Back in 1934 when I was born, a first class postage stamp cost three cents, a three-bedroom home cost around $2,925, the average income was $1,237, the price of a new Ford was $535, and gasoline cost a a whopping 19 cents a gallon. A pound of bread would have cost eight cents if we'd bought it at the store, and a gallon of milk would have cost us forty-four cents if we didn't have milling cows. My, how times have changed
Older people have a special privilege: the chance to see God's faithfulness over a lifetime. Our troubles may not grow smaller as the years go by, but our experiences can strengthen our confidence that God will deliver us today just like He always has in the past.
Here is the story about my growing up years as best as I can remember them. Hold on to your hats, kids, we're taking a trip back to the old farm!
Betty Cunningham
Right, at age 14

Oh how I still love
those honeysuckles!
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              Left, Mom's sister Dora is holding me                   
We lived in a four-room house on an eighty-acre farm in Missouri, Mom, Dad, and eventually twelve children. I am the seventh. My name is Betty, but they called me Boots. I was named after my paternal grand-mother, Elizabeth Cunningham.
I was born at home on October 8, 1934. We were all born at home, no complications. In those days the doctor made
house calls, and he thought it best for my mother
to stay in bed for ten days after each birth, so
that's what she did. Smart lady! Since she had a
child approximately every two years for twenty-five
years, I believe she earned the ten-day rest,
don't you? . . .
Back then, we had no indoor plumbing or electricity. All our water came from the pump outside the kitchen door. The stone path you see disappearing beyond the pump goes to the two-holed toilet one hundred yards north of the house, so in cold weather we, , ,
One day a little girl walked with her dad down the street in Cuba, Missouri. When they passed a man in bib overalls on the corner, the dad recognized the man, and looked away without speaking. The child
thought that was unusual, so she asked, "Who was that, Papa?"
    He said, "That was my brother."
    That little girl was me. I must have been only five or six, but I remember wondering what could have been so bad that it would separate brothers. I made up my mind right then and there that I would never let anything stand in my way of forgiving. That resolve has been tested over the years, but I've come to the conclusion that life's too short to stay mad at anyone.
     We have all sinned. We all fall short of God's best. We all need forgiveness.
     "Blessed are the peacemakers."