Goin' Down to Mama's

Sunday Morning Serenity

All the Iron Bowl excitement took me back—way back—to my own sojourn at Auburn. I would describe graduation day as a moment of melancholy exhilaration because part of me was thrilled to be done with classes and exams, but part of me had sense enough to realize that four of the best years of my life were over.

Many more great years were yet to come, but there will always be something special about those college days, when I was young and on my own for the first time, living in a community of other young people, all trying to figure out what we were going to be when we grew up.

Of course, I’m thinking of Missey, who was my dear friend and roommate at Auburn. She LOVED the Tigers and would’ve been right out there on that field last night. (I would’ve followed her, but I would’ve been fretting, “Are you sure this isn’t against the rules?”)

I can still see our first entertainment center—a repurposed bread rack from Food Town in Hueytown, rendered stylish by another sister-friend and roomie, Ginger. My goodness. I don’t think we had any idea how much fun we were having. Then again, maybe we did. I remember a whole lot of laughter in that apartment.

We never know what’s coming on the road ahead. It’s so important to take a moment and just be grateful—for life and laughter and beautiful fall afternoons. And for friends—dear friends you’ll love forever.

Sunday Morning Serenity

A friend who’s an early riser told me that the one thing she dislikes about the time change is waking up in the dark. That’s actually my favorite thing about the time change—more dark morning hours. And more quiet.

I’ve always been a little hypersensitive to noise—sudden loud noises, crowd noise, raised voices, people arguing, etc. It puts a knot in my stomach. I love the line in Mary-Chapin Carpenter’s “Passionate Kisses,” when she lists, among the things she believes she deserves, “cool quiet and time to think.” Amen, sister.

The world is such a noisy place. This morning, even the sound of the heater in the Story Shack was more than I wanted, so I wrapped up in a pretty throw that I got for my last birthday and stood outside in the predawn quiet, looking at bare tree branches against a cold sky. Bliss. Blessed.

Noise is a distraction from truth. Noise fools you into thinking that finding the truth is easy, but it’s not. Finding the truth takes time and effort and difficult soul-searching. It takes “cool quiet and time to think.”  There’s a reason why Christ and His disciples would sometimes escape the crowds of followers and find some quiet time. We all need it. Especially now.

Wishing for you some “cool quiet” this week.

Sunday Morning Serenity

Many years ago, when I was a starving college student, one of my professors hired me to help her evaluate the English program at a private Christian high school. The students’ scores on standardized tests had been falling, and administrators couldn’t figure out where they were going wrong. My task: read and evaluate a stack of student essays that had already been graded by their teachers. And I didn’t have to read many of them to see what was happening.

The students had figured out that, as long as they attached a religious message to their essays, they would get at least a B, usually an A. It didn’t seem to matter at all whether that message had been properly executed in the essay—or whether it even made sense. They could ramble incoherently about the homecoming football game, but as long as they tacked on “Our big win taught me that God has a plan for my life,” they’d make the grade. The school had lost the proper balance between religious and academic instruction. In other words, a spiritual message is fine, but your subjects and verbs still have to agree.

I realize those students were just teenagers whose minds were likely not on theology. And I’m not even saying they were insincere in their faith. Most likely, just the opposite was true. But those essays—not the kids but the essays—became a symbol, for me, of lip-service spirituality, of truly taking God’s name in vain by tossing it about for personal gain.  

Maybe more than ever, it’s so important for us to take a hard, critical look at all the messages coming at us every day. Do they make sense? Are they consistent? Are they in keeping with the Scripture they lay claim to?  It’s mighty confusing out there, friends. I wish I had the answers, but I don’t. The best I can do is try to ask the right questions—about the messages I’m sending, as well as the ones I’m receiving.

[Image by Chance Agrella @ Freerangestock.com]

Sunday Morning Serenity

Today’s topic is questionnaires/quizzes. Ever take one on Facebook? Which Golden Girl are you? What state should you be living in? What’s your rock star name? Only English teachers can answer these 50 questions . . .

Y’all often help me with Southern Living web stories by answering my Southerner on the Street polls. (By the way “things Southerners are picky about” still goes through the roof every time they repost it. Thank you, thank you.)

Why do we like “who are you” and “what do you think” quizzes? If you read the comments on those Southern Living posts that you help me with, you’ll start to see a pattern. Most are saying, in one way or another, either “Me, too!” or “Not me!”

I’m more interested in the “Me, too” group, not just because they’re the biggest but because they say something about our disjointed world. People are longing to connect, I think, even if it’s over something as simple as whether there should be Duke’s, Blue Plate, or Hellman’s in the potato salad.

All the political and social divisiveness we’re dealing with doesn’t just hover above our heads but seeps down and hits us where we live. It makes us feel separated, detached, and lonely.

But we aren’t meant to be solitary creatures. We are meant to love our neighbor as ourselves. We are meant for communion with each other and with God. Let’s try that . . .

[Image by Jack Moreh at Freerangestock.com]