The House That Steel Built: Lessons in Grit from Edgar and Miss Allie Smith’s Front Porch

Allie Murray Smith

This morning I am sitting on the front porch of a historic home in Plains, Georgia known as Mother Allie’s House . Rain is falling softly and the birds are singing. Everything is peaceful and beautiful – and I am grateful for the opportunity to be here. This is the home where former First Lady of the United States, Rosalynn Carter, was raised along with her three siblings. Today, it is a beautifully preserved rental guest home/VRBO, lovingly and meticulously put together by the family to deeply reflect the warmth and history of someone I have discovered to be an absolutely remarkable woman – Mrs. Frances Allethea (Murray) Smith – affectionately known to many as “Miss Allie”.

​The family has generously placed many wonderful books about the Smith and Carter families in this house, making it easy to learn during your stay about the history of this home and the people who lived here.

By all accounts, Miss Allie’s early life was filled with the warmth of a happy childhood. Born just south of Plains on Christmas Eve, 1905, she was the deeply cherished daughter of John William “Captain” Murray and Rosa Nettie Wise Murray. Before Allie was born, her parents suffered a devastating heartbreak when their only son tragically passed away before reaching his first birthday. After that profound loss, Allie grew up essentially as an only child on the family farm. Knowing the sorrow her parents carried surely made them dote on her even more, pouring their love, protective attention, and family resources into their only daughter.

​In 1924, after Allie graduated from Plains High School, her parents did something truly extraordinary for a rural farming family: they sent her to college. To understand how vast that ambition was, you have to realize that during that era, less than 5% of all Americans held a college degree. It was a time when a woman’s opportunities were drastically limited, but Allie’s family obviously deeply valued the intellect of their daughter. She moved to Milledgeville to attend the Georgia State College for Women. There, she earned a degree in teaching, specializing in home economics, and graduated with her diploma on June 7, 1926.

​Less than two weeks later, on June 20, 1926, she married her sweetheart, Wilburn Edgar Smith, who was nine years her senior. Theirs was a rare, lifelong romance that had begun years earlier. Later in life, Allie would frequently tell her children that Edgar was the only man for her, and that she could never love another—a promise of absolute devotion she kept for the rest of her days.

​Historical records and Rosalynn Carter’s own memoirs reveal that Edgar Smith’s passion for education was rooted in his own deferred dreams. Edgar was an incredibly intelligent man, but because his own family needed him to work, he never had the opportunity to go to college himself. He spent his life surrounded by books, reading voraciously, and watching the world change. Because he couldn’t pursue higher education, he made it a mission of his life that each of his children would.

​To build a secure life for his new bride and the four children that soon followed—Eleanor Rosalynn, William Jerrold, Murray Lee, and Lillian Allethea—he became a true jack-of-all-trades. He was an avid farmer, a clerk at a local store, and a school bus driver. Most notably, he stepped up to meet the demands of the changing times by owning and operating the very first auto mechanic and repair shop in Sumter County….just down the street from where I’m sitting now. He was the man who kept the rural community moving forward, fixing the temperamental engines of early automobiles and maintaining the tractors that were revolutionizing modern farming. Beyond his manual labor and entrepreneurial drive, Edgar was a deeply respected civic leader, actively shaping the town’s future as an elected member of the Plains Town Council.

​Through genius and sacrifice, Edgar used his multiple jobs to quietly build a college fund for his children, methodically purchasing U.S. Savings Bonds and funneling every spare penny from his mechanic shop into a sacred, untouchable account. I am amazed that he was so forward thinking – that he valued education so much that he saved (during hard times) to send his children to college. Can you imagine?

​In 1928, when their eldest daughter Rosalynn was just a sixteen-month-old toddler, Edgar and Allie moved the family into a house on South Bond Street – the same house where I am spending the week. Together, they built a life here on a foundation of community service, visionary hard work, and family devotion…and looked forward to a long life together.

​However, in the late 1930s, Edgar fell terribly ill with leukemia – and at that time there were no effective treatments. For over a year, the family watched his health decline, comforted by local neighbors like Miss Lillian Carter—Jimmy Carter’s mother—who visited daily as a registered nurse to administer his routine medical injections. On October 22, 1940, Edgar passed away at home at the young age of 44.

​At just 35 years old, Miss Allie was suddenly a grieving widow with four young children and no job to support them. When you look at the ages of her children at the time of her husband’s death, the sheer weight of her new reality is staggering: Rosalynn was 13, Jerry was 11, Murray was 8 (turning eight on the exact day his father died), and Allethea was 3. In the immediate aftermath, a heartbroken Miss Allie penned a line that laid bare her grief:

“I miss him and I don’t know what I will do without him.”

​When Edgar died, he managed to leave behind a small inheritance and savings account for his family. But as Howard Norton details in Rosalynn, A Portrait, Rosalynn recalled that her mother fiercely resolved never to touch a single cent of that inheritance. She was determined to bring up and educate her children entirely through her own efforts, keeping Edgar’s sacred college fund intact. What a determined lady.

​The blows kept coming. Less than a year after losing her husband, Allie’s mother, Rosa, passed away at age 60. Suddenly, Allie was not only raising four small children alone, but her aging, grieving father, “Captain” Murray, came to live with them in the house. It is almost impossible to imagine how terrifyingly hard it must have been for her. For fourteen years, she had lived a sheltered life centered around being a protected homemaker. Now, she had to navigate intense, compounding family grief while carrying the sole financial survival and care of six people on her shoulders. I am sleeping in Miss Allie’s bedroom this week – and when I lay down at night I have been thinking about the weight of responsibility she must have felt – yet all of the stories I hear from others about her are stories of her love, her faith, her strength, and her joy. What a remarkable lady.

​To make a living, Miss Allie started taking in sewing. She didn’t just mend clothes; she took on master-level tailoring. She crafted beautiful, intricate wedding dresses—which quickly became one of her highly sought-after specialties—and she even tackled the incredibly difficult task of making tailored men’s suits and heavy overcoats from scratch. Ladies from the community valued her work. When they found a dress somewhere that they admired, she could study it and then make it for them. There are several examples of her work here in the house – and they are absolutely beautiful.

​One steady, dependable source of income came from the family farm – which she rented out instead of selling. However, even though she needed that cash to keep the household running, she insisted on funneling every single penny of that rent money straight into the untouchable savings for her children’s college funds.

​She took other work to support her family – working in the school cafeteria and as a grocery store clerk. After a few years, she took the federal civil service examination, passed it, and was awarded a position as an assistant to the postmaster at the local post office in Plains. It became a defining pillar of her life. She clocked in at 7:00 AM every single morning for 29 years, walking to work from this very house. She loved her job and the daily connection it gave her to the townspeople. When she reached the mandatory federal retirement age of 70, she was still sharp, energetic, and fully capable of working. She fought passionately against leaving, but federal regulations forced her to step down against her will—an experience that deeply saddened her.

​(In an incredible and wonderful twist of history, that mandatory retirement rule wouldn’t stand forever. Her son-in-law, President Jimmy Carter, signed the Age Discrimination in Employment Act Amendments into law, raising and eventually eliminating mandatory retirement ages for federal employees.)

​Even after her forced retirement, Allie refused to slow down, taking a part-time job at a local flower shop just to keep busy. Her younger son Murray beautifully remembered that while the family was technically poor, “she forgot to tell us.” No matter how hard things got, Murray recalled always getting exactly what he needed, whether it was a new pair of basketball shoes or a baseball glove. She encouraged her children to work early; Murray delivered papers, delivered groceries, clerked in the local store, and worked behind the soda fountain at the drug store before he was even 12 years old.

​In the book Rosalynn, A Portrait, the future First Lady reflected on the painful time when the family was dealing with the loss of her father, sharing a memory that would shape her forever:

​”We depended on mother for everything after father died. And that’s when I saw my mother develop into a strong, independent person, assuming full responsibility for the family and asking no help or charity from anyone. That made a deep impression on me. I’m sure it turned out to be a permanent influence.”

​In a beautiful personal tribute written later in life (found in the book Mother Allie’s Recipes), Rosalynn expanded on that legacy:

​”My mother was a wonderful role model for me. She was always there when I needed her; she had confidence in me and encouraged me in whatever I tried to do; and she taught me by her example… I watched her take charge, and do what she had to do. Those early experiences helped prepare me to accept my own challenges and do the best I could with them.”

​But Allie didn’t just provide food, clothes, and tuition—she anchored her children in something much deeper. Her son, Murray Lee Smith (named after Mother Allie’s maiden name), noted that his mother’s personal demonstration of Christianity in her life, combined with her insistence that her children go to Sunday school, church, and study the Bible regularly, gave them all a spiritual bedrock that never faltered. As Murray beautifully penned,

“We grew up seeing Christ through mother. She was a wonderful person and the greatest mother in the world.”

​As a single parent, Miss Allie had to serve as both mother and father to her children. Rather than ruling with an iron fist, she raised her children with intelligence and example. Her oldest son Jerry recalled how his mother uniquely used psychology on them when they started dating. Unlike the parents of almost all their peers, Miss Allie famously refused to lay down a strict, rigid curfew. Instead, she chose a tactic that was far more powerful and impactful. As Jerry remembered:

​”…Mother repeatedly impressed on us that she had tried all our lives to teach us what is right and what is wrong, and that if we hadn’t learned that by then, she had failed as a mother. Well, after a quiet lecture like that, when we all went out with our dates we were determined that we would do the right thing so mother would not feel that she had failed and we almost always got home at a reasonable hour.”

​In his own heartfelt note (found in the book Mother Allie’s Recipes), Jerry shared just how unbreakable that bond remained into adulthood:

​”Mother was my best friend. She cannot be replaced. Even though I had moved far away, married and had children of my own, she remained my best friend. She was always there in my times of need. A telephone call was all it took. Every decision ever made by me in my entire life was and will continue to be guided by the fine Christian upbringing provided by my beloved mother.”

​Sitting on her porch today, I am thinking a lot about this remarkable lady. Her life inspires me – and reading the tributes from her children brings tears to my eyes. Her youngest daughter, Allethea, beautifully wrote this sentiment in her own tribute to her Mother (found in the Mother Allie cookbook):

​”God made a miracle when he made Mother. She was my friend, my confidant, my inspiration, both mother and father to me… I miss her and even though she is no longer with us I still feel her presence. She did all she could do for us here on earth and now she has gone on to heaven to get it ready for us.”

​Sending four children to college in that day and age as a single, widowed mother was nothing short of incredible. Yet, because of Edgar’s vision, Allie’s steel-willed determination, and their shared foundation of faith and trust, every single one of their four children graduated from college—fulfilling Edgar’s dreams and setting off a ripple effect of leadership that would eventually reach the global stage.

​In future posts, I can’t wait to take you on a little tour of this historic home and show you the wonderful mementos that the family has preserved here—the breathtakingly intricate needlework, the delicate crochet, and the beautiful things she made with the very same hands that scrubbed floors, provided hugs, and sorted mail.

​But today, I just want to honor the legacy of Edgar and Allie together. I am so grateful to get to spend the week in their home and learn from the examples and the ideals they lived by. In a world that often celebrates loud, flashy achievements, I am standing in awe of the quiet, fierce, unbreakable strength that built this household. They proved that with enough vision, faith, grit, and love, two ordinary people can hold the world together for their children in an extraordinary manner.

​Isn’t that remarkable?

For more pictures and additional information, visit and follow my Facebook page at https://www.facebook.com/lisa.carlon.5

Want to stay at Mother Allie’s House? Click https://www.motherallieshouse.com/

Sister Schubert Rolls and Aluminum Foil

an empty roll and a piece of aluminum foil

Happy Thursday, friends!

Let’s all be kind to each other today…. because you know what? We all carry silent, invisible weights. Even though our days are full of blessings – we also all have pains. Sometimes, a person will drop what they are doing and just freeze, stopped dead in their tracks by a sudden wave of emotion, and the people standing right next to them won’t have a single clue why.

I used to have a friend whose favorite catchphrase was, “That’s so weird,” whenever she encountered a person or emotional reaction or a situation she didn’t quite understand. I loved her dearly, but I always winced inside when she said that phrase. Just because a person’s behavior or feelings are unfamiliar to our own lived experience doesn’t make them “weird.” It usually just means we don’t know the story behind it…we don’t understand. We don’t always know what hurts, what fears, what pains a person is carrying behind their smiles.

A Quiet Moment of Reflection

Take last night, for instance. If you had walked into my kitchen, you would have seen a grown woman standing by the cabinets, holding an empty cardboard tube with tears in her eyes. To a stranger, it would probably look weird, but to me, it was a quiet moment of unexpected reflection.

When my parents passed away, I made the decision to move into their house in Green Forest. Even though I had never lived in this house before, it felt like I had… because in many ways, it is the house I grew up in.

When I was a little girl, Mother and Daddy sat down together and carefully drew a house plan that Daddy then built between Hattieville and Old Hickory, Arkansas. Since that house and this house are basically identical, this home has always felt to me like the house I grew up in.

After Mother passed away—she was my last surviving parent—I found joy in the little daily reminders left behind in her space. After moving in, I definitely worked to make the house feel like mine, but I also loved seeing the things that she had left, that she had used. They were precious connections to her, and I treasured each one of them.

But… she’s been gone for almost four years now—and slowly, inevitably, those daily physical reminders, those physical connections are getting fewer and farther between….and I miss them.

The End of the Supply

Last night, I was getting ready to bake some Sister Schubert cinnamon rolls. I was excited to try them! I turned on the oven and started eagerly reading through the instructions. They said to cover the pan loosely with aluminum foil…

…so I walked over to this really cool, custom dispenser that Mother had built into her kitchen cabinets for wax paper, plastic wrap, and aluminum foil. I reached up, grabbed the edge of the foil, and pulled.

As it unrolled, I pulled up a bit preparing to tear it off… but instead, it fell free. It was the end of the roll.

This was a roll of aluminum foil that my mother had bought, and taken out of the box, and placed on that holder when this was still her house. I had just used the very last of her physical supply.

It stopped me for a moment, and it made me remember. I stood in my kitchen holding that piece of aluminum foil thinking about how much she loved her house, how much she loved to cook, how much she loved to smile and laugh, how much she loved to give to others, and about how much she loved me…and I missed her. Tears came to my eyes, and I stood there in the quiet kitchen holding that empty roll for a minute, just treasuring the moment—the physical connection to the mother who birthed me, who loved me, and who worked so hard to build a happy life for me…

The Things That Never Run Out

…and that’s what’s really important. The love she and Daddy poured into me, the things they taught me, the deep joy they wanted for my life, the prayers they prayed for me, the examples they set for me. Those things never go away. They never run out.

So…while it could have definitely looked weird for me to tear up over a box of aluminum foil last night—it really wasn’t. It was just a daughter loving her mother and savoring the memories of the times they shared together.

You really never know what’s going on in a person’s mind and what fears and hurts and pain they carry… because we all have them. So let’s all just be kind today. We are all in this together. ❤️❤️❤️

“Be kind and compassionate to one another, forgiving each other, just as in Christ God forgave you.”Ephesians 4:32

The Balcony and the Legend: A Lesson from Marshfield

Some stories don’t just entertain us; they settle into our bones and teach us how to stand up when the rest of the world remains seated.

This past week at the Missouri Cherry Blossom Festival, I had the honor of listening to Mary Badham speak. Most know her as ‘Scout,’ the fiery, curious, thoughtful little girl in overalls from the wonderful movie To Kill a Mockingbird. But listening to her, I wasn’t just thinking about a movie—I was thinking about the soul of a story that has shaped generations.

If you have never seen the film or read Harper Lee’s Pulitzer Prize-winning novel, you are missing a piece of the American heart. It is a story about a widower lawyer, Atticus Finch, defending an innocent man in the 1930s South, told through the eyes of his young daughter.

Many people point to the moment Scout whispers a greeting (“Hey, Boo!”) to a misunderstood neighbor as the heart of the film. But for me, the most poignant,  emotional moment happens in the heavy silence of a courtroom balcony.

The trial is over. The verdict is in. Atticus has done the impossible, the honorable, and the courageous—and yet, in a system where prejudice outweighed the truth, he has lost. He has to gather his papers and walk out of that room with the weight of defeat on his shoulders.

But as he walks down the aisle, alone in his immense grief for an innocent man, something deeply impactful and emotional happens. In the balcony above, the African American community—those who had the most to lose and the most reason to be embittered by the day’s events—begins to rise in a silent, unified show of respect.

Reverend Sykes, the kind and dignified minister sitting with the children, leans down to a confused Scout. He doesn’t focus on the loss; he focuses on the man. He whispers:

‘Miss Jean Louise, stand up. Your father’s passing.’

It is a line that brings me to tears every time. It’s a powerful reminder that our true stature isn’t measured by our victories, but by the courage we find to stand up for what is right—even when we stand in the wreckage of a defeat. In that moment, the balcony wasn’t just honoring an attorney; they were honoring the best in all of us. They were proving that even when we lose the battle, we never lose the dignity that comes from standing up for one another. It was a moment where grace outshined the darkness. It is a scene that calls us to look past our differences and find the grace to respect, support, and care for one another. Even when things feel divided, it reminds us that kindness is a bridge that can carry us through any storm.

I recorded this little clip of Mary (Scout herself!) sharing how she almost didn’t get the role. As you’ll hear her describe, her father originally said no—he wanted a quiet life for his daughter in Birmingham. If not for her mother’s intuition and a clever bit of persuasion to get her to that audition, movie history would look very different.

She also shared that Gregory Peck—the legendary actor who was the very embodiment of Hollywood’s Golden Age—wasn’t just ‘acting’ as Atticus. They grew close – and stayed that way for the rest of his life. During the five months of filming, Mary spent almost every weekend at the Pecks’ home, becoming part of their family. That bond remained until the very end, with Mary visiting him just weeks before he passed away.

In a time when things feel fast and often divided, returning to the lessons of Maycomb, Alabama, feels like coming home. We are so fortunate that the Missouri Cherry Blossom Festival brings these ‘moments’ to our doorstep. It’s more than entertainment; it’s a chance to sit in a church pew and listen to history tell us that kindness and courage never go out of style.

Harper Lee’s story, To Kill a Mockingbird, is wonderful. It’s why former First Lady Laura Bush has long cited this as one of her favorite books of all time. It’s why Oprah Winfrey once loved the story so much that she rushed to the library asking for ‘everything Harper Lee ever wrote’—only to find that this one perfect story was all the world truly needed.

If you haven’t seen the movie lately—or ever—do yourself a favor. Watch it. And when the man in the suit walks down that aisle, remember to stand up. Always, remember to stand up.

The Story of Margrette

A little grave marker, nestled among the familiar names of my relatives, was how I first met Margrette Ruth Blasingame. It was an unexpected discovery in the quiet, peaceful grounds of Old Hickory Cemetery, a place where my family’s history is literally carved in stone. In 2021, my Mother and I made several trips to the cemetery – working on a project we had undertaken to clean and restore family gravestones. Many of the old headstones were darkened and overgrown with lichens, making them difficult to read…..but one little stone in the family plot was virtually unreadable. I remember tracing the stone with my finger trying to determine what it said….and failing. We completed the first treatment, then waited, returned, and completed the second……then repeated the process again.

Finally, the darkened stone was clean, and the rough surface of the old gravestone bore a name, with the brief dates of a life etched beneath:

Margrette Ruth Blasingame
Born July 21, 1926
Died March 27, 1929.

She was my first cousin, once removed – the second child of my Great-Aunt Zilby and her husband J.H. Blasingame…

I remember my Aunt Zilby —she taught me how to play Yahtzee when I visited her on a trip with my parents to California when I was six years old. She also gave me a beautiful blue glass vase – an unusual gift for a small child – but one that I have kept and treasured through the years because it came from her. It sits proudly in my guest room today.

Aunt Zilby married J.H. Blasingame in 1923 when she was just 16. Their first son was born the next year. Two years later, another baby was born – a daughter named Margrette Ruth. Two more years – and another son was born to the little family. Shortly after his birth, they left Hattieville and moved to the Little Rock area. Daddy used to tell me of a general mercantile store, possibly much like the one Aunt Zilby’s father (my great-grandfather) operated in Hattieville. The store they ran was located on Highway 10 – a country road outside of Little Rock that carried travelers to and from the capital city. Over the decades, the growing city has swallowed much of that countryside…and the location of the long-gone little store is now part of the busy city on Cantrell Road.

For the past few years, that little gravestone was all I had—a stark, poignant reminder of a life cut short at only 2 years, 8 months, and 6 days of age. I often wondered what kind of sudden tragedy had stolen a child so young, and I thought about how devastating it must have been for Aunt Zilby and J.H. to bear.

Some pieces of the puzzle were finally uncovered when I found Margrette Ruth’s death certificate on Ancestry.com. What I found was not the record of a sudden, instant loss, but of a drawn-out, painful struggle. Her small life didn’t succumb to an accident, but to an illness—one that was relentless and, in those times, unbeatable. Margrette Ruth did not die at home; she passed away at Little Rock’s General Hospital. The certificate shows that a physician attended to her illness from March 7, 1929, until her death on the 27th.

The official cause of death was listed as “pyemia.”

The word was new to me – I had to look it up. Pyemia is a severe form of blood poisoning, a widespread systemic infection—a type of sepsis—that spreads through the bloodstream, leading to abscesses and multiple organ failure.

In the year 1929, it was typically a death sentence.

As a great-niece looking back though the decades, I can only imagine the helplessness – the panic – the family must have felt. They endured three weeks of watching their child fight a relentless, unseen enemy in a hospital room, hoping against hope that the doctors could turn the tide. But in 1929, no effective treatment existed.

The reason is simple: the age of antibiotics, something we take for granted, had not yet dawned. Pyemia, contracted likely from a simple injury or untreated infection, was a death sentence. Hospitals were full of people—children and adults alike—dying from infections that today are routinely treatable.

The life-saving drug, penicillin, and the resulting antibiotic age were still more than a decade away. Before this discovery, a simple cut or scratch or common illness could lead to a deadly infection, filling hospitals with people suffering from maladies for which doctors could offer little hope. Pneumonia, rheumatic fever, and yes, pyemia, were often insurmountable foes. It wasn’t until mass production efforts began in the United States in the 1940s that penicillin and later other antibiotics became the widely available healing medicines we know today.

As I think about little Margrette Ruth suffering for weeks in a hospital, her young parents watching helplessly—I am struck by a profound and painful realization: had she been born just fifteen or twenty years later, a simple course of medicine could have saved her life. The medications that we now use routinely were then only a future reality that arrived tragically too late for my great aunt and uncle’s little girl.

My study into Margrette Ruth’s short life turned out to be a poignant lesson in medical history. It made the familiar comfort of a doctor’s visit, a course of medication, or a simple preventative measure feel like an incredible, life-saving blessing. We truly are blessed by the advances of modern medicine, as well as the scientists and researchers who are constantly working to develop new treatments and improve our health care. I carry with me a deep gratitude for the countless lives that are now saved—lives that, in Margrette Ruth Blasingame’s time, would have been lost.

Thank you, Aunt Norma

A television program called “The Children’s Hour” debuted on KYTV channel 3 in 1953 – actually only a few months after the station opened. Four years into the run of the show, a young woman named Norma Champion called the station to make an appointment with the general manager, Carl Fox. When she arrived, he mistakenly assumed she was there to audition for Children’s Hour. (She wasn’t.) He asked her to pretend she was selling him a tube of toothpaste….and so she did. He then pulled a book off a shelf and asked her to read aloud from it. Apparently she did well with the impromptu requests, because Norma Champion had a new job…..and “Aunt Norma” was born.

From 1957 to 1986, she was the writer, producer, and host of the popular show. (Wow!) For 13 years, the show was performed live five days a week. After that, it was taped and aired on Saturday mornings…….and so many of us loved watching it.

I remember the cute puppets Skinny McGinnis and Rusty Rooster, the wonderful castle, the drawings Aunt Norma taught us to draw, and the crafts she did….but I also remember her positive attitude, her caring nature, her enthusiasm, and the good example she provided for us all. She served as a role model for many of us – and she seemed to take the responsibility seriously.

Quoted in the Springfield Business Journal in 2014, “Aunt Norma” said “While the show did provide entertainment for children in the Ozarks, my primary goal for the program was educational. It was important to me that the show serve as a vehicle to instill positive character traits and a giving attitude in the viewers. I especially stressed that they could be tomorrow’s leaders. How affirming it has been to hear many local leaders stress how influential the show was to them during their developmental years.”

A woman of faith who desired to have a positive influence, Norma Champion has made a difference in many lives. According to her bio with the Missouri Broadcasters Association, when her own young children had all started school, she returned to college to earn a bachelor degree, then masters degree, then a Ph.D. From 1978 until 2010, she was a professor of broadcasting and communication at Evangel University in Springfield.

She has also served as a Springfield City Councilwoman, served in the Missouri House of Representatives, and in the Missouri State Senate. A long-time advocate for children, she introduced legislation to help kids in crisis, successfully passing the “Children In Crisis Tax Credit” which was later renamed the “Champion for Children Tax Credit” in her honor.

All of these accomplishments are incredibly impressive. She is definitely a woman who faces things head on and doesn’t let challenges or difficulties deter her goals!

Last weekend, I had the good fortune to meet Aunt Norma at the Webster County Library in Marshfield, Missouri as part of the town’s annual Cherry Blossom Festival. I was truly so happy to meet her – and was also excited to see that she had brought along the little puppets Skinny McGinnis and Rusty Rooster. I actually geeked out a little! It took me back to my childhood – I had watched them all so many times.

Now in her early 90’s, “Aunt Norma” still exhibits the same caring, exuberance, confidence, and sparkle that is familiar to all of us who grew up watching her. She spoke briefly to the group of us assembled there – sharing interesting and fun memories of the show as we all listened happily.

During her talk, she mentioned that she had met a gentleman once who told her that watching the show as a child had meant a lot to him. “It’s funny – I always felt like you were really talking to me”, he said. Aunt Norma told him that in a way, she actually was. “I wanted the show to feel personal to each child. I wanted to truly connect with the children”, she said. “So, when I did the show, I always worked to picture in my mind the kids sitting at home watching – so that it would be as if I were talking straight to them.”

What a dedicated effort…and we felt it! How special!

“Aunt Norma” had brought colorful picture postcards of herself, Skinny and Rusty. She told us that she would be happy to sign them for us if we would like, and we all lined up! When it was my turn, she confidently signed my postcard, then handed her Sharpie pen to me and smiled brightly as she said, “Now, would you mind to cross the T for me? You see, I have low vision, so I am unable to see where to cross it.” I took the pen from her and carefully crossed the T as she had requested. “Did you do it?” she asked. I let her know that I had, and she took the pen back and thanked me for coming.

I have thought about the significance of that exchange. So many of us, when faced with a challenge, would stop using our gifts, our outreach – deciding that “we just can’t do “that” (whatever “that” is) anymore.” We might feel too old, or too inadequate, or too unable, or too tired…

But not Norma Champion! She is still serving as a positive role model, an inspiration to many. She is still showing up when called and still teaching us lessons.

Thank you, Aunt Norma. ❤️ We’re still watching and learning.

Sources:

Missouri State Senate biographies – https://www.senate.mo.gov/04info/members/bios/bio30.htm

Missouri Broadcasters Association Biographies – https://www.missouribroadcasters.org/hall-of-fame/norma-champion/#:~:text=Norma%20Champion%20is%20best%20known,program%20on%20KYTV%20in%20Springfield.

KY3 – Celebrating Aunt Norma – https://www.ky3.com/2021/09/17/ozarks-life-celebrating-aunt-norma-childrens-hour/

Just in Case!

Just in case!

A few days ago, a friend of mine walked into a local preschool on a needed errand. As she entered the building, a little girl about three or four years old walked by. She was wearing a princess dress, a costume really, and bright, glittery boots. It was obvious she loved her little outfit and felt very dressed up, confident, and happy. In fact, she was proudly twisting just a bit back and forth to swish her pretty skirt first this way and that. Smiling and looking up sweetly at my friend, the little girl wanted to make sure her pretty outfit was noticed.

Bending down, my friend smiled back at the little girl and told her, “I like your dress”.

The little girl beamed happily and crooked her little finger, beckoning my friend to lean closer to her. “I’ll tell you a secret”, the bright, happy child whispered.

“What is it?”, my friend inquired.

Dramatically, the little girl leaned forward. “I have a bathing suit on under my dress!”, she said proudly.

“A bathing suit in January!?”, my friend replied, “Why are you wearing a bathing suit???”

The little girl cocked her head to one side, lifted her little finger up to emphasize her point, and with twinkly eyes and a bright smile she enthusiastically said, “Just in case!” Then she moved on down the hall with her class.

When my friend told me the story, I asked, “Just in case what???”

“I have no idea,” she said, “but whatever it is, she’s ready for it!”

I’ve thought a lot about this little girl. So often, we spend our days thinking about the responsibilities facing us, of the practical things we need to accomplish, and even sometimes of sadnesses and the worries and cares of the day.

What if, instead, we started each day with a happy “just in case” thought? What if we excitedly prepared for unexpected joys and searched for the blessings in each day?

I think it’s a lesson worth learning.

Thank you, little princess.