Here’s another story in the 12 Pearls of Christmas series. Today, a mother of three teenage sons writes about how she found unexpected joy even when money was tight during the Christmas season.

The Joy of Unexpected Circumstances
by Lori Kasbeer

The Christmas season is upon us again. Starbucks is selling their Christmas blend; stores are posting their holiday hours; and moms everywhere are making a list and checking it twice, planning for a special Christmas day. It has been our family’s tradition to spend Christmas with relatives.  Last year money was tight and we were unable to travel. This is not how we had planned to spend Christmas day, but circumstances were beyond our control. Realizing my three boys–who are now teenagers–will not be under our roof for much longer, I wanted to have a special Christmas with just the five of us.  

Leading up to Christmas morning we all made mouth-watering, cinnamon cut-out cookies, spent time together sticking tape everywhere while trying to wrap presents, and enjoyed spending time together.  We did not have much money, but were having fun making memories.  When Christmas morning arrived and we sat around to open gifts my eyes welled up with overwhelming joy.  This mother was trying to absorb all the activity that was going on all around her: the smiles from each of my teenage boys, the sounds of laughter, and the smell of cinnamon rolls cooking in the oven.  If I could freeze a moment in time, this would be it.  I don’t know what the future holds for each of my boys, but that Christmas morning I wanted to soak it all in so I could recall this special day for years to come.  Despite struggling financially, unexpected circumstances turned into immense joy and a lifetime of memories.

Mothers treasuring special moments is not something new.  Mary, mother of Jesus Christ, was one who tried to soak in everything that first Christmas morning.  Even after Christ’s birth she was still trying to absorb what the angel had said to her when he delivered the news that she was going to be the mother of the coming Savior.  She reflected on the time she had with her cousin Elizabeth while they were both pregnant.  Along with comprehending the unusual way her son came into this world. 

While very pregnant with child, Mary and Joseph traveled from Nazareth to Bethlehem to register Mary for the census.  Never did she imagine she would deliver her baby in a barn with a manger being the only thing to lay him down in.  These were not the circumstances she had envisioned.  Before she had time to catch her breath, suddenly all around her there was excitement when shepherds showed up reporting what they had seen and heard.  There were angels—a multitude of angels—who were singing and declaring the Savior was born and a bright star led them to her and Joseph.    So much had happened in a short amount of time, and Mary did not want to forget any of it.  Instead she stepped back and “treasured up all these things, pondering them in her heart.” (Luke 2:19)

Mary did not exactly know what the plans were for her son, but she knew it was going to change the lives of everyone on earth.  She was preparing her heart to obey God concerning her son Jesus, without the full knowledge of what was going to come while at the same time quietly reflecting and capturing this one special moment in time.

May this Christmas be filled with joy and a lifetime of memories, even if you find yourself in unexpected circumstances.  Merry Christmas!

About Lori: Lori Kasbeer lives with her husband Tadd and three teenage sons in Florida. She’s a contributor for Pearl Girls: Encountering Grit, Experiencing Grace and a Christian book reviewer. Please visit Lori’s Book Reviews for more info. You can also find Lori on Facebook and Twitter.

A three strand pearl necklace will be given away on New Year’s Day. All you need to do to have a chance of winning is {FILL OUT THIS QUICK ENTRY FORM}. The winner will be announced on the Pearl Girls Blog (http://margaretmcsweeney.blogspot.com) on New Years Day!

12 Pearls of Christmas Series and contest sponsored by Pearl Girls®. For more information, please visit www.pearlgirls.info

Welcome to day 3 of the 12 Pearls of Christmas. Our guest today shares what it’s like to suffer the loss of a loved one during the holidays and how important it is for all of us to reach out to those who may be hurting during this season.

The First Christmas
by Pat Ennis

It was October of my eighteenth year of life when my Dad stepped into eternity. As a college freshman, I not only had to deal with my own grief, I also was faced with the responsibility of helping my mother adjust to a new lifestyle. You see, when Dad died, she not only lost her husband of thirty years, she also lost her circle of friends. Suddenly the married couples (my Dad was the first of their group to die) didn’t know what to do about Mother—so they did nothing. Her grieving process was actually extended because of the withdrawal of her friends, many with whom she and Dad had enjoyed fellowship for years. 

Our plight was magnified by the reality that we did not have extended family and I was an only child. Quite frankly, the outlook for the holiday season appeared pretty dismal!

As the holidays approached, our neighbors, who embraced a different faith than we, graciously invited us to share their Christmas celebration with them. The sincere invitation, their effort to fold us into their family, inclusion in the gift exchange, and intentional conversation that focused on recounting the blessings of the year as well as looking forward to the next turned what could have been a miserable day into one of joy. Of course we missed our husband and Dad but the focus on the Lord’s provision for us through the hospitality of our neighbors (Philippians 4:8-9, 19) soothed our grieving spirits.

I have a happy ending to my Mother’s loss of her circle of friends that I described at the beginning of this story! Ever the gracious southern hostess, she did not cease to extend hospitality because of the change in her marital status—in the five years that she lived beyond Dad’s death, we entertained frequently, and eventually our guest list included widows from the group that had earlier excluded my Mother. Though her arthritic condition precluded her engaging in as much of the food preparation as she was accustomed to doing, she continued to help me hone the skills that were second nature to her. 

The loving hospitality extended to us on that first lonely Christmas served as a catalyst for Mom and me to open our home throughout the year—especially during the holiday season! Will you consider displaying biblical compassion by including some of the “others”—singles, widows, and the grieving in your holiday celebrations? Who, knows, you might be entertaining an angel incognito (Hebrews 13:2)!

About Pat: Dr. Patricia Ennis is author of Precious in His Sight: The Fine Art of Becoming a Godly Woman, co-author of Practicing Hospitality: The Joy of Serving Others,  and contributor to Pearl Girls, Experiencing Grit, Experiencing Grace. She’s also professor and establishing chairperson of the Department of Home Economics at The Master’s College. Visit Pat’s blog, Unfading Beauty for more information.

Enter to win a three strand pearl necklace, bracelet and earrings. All you need to do to is {FILL OUT THIS QUICK ENTRY FORM}. The winner will be announced on the Pearl Girls blog on New Years Day.

12 Pearls of Christmas Series and contest sponsored by Pearl Girls®. For more information, please visit www.pearlgirls.info

Welcome to another day of the 12 Pearls of Christmas. I hope you enjoy reading today how author Rachel Hauck is celebrating with joy as she turns 50 during this Christmas season.

Wear Joy
by Rachel Hauck

Thanksgiving day in central Florida broke warm and sunny under a blue sky. The thin fall breeze beckoned me. Taking my bike out, I rode the neighborhood feeling so grateful for all my blessings.

Joy bubbled up in my spirit. I’d been feeling it for a day, these waves of joy, but as I rode my bike and talked to God, the waves strengthened and splashed my heart the entire ride.

I’d laugh. Then tear up. And laugh again. As one who’s battled and won the war on anxiety and fear attacks, the onslaught of joy was welcomed, and actually sparked a new prayer in my heart. I’ve endured attacks of panic; time for attacks of joy.

The journey of joy began earlier in the year while writing a book coincidentally named, “Dining with Joy.”

Sitting at my table one day, revelation hit me. “The joy of the Lord is my strength.” Nehemiah 8:10. The more I meditated on it, the more I wanted His joy. I don’t want my strength. I want His.

Not long after, I went to Nashville for a girl’s weekend. One of my friends handed me a coffee cup inscribed with “The joy of the Lord is my strength.”

Ever just know? God is calling.

During the holiday season, I turn 50. Yep, the big 5-0. Can’t stop it, I might as well embrace it.

Fifty is often associated with jubilee, a time of restoration, and healing, even release from debt and slavery. It’s a time of returning to property, and inheritance.

A time of rest.

A time of JOY!

This past week, a friend gifted me with a beautiful Christmas ornament. Inscribed on it? You guessed it.

JOY!

To me, the world doesn’t look very joyful. There are social and economic woes. But God is speaking and offering joy.

As you go into this holiday season, ask God for a pearl of joy. Like pearls, crafted through abrasion, God’s true joy is often formed in us during difficult seasons.

Here’s the thing, His strength isn’t doled out based on our goodness, our success or failure, or the fact the holiday season is hard or sad for you. He is ready, willing and able to overcome all your weaknesses, fears and anxiety, sadness with the power of His very own joy.

His joy. Your strength.

I’ve been walking into rooms, houses, outdoors, raising my arms and shouting, “Joy!” People look at me funny, but I want to spread the joy of the Lord. To spread the very essence of His strength.

How about you? Can you find the pearl of joy in your life, in the essence of God’s heart toward you?

Wear joy this season.

About Rachel: RITA-finalist Rachel Hauck lives in Florida with her husband, Tony. She is the author of Dining with Joy; Sweet Caroline; Love Starts with Elle; and The Sweet By and By, co-authored with Sara Evans. For more information please visit www.rachelhauck.com.

Oh, and be sure to enter Rachel’s Dining With Joy NOOK eReader giveaway!

A three strand pearl necklace will be given away on New Year’s Day. All you need to do to have a chance of winning is {FILL OUT THIS QUICK ENTRY FORM}. The winner will be announced on the Pearl Girls blog on New Years Day.

12 Pearls of Christmas Series and contest sponsored by Pearl Girls®. For more information, please visit www.pearlgirls.info

I love field trips. Whenever my kids’ school sends home a permission slip for something fun and interesting, I’m there. I ride the bus, bouncing along with other parents, enjoying an excuse to break out of my normal routine and learn something new.

Still, it came as a surprise when I recently got invited to attend an educational field trip — just for me. I was somehow selected to join a group of media attending a conference hosted by the United Egg Producers, held in sunny Tampa, Florida.

I’m not sure why they chose me — perhaps a secret computer at my local grocery store alerted them to the fact that THIS WOMAN BUYS A LOT OF EGGS. It’s true. We eat eggs every day at our house — fried, boiled, or scrambled for breakfast; deviled and sliced for after-school snacks; and baked in all sorts of muffins, cookies, pancakes, waffles, and cornbread.

Eggs fill my kids up and give them energy. They’re also an inexpensive source of protein. Yet I hadn’t given much thought as to WHY eggs are so abundant in the U.S., as well as why I can buy them so cheaply.

We tried for several years to maintain our own free-range, organic egg-laying hens. But eventually we lost every single one of them to predators — neighborhood dogs, hawks, and weasels. In a way it was a relief. Chickens don’t lay forever, and once they age out, you either keep them as feathery pets or … you know, eat them. Which I couldn’t imagine doing.

So I went to Tampa, curious about how modern egg farmers operate. I went alone — with an open mind, a camera, and a little black notebook.

Our group was eclectic: I met other mom bloggers, healthy living writers, cooking experts, and even a senior beauty editor from New York. Everyone was super friendly, and I blended right in, trying to act like I do this sort of thing all the time.

We rode on a bus, actually a van, out to a modern egg-producing farm. Along the way, we listened to speakers and watched a video about how hens create and lay their eggs. Amazing stuff! When we arrived, our van had to be hosed down, and each of us suited up from head to toe in biosecurity jumpsuits. This is why school groups usually aren’t invited to tour egg farms — absolutely everything must be 100% sanitary, free of pathogens.

Here’s our little group, trying to get used to our new outfits (I am on the far right):

And here I am holding one of these hard-working beautiful white leghorn hens:

I cannot begin to describe to you all the emotions that raced through my body as I entered a barn housing over 100,000 chickens. Mostly, I felt gratitude. I realized I’ve never fully appreciated the labor behind each and every egg I bring into my home.

We learned that this facility packages 750,000 eggs per day. It brought back memories of watching “Mr. Rogers” with my children, as I wanted to ask each person working there a million questions. It was fascinating to watch the eggs going from hens to egg cartons within a matter of minutes.

Next, we visited a cage-free farm. Here the hens can roam around freely.

This breed of bird is more docile than the white leghorn, and lays beautiful brown eggs.

After our busy morning of visiting farms, we spent the afternoon listening to professors and other health experts explain the scientific research behind modern egg farming. I learned that the United Egg Producers have created welfare guidelines to ensure that hens have “adequate space, nutritious food, clean water, proper lighting, and fresh air daily.” It’s a voluntary program, and only farms that adhere to these strict guidelines can display the UEP logo on their packaging:

So, after listening to all of these well-informed people and seeing for myself what modern egg farms look like, I came away with one main thought: as consumers, we have plenty of choices when it comes to eggs.

We can buy the inexpensive white eggs that come from caged hens, or we can buy the pricier cage-free eggs. We can buy from local organic farms, or we can fill up our carts at the supermarket. If we have the time, space, and inclination, we can raise our own chickens to feed our families. I encourage you to research all of this for yourself. You can take a virtual tour of a UEP-certified egg farm here.

My special thanks to the United Egg Producers for hosting me on this tour. I learned a lot, made new friends, and gained a greater appreciation of the network of farms and people who work to bring food into my home.

This is definitely a mom’s field trip I’ll never forget.

Have you seen this video yet of the surprised shoppers in a Philadelphia Macy’s when several hundred people, dressed normally, suddenly broke out singing Handel’s Hallelujah Chorus, accompanied by the world’s largest pipe organ? Wow. I wish I had been there.

This took place on October 30, and over three million people have already watched the video, so sorry to be passing along old news. I just can’t resist highlighting something so joyful!

The Knight Foundation graciously provided funding for this event, using singers from the Opera Company of Philadelphia and other choral groups.

The “Random Acts of Culture” program is committed to bringing artists out of the performance halls and into the streets as a reminder of how the classical arts enrich lives.

I don’t see how anyone can hear music like this and not believe in God. I hope you enjoy it!

I’ll be on the lookout for more Random Acts of Culture, and who knows — maybe I’ll invent something of my own!

I know I seem to be posting mostly video links lately, but this one is not only adorable, it’s also USEFUL for teaching your children how to handle an emergency.

Here’s a little five-year-old girl who had to talk to a 911 dispatcher while her dad was having a possible heart attack. (Everything turned out OK, thank goodness.)

Could your child do this for you?

Click here to listen.

As I was leaving my aerobics class the other day, I overhead some mothers talking about how hard it is to stay out of their kids’ trick-or-treat bags while they’re at school. One mom said, “I get all the Reece’s and Snickers’ bars. My kids don’t like anything with peanut butter or nuts in it.”

I’m so jealous! I wish I could have dibs on the Reece’s, but they’re everybody’s favorite. Instead, my kids give me their Almond Joys.

We ended up with a huge stash of candy this year, after nearly a week’s worth of trick-or-treating. I think since Halloween officially fell on a Sunday, everyone decided to come up with alternative events. So we attended “Fall Festivals” at our church and school, which of course landed the kids huge bags full of sweets.

For a little extra fun, we also stopped at a “Trunk or Treat” at a friend’s church and got caught up with everyone. And then, on a whim, we decided to join another friend’s family trick-or-treating in her subdivision. “My neighbors really get into it,” she warned me. “You’ll see.”

Oh my.

I’ve never seen anything like this. We had such a blast. There must have been 300 kids out trick-or-treating. No cars. Everybody was driving around in golf carts or 4-wheelers pulling wagons full of kids in costume. It was hilarious. I kept wishing I had some Japanese friends visiting us so we could take them out and let them enjoy this weird, wild American custom.

We must have visited 30 or 40 houses, and every neighbor went all out, with huge baskets of candy on the front porch, fluffy small dogs sniffing at cowboy and astronaut boots, little white-haired ladies asking, “And what have we here? A little princess and a fairy! Oh, you look so lovely, dear.”

It was wonderful. Parents got to chat while kids compared their stashes. I saw two little boys dressed like a skeleton and a Storm Trooper sit side by side on a garden bench, saying, “I’ll trade you a Hershey’s for that Kit-Kat.” Two dads strolled by discussing the size of their lawn mower engines. “I’m saving about an hour every time I cut my grass with my new mower,” confided one dad to the other.

But the real treat for me came at the end of the evening, when my kids dumped their bags in the front hall and were sorting their loot. (Don’t you remember doing this same thing?)

Here’s the beautiful question they asked me. “Mama, do you want our Almond Joys?”

“What? You don’t like Almond Joys?”

“No,” they informed me. “The coconut is squishy and nasty. And we don’t like those kind of nuts. You can have ours.”

Isn’t coconut a fruit? And aren’t almonds one of the approved snacks on the South Beach Diet? I happily relieved them of those adult-friendly candy bars and put them in the refrigerator, where I can savor them … slowly.

Too bad there’s no such thing as a calorie-free Almond Joy. I guess that’s why us moms end up at aerobics — working off our kids’ leftover candy.

One of my occasional hobbies is watching youtube videos of children practicing piano. It helps my daughters when they’re stumbling through a section of a difficult piece to see another child perform it.

What never fails to amaze us is watching these teeny tiny kids who are absolute geniuses! They’re only 5 or 6 years old and can play like the young Mozart. We watched this particular video last night and were in AWE. This girl is unbelievable on the organ! Just watch her little fingers fly — and then at around a minute and a half, you have to watch what she does with her left hand. We laughed so hard we couldn’t breathe.

Whoever her mom is, KUDOS to you! This pint-sized musician has brought us joy, and it makes me not want to lose heart when we’re stuck on page 2 of Fur Elise for the sixth week in a row. I asked my daughters, “Now, do you think this little girl could play like this if she spent all her time camped out in front of the TV?” HA! (They hate that question.)

Enjoy!

Right now, all over the country — all over the world, I guess — parents are watching kids kick black and white soccer balls up and down grassy fields. I’ve been doing this off and on for the past ten years.

Today I was thinking how much the “soccer mom” thing has changed since I first started signing my kids up to play, back in 2000. Ten years ago, I had to drive to a certain building in my city, walk inside to a desk, and personally fill out some forms. Then I had to personally write a check or pay in cash for the season. I don’t think we could even use credit cards back then.

While signing up in person, I was given a handout that told me a date where I had to show up — in person — to receive the team roster and practice schedule. After that, the coaches contacted us parents by phone to let us know about team practices and games. Nobody used email for this sort of thing.

One mom usually became the designated “team mom,” and she acquired the time-consuming chore of calling all the parents to arrange who would bring snacks and where the end-of-the-season party would be held. Everything was accomplished by telephone or in person.

Now, ten years later, being a soccer mom in an internet world is completely different. A few weeks before the season begins, I sign up online. There’s a website for our rec department, and I type in our family code, click here and there, and pay by credit card. It takes less than five minutes, and I can do it in my pajamas.

Later, I receive a welcoming email sent from a secret place that says “DO NOT REPLY TO THIS EMAIL!” This message tells me when and where the soccer evaluations will be held. We show up. The kids run around for a while, and the coaches see who’s pretty good and who’s never played before, and they assign them to teams so their skill levels are evenly distributed.

Then I get an email with three attachments: team rosters, practice schedule, and game schedule. This year marks the first time I’ve ever had a coach coordinate our snack-drink schedule in advance so that each parent takes a turn. He arranged the schedule by email, of course. How nice!

I’m wondering if my experiences are similar to other soccer moms. What’s it like for parents in France or England or Japan? We have fall soccer and spring soccer, but now in our city, we also have an indoor winter league, so kids who are absolutely crazy about soccer can play year-round. In the summer, we have these British college guys who come over and swelter in our Georgia heat coaching hundreds of kids in soccer camps.

We’ve tried nearly every other sport, but I confess that soccer is the most fun for me to watch. Everybody is more relaxed and friendly. When I had a son in baseball last year, people were loud and vicious, yelling “COME ON JAKE! EYE ON THE BALL SON! FOCUS, SON! PAY ATTENTION JAKEY BOY!!!” It was intimidating for quiet people like me. My stomach was tied up in knots as I watched my son at bat, praying, “Please don’t strike out. Just hit it!” I didn’t like the pressure of baseball, and apparently my son didn’t either because we’re back to soccer where TEAM is the word.

Really, there’s nothing I would rather be doing at my age than watching kids run around in the afternoon sunshine on a green-clipped soccer field. It’s so fun! It also gives me an excuse to talk to all these interesting people, the other parents and grandparents, as we watch our kids kick their way through childhood, heading toward adolescence.

Sure, we’re better connected now behind the scenes than we were ten years ago. But not much else has changed. Soccer’s still all about getting kids together, away from the TV, out into the sun. We put them in different colored t-shirts on teams to make all this play more organized.

And like good soccer moms, we cheer them on.

Note:
I’m delighted to offer you an excerpt from author Peggy Nelson’s new book, Life with Lord Byron: Laughter, Romance and Lessons Learned From Golf’s Greatest Gentleman. Peggy is the widow of Byron Nelson, a champion golfer who still holds the world record for winning 18 PGA tournaments in 1945, including 11 in a row!

If you’d like to enter a drawing to win a FREE copy of Peggy Nelson’s book, please leave a comment below.
[Update: Congrats to holymama for winning this book!]

Byron showed his sensitivity to my feelings and moods in many ways, and of course one of the most critical was golf. Having been a teacher for more than fifty years by then, he realized women need to be treated differently, and he was always gentle in his suggestions as we played together during the first year of our marriage. However I was something of a special case. I just knew I could figure out this simple game all by myself, thank you. While I certainly respected his experience, when we were on the course, I was forever thinking about my score and would brook very little distraction while I was endeavoring to make a seven instead of an eight or nine. Silly, wasn’t it?

So, even though he made very few suggestions, within the first six months Byron saw there was a little problem. I would skull a chip across the green or chili-dip a pitch shot, and he would say, “Sweetheart, try that again with an eight iron this time.”

I would reply (minus the sweetheart), “No!” Or I would try what he had recommended, and if it didn’t work instantly, I would fling the offending club back into my bag and march on to the next hole without a word. I thought things were going swimmingly, but Lord Byron knew better.

One day in May 1987 I had just come home from Dallas where I had been working on a writing assignment for Scottish Rite Hospital. Byron met me at the door with the latest issue of Golf Digest magazine in his hand.

“Sweetheart, I just read this article called ‘How To Play Golf With Your Spouse,’ and I want you to read it. I underlined everything I’ve been doing wrong, and I’m going to change, because if I don’t change, you’re not going to want to play golf with me any more, and you may not even want to stay married to me!”

I melted, of course, as well as feeling like the world’s biggest idiot. There I was, balking at advice from the greatest golfer/teacher ever, and he’s taking all the blame for my frustration on the course. I took the magazine from his hands and sat down next to him. After a number of hugs and kisses and a few tears on my part, I read the article as he had instructed. Naturally the piece was not written for professional golfer husbands who had won five majors, fifty-four tournaments, eleven in a row, eighteen in a year, and taught other pros like Watson, Venturi, and Ward. No, it was designed more for the eighteen handicappers, who wouldn’t know “you looked up” from U.S. Open rough.

We talked about it a little bit and finally figured out that, as silly as it was, I preferred to play on my own when I was on the course, instead of thinking all the time that he was going to want me to try another club or re-do a shot. So from that moment on, he would only offer advice when I asked him during a round.

Oddly enough, that made it easier for me to ask, which I did a lot more often over the years. The result was that, even playing only once or twice a week, I went from a thirty to a sixteen. And let’s not think about how much better I could have been if I had sat at the feet of this master of golf and tried to learn all I could about the game. As he told me years later, he really wouldn’t have wanted me to get so gung-ho that I would be in single digits. He knew how much work that would take and felt it wouldn’t have made me happy anyway. Byron always felt the happiest golfers he knew were the 80-85 shooters, who made enough pars to keep them happy, an occasional birdie for an extra lift, and the occasional double bogey to keep them humble.

Tagging the Master
Oh, it was so much fun playing with him! Not only could Byron still play very well during the first several years of our marriage, but he seemed to get more kick out of my occasional ripping good shot than he did his own. One time we were playing at Riverhill in Kerrville. I was about a twenty-five, and he was about a ten. So we were on the ninth tee, a great, really tough par four, and the forward tees were only a few yards ahead of the whites. He hit an excellent drive, and for once I tagged one that rolled a few yards past his ball.

After rejoicing about my drive, Byron hit a pure little three-iron that ended up on the green about a foot away from the pin for a kick-in birdie. I, my brilliant drive notwithstanding, hit my three-wood amazingly fat and rolled it about thirty yards. Madder than a wet hen, I took out my four-iron, and thinking fairly murderous thoughts, swung blindly at that wretched white ball. Blinking in amazement I watched it sail up and straight onto the green, where it disappeared into the hole for a three. I got a stroke on the hole from Mr. Nelson that particular day!

You would think he’d be a little crestfallen after hitting two wonderful shots and getting an easy birdie but then getting beat by his floundering wife, thanks to that mysterious fiend known as “the rub of the green.” No, my champion absolutely whooped with joy over it and proudly told the story dozens of times afterwards to anyone who would listen. What a hero! “How to play golf with your spouse” indeed!

About the Author:
Peggy Nelson lived most of her life in Ohio, then moved to Texas in 1986 to marry world-renowned professional golfer Byron Nelson. She assisted Byron in the writing of his autobiography, How I Played the Game. Peggy delights in her many friends, in visits to and from her sons and their families, and in the thousands of happy memories she has of her life with her beloved Byron.

P.S. If you enjoyed this article, you’ll love Peggy Nelson’s book, complements of Kathy Carlton Willis Communications. It would make a great gift for any golfers in your circle of family and friends. Leave a comment and you’ll have a chance to win a free copy, which also contains a CD interview, “Byron Nelson Remembers 1945: Golf’s Unforgettable Year.”