Sophia Smith

She was unmarried, deaf, and believed women didn't need college. She left her entire fortune, $400,000 in 1870, to prove them wrong.

Sophia Smith was 62 years old in 1863 when the last of her family passed away, leaving her alone in her Massachusetts mansion. Unmarried, increasingly deaf, and with no children or heirs, she found herself extraordinarily wealthy, one of the richest women in New England. But there was a problem: she didn't know what to do with it.

In 1860s America, women like Sophia had few options. They couldn't vote, hold public office, or serve on boards. Wealthy single women were expected to live quietly, donate to charity, and leave their fortune to male relatives. But Sophia Smith wasn't content with that. She wanted her wealth to mean something.

Her fortune came from her father and brothers' smart investments in railroads and manufacturing during America's industrial rise. When her last brother died, she inherited around $400,000, roughly $9.5 million today. However, she wanted more than just money. She wanted to change something fundamental about the world that had limited her.

Sophia turned to her pastor, Reverend John Morton Greene, for advice. What should she do with her fortune? He proposed something radical: create a college for women.

The idea struck a chord with Sophia. Women couldn't attend Harvard, Yale, or other prestigious universities. The few female schools that existed offered only limited curricula, teaching "ladylike" skills rather than serious academic subjects. Sophia, who had educated herself through books, knew this was wrong.

In March 1870, at the age of 73, Sophia finalized her will. She directed that her entire fortune be used to establish a college for women, offering them the same educational opportunities that men enjoyed at top universities. No "female version" of education. Equal, not lesser.

Sophia Smith died in June 1870, just months after signing her will. She never saw the college she envisioned or met the students who would benefit from it. But her will was clear, and trustees were committed to honoring her vision.

In 1871, Smith College was chartered. By 1875, it opened its doors to fourteen students, offering them the same rigorous curriculum as men at Harvard. Critics argued that women couldn't handle such studies, but Smith College graduates proved them wrong.

Sophia Smith's vision was realized at a pivotal moment in American history. The women's rights movement was gaining strength, and the college gave women the education they needed to break barriers. Smith College graduates became leaders in fields like science, law, and activism, shaping the world for generations.

Sophia Smith had no idea her legacy would grow so large. Today, Smith College continues to be a leader in women's education, all thanks to a deaf, unmarried woman who decided her wealth should empower women she would never meet.

She couldn't attend college herself.

So she built one.

#SophiaSmith #SmithCollege #WomensHistory #EducationForAll #WomenWhoChanged History

Source ~The History Today on Facebook

Afterparty

 

I held a party the other week and grief came.

She wasn’t invited but she came anyway - barged her way in through the door and settled down like she was here to stay.

And then she introduced me to the friends she’d brought with her - Anger. Fear. Frustration. Guilt. Hopelessness.

And they sang in the loudest voices, took up space in every corner of the room and spoke over anyone else that tried to talk.

They made it messy and loud and uncomfortable.

But finally, they left.

And long afterwards, when I was all alone,

I realised there was still someone here.

Quietly clearing up after the rest.

I asked who she was and she told me, “Love.”

And I assumed that’s why she looked familiar - because I had met her before.

“Or perhaps,” she said, “it’s because I’ve been here the whole time.”

And I was confused then because I hadn’t seen her all evening.

But when I looked more closely,

when I looked into her eyes,

I realised quietly that she had been here.

All the time.

She’d just been dressed as grief.

*****

Becky Hemsley 2023

Artwork by Valentina Bellucci via Saatchi Art.

‘Afterparty’ is from the book When I Am Gone

Source: Becky Hemsley Poetry on Facebook

Sunday Sermon Notes

 

Source: Power House of God on Facebook

Sunday Sermon Notes

"Stay on your feet"

Ephesians 6:10-13

10 Finally, be strong in the Lord and in his mighty power. 11 Put on the full armor of God, so that you can take your stand against the devil’s schemes. 12 For our struggle is not against flesh and blood, but against the rulers, against the authorities, against the powers of this dark world and against the spiritual forces of evil in the heavenly realms. 13 Therefore put on the full armor of God, so that when the day of evil comes, you may be able to stand your ground, and after you have done everything, to stand.

You will never walk if you stay down... keep walking!

The problem is the stay down, but falling happens.

Stand- can not give up he is not DONE with you, keep going and keep and stay on your feet.

Philippians 3:14

I press toward the mark for the prize of the high calling of God in Christ Jesus.

Learn to keep the devil under your feet in ALL situations.

Philippians 1:6

being confident of this, that he who began a good work in you will carry it on to completion until the day of Christ Jesus.

2 Corinthians 4:8-9

We are hard pressed on every side, but not crushed; perplexed, but not in despair; persecuted, but not abandoned; struck down, but not destroyed.

1 Peter 5:8

Be alert and of sober mind. Your enemy the devil prowls around like a roaring lion looking for someone to devour

Stay on your FEET!!!!!!

THE BLOOD BROKE THE CURSE.....

Matthew 24:43

But know this, that if the master of the house had known in what watch the thief would come, he would have watched and would not have suffered his house to be broken into.

I say again watch and STAND.....

Romans 15:13

May the God of hope fill you with all joy and peace as you trust in him, so that you may overflow with hope by the power of the Holy Spirit.

Hebrews 11:1

Now faith is confidence in what we hope for and assurance about what we do not see.

Don't grow weary in well doing for if we endure we shall reap a harvest....Galatians 6:9

I can’t keep being the adult anymore.

 

Source: The story Maximalist on Facebook

At 2:11 a.m., I called a county help line and whispered, “Nobody’s bleeding. I’m just thirteen, my little brother is asleep on the floor, and I can’t keep being the adult anymore.”

“Tell me what’s happening right now,” the woman said.

I was sitting between the stove and the sink because that was the only place the trailer didn’t feel like it was falling apart under me. My brother Noah was asleep in a laundry basket lined with towels because our old mattress had split open and the springs started biting through.

“My mom’s working nights,” I told her. “She cleans offices, then drives food until morning. She’ll be back around six. We’re okay. I just… I don’t know how to make this better tonight.”

She didn’t rush me.

“What would help the most before sunrise?” she asked.

I looked at Noah. One sock on, one sock off. Curled up so tight he looked smaller than six.

“A bed,” I said, and then I started crying so hard I had to press my fist to my mouth. “Just one bed where he won’t wake up cold.”

She asked my name twice, not because she forgot, but because she wanted me to hear it said back.

“Okay, Ava,” she said. “Stay on the line with me.”

Nobody came with sirens.

Just a knock that sounded careful, like whoever stood outside knew our door had been slammed too many times by life already.

A woman in jeans and a county badge stepped in first. A retired paramedic came behind her carrying two folded blankets and a paper bag that smelled like peanut butter crackers. Then a church volunteer from down the road brought a lamp with a yellow shade.

No speeches. No shame.

The woman knelt so we were eye level. “I’m Denise,” she said. “Can we help without making a big scene?”

That was when I knew she understood everything.

She didn’t stare at the dishes in the sink. She didn’t look too long at the stain on the ceiling. She looked at Noah’s red little hands and said, “Poor buddy’s freezing.”

The paramedic took off his boots at the door without being asked. He checked the heater, tightened something with a pocket tool, and got it breathing again like it had just needed somebody patient enough to listen.

Denise saw the notebook on the table.

“You draw?” she asked.

“Sometimes,” I said.

“What do you draw?”

“Houses,” I told her. “The kind with warm windows.”

I thought she might smile the way grown-ups do when they feel sorry for you. She didn’t. She nodded like I had told the truth about America.

That night, they left us with blankets, groceries, a small space heater, and a note stuck to the fridge with blue tape.

It said: You are still a child. You do not have to earn rest.

I read it three times before I believed it.

When my mother came home at dawn, she smelled like bleach, french fries, and winter air. Her face dropped the second she saw the lamp glowing in the corner.

“Who was here?” she asked.

“People who didn’t make us feel poor,” I said.

She sat down hard in the kitchen chair and covered her mouth with both hands. I had seen my mother exhausted. Angry. Numb.

I had never seen her looked-after.

The next evening, they came back.

Not just Denise.

A librarian with a rolling cart. Two volunteer firefighters in work shirts. Mrs. Holloway from three trailers down, the one everyone said was nosy, carrying fabric and a sewing tin. A man from the senior center with a truck bed full of furniture somebody’s grandson had outgrown.

It felt less like charity and more like a barn raising, except for one tired family in a single-wide trailer in eastern Kentucky.

The firefighters brought bunk bed pieces and built them in Noah’s corner.

The librarian brought a reading lamp, three dinosaur books, and a free internet hotspot. “Homework shouldn’t depend on luck,” she said.

Mrs. Holloway turned old curtains into a divider so Noah could have his own little “room.” Then she pinned up blue fabric with tiny white stars on it and said, “Every boy deserves a sky.”

My mother kept saying, “You don’t have to do all this.”

Denise finally touched her arm and answered gently, “I know. We want to.”

That broke something open in the room.

Not bad broken. The kind that lets air in.

Noah climbed onto the bottom bunk and laughed so loud I nearly forgot what our trailer had sounded like before that sound lived in it. He bounced once, then looked at me like he needed permission to love it.

“It’s yours,” I said.

“You sure?” he whispered.

“Yeah,” I said. “I’m taking the top. I’m old and dramatic.”

That got the first real laugh out of my mother in months.

Before they left, the librarian taped my newest drawing to the wall above the table. Not the fridge. The wall.

It was a house with bright yellow windows and four people inside, even though we were only three.

Denise noticed.

“Who’s the fourth?” she asked.

I looked at the picture for a long second.

“Maybe that’s the person who shows up,” I said.

She pressed her lips together and nodded like she didn’t trust her own voice.

That night, I lay on the top bunk and felt the mattress hold me in a way the floor never had. Noah was breathing slow below me. My mother sat on the edge of his bed with her shoes off, looking around like she had walked into somebody else’s miracle.

At 6:14 the next morning, Denise texted the number she had left with Mom.

Just checking in. Did everybody sleep?

Mom sent back one photo: Noah under the star curtain, me on the top bunk, both of us knocked out cold.

A minute later the reply came.

That’s what safety can look like too.

I still draw houses with warm windows.

But now, when I draw them, I don’t leave the rooms empty anymore. I put people inside. Tired people. Proud people. People hanging on by a thread.

And at least one person at the door with a lamp in their hand.

___________________________________________________________________________________________

This made my throat constrict and my eyes like puddles. So very sad that children all over this country live like this while our country is so rich.

Martin and Lewis - The Stepp Brothers

The beautiful multi talented Dean Martin and hillarious Jerry Lewis with the fantastic Stepp Brothers. 

He was good looking, multi talented, humorous and amazing. I love watching him.

Willie Nelson - Just Breathe

 

Yes, I understand that every life must end, uh-huh
As we sit alone, I know someday we must go, uh-huh
Oh, I'm a lucky man to count on both hands the ones I love
Some folks just have one, yeah, well, others, they've got none, uh-huh

Stay with me, oh
Let's just breathe

Practiced are my sins, never gonna let me win, uh-huh
Under everything, just another human being, uh-huh
And I don't want to hurt, there's so much in this world
To make me believe

Stay with me
You're all I see

Did I say that I need you?
Did I say that I want you?
Oh, if I didn't, I'm a fool, you see
No one knows this more than me
And I come clean

I wonder every day, as I look upon your face, uh-huh
Everything you gave and nothing you would take, uh-huh
Nothing you would take
Everything you gave

Did I say that I need you? (Oh)
Did I say that I want you?
Or, if I didn't, I'm a fool, you see
No one knows this more than me
As I come clean, oh

Nothing you would take
Everything you gave
Love you 'til I die
Meet you on the other side

Source: Musixmatch

Songwriters: Eddie Jerome Vedder

Happiness

 

Written by Journey of a Mountain Woman on Facebook (Shirley Noe Swiesz) May she rest in peace)

Sometimes I think of the weirdest things and I have I no idea why. Today I was thinking of happiness and how we often pile responsibility for that experience on other people...it might be a sibling, Parents, spouse, friends, boss, church, school, job. It could be anything.

I'm reminded of a friend who died in Alaska. Her last words to me were..."I can't live with him and I can't live without him. I'm so unhappy." I have often wondered if she had taken her happiness into her own hands, if her life would have been different. If she had gone to the commander and showed the bruises, she might have lived to raise her children. I'm not trying to blame the victim but sometimes we simply have to make choices.

I have opened my home to many only to have them say, "i'm unhappy"...mother-in-law, siblings, friends, relatives. I have been unhappy many times but like anger it disappears quickly. So does happiness, for we often go from one thing to another and find a dozen reasons to be unhappy. I have to often remind myself what makes me happy...being in the mountains, picking peaches in the summer sun in SC, reading a good book and a cup of hot coffee, sitting by a campfire even in my own yard, a conversation with a good friend. I don't need to see or talk to a good friend every day to keep me happy, just to know they're there for me is enough.

I am happy quilting, or watching a movie or digging in the dirt. But everyone is different and I believe there are different levels of happiness, one level for me is to find a great piece of junk, or that second cup of coffee with the morning news....perhaps the best levels are contentment, graditude, and knowing that a job that you undertook was well done.

I have no idea why I thought of this and an even less idea of why I wrote it...but I hope we take a few minutes each day to put a little gold star beside the things that made us happy that day...you surely remember how as a child you got little stars beside your name in school when you did well! I know they were the highlight of my day!

I pray when my life is over Someone will say "you worked hard to find that little bit of elusive happiness! You found it by yourself and no one pointed it out to you...I'll put a little gold star beside your name!"