Christmas memories, unforgotten tidbits of the past, stir to life when the leaves start changing. They fill our minds as the outside temperatures drop, and we sense winter approaching.

What type of memories swirl into your mind? Do memories drift around you like colorful falling leaves or do they batter you like vengeful winter storms?

Not everyone’s memories of Christmas are tender treasures—something to store away and breathe life into once a year. There is sorrow in this world. It doesn’t flee and hide on special holiday.

There was hardship and a long, tiresome journey connected to what we call the first Christmas—the birth of Jesus. Mary, the young teenager giving birth to God’s son, didn’t experience delivery in a sterile hospital room, with pain medicine and attentive nurses. She didn’t even have her own mother or a female relative nudging a cow out of the way and kneeling beside her in the piles of loose hay. They weren’t there to coach her through surging waves of contractions, to wipe her brow, or murmur words of encouragement.

The multitude of scents and the variety of natural sounds in that rugged stable—where Jesus was born—aren’t the touches of reality we long to have flowing through our homes on Christmas morning! But I’m sure Mary’s memories of that event held sweetness and joy, mixed with the discomforts and a thread of worry about the future. She held in her human hands—the Son of God. With the birth of Jesus came a gift of eternal life—to all who accept. Tender memories of the actual birth stayed with her the rest of her life, because she was His mother.

When we open our hearts to God’s amazing Gift, we want to share—because it’s a treasure to cherish. By sharing what we’ve received, we help others learn to think of Christmas as a time of good memories.

Thanks for stopping in and reading this blog.

~Karen Campbell Prough









I did something Saturday night that I haven’t done in a long time and I felt like I almost committed a sin. But the urge hit me and I gave in—squashing the voices in my head that shrieked warnings about unhealthy choices. But I closed my mind to all the fitness magazines in the grocery store and ignored what I had read while skimming through their glossy pages.

I got out the largest frying pan I had and put generous, white globs of Crisco in it. And then I unfolded a small paper bag and dumped in flour, garlic powder, salt, and pepper. Within a short time, I had rinsed and patted dry a big bunch of chicken thighs and legs—with the skin on them. I dropped the pieces of chicken in the paper bag and shook them until the mixture coated every nook and cranny. One by one, I reverently laid them in the hot skillet of grease. Yep … I fixed good old-fashioned fried chicken, yellow rice, green beans coated in butter, and sweet tea. (Can you hear the southern twang in my writing—honey child?)

My husband hovered around the kitchen, sniffing, and saying something that sounded like, yum, yum, yum or the purring of a kitten.

And then the memories started running through my mind as the scent of fried chicken drifted from the pan. The memories took me back to childhood, a time when we played outside every evening of the week. The neat houses all down the street had small porches with rod iron railings. Windows were open and every house had a screen door. The summer twilight hovered while all of us children gathered in the narrow street, rode bikes, joined in games, and enjoyed being together as the day peacefully ended.

The aroma and scent of other meals being prepared, in houses along the street, drifted in the air.

In my mind’s eyes, I see my mom finishing a batch of sugar-sprinkled molasses cookies for after supper and sliding them off the cookie sheet unto a paper bag, which had been cut open and laid flat on the counter. The scent of fried chicken, coming from her kitchen, blended with the neighbor’s hamburgers on a backyard grill. Someone’s Italian spaghetti added a tantalizing bouquet of spices to the warm night. The streets lights winked on, childish giggles and laughter filled the air. Young voices lilted and blended with the sound of a distant train whistle. A baby cried out two doors down and a mother’s gentle voice shushed it and murmured reassurance. Older folks stepped out on their porches and carefully sank into creaking rockers. A dog barked and jumped at a fence, yearning to join the children playing a game of chase between shadowed houses. The full moon lifted its face over the trees and turned the yards and bushes into a silvery painting of life, complete with innocence still intact. Neighborly trust and friendship was a normal way of life.

So, from the scent of frying chicken, my world turned back to a time when life didn’t seem so complicated. Children could play in the street and not worry about a stranger snatching them. Doors and windows were open to the warm nights. A neighbor could come up on your porch and call through the screen door to see if you were home, and you could yell for them to come in, without even stopping what you were doing. You didn’t have to lock your front door, if you were weeding the garden in the back yard. Unsupervised children could explore a creek or a patch of woods, build tree houses, and walk to the library or playground with their friends.

Fried chicken … a different time and place. Makes me want to close this blog post with the words, “Goodnight, John Boy!”

But I’ll bring it to close with a scripture. “God has reserved a priceless inheritance for his children. It is kept in heaven for you, pure and undefiled, beyond the reach of change and decay. And God, in his mighty power, will protect you until you receive this salvation, because you are trusting him. It will be revealed on the last day for all to see.” 1 Peter 1:4-5 NLT

Those who love God have hope in his son, Jesus. We can accept or reject the greatest gift that humanity has ever received. Someday, heaven’s doors will be thrown wide open and fear will vanish. You won’t have to worry about anything.

What memories do you treasure? The past has its marks in all our lives, whether good or bad, but our future is in God’s hands.

Please, leave your comments about this blog, and thank you for reading it.


© Karen Campbell Prough 2012     








“Every wise woman buildeth her house: but the foolish plucketh it down with her hands.” Proverbs 14:1 KJV

This scripture can definitely apply to many aspects of our lives. Are you pulling your home down about your head? Are you closing your eyes to the grunge and deterioration eating at the very foundations of your house?

Mildew growing on your bathroom ceiling can present serious health problems to individuals in your family. It is silent, but you can see it spreading along a wall, under wallpaper, and across the paint on the ceiling. You can scrub it, wipe it with a cloth dampened in bleach, and inhibit its growth.

However, what do you do with the filth of this world creeping into the minds of your children or loved ones? Bleach will not wipe it away. It is a deep cleansing that you cannot do on your own.

God offers what you need for the life you live. By keeping Jesus in your home, you can maintain a healthy, safe environment. But many women in today’s society, and in the world, are plucking down the very standards that the Bible tells us will help support our families and children.

God can help with home repairs. He is a Custom Home Builder, specializing in unique preservation, and he offers a “house plan” that fits the quality of life he envisioned for your family.

His Word can help you plan the changes and upkeep in your home. You can rest assured when even the smallest detail of your family’s well-being is in God’s hands. Your walk with Him can help you become a home repair specialist.


God’s arrangement is a unique concept. His plans for the home fit the needs of as many people as possible. Did you ever think of it that way? God designed the home as one man, one woman—with their varying personalities—producing offspring that differ from each other. But they can all live together in harmony! His blueprint provides all the solace each family member needs as they grown spiritually and physically. Children are then equipped to go out into the world and build another home centered on God’s plan.

But we are human. We manage to drift out of God’s plan. We sometimes deliberately tear down the walls around our families. We let dirt from the world soil the carpets of our families’ souls, and we track it in every day—if we are not careful to stay close to God.


Start with your own repentance. Ask God to show you the major, structural damages in your life. Seek the heart repairs needed to rebuild. Be willing to let God take out the rotten parts of your life, reframe you, rebuild you, and restore you. After accepting salvation, which is God’s plan for your life, you will be in his hands. He can help you assemble your family life and home.

Putting God’s ideas into the initial layout of the home should be your number one goal.

Tell God your household problems and talk to him. What kind of cleansing and repairs are you willing to let him do? Is the joy of communication broken? Or perhaps, some “walls” need to come down. What do the members of your family require for their quality of life or even the sustaining of their life? The answer is God, his love, and his perfect home plans.

The home that God helps you build will be of good quality. Seek his set of plans and let God guide you during the fabulous, exciting repairs.

Do not be like the foolish woman. Take the first step, get your life straight with God, and then apply the repairs.

How do you build your house? What steps have you taken? Leave a comment/reply in the space below and help a friend turn in the right direction.

Represented by Linda S. Glaz at