turns, where I live in the Ozark Mountains. 
