To the Editor:
We would like to thank all the participants in this year’s Warmth For A Friend coat drive. A total of 498 people at The St. Paul’s Mission and the Allentown Men’s Mission were provided coats, scarves, hats, gloves and other winter clothing articles.
Warmth For A Friend started as a community service project eight years ago by Sophie’s daughter, Pfc. Amanda Kesselring, now serving our country in the United States Army.
By the time you will read this, it will be after New Year’s Day. It’s currently Friday afternoon as I sit down to write this. The most appropriate viewpoint for this time of year is one based on the start of a new year — that some may see as a new transition, a new beginning or the perfect time to introduce a new project, dream, step or change in life.
During the month of December, our lives are typically filled with special events, gift-giving, family gatherings and foods we only eat once a year. All of these aspects of the season bring most of us joy, but there is something else we experience during the holidays that contributes to our jolly demeanor at this time of year — the music.
I am always last — last to arrive, last to leave, last to get served at a banquet. Sometimes it happens due to my own fault, like because I am running late. But many times, if not most, I am at the end of the line because I tend to hang around and talk. I always seem to find someone to connect with, even in a room full of strangers. It is both a blessing and a curse. I even had the lights turned off on me at a viewing once. “Mom’s last call at the funeral home” is one of those family stories that will go down in history.
This Christmas marks 15 years since my life was forever changed by the kindness and selflessness of others. As you’ll read below, my younger daughter, Katie, was hospitalized on Christmas Eve 2001. A situation that then seemed tragic revealed to our family an awesome and inspiring spirit.
(Printed in the Jan. 19, 2002, edition of The Press)
Have you heard the GOOD NEWS?
God has come to Earth
In a borrowed manger
In a wee one’s birth
Do you know he still lives
And His Spirit moves today
Through the followers He has chosen
Followers of The Way?
This way he came to teach
Is not the world’s, it’s true
He died so that we might
A life that breathes anew
Will we recognize Him
When we see Him now
In the eyes of those who ache
Or display a furrowed brow?
Oh, how the world longs for rescue
From others, as from self
Denise Continenza, chair of the Communities That Care group, attended our Whitehall-Coplay Hunger Initiative meeting Nov. 22.
She relayed a great posting she saw on Facebook that was intended for Advent (the four Sundays before Christmas), but this can be done monthly or as often as you wish to participate. I mentioned to our meeting attendees that this would be the article I will write in December.
To the Editor:
Residents who are beginning to complain about the FedEx warehousing activities and other proposed warehouses in Allen Township need to remind themselves that twice voters in Allen Township refused a ballot referendum to preserve farmland and open space. For a small increase in taxes, life might be different, but life will never be the same.
In 30 years, we will be like surrounding townships (Hanover, Bethlehem) with no farms at all.
(Editor’s note: Stoffa is a former Northampton County executive.)
Watching televised news reports and human interest stories this past week on the 75th anniversary of the Japanese attack on Pearl Harbor, Dec. 7, 1941, immediately brought back memories of the many late nights my mother and I spent holding and listening to my father cry at the kitchen table.
My dad enlisted in the U.S. Navy at the age of 20, following the attack. He served aboard the USS Monitor, a landing ship vehicle-5, crossing the equator Oct. 11, 1944.
Recently, I discovered history in a packet of letters my mother had kept since World War II. The timing was perfect. Just when our nation’s brave men and women who served in the military were being honored and celebrated on Veterans Day, I was immersed in the innocent musings of a young soldier who paid the ultimate price for his service.
Robert was killed in action in France at the age of 22. He and I share DNA. He was an uncle I never got to meet.