When We Speak of Ourselves Almost One Hundred Years of the Byrds     We who are writers, or editors, speak often of ourselves. This is a dangerous fault. What subjects do we better talk on than self? We likely will speak disparagingly of others while always giving ourselves full credit.
    Those who have read The Reminder, a few for as long as forty years, either know me personally, or have formed an opinion based on my convictions. Even those will not have heard this brief sketch of the editor.    My Family     My father was a railroad man, a carpenter, a farmer, and an all-around efficient family man. He was reared as an orphan, or nearly so, as both his parents died in his infancy and an older sister, Aunt Annie Tillman,  took on the job of caring for him and his twin brother. His father was Gassaway Byrd of McCall Creek Mississippi. His wife was Julia Smith, a twin of the same community. Grandpa Byrd died at 48 with pneumonia. Grandma Byrd died during or shortly after the twins were born, my Dad, Jessie E., and Wessie Ellis. I remember Uncle Wessie and how difficult it was to recognize him, as they were identical. Dad told of a time when he took his brother's lady friend out one night on a date and she did not recognize the difference. My uncle died at age 36, after  we had not seen him for several years. It was the first time I had ever seen my Dad cry. I saw it again when he lost a valuable mule, half of a matched team, when he died with spasmodic colic. The first of this pair died with Anthrax several years earlier. Health of men and animals faced more threats in those days than it does today.
     My mother was also raised an orphan. Her mother passed away in her infancy and her father, not a Christian man, did not feel he could care for two little s. So Glenn Della, my mother, was turned over to aging grandparents. They could not handle it either, so gave her to a childless couple in the community named McIntyre, when she was still too small to remember her grandparents. Helen, her sister went to someone else. Mother learned from her father years later that the name he had used was a foster parent's name (Forbes) and that he changed his name to his birth father’s name (Pittman). Dad was a ; Mom was coal black headed and still mostly black when she passed away at age seventy-two.
These two were married on Christmas Eve 1916 in Arkansas. I was born September 13, 1918, at Pine Bluff, Arkansas. I still have a mantle clock, a striking, eight-day model, which they bought on their wedding day. Upbringing     My earliest memory is of a house and sidewalk in front in Brinkley, Arkansas. A boy my age lived just across the street. His given name was the same as mine, Edward. Edward Kelly was in my high School graduating class and influenced a class that had no other Catholics to invite his priest to deliver the address at our graduation. I was born September 13, 1918, almost two months before the ending of the First World War, November 11, 1918.
    My story must stay more chronological. Years passed for I was sixteen when graduating from Brinkley High School, May 25, 1935.
    My earlier education was in a Christian home. When the Railway Unions went on a nationwide strike in 1922 my Dad was an employee there and went out with the strikers. The strike, as I have since learned, was long and ugly, but my dad would not go back as a scab.
    Our home that he had built in Brinkley was traded for forty acres and a small, clapboard house in the country. The layout still remains in my mind. The water supply was a pitcher pump a few feet from the side of the house. A trough ran from it through the fence to another trough where the mules and the cows drank. A barn with a loft with hay stood perhaps thirty yards farther away. A large willow tree covered much of the front yard, but beautiful flowers grew in the summer over half that yard. I shall always remember a large wisteria trained to grow into a self-supporting bush, was one of my delights. A garden was on the opposite side of the house. Beyond stood an outhouse and not far from it was a hen house. The garden and hen house furnished much for our table. A large peach orchard where hundreds of bushels of peaches were produced each year was farther to the back on a rise in the field. Peaches usually went for $1.00 per bushel, but during the depression we sold many at three bushels for $1.00. There were no worms in those peaches for they were sprayed and pruned diligently. One of my jobs was to work the pump handle on a spray tank mounted with a handle on each side and a wheel in front, so it could be moved like a wheelbarrow.
    I was the oldest of four, a brother just younger and another some three years younger. I must tell you about my only sister. It was on a Sunday morning when Dad said, "You two boys (meaning Glenn and I, for James Cleo was only two) go on to Sunday School alone. Mom is not feeling well, so you walk on alone and you can go home with Deward (Hill) for lunch and play with him and I will come after you later this afternoon." There were some specific words about minding Bro. Hill, Deward's dad, and being good boys. When he came in late afternoon we still were not completely worn out with play, so I said, “Do we have to go now?” Dad said, “You want to see your little sister don't you.” “Yes!” I did not even know a little sister had been ordered. Myrtis was born at home that day, January 17, 1926. I was seven and a few months old at the time.
    All such thoughts flood my mind, but this story must not get too long. Education     My first day in school was at a two-room, frame building two miles from our house. Mother hitched old Ned to the buggy and drove me there the first day. Mrs. Vaden was a stranger to me, but I came to love her shortly, though the first days were hard on a six year old. I loved school and learning to read was a special delight. I was taught phonics, so was able to read words pretty soon which I had not learned before.
    Over the years I had a double advantage, something which those in more advanced schools with separate rooms for every class might not have thought about. In those days many of the class exercises were aural recitation. When in one grade I would hear the recitations of those classes above, for there were four grades in one room, enabling me to learn beyond the text books for my grade. As a result I was allowed to pass two grades a year for two different years. When I entered High School in the ninth grade I was not thirteen years old until a few days after school started.
    My education has not had some of the so-called advantages of others, but it has been charged with circumstances that make it a genuine blessing, nonetheless.
    My Dad traded four good-sized shoats and two dollars for a pony and saddle. This was expensive, giving me the idea that my learning in High School was important. He had said, Now, son, you have already gone as far as I did in school (eighth grade), but if you want to go on I will help you all I can. The pony was the first genuine proof. The chores at home morning and evening still had to be done every day, but I could cover the six miles to High School in town a lot faster with a pony than on foot.
    After two years my brother, Glenn, started to high school but we only had one pony and she was not big enough to carry us both the six miles. So one of us had to walk, taking turns at riding. When it was my brother's turn of a week to walk he would jog to keep up, so he always arrived at home or school about as soon as I did. He was excused from chores when he had walked the round trip.
    Week ends meant work in the field, in the woods to get heating or cook wood for the house. Sometimes it was other things, but occasionally we had time to play. Marbles. We were not allowed to play "Keeps" with other children. At home we played "Rolley-holey." We would start at a line and shoot for the first hole, then the second, then the third, then the fourth that we called "purgatory." Then we went back to first. The first player around was the winner. One kept shooting until he hit every hole. If he missed a shot he had to yield to the other player. Dad often played with us. If one felt he could hit the other’s marble with his marble he tried, and if he hit, the other had to go back to "taw"—the starting line. If you were underprivileged and did not play such a , the word "Taw" can be found in your dictionary. It was also the name of a favorite shooting marble. Working for a Living     I learned to drive a mule with a drag or float to smooth a hay field or rows. Next was a mule pulling a "Georgia" stock or single stock. The next stage was handling a “gee-whiz,” a sort of spring-toothed harrow. A middle tooth could be removed so it would straddle a row of young cotton, a ivation that took care of a lot of the grass that came up to plague the cotton plants. In time I could manipulate a block scraper. At last we had a ivator with two mules and ivated both ides of a row at once. We never owned a tractor. Ours was a two- or three-horse farm. In good years the place made a good living for the family. With the peach orchard we had extra spending money before the field crops came in. In bad years dad would get a carpenter job in town and walk to work, then walk home, arriving late at night. Can one work himself to ? Dad was strong, but died at age fifty-two with a liver disease which today can be treated for many years before bringing . His twin brother died with similar symptoms at age 36. Socializing, Entertainment,  Spiritual Influence      We did not have a TV and not until after I was in High School did we have a radio. We never lacked for entertainment. There was not a lot of socializing, but on weekends we often had company from church after dinner. We did not eat lunches. It was dinner. Then in the evening it was supper. The preacher was often the one who came to dinner at the Byrd house. What a blessing! The children waited until after the adults ate, then we went to the table to eat. Mom usually had plenty, so we did not have to eat a wing instead of the breast, though I never learned to like breast meat until years later.
    Our church was one of those which only had preaching “part time,” a practice that surely did not help, as a full time ministry could have, but it was better than none at all.
    Some Summers the church would invite a visiting minister. It was during one of these that the conviction which I had begun to feel at about age eight, could not be tolerated any longer and I was saved by God’s grace through faith. It was a Tuesday night, the day of the first and only Run-off Election for a Primary Election in Arkansas, August 28, 1934. Dad had me plowing to prepare and plant Fall Irish atoes that day, but my mind was more on the coming service that night, the last of the series. Bro. Walter Griffin, then a State Missionary, was doing the preaching. My burden under sin became very severe because I felt that if I were not saved that night it would be my last chance. The subject the preacher used did not come through to my mind  that night, as I was in such a turmoil, but as I reviewed what I had been asked to do and found nothing helped, I said in my heart, "If God does not save me I must perish."
    I do not remember ever hearing a sermon on the call to preach, though I heard it often mentioned as something the preacher had experienced. Looking back, I would say it surely would have been better had some pastor explained to me how one knows when God is speaking and how to recognize what he was saying to one. Such an explanation would have helped me to know why I felt condemned when I felt I was a better boy than some who were my school chums. I had been taught not to swear or take God's name in vain. I was not to do many of the things that some others seemed to justify with ease. I know now that none of this good morality made me better in God's eyes. Rather, it made a little Pharisee out of me. At the last I had to admit this in my heart and in that moment God saved me. How did I know? There was not a question in my mind about it. I had come to the state that I felt that if God did not save me that very night I must die and perish with all sinners. It is with full assurance and great confidence that I say it, "God let me know."
    It was not many months after my conversion before I was faced with that question of whether or not God wanted me to preach. I was only sixteen at the time, so there seemed to be no hurry. I never was able to rid my heart of the burden until I confessed to others that I should preach God’s Word. Right after my conversion I had begun to strongly desire to learn more about God. I felt then, and I still do, that this disposition surely will become a burden in any young person's mind and heart following a genuine surrender to the Lord in initial salvation. My advice, follow through on this . Great joy will fill your life as you learn how great men of faith in the Bible walked with God and lived in the world. Great peace will come from finding many answers to everyday problems. This growing in spiritual understanding will continue as long as you continue to read, to pray, and to worship God. Normal Family Problems     My purpose in this article is not to preach, but to talk about myself.
All of us children worked, as did Mom and Dad. We had some of the diseases going the rounds. Very seldom did we ever need to see a doctor. A wholesome nourishment grown on the farm, coupled with the exercise our daily work required, kept us pretty healthy.
    A notable enemy injected itself into our home when I was just short of fifteen years of age. My mother broke down in health. She was barely forty years old. Tuberculosis was that enemy. Mother had to go to the State Sanatorium where the only treatment known was proper nourishment and bed rest. Doubtless she had overworked, as she often was busy into the night and before day in the morning, keeping up with the house, taking care of four children, and often working in the field. Most of the cooking and canning was work for her. One hundred quarts of peaches were the minimum canned each year for the family. Other things were in proportion.
This created a new routine at our house. Dad did not cook much. He did not have time to cook and keep up with the farm. Besides, he served as Justice of the Peace, even arresting some disturbers of the peace a few times. He was a deacon at church, a Sunday School Teacher, Secretary of the local School Board. I remember conveying a salary check to one of the teachers one day, $60.00 for a month’s teaching.
    Dad tried hiring an older couple to live with us and the lady to do the cooking and washing and ironing, the man to help on the farm. Two of us boys were reduced in help time at home, as we were in school. It did not work out, as older people. have either raised their families and want the relief, or they cannot stand the commotion of a young family.
    After they were gone dad built a small dwelling at the back of our place for a young black man and his wife. They were to work the same way. It lasted about six months, though all of their living expenses were provided and five acres of the farm could be planted to whatever they wanted and the crop would be theirs. The man did not want to hang around so closely. By "laying by" time he wanted to sell his corn crop to Dad for $50 and be let off. The cooking in part fell to me. I learned to make biscuits, but I never became a cook. I still had school to attend, though Dad had me stay out the first six weeks of the school year when I was beginning the eleventh grade. My teachers later allowed me to make up the time, so I could continue with my class at school.
    Mother's stay at the State Sanatorium extended so long until Dad sold our farm in 1934 so we could move to Western Arkansas to be closer to mother. Because it was late in the season we rented a place close to Brinkley for a year, so I could finish High School there. Before school started in the Fall Dad moved on to Booneville with my brother. By that time the two younger children were patients in the Sanatorium and attended school there.
    During the time of plowing up cotton and ing little pigs under the New Deal of FDR I worked in that program, measuring land. This was my first public job. Dad let me drive the A Model Ford to work, which meant from house to house.
    At about this time I had the privilege of visiting another community north of Brinkley during their revival meeting. This was a special joy to me, but it allowed me to meet young people whom I had never met. One of these, not yet fourteen, was Louise Ward. She took a fancy to me. That probably describes my feelings about her. We moved away from the area that winter, so there was no dating. Only a couple of times a year could I find means or time to go back for a visit. We wrote many letters to each other instead.
I worked for a laundry, picking  up bundles of dirty clothes, driving to another town and picking up those from last week and delivering back home to Booneville. Then I got a job at the Sanatorium dairy. It was hard work, low pay, but it was steady.
    I united with the First Baptist Church of Booneville, but could only attend Wednesday night services because a dairy works seven days a week. During this time the burden concerning preaching had reached a point where I felt I had to confess it openly. This I did and the pastor immediately said, “You do not know what to preach. You will have to go to school. We will help you.” I never did get any help.
    I quit my job, caught a freight train to Little Rock and a bus on to Arkadelphia where I enrolled in Ouachita Baptist College (SBC). That school served to bring my convictions of earlier times to a stable point. I could not go with the Board system, and the dairy job I had gotten to pay my school expenses was very confining, so I was not getting any opportunities to preach. My first effort was during the summer vacation at a small SBC church at Blue Mountain, Ark., (August 28, 1938) after the first  year of college, and four years to the day after I trusted the Lord as my Savior. A Bible Course in college called Old Testament History, taught by a young woman, was very good for me. Though I worked at least four hours on the dairy every day, I still found time to read the assignments. We covered all the books from Genesis to Ruth. It was not a doctrinal course, but the story was just what I needed. This was done in one Semester with classes convening only three times per week. The second Semester was under Dr. O. W. Yates, Head of the Bible Department. I think it was called New Testament Survey. It was good for me also, but I felt the teacher was in error when he said one day, "Kingdom of God, Church of God, and Family of God all are terms describing the same thing." This was the position of Southern Baptists in 1937, though many pastors were not yet that liberal in their thinking.
    I still wanted to go to school but could not work out arrangements to pay my way so transferred to the Missionary Baptist Institute in Little . In those days there was a minimum requirement for enrollment, a great deal of liberty to learn, and little pressure. I had opportunities to supply preach for someone occasionally, which might bring in $2.00 or less. So I cut lawns, trimmed hedges, and made out on small funds. My room rent in a building that belonged to the pastor, Bro. Ben M. Bogard, was $0 per month. An older preacher brother and I shared a room as bachelors for two years.
In time I was called to a quarter time church as pastor, then another quarter time, then a third such, and then to a fourth. So I would go to a different church each weekend. I preached to large congregations, though I could tell them little compared to what I could today. They paid me about $30.00 a month. This was better than some of the students were getting, too little to think of taking on a wife, but a young man does think such things anyway.
After that first year I was made a teacher (at no pay) of the First Year Greek Class. My stay at Ouachita had enabled me to read the writings of John in Greek and work my way through other passages. By this time I was beginning to be proficient in the Grammar. After the Second Year I became the Greek teacher at the Institute, and continued to learn by doing. I was ordained to pastor in May 1939 at Antioch Missionary Baptist Church in Little , Ark. A Family and Children     On May 12, 1940, I married Louise Ward and we settled into one room at the same boarding house. Now I had to pay the whole rent, $15.00 per month. How much happiness can a man stand? School brought me to tears of joy every day as the Bible blessed my heart. Louise went to school with me that first year. After another year there were three of us, because Barbara Ann joined us on July 29, 1941. This changed the program somewhat. In January 26, 1943 Emma Laura joined us, making four in the family.
    We would ride the street car (trolley) for necessary trips of more than a few blocks, but we did a lot of walking. I never had a car in those days, but then few people did. Those who could afford one could not get gasoline or tires during the Second World War. Certain other items were rationed because of the demand of the military services. Because I was engaged in full time religious service my classification for the military was 4-D (clergyman in full time church activity).
    Like happens so many times, the mother had most of the responsibility for the house and the children, as I was studying, teaching, and doing quite a bit of counseling of young men on the Scriptures. Looking back on those days I am astonished at how busy I was, how happy in the Lord’s work and happy with my young family. There were dark days, of course. My Dad became very ill in 1943. He was supervising a pile driving crew working down in Mississippi when his problem became critical. He died in September 1944 of something they called Cirrhosis of the liver, only 52 years old. He had had several blood transfusions, so possibly the real problem was hepatitis. I was 26 at the time. Certain events mark our lives with memories that we retain to old age.
    A third daughter came into our lives on October 15, 1945. Before she was school age the church, where Bro. E. K. Begley was laboring in Hawaii inquired whether I would come to Hawaii and pastor Bethel Missionary Baptist Church. I was granted a leave of absence as a teacher in the Institute and Seminary in Little . We flew to Honolulu, the first airplane ride for the whole family. I had driven my car to San Francisco, California and left it there at the home of Bro. Sylvanus K. Hoffman, for Bro. Begley. When we arrived in Honolulu we were greeted by a sizable number of the . A large, brown man (also named Brown) hugged me and kissed me on the cheek, the first experience of that kind I ever had. It was the beginning of a loving relationship with the church. Memories of those days remain fresh in mind. The spirit of the church was not quite as staid or rigid as the spirit of most churches in Arkansas where I had been pastoring, though at the time I was leaving Shady Grove MBC of Glendale, Ark., prematurely. This, too, had been a very satisfying relationship. The time was May 1952.
    We stayed in the Begley’s home, drove the Begley’s Oldsmobile 98, and practiced his and Sister Begley’s policy of inviting all service men in church on Sunday mornings, and members of their families, to lunch with us on Sunday. Sister Byrd was still young and able, but we both enjoyed the hard work necessary for such labors. Bro. Begley and his family lived in our home in Little and drove my car, a 1951 Dodge Meadowbrook. We had managed to get a 1946 Plymouth in 1950 and drove it a year or more. When we traded we had no idea of leavin rica and moving to the Territory of Hawaii.
    We stayed in Hawaii for thirteen months, until the Begleys returned. The factors of a longer stay were considered so we came back to the mainland, stopping at numerous churches along the way. One was Tabernacle MBC in Pueblo, Colo. They later called me for pastor and we moved there in October 1953. Previous to 1952 I had felt that my calling was teaching and I was happy to stay in the Seminary. Developments in that last year made it easy for me to go on a leave of absence. While I was away the President of the school and certain men of Antioch where he pastored, decided it would be better if I did not return to my teaching position as head of the Greek Department. That is the kindest way I can explain our moving on to a pastorate. It was difficult for me to become reconciled to not teaching, but it has become evident during the last forty-plus years that God was in it.
While in Tabernacle as pastor I started The Reminder. It was supposed to be a monthly publication from the start, but time and the means to keep up that schedule sometimes extended the time between issues. Each church I pastored has extended support and sponsorship, so making it possible to continue, even after  I had to take secular work to support my family.
While in Pueblo our son, Benjamin Edward, Jr., was born June 3, 1954, fourteen years into our marriage. This was such a blessing until we felt God might give us another little boy to grow up with him, as the others were s and growing up.  When the fifth child came along she was not a boy either. Paula Sue came into our lives in Rochelle, Ill., October 22, 1958. She became very ill when quite young and I despaired of her life, but God had other plans for us. She is now almost forty years old, living with her family at McComb, Mississippi, just a few miles from the commuhity where my dad grew up
    It was at Rochelle, Ill. that my secular work became a regular feature by which I supported my family, now seven in number. I organized an independent Baptist Church from a mission begun by K. D. Ward whom I had baptized in Hawaii. I enjoyed good fellowship with Bro. Eugene Garner who was pastoring a sister vchurch at ford, Ill. I became a stereocaster with the local newspaper but left after a couple of years because I could not get off for a meeting where I had been invited to preach out of state.
From Rochelle we went to Houston where I pastored a small church for most of three years and worked for the Post Office Department carrying the mail. I left that position to accept Harrison Missionary Baptist Church as pastor full time.
    We spent a year and a half with a church in Campbell, Calif. Good things did happen there, but our living conditions made life difficult. One brother bought a house and let us move in for several months, but then became offended for reasons that I do not know and asked us to move out without advance notice. We wound up living in two rooms upstairs over a cleaning and pressing shop.
    California was not like Arkansas, nor Hawaii, nor Colorado. We used up the funds we received as equity from the sale of our home in Little , so I had to take the first secular job that I had held since being ordained to pastor a church in May 1939. I do not mind working for a living, but with only common labor experience as a young man any jobs I could get would be common labor. There was no minimum wage at the time. It is a little difficult to keep a family of seven on $1.50 per hour. My preaching was not worth much to most people in those days where I was welcome. This is not a complaint. I am thankful for people I served and who helped me in the struggles of life in those days. Some are good friends to this day.     Many young whom I knew through the years until they are no longer young are puzzled that wife and I are supported today by offerings coming for The Reminder and for sales of my my writings. I too am made to marvel, but it only shows that God will take care of His own.
    I have not mentioned some of the pastorates, but not because I would slight those dear . I pastored the church, Harrison Missionary, now called Southern Hills, in Harrison Arkansas in the mid sixties. I pastored Bethel MBC, at Arvada, Colo. a short while and worked for J. C. Penney in their credit office in Denver. Next I pastored a new church at P. D. Flat near Dogpatch, Ark. From there we went to Kailua, Hawaii and pastored for seven years, my last pastorate. We returned from Hawaii in May 1989.
My youngest brother, James Cleo, died of Colon Cancer in August 1989 after pastoring a church in Fernandina Beach, Fla. 28 years. He worked as a carpenter and gave what his church paid him to missions.
    Back here in Harrison (actually it is eight miles out in the country, where we built a house 25 years ago while I served at P. D. Flat), we have stopped roaming. We belong to the church I once pastored and they allow me to teach regularly and to preach during their pastor’s absences.
Believe it or not, , but I am still learning the Scriptures after fifty-eight years of preaching and sixty-three years since I was saved and baptized into the fellowship of Pleasant Valley Missionary Baptist Church, Route One, Moro, Arkansas. In 1958 I came across a problem of interpreting a passage of Scripture. After working on it all day I was no closer to being able to explain it to myself or to others, so I told the Lord I was willing to await His time, if He would enable me to understand it later. That policy I have practiced consistently since then. It was in early 1998 that the truth of the passage in question was made clear to my heart. The passage is Mark. 9:42-50. My understanding is set forth in the March 1998 issue of The Reminder, the twelfth copy of that paper on the Internet, thanks to the expertise of my son, Ben, as a Web Master.
    Sister Byrd and I celebrated fifty years of marriage May 12, 1990, so May of 1998 will be fifty-eight years. Being the wife of a minister is a demanding task. Being a wife is likely demanding in itself. Being a mother adds to the strain. Perhaps we should leave it to the ladies to say how much joy and satisfaction it has been. Living without a settled location, without enough of the ordinary things of life, may also be difficult. I trust my wife continues to acknowledge that it has been worth the sacrifice.
    Our five children are all professed Christians and baptized as Baptists. Our son surrendered to preach about two years ago, but due to his work load, the size of his family and other factors, he is at that stage we all must go through to start out. I pray he may become a settled pastor, Lord willing, in an independent Baptist Church, and does not have to labor many hours a week at secular work. The Family Now     My pastoral work brought on many moves over the years. I once counted it up. I think there were thirty houses we have occupied in the near 58 years of our married life. This means that while the children got an education in geography and other factors because of our travels, they also picked up companions when their hearts became involved in love relationships.
Barbara, the oldest, married Clay Thompson. They settled in Madison, Wis., his home, and raised three children. The boy, Jim, is not married. The two s married there and have one and two children--grandchildren to us. Barbara is old enough she will not mind my mentioning that she is 56 and her husband is now 60.
    Emma, our second married Carlton Smith in Pueblo, Colo. They have moved around some, but now live in Colorado Springs. They had four children, but lost one of the twins when only hours old. The daughter is an attorney. The two boys have a total of five children--more grandchildren. One is approaching military retirement and is becomin dical doctor, using his military advantages for schooling.
    Abigail, our third daughter, married Edgar ter in Colorado after he had come to John Brown University in Siloanm Springs, Ark. After a time they went on the mission field in Brazil and later went to Madeira, an Island belonging to Portugal, where they have been more than 20 years. Two of their four children were born in Madeira. They now have three grandchildren, one born to their oldest daughter, and two to their oldest son--more grandchildren. If I did not miss counting that makes eleven great grandchildren we have from ten grandchildren living.
    Our son, Ben, married Laura June Pearce. They have two children, both daughters, neither old enough to be married. They still live in Harrison. We get to see them a little more often than the others because of this.
    Our youngest daughter, Paula, married Frank Fite here at Harrison. He worked for Gulf Oil Company in Zaire in Africa, but has since been working off shore in the Gulf of Mexico for the Chevron Oil Co. which bought out Gulf. They have a son and a daughter and live in McComb, Miss. Conclusion     It has been a joy to go over these memories. Perhaps we have told you more than you wanted to know. Many things have come to mind which we chose to leave out, not because it has no importance in who we are or what our family has become, but we have felt that more detail does not add to the story or to the telling of it. For none of it are we offering an apology, though some of it we wish had not been just like it is. It is the story with which we will meet our Lord. We judge ourselves and trust our Lord to care for the outcome—this side of the great divide, and on the other. We are indeed thankful that God has chosen our fields and blessed our labors, thus enhancing our joys.
    The last two weeks have had their clouds over our lives. Sister Byrd lost a brother, Earnest Ward, age 81, in Hope, Ark. He was a much loved church member and a man of much humor right up to the day of his . Then the next week a younger sister lost her husband, Maurice Moore, whom I have known as a preacher brother for more than thirty years. He too was 81. He and I had many very interesting Bible discussions in which we agreed remarkably well. Several others of her brothers-in-law  are preachers and with some of them we have had good fellowship in the Word, besides having a common relation through our wives who were sisters.
If our lives have not always been what our judgment felt at the time were wrong decisions or misguided influences, at this date we are happy to leave it all in the hands of the Lord for such time as the Lord may give us yet.