Goin' Down to Mama's

Sunday Morning Serenity

I have an interesting task ahead of me. The marketing department for the publisher who's releasing my book early next year sent me a spreadsheet to complete: my "influencer list," 35 people who have influenced how I live my life and how I see the world. 

I could probably name 35 in my own family, though some of them have passed. My parents and grandparents, aunts, uncles, and cousins—all of them have been incredibly influential. But when you look beyond your own gene pool, it's an intriguing question to consider: Who are your influencers?

Many of mine are teachers, artists, friends, and bosses. (That's me with two close friends, Carole Cain and Jennifer Smith, and our friend and mentor, Jeanetta Keller. We were taking head shots for an employee directory—sort of like school pictures—and talked Jeanetta into a "family portrait.")

From Mrs. Fannie Hinds, who taught me how to learn in first grade, to Dr. Thomas Wright at Auburn, who talked me into graduate school, to Mrs. Jenny Glenn, who showed me that there's a whole lot more to making music than just reading notes—teachers have been enormously influential.

If I start trying to name all the writers, photographers, painters, and designers who have taken the time to guide me and introduce me to new ideas, I'll leave somebody out, but there are many of them. It's the same with kind and loving friends—some from childhood, some from college, some from work, some from church, all of them gifts.

Early in my work life, I was blessed to have a couple of women managers—Martha Johnston and Jeanetta—who believed in treating people fairly and leading by example. I still call both of them for advice. They showed me that women can be strong leaders and still treat their staff in a nurturing and compassionate way. And I've continued to see that in other women editors and managers throughout my work life. 

Men in the work place have also taught me valuable lessons. During every annual performance review, John Floyd used to remind me that my faith and my family should come first, and the magazine should be a very distant second.

Think about it this week: Who are your 35 influencers? It's enlightening. It's also an exercise in gratitude.

Sunday Morning Serenity

For months now, Dave and I have been mostly working, eating, and sleeping, then working, eating, and sleeping some more. He has been getting orders for furniture, and I’m trying to write my second book in the early morning before I go to work and on the weekends. (Blatant self-promotion: The first book comes out early next year, which I still can’t believe. YAY!)

Yesterday, I took a rare Saturday off, and a friend of ours helped me plant a small garden—just a little color around our deck and patio. Sometimes, you don’t realize how much you’ve missed something until it comes back. Getting rid of all the dead brown leftovers from last year (or was it the year before) and filling those containers with fresh green ferns and color-explosion hibiscus and mandevilla and petunias—it changed everything. Just looking at those beautiful colors can lower my blood pressure. (I couldn't take a picture this morning because it's raining, hallelujah, so I'm sharing a pic from a previous summer's garden.)

I’m often guilty of an all-or-nothing attitude. I can’t go to the gym every day, so there’s no point in going at all. I don’t have time to water all the flowers I usually plant, so I won’t plant anything at all. I don’t have time to play the piano as much as I used to, so I won’t touch those keys.

That’s not a very productive or positive way to think. Just makes me beat myself up all the time for the things I’m not doing instead of being happy about the little things I can do.

Little things. It’s perfectly fine to enjoy them, to be satisfied with them and thankful for them. Amen? Happy Sunday!

Sunday Morning Serenity

I was so afraid I would oversleep and miss Easter sunrise that I set two alarms. Didn’t hear either one of them, but I woke up anyway.

Sunrise is my favorite part of Easter now. I like to sit out on our deck, where it’s quiet, and listen to the birds wake up. It draws me a little closer to what it must’ve been like on that first Easter. I imagine early Christians couldn’t believe the sun actually rose again after Jesus was taken from them—or so they thought.

Sunrise is a wonderful metaphor for God’s grace because each one brings renewal. Each new day brings another chance to right wrongs, learn from our mistakes, and become better people than we were just 24 hours ago. It’s a daily moment of promise.

Sometimes the world seems so hopeless now. But it seemed hopeless back then. It wasn’t. And it isn’t.

Faith, hope, and love to you this Easter morning.

Sunday Morning Serenity

Do you say things to yourself—and about yourself—that you'd never say to another human being, particularly a friend? You might not be smart enough to handle this project. You really should just hide in the house till you drop 20, make that 30, pounds. Egad, what's going on with your hair/makeup/outfit today? What if nobody likes your work?

My friend Mary Allen gave me a great book called Fervent: A Woman's Battle Plan to Serious, Specific, and Strategic Prayer by Priscilla Shirer. And three of the main points of the book are these:

(1) Only your enemy wants to tear you down; nobody who wants what's best for you would try to demoralize you.

(2) The negative voices in your head are not of God. They are coming from an enemy who is targeting you—you specifically—with weapons aimed at you specifically. 

(3) Once you recognize those weapons and their source, you can resist them through the power of prayer.

I have so much to be thankful for. And yet I continue with the hand-wringing. My prayer this morning: More faith, less doubt; more gratitude for today, less anxiety for tomorrow. Faith, hope, and love.

Sunday Morning Serenity

 

Every time we come down to the Mississippi coast, I take pictures of the sunrise. And every time, I say to myself, “You’ve got a bazillion pictures of sunrises over the Gulf—you don’t need another one!” At which point myself answers, “Yes, but I don’t have THIS one.”

We came down here to celebrate our friend Pat’s birthday. His wife, Shannon, somehow pulled off a surprise party for what must've been over 100 people. Pat and Shannon have always been so good to us, and even though we see them only a few times a year, we can always pick right back up where we left off.

So I can’t help comparing sunrises to friends this morning. No two are alike. And everybody who becomes a part of your life brings his or her own special gifts to you.

We’re all on a journey, friends. And I’m thankful for every fine companion who has made mine richer.

P.S. I am posting a vintage sunrise, not the one I captured this morning. Why? Because today’s sunrise is on my phone in our hotel room, where Dave has been trying to sleep while I “quietly” go in and out from the balcony to make coffee, look for my computer, trip over my shoes . . .