Goin' Down to Mama's

Sunday Morning Serenity

I feel like I’m living through the 1960s again. That’s what I was thinking after I read my Facebook newsfeed this morning. It was scary back then, and it’s scary now. As usual, when I’m contemplating The Big World, a song popped into my head—Bob Dylan’s “The Times, They Are A-Changin'.” When I searched for the lyrics, I found out that Billy Joel had performed it during his groundbreaking tour of Russia in 1987. He chose it, he said, because the Russian people seemed to be going through what America had already experienced in the 1960s. (Yes, Billy Joel and I apparently think alike. Who knew?)

Come senators, congressmen
Please heed the call
Don’t stand in the doorway
Don’t block up the hall
For he that gets hurt
Will be he who has stalled
There’s a battle outside and it is ragin’
It’ll soon shake your windows and rattle your walls
For the times they are a-changin’
[from "The Times They Are A-Changin']

There was so much turmoil in the 60s—the war, the fight for civil rights, a complete social revolution. And there’s so much turmoil now—the war, new battles for civil rights, more social revolution. At the heart of it—then and now—have been enormous groups of people who couldn’t communicate with each other. We just keep drawing lines in the sand.

A long time ago, I saw a funny greeting card that read, “If you can keep calm while those around you surrender to chaos . . . there’s a good chance you don’t get the gravity of the situation.” There’s real gravity to our current situation. I think we all agree on that, no matter what side of the political fence we're on. And I think we're all hoping and praying that the people we've empowered to do something about it have the good sense to pray for wisdom daily.

While I'm praying for wisdom myself, I'll be holding onto this:

Peace I leave with you,
my peace I give unto you:
not as the world giveth,
give I unto you.
Let not your heart be troubled,
neither let it be afraid.
John 14:27

Sunday Morning Serenity

This is a story about Donald Trump, azaleas, and faith. In that order.

I don’t like to talk about politics because I don’t like to argue. So I keep my leanings to myself, for the most part. But I noticed something interesting during this highly contentious and divisive election.

My friends who voted for Donald Trump said they did so for this reason: We’ve just got to do SOMETHING. If we want our country to get back on its feet again, things can’t stay the way they are.

My friends who marched on Washington gave the exact same reason.

Meanwhile, back at the ranch—the “Circle SL”—I was editing a story about a centuries-old azalea garden. The original design followed a European style intended to look natural and unplanned—essentially, to recreate Eden.

We so want to go back there, don’t we? (Maybe this time, without the snake.) Reverend Timothy Keller cites that desire in The Reason for God. We all have an innate sense that the world we live in is not what it should be. And where does that sense come from if not from God? Why would we even have the dream of a world built on peace and love and freedom if God didn’t give it to us?

We’ve been so caught up in the particulars that divide us. Maybe we should take a look at the ties that bind us. We all want the garden. I'll grab a shovel and you grab a hoe. Time to start digging.

[Image by Eric Yuen @ freerangestock.com]

Sunday Morning Serenity

When I was in first grade, anytime I would get a high mark on something, Mrs. Fannie Hinds, my teacher, would send the other A+ kids and me parading down to show our good grades to Mrs. McCranie, who taught third grade. Mrs. McCranie was my Aunt Patsy, a brilliant, no-nonsense educator who set high standards for her students. I now have to wonder if the two of them had worked out this little ritual so Aunt Patsy could keep an eye on me.

Many years later—decades, actually—I drove Mama, Aunt Patsy, and Aunt Grace to the University of Alabama to see if we could find out anything about my Great-Aunt Effie, who attended a summer teaching program there in the early 1900s. (Jenny, were you with us on that trip? Memaw couldn't remember:) It started out as a trip about one aunt but turned into the story of another. As I drove the ladies around campus, Aunt Patsy's memory bank started to overflow, and I saw a whole other side of her—not the devout homemaker and teacher I used to pop in and visit, but a young coed, on her own for the first time and excited to see what the world might send her way. She pointed out where she used to pick up her mail and attend class. She remembered the girl she used to ride with to do her practice teaching. We all had lunch at a burger joint by the stadium and toured the Bear Bryant museum.

Aunt Patsy always seemed so sure of who she was and what she believed, so committed to making a great home for her family, that it was a revelation to me to see a whole other side of her—a young, independent explorer. And now I can see that she held onto that part of herself—the explorer—in an intellectual and theological way. You could name any quote from the Bible and she could tell you exactly where it was because she never stopped exploring the Scripture to see what it might teach her. She was a historian, tracing the beginnings of her community—and teaching her students how to explore. She made really great butter beans:) She had a beautiful smile and a great laugh, and I LOVED getting a rise out of her—saying something outrageous that would make her give me a cautionary "Now, Valerie!" even as she couldn't stop laughing. 

We lost Aunt Patsy last night. But we know she was received into the heaven she believed in with all her heart, rewarded for the faith, love, and kindness she shared with everyone she met.

Sunday Morning Serenity

Here’s an idea for January: Every time we hear somebody say, “It changed my life!” in a TV commercial, let’s drop a quarter in our piggy banks. By Valentine’s Day, we should all be able to retire and move to the beach.

This promise of a life change is almost always followed by, “And it was SO easy!” The truth is that life changes are rarely easy. Sometimes it’s incredibly hard to stop doing things that we know are bad for us (like having that second piece of pecan pie or binge-watching Law & Order reruns instead of going for a walk). I love Oprah, but I kind of want to scream when I see her commercials for Weight Watchers, which make that program sound like a walk in the park. Weight Watchers is an effective, healthy program, but it’s not easy.

I understand the desire for positive life changes at the beginning of a new year—I feel it, too. But I think we’re setting ourselves up for failure and disappointment if we expect anything we buy to bring about an instant transformation (said the woman with a Total Gym taking up half of Dave’s office).

Praying this morning for real, lasting change—for positive new habits that will get me moving more, outside in the sunshine more, laughing more and worrying less.

[Image by Aleksandar Momirovic @ Freerangestock.com]

Sunday Morning Serenity

Last night, I called one of my girl cousins, who had her house to herself (a rarity) and was just settling in to watch movies she wanted to watch (as opposed to what the kids and grandkids wanted to see). I was preparing to ease the remote out of my husband’s hand (he had dozed off in his recliner) and switch the TV from ESPN to a Law & Order binge-a-thon. Both my cousin and I were delighted with our New Year’s Eve plans.

When I was a teenager, I used to dread New Year’s Eve. I longed to be on a date with a handsome fella, preferably in Times Square. Later, in my twenties and early thirties, I dreaded it because it was a reminder of where I was, versus where I wanted to be. Would I ever get my career on track, start landing big magazine stories, write a book? Now I’m happy to cook dinner for Dave on New Year’s Eve and fall asleep watching TV. 

That might sound like I’ve just given up, but I haven’t.There’s a big difference between complacency and contentment. It took a while, but I’ve finally  figured some things out. For example, I finally got to New York. I’ve been there quite a few times. And it’s an amazing place—but I don’t belong there. I belong in the South. This is where I’m most inspired to do the thing I love best—tell stories. Speaking of which, those big magazine stories I used to dream about? I got them eventually. And they taught me something—the rewards of storytelling are not in the number of pages you get but in the people you meet and the places you explore. A small story (or a small accomplishment) can bring you huge rewards if you let it.

The key to a happy New Year, I think, is to stop focusing on where we aren’t and give thanks for where we are—for the lessons we’ve learned and the people we love and the blessings we have. Happy 2017, y'all!