Welcome to charlottesnead.com

 Sacred Passion is God's Idea,

Romance is vital in marriage. I married in 1962. I began to mentor Mothers of Preschoolers in 1994. Every year since, my team insists I do my "sex talk," but it’s so much more. Being in right relationship with God, attending a vibrant and growing community of believers, choosing to forgive, to respect, and understanding submission is not surrender of self--all goes into the package that makes up a healthy marriage. I want to share it with you.

I write Romance to promote the marital relationship. God wrote the Song of Solomon, and he tells us the marriage bed is undefiled. Together we celebrate his sacred gift! For a good read, check out my books, my short stories, my devotions and my blog posts. 

The blogs, devotions, and mentor’s moments from those years are free. Use them, share them, but they are copyrighted. Please cite charlottesnead.com and invite others to the site. 

Blessings! 

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His and hers Hospitalizations
Monday, June 17, 2019
Charlotte Snead

 Here I am. I couldn’t let Joe get all the sympathy, so I entered the hospital as well, being admitted to WVU’s neurology service as a transfer from Stonewall hospital ER when I was unable to walk. I was rolled into the hospital on a gurney but PT got me up and walking in a couple of days. I was diagnosed with cervical stenosis, compromising two disks in my upper neck. Joe slept in a chair beside me for the two nights I was there, God love him. The prognosis for me is close follow up and possible surgery down the road.

Meanwhile the changes in Joe’s diet are working wonders, and he is doing well. I guess I must reluctantly admit we are growing old. Fortunately, we live in the USA and are not denied care! Our daughter, Candace, had the surgery, and she is doing well and back to work. After home health therapy, which I have now dismissed, I am doing well.

I spent the time re-reading BJ Hoff’s classic Emerald Ballad five-book series about the famine and emigrations to America. Joe is glad I have completed it, saying he can have a conversation with me now that my head is out of a book.  Later this week, he is accompanying me to the writers’ conference in Grove City where I broke my shoulder last year.

Recent Posts

The unoffendable
Friday, May 31, 2019
Charlotte Snead

My Sunday school teacher (who is my husband) says those who want to be in the End Time Army of the Lord cannot wear our feelings on our sleeves. We must choose to love and choose to honor (even choose to forgive—the Church is a hospital for sinners, and none of us have arrived at perfection).  As an example, Pregnancy centers, state leadership, and local chapters have different responsibilities and callings, different gifts and strengths. God being our helper, each joint working together to supply what the other joint lacks, we can restore protection to all human life. Thank you for whatever you do: volunteer, walk, or give.

In our Sunday school class, we have varied folks, some mature and others young and growing, but Joe enables each one to share, and we all are strengthened. Many people oppose the President’s tweets, but all of us appreciate the roaring economy. Our job is to pray for those in authority—pastors teachers, and government leaders. We attend a “millennial church, and we prefer another kind of music. We love old hymns and the charismatic chorus we sang in the day, but Joe recently observed that if this music appeals to millennials, bring it on! Our church is growing, people are being saved. We have no complaints and why should we? 

 

Where Have I been?
Tuesday, May 28, 2019
Charlotte Snead

What a fun two weeks we have had. We spent time with Joe’s classmates, who have adopted me into the class, in Anderson, S.C. and arrived home the day before Steve and Mary Katherine arrived here to visit with Alan, Dave, and Shannon. Busy, busy, happy times for us. We spent time with at Dave’s with every day. They fished in the pond in front of Dave’s house. They made ’smores, they shared beds, and David cooked up a storm.

So, here I am now, about to collapse—but Steve and MK drove nine hours with three precious little (rowdy) boys. They are so good to visit, knowing Alan is an only child who needs interaction with his cousins.

David has had some health problems, making it hard for him to drive. (Shannon has taken him to Johns Hopkins several times.) He is still undergoing tests, but the doctors seem to be narrowing it down to back problems. He is carrying a full time job with Denison landscaping, a big job that will last years. He is blessed to get along well with his boss.

Steve works for ISI—Intercollegiate Studies Institute—an organization that trains college students to withstand the liberal indoctrination on their campuses. He works from home, traveling to talk to donors. Every year they have a conference on Western Civilization that we enjoy attending. This year it will be in Philadelphia, and we can take the train out of White Sulphur Springs, always fun for Joe.

What Love Isn't
Saturday, May 4, 2019
Charlotte Snead

English doesn’t have enough words to express the nuances other languages use to convey love. Greek has three main words for love: phileo, or friendship love, (in Philadelphia, the city of brotherly love); Eros, or lust (erotica) and the highest form of love, agape, or divine love.

 The love defined by Hollywood is associated with perpetual sexual satisfaction, romantic bliss, and no struggles. Starry-eyed females stumble around creating every handsome boy into our Perfect Man. Unfortunately, when we get to know him, especially after we marry the guy—he turns out to have clay feet. When this love god with clay feet cannot make us happy, do we dump him and chase after the next guy?

Supremely, love is choices. Hollywood leaves us with our heart fluttering, but when we wake up with old morning breath over there, it comes down to a Choice. When he has no idea what he has done to hurt our feelings, can we forgive him, whether we feel like it or not? Has he forgotten your birthday or left you exhausted with screaming children to go play with his buddies?  Having grown up in a different family, he brings to marriage his own baggage of hurts, his own ways of expressing love. (Or not—my Scotsman thought tenderness was weakness. When I asked him why he never told me he loved me, he answered, “I married you. I bring the paycheck home every week.” Finally, I convinced him women need to HEAR it, over and over, and after fifty years, and now he tells me several times a day.)

Mothers have daily opportunities to choose to love. Tantrum-throwing toddlers don’t evoke feelings of love. When the little brat hollers “NO!” in your face and bops you, our inclination is to strike out. As mature women—most of the time—we know that doesn’t teach or train the right things, so we choose to moderate our response, exercising restraint and discipline. Feelings come when the little angels are asleep and look innocent. Or when their little arms curve around your neck, and they say: “I love you best of all.”

Love is choosing, willing the very best for another and working toward making that happen. Getting up in the middle of the night and cleaning up puke—do we feel lovey-dovey then? Setting aside your book to read his, giving up your new shoes to buy ones for their growing feet, giving up your vacation because you have hospital bills. Living on one salary so you can be there to teach and to guide, and God bless the single moms and dads who do it all, who are both mom and dad, while working to support them.

Choosing to love is choosing forgive and if you act loving and forgiving, feelings will surely follow. Never let your husband suspect that you don’t feel loving at this moment. Feelings are fickle things; they change with PMS, lack of sleep, or bad news. Choose Love—you aren’t faking it, you are acting in faith, knowing that your feelings lie and they will fall into line if you stay the course.

Love is a gift of the Holy Spirit, available by His grace. Paul wrote that three things endure forever: faith, hope, and agape love, and the greatest of these is love. If your love tank is running on empty, remember, God is love; ask Him to give you the love you need for your husband, your children and your friends.

 

 

Joe Hits the Ground Running
Thursday, April 25, 2019
Charlotte Snead

We left the hospital last Saturday, and Sunday was Easter. Our children’s church had a Wild West theme, and Joe spent the time with our son, daughter-in-law and five year old grandson. They are not regular church attenders, and he wanted to make them comfortable. I was in church listening to the sermon which was excellent, but I think I missed all the fun. Alan rode a horse (with an adult), did not pet the goat, but did pet a rabbit. Our children’s pastor provided an excellent skit about a robbing renegade who got saved and reformed.

After service, we went to Dave’s house for lunch, our usual pattern. They are so good to feed us every Sunday after church and give us time with our grandson. (The highlight of our week.) This Sunday we crashed, doing very little and Shannon, with Dave’s help, waited on us.

Monday, Joe was back at a full day’s work. He arrived home tired, but managed to begin cutting the meadow. Tuesday he was back at work, but the student at Teen Challenge he tutors in math to pass her GED, was out of town, so we didn’t have our usual longTuesday. Other than being tired, he was fine, and on Wednesday night, he insisted on going to “Royal “Rangers,” the church’s scout troop. (I skipped, feeling guilty that I didn’t go.) Yesterday, after our annual review with Northwest Mutual completing our annual financial review, we stopped by our adult grandson’s job; he is a barista, making crepes and fancy coffees. Today, Joe is finishing up some charts and getting a recall on his truck serviced.

Hw ia adjusting his diet and he did admit he thinks this might be his last year. Ya Think? He will be 80 next year! Like the energizer bunny, he keeps on going, but perhaps his brush with mortality has given him pause for thought.

A lesson in appreciation
Wednesday, April 17, 2019
Charlotte Snead

I thought I appreciated my husband. I thank God for him during our daily prayers in the morning and when I lie down at night, but I really learned to appreciate him when he was in the hospital for three days. He woke up in extreme pain at 2 am last Wednesday, and I took him to the ER at 7. It took 3 hours to get his pain under control, and his blood pressure was out the roof. They did a scan and diagnosed diverticulitis. He was admitted at 3. Long day and longer times by his bedside. Lonely times at night. I was not a happy camper, looking across at his empty chair.

In the hospital, we spent some time with a nutritionist learning modifications he must make to his diet (He ate his beloved peanuts the night he got sick—that’s a big no-no now.) We have several recent widows in our church, and we pray for them each morning. I can live without nuts, but I don’t want to live without him.

Joe came home Saturday. Dave, our son, and his wife, Shannon, and grandson Alan spent much of the day with us. Because no one could do anything last week except sit beside him while his IV drip with pain meds and antibiotics was administered, no one in the family came to see him. As a much loved doctor in the hospital, a parade of folks in house dropped by, from the administrator and her assistant to the gift shop lady. He knew everyone by name and said good things about each one. (No wonder he is loved!)

He is well though he tires, but he taught Sunday school and went to work on Monday. And I had a good dose of appreciation.

Savor the Moments
Wednesday, April 10, 2019
Charlotte Snead

In the West Virginias mountains, when the colors are flung across the valleys, a magnificent painter has created a masterpiece. The glorious riot of colors makes me sing and laugh with joy. (Wonder what people driving alongside of me think!) I want my life to go out in a blaze of glory, too. In the autumn season of my life, I pray I will reflect the colors of my life as beautifully as nature does. Each season has its own unique pleasures, so I embrace each one.

How often as moms we said: "Oh, I can't wait until she is toilet trained," or: "Boy, it will be a relief when he can sit up by himself."  We wish their little seasons to go by quickly. And then the last one drives down the road with his U-Haul packed. Believe me, it wasn't long.

I wish I had the nature and ability to scrapbook. I love this new creative life record. I have boxes full of photos, but not much in order (and to put them in order will drive me insane!). Joe and I promise ourselves we will go through them when he retires.

I hold so many pictures in my heart: a shyly grinning girl hugging her baby brother close to her, a little black curly headed beauty rolling down the levy in New Orleans, a blond tyke trying to stand on his daddy's shoulders to see the choo-choo, a curly towhead with an earnest expression pedaling madly on his John Deere tractor, a proud trombonist leading the high school band. . . oh, so many pictures in my heart.

If your children are still home, look at them when they are unaware. Take a mental photo, remember them in your heart. Enjoy them in the springtime of their lives. Each age is tough, but transient, even fleeting. Play with them, dance with them, laugh with them, listen to them, tell them how wonderful they are, how unique and special. When mine were little, I would lie down with them, hold hands and run across the grass, come on, if you can't do that, you are too busy. Remember, mothering is a proud profession!

Nothing replaces a mother. (But grandma comes close!)