The Coat of Many Colors

     Dolly Parton wrote a song many years ago about her coat of many colors which her mother made out of her love for Dolly.  Some of the lyrics were:

My coat of many colors

That my momma made for me
Made only from rags
But I wore it so proudly
Although we had no money
I was rich as I could be
In my coat of many colors
My momma made for me

     When I watched her recent movie on The Coat of Many Colors, it reminded me so much of life with Momma and Daddy in their early years when I was just a small child.  They worked so hard to give their children what was needed and sacrificed so much because of the love they had for their children. 
     So the story of my coat of many colors goes something like the following:

     I  don't remember being poor, but I remember family love.

     We had home-sewn clothes made from flour sacks.  It was good cotton material with pretty little colorful flowers. and we were so proud of our flour sack dresses.  We didn't have running water or inside plumbing either.   Water was drawn from a well, and we ran outside when nature called.  Baths were taken in a big round wash tub; the water kept warm by a nearby open heater.  One by one we bathed til we were all done. 
     I don't remember being poor, but I remember open fire warmth and family love. 
     Momma milked cows and churned our butter.  Papa plowed till he got an oil field job.   When Papa worked the land, the family picked cotton out in the field.  I was too little, but I remember.  Later, when we had only a big garden to feed the family, Momma got up early to pick bushels of peas and butterbeans before leaving for her factory job.  We three girls sat and shelled all day to have them ready for canning when Momma got home from work.  Her work day was simply not yet done.
     I woke most mornings to roosters crowing and barnyard sounds.  On Saturdays,  Mama washed clothes from a black iron pot using a scrub board to wash away hardened dirt off daddy's work clothes.  We kids hung the clothes across bard-wired fences.     
     I don't remember being poor, but I remember hard work and family love.
     There were Saturdays filled with chickens clucking as Momma rung their necks.  I'd get up to watch with big bright eyes as those chickens flopped upon the ground.  I was scared!  "Momma, they're not dead," I'd say, but Momma assured me they were.  It seemed they flopped for hours when actually they lay still after only a very short time.   Then Momma would dunk them in scalding water, pluck their feathers, let the feathers dry in the sun, and then she'd  turn them into fluffy, soft pillows.         
     I don't remember being poor, but I remember shared experiences and family love. 
     There were hog killing days with grandparents, uncles, and aunts.  They'd gather to kill and scrap those hogs.  The women made lard and shittlings, then they'd fry up some tenderloin.
      Other days Grandma cut up chunks of meat, and we kids went down to their spring and fished for crawdads using straight pens tied to a string.  Grandma would cut off the crawdad tails, and we would have a fried up feast.   Some lazy Sunday afternoons found our families gathering to smack our lips on watermelons that had been picked and kept cooled under a big oak shade.  Other times we feasted on hand-cranked ice cream.  The men took turns turning the crank while we, with all our cousins,  climbed the big oak tree and sit on huge big limbs which  shaded the wooden splintery bench beneath.   
     I don't remember being poor, but I remember fellowship and family love. 
     Ma and Pa took us to church on Sundays with no questions asked.  It was the way it was supposed to be.  If we got a whipping at school, we could expect to get another when we got home.  That's what we were taught.  We said, "Yes Ma'ma" and "Yes Sir," and didn't sass our parents.  Respect was taught.        
     I don't remember being poor, but I remember wise teachings and family love.
     Christmases were not filled with lots of toys and stuff.  We got brand new shoes, home-sewn clothes, and things we really needed.  Our home was filled with the fresh citrus smell of oranges and the sweet scent of ripe red apples, which was the only time of the year we were blessed with fruit.
     I don't remember being poor, but I remember simple Christmases and family love. 
     I was "rich as I could be" cause I don't remember being poor.     

      What better time of the year to remember being rich than at Christmas, for Christmas is all about love?  A time when Jesus was born to bring love and life to all.  John 15:13 Greater love hath no man than this, that a man lay down his life for his friends.   Jesus is truly the greatest Christmas gift of all!  We can be "as rich as we can be" if we have Jesus in our life.