Message From:  Joy Baldwin
Topic: Barnard / Sparks

I am a descendent of Rueben Squire Barnard b. April 5, 1823 and Rachel Rebecca Sparks b. 1821. They came to Newton Co., Arkansas abt. 1852/3 probable settled around Boxley, Newton Co., Arkansas. They had eleven children raising them in Newton Co.
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Message From:  Georgia Aeverman
Topic:Re:Sparks / Peterson

Judy,
Thanks for this info on Sparks/Peterson. Yes, I think I followed all that.
Merry Christmas.
Georgia
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Message From: Nancy Jane Balmer
Topic: Marriage Records

Hi Judy
I'm going to be sending for some marriage records next month, do you want only the marriage records that would say Newton County, on them some of them lived in Newton County, but some were married in Pope County, was that part of Newton County at one time?? a lot of the marriages are for the Standridges, just have name's and date of marriage would you want something like that or just the copies of real marriage license or the paper they are on at the court house records??
Your friend NancyJane
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 Message From: James Harris
Topic: Cracked Water Pot

A water bearer in India had two large pots, each hung on each end of a pole which he carried across his neck.
One of the pots had a crack in it, and while the other pot was perfect and always delivered a full portion of water at the end of the long walk from the stream to the master's house, the cracked pot arrived only half full.

For a full two years this went on daily, with the bearer delivering only one and a half pots full of water in his master's house. Of course, the perfect pot was proud of its accomplishments, perfect to the end for which it was made. But the poor cracked pot was ashamed of its own imperfection, and miserable that it was able to accomplish only half of what it had been made to do.

After two years of what it perceived to be a bitter failure, it spoke to the water bearer one day by the stream.
"I am ashamed of myself, and I want to apologize to you."

"Why?" asked the bearer. "What are you ashamed of?"

"I have been able, for these past two years, to deliver only half my load because this crack in my side causes water to leak out all the way back to your master's house. Because of my flaws, you have to do all of this work, and you don't get full value from your efforts," the pot said.

The water bearer felt sorry for the old cracked pot, and in his compassion he said,
"As we return to the master's house, I want you to notice the beautiful flowers along the path."

Indeed, as they went up the hill, the old cracked pot took notice of the sun warming the beautiful wild flowers on the side of the path, and this cheered it some. But at the end of the trail, it still felt bad because it had leaked out half its load, and so again it apologized to the bearer for its failure.

The bearer said to the pot, "Did you notice that there were flowers only on your side of your path, but not on the other pot's side? That's because I have always known about your flaw, and I took advantage of it. I planted flower seeds on your side of the path, and every day while we walk back from the stream, you've watered them. For two years I have been able to pick these beautiful flowers to decorate my master's table. Without you being just the way you are, he would not have this beauty to grace his house."

Moral: Each of us has our own unique flaws.
We're all cracked pots.
But it's the cracks and flaws we each have that make our lives together so very interesting and rewarding.
You've just got to take each person for what they are, and look for the good in them.
There is a lot of good out there.
There is a lot of good in us!
Blessed are the flexible, for they shall not be bent out of shape.

Remember to appreciate all the different people in your life! Or as I like to think of it--if it hadn't been for the crackpots in my life, it would have been pretty boring and not so interesting...

Thank you all my crackpot friends.
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Message From: James Harris
Topic: Great Moments

Twenty years ago, I drove a cab for a living. It was a cowboy's life, a life for someone who wanted no boss. What I didn't realize was that it was also a ministry. Because I drove the night shift, my cab became a moving confessional. Passengers climbed in, sat behind me in total anonymity, and told me about their lives. I encountered people whose lives amazed me, ennobled me, made me laugh and weep. But none touched me more than a woman I picked up late one August night.

I was responding to a call from a small brick four-plex in a quiet part of town. I assumed I was being sent to pick up some party people, or someone who had just had a fight with a lover, or a worker heading to an early shift at some factory in the industrial part of town.

When I arrived at 2:30 a.m., the building was dark except for a single light in a ground floor window. Under such circumstances, many drivers just honk once or twice, wait a minute, then drive away. But I had seen too many impoverished people who depended on taxis as their only means of transportation. Unless a situation smelled of danger, I always went to the door. This passenger might be someone who needs my assistance, I reasoned to myself. So I walked to the door and knocked.

"Just a minute," answered a frail, elderly voice. I could hear something being dragged across the floor. After a long pause, the door opened. A small woman in her 80's stood before me. She was wearing a print dress and a pillbox hat with a veil pinned on it, like somebody out of a 1940s movie. By her side was a small nylon suitcase. The apartment looked as if no one had lived in it for years. All the furniture was covered with sheets. There were no clocks on the walls, no knickknacks or utensils on the counters. In the corner was a cardboard box filled with photos and glassware.

"Would you carry my bag out to the car?" she asked.

I took the suitcase to the cab, then returned to assist the woman. She took my arm and we walked slowly toward the curb. She kept thanking me for my kindness. "It's nothing," I told her. "I just try to treat my passengers the way I would want my mother treated."

"Oh, you're such a good boy," she said.

When we got in the cab, she gave me an address, then asked, "Can you drive through downtown?"

"It's not the shortest way," I answered quickly.

"Oh, I don't mind," she said. "I'm in no hurry. I'm on my way to a hospice."

I looked in the rearview mirror. Her eyes were glistening. "I don't have any family left," she continued. "The doctor says I don't have very long."

I quietly reached over and shut off the meter. "What route would you like me to take?" I asked.

For the next two hours, we drove through the city. She showed me the building where she had once worked as an elevator operator. We drove through the neighborhood where she and her husband had lived when they were newlyweds. She had me pull up in front of a furniture warehouse that had once been a ballroom where she had gone dancing as a girl. Sometimes she'd ask me to slow in front of a particular building or corner and would sit staring into the darkness, saying nothing. As the first hint of sun was creasing the horizon, she suddenly said, "I'm tired. Let's go now."

We drove in silence to the address she had given me. It was a low building, like a small convalescent home, with a driveway that passed under a portico. Two orderlies came out to the cab as soon as we pulled up. They were solicitous and intent, watching her every move. They must have been expecting her.

I opened the trunk and took the small suitcase to the door. The woman was already seated in a wheelchair.

"How much do I owe you?" she asked, reaching into her purse.

"Nothing," I said.

"You have to make a living," she answered.

"There are other passengers," I responded. Almost without thinking, I bent and gave her a hug. She held onto me tightly.

"You gave an old woman a little moment of joy," she said. "Thank you."

I squeezed her hand, then walked into the dim morning light. Behind me, a door shut. It was the sound of the closing of a life. I didn't pick up any more passengers that shift. I drove aimlessly, lost in thought. For the rest of that day, I could hardly talk. What if that woman had gotten an angry driver, or one who was impatient to end his shift? What if I had refused to take the run, or had honked once, then driven away?

On a quick review, I don't think that I have done anything more important in my life. We're conditioned to think that our lives revolvearound great moments. But great moments often catch us unaware ..beautifully wrapped in what others may consider a small one.

~Author Unknown~
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Message From: James Harris
Topic: In His Hands

IN HIS HANDS
The hands that made the world
And gave the sun and moon their light
Are the tiny hands of a baby born
One cold and winter night...
The Hands that stilled the wind
And tamed the fury of the sea,
Are the calloused Hands of a Carpenter
Who lived in poverty...
The Hands that held the power
To break the binding power of sin,
Are the Gentle Hands that washed the feet
Of tired and dusty men...
The Hands that cleansed the leper,
Healed the blind and raised the dead,
Are the praying Hands of One who cried,
"Not My will, but Thine instead...."
The Hands that shaped the universe and flung the stars in space
Are the nail-pierced Hands of a dying Man
Who suffered in our place...
The Hands of our Creator,
Lord and King of Heaven above,
Are the Saviour's Hands,
Forever reaching out to us with love.
by, B.J. Hoff
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Message From: James Harris
Topic: Merry Christmas

Merry Christmas to Everyone and God Bless You All
Jim
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Message From: Barbara Crutchfield
Topic: Re:Great Moments

James, thank you for both writings you sent. Both, very poignant!

Barbara
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Message From: Mary Ann Bagby
Topic: RE:Cracked Water Pot

Message From: Judy Tate
Topic: Christmas 1938

The following was written and sent to me by Colleen Haynes Rongey...it appears on my Newton County site in the Families section under Lurton Community...I thought it would be nice to send to all of you. A Chirstmas memory from back when...a time from the past when schools were not of modern design...times were simple, but remembered...a time when it was not tabo to mention the words of the Bible in school...

This is the story of a program I saved since I was 10 years old for the Lurton Christmas Program...It is faded but we can still read the message and names. The only thing missing from the original was the year...(I think it is 1938 but this may have been 1939)

The 1938 Christmas at the Lurton One Room Schoolhouse was the most exciting highlight of our year...

The large (we thought) one room white school had windows all around two sides, double doors on one side and the end with a center curtain to separate the first three grades from the upper three grades. A stage was built up about a foot higher in front with a curtain to pull for our 'programs'.. Ertle Criner (Paxton) taught first, second and third grades, and Ace Gilmore taught the fourth, fifth and sixth...we went to Deer for the seventh.

I was in sixth grade that year, and my sister Phyllis was in third. The Christmas program of 1938 was on a cold blustery winter night and we had a fire going in the big potbelly stove at the side of the room. Our school desks seated two with a desk and chair for the one in front to sit on, and an inkwell and pencil slot on top. (and a few carved initials in hearts, from other years gone by).

For the program, the parents sat in the seats and on top of the seats so they could see and cheer on the performers. Especially when they did well or for the ones who temporarily forgot their speech. The children sat in the front of the stage on the floor waiting for their turn on the program, because every one of us did something on the program, even if it was with the group. The parents sat out there and clapped and beamed and cheered us on.

In one corner of the room stood a giant cedar tree, decorated with school made garlands of red berries and popcorn, tinsel cut from colored papers and a big paper star on top with a roll of white cotton underneath to cover the stand... Big brown paper bags of goodies were placed all around the tree so our eyes couldn't stay away from them long enough to see the 'program' we must watch first.

Around November we always had a 'pie supper' to raise enough money for the Christmas bags of goodies. Mr. I. C. Sutton always added something extra special to each one in case the pie supper funds were not enough. The boys always got marbles or a yo-yo and the girls got jacks.

By some miracle, our mother, Iva Haynes saved an original copy of the program that was handed out to the parents when they came in the door that night and I still have it here in my hand, faded, but can still read the mimeographed copy...

By another miracle, I found this program one more time in 1993. ( and again in 2000)

Mrs. Cornelia Sutton worked with us in our 'drama' at the Lurton school and she helped us with this program in 1938. She had the program typed on white typing paper and cut out in the shape of a large bell, decorated on the outside of the bell with blue crayon lines by the children.

The following performers are listed as they are on this 1938 Lurton Christmas Program...

A Christmas Story:  
       "The Shining Spirit"    by Colleen Haynes
Girl's Speech:   
       "Spelling Christmas"    by Oma Aubrey 
Boy's Speech:
       "A Brave Speech"        by Pat Junior Merriman
Girl's Speech:
      "Christmas in our Heart" by Wanda Sue Campbell
Four Boys: 
      "Christmas Birthday Candles"
Boy's Speech:  
      "Boo Hoo"                by Bobby Lynn Sutton
Song: All
     "Have you any Room for Jesus"
    
The Christmas Story: (Read from the Bible)
     
"For unto you is born this day in the city of David, 
a Savior which is Christ the Lord."

After the program was finished, we had what we called 'The Christmas Tree', where we all got in line, from the smallest to the largest. I was pretty big in the sixth grade.

Santa was all dressed up in his red coat and cap and handed out a big brown paper bag to each one. We had chocolate drop candies, red and white peppermint sticks, Double Bouble gum and all other kinds of good things to eat including an orange and an apple.

Each day at recess, the girls played the game of jacks, (eggs in the basket, babies, etc) and the boys marbles, roly poly, keeps, etc...(gambling didn't just now become a problem...Our recess games were powerful)...Tomorrow the marble trading will begin.

One reason I remember this Christmas so well was...the next morning after the program I woke up crying... covered with red welts and running a high fever. Mother and Dad called Dr. Sexton at Dover, he came out to see me and said I had the 'bad' German Measles. A lot of the Lurton School had the same thing that day!! My little sister Phyllis had them, too and it was weeks before we could go back to school. I told the other kids they better not bother my Christmas bag of goodies 'till I got well again! Mailed to The Editor of the Newton County Times, December 14, 1993...and now...again in the Year 2000...

              Colleen H. Rongey
              529 Stewart Avenue 
              New Orleans, LA 70123
              504-737-8459

Message From: Barbara Crutchfield
Topic: Re:Christmas 1938

<< The following was written and sent to me by Colleen Haynes Rongey...it appears on my Newton County site in the Families section under Lurton Community...I thought it would be nice to send to all of you >>

I loved reading this!!! I didn't go to a one-room school, but it brought back memories of the Christmas programs we had!! Thank you.

Barbara
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Message From: Judy Tate
Topic: Re:Merry Christmas

Merry Christmas and God Bless you too Jim....Merry Christmas to EVERYONE

Take Care, Judy Tate
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Message From: Barbara Crutchfield
Topic: Re:Merry Christmas

Merry Christmas to all Newton co. families, with wishes for a wonderful coming year.

Barbara Crutchfield Higgins
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Meaage From: Nancy Jane Balmer
Topic: Re:Merry Christmas

Hi Every one