Goin' Down to Mama's

Sunday Morning Serenity

 

My friend Gary introduced me to a Sandi Patty song called “In the In Between,” and it's speaking to me this morning. It’s all about how it’s easy to celebrate God when you’re on the mountaintop, and it’s natural to call on Him when you’re in the valley. But sometimes we lose sight of His love “in the in between”—not the highs nor the lows but the everyday.

For a singer with such a powerhouse voice, this one is a departure because it’s quiet. No soaring high notes. No orchestra. Just a piano and a sincere expression of how we often forget God’s faithfulness—or at least I do.

My sister-friend Ginger reminded me of that recently. We were talking on the phone and she spoke so easily about an answered prayer and being led by the Holy Spirit. She made me remember how accessible God is—to those who ask and listen, which I forget to do sometimes. Or maybe I'm just being stubborn and rebellious. I’m so busy trying to “fix things” myself that I can't admit—can't even see—that I need help.

Ask, listen, trust. Thank you, sweet Ging. Thank you, Sandi.

 

Sunday Morning Serenity

Did you ever go through a period in your life when you felt like somebody stole your compass and you lost all sense of direction? That was me of late. And while I know better, from past experience, I chose not to admit defeat but to wallow in it, wrestle with it, and get really depressed about it. (It’s a personal choice, not for everybody.)

Finally, when I truly couldn’t handle it anymore, I gave up and prayed a simple prayer: “Lord, I am just lost.” Between the books and my job and all the upheaval caused by the pandemic, I’m exhausted most of the time, but what for?

(Note to self: You’ve been blessed to work from home and keep a rewarding job, which meant keeping your house and insurance during the pandemic, a time when many people lost theirs. Writing books is your dream come true. Most of all, your family made it through the past year and half. Many people didn't. Enough with the pity party.)

The afternoon following my "I am just lost," I received, out of the blue, an unexpected and a much-needed boost to my confidence—and, I believe, an answer to that prayer. The message I think I heard was this: You’re not lost. You just can’t see your destination from where you stand. So you need to have faith.

In other words, nobody stole my compass. I just neglected to read it.

For this reason I kneel before the Father, 
from whom every family in heaven and on earth derives its name. 
I pray that out of his glorious riches 
he may strengthen you with power 
through his Spirit in your inner being, 
so that Christ may dwell in your hearts through faith.
And I pray that you, being rooted and established in love, 
may have power, together with all the Lord’s holy people, 
to grasp how wide and long and high and deep
is the love of Christ, 
and to know this love that surpasses knowledge—
that you may be filled to the measure of all the fullness of God.

Ephesians 3:14-19

 

 

Sunday Morning Serenity

We have a tendency to talk about war in the big picture—battles won or lost, territory taken or surrendered, objectives achieved, zones stabilized.

But what could be more personal than sending our mothers and fathers, sons and daughters, friends and neighbors away from home and into a place where they will be asked to risk their lives?

My sister-friend Nancy recently took me to Veterans Memorial Park in Mountain Brook, where we saw a monument inscribed with names of all the Alabama veterans who lost their lives in wartime. Among the names of the fallen in Viet Nam, I found my cousin, Melvin W. Gunter, a career soldier. The family called him by his middle name, Wister. I was just a child when he was killed, but I have hazy memories of going with my mother to visit his family and offer condolences.

Back then, we all watched the war in Viet Nam on our black-and-white TV’s every night. All the networks had reporters imbedded with the troops, and we saw casualties being carried off the battlefield as correspondents explained what was happening.

Wister’s mother was watching one of those reports when she saw a fallen soldier on a stretcher and recognized her son. She didn’t need anyone to tell her that he was gone.

Several years ago, another dear friend, Holly, told me an amazing story about her dad and wondered if I’d like to write a book about it. I did, and as a way of helping me understand and develop my characters, Holly sent me a batch of letters that her dad wrote to his bride while he was serving as a fighter pilot in Korea. They’re filled with his longing for home and for the kind of simple things we all take for granted, like listening to records with his wife on a rainy afternoon.

Fortunately, Holly’s dad made it back, after flying 101 missions. But he knew others who didn’t. All those who come home from war know those who didn’t. And there’s nothing “big picture” about their sacrifice. It’s entirely personal.

Prayers, this Sunday morning, for all of our military families.

Sunday Morning Serenity

For the sake of my physical and emotional well-being, I’ve decided to strive for something I call Modified Cat.

Why Cat? Because they have no problem saying, “This is what I need right now.” Cheeto says it all the time. He’ll park himself on the floor beside the spot on the couch where I’m comfortably reclining, stare at me with unblinking eyes, then give a little bob of his head. Translation: I need you to get up and follow me to an undetermined destination—likely my bowl or the kitchen door, which I like for you to open for me even though I have a perfectly serviceable cat door right beside it. Or he’ll pace back and forth across my computer keyboard. I know you think you need to write, but what you really need to do is brush me. Or he’ll fall asleep on my person as if I were his own personal body pillow. You might think you want to get up, but I need a nap and you’re way more comfortable than, well, anything  . . .

Why Modified? Because I don’t want to be oblivious to the needs of everybody else. (And to Cheeto’s credit, he does seem to know when I’m feeling under the weather and can be quite the feline nurse when he wants to.)

I had little pop-up rebellions all day yesterday. My responsible self told me I needed to take a long walk. But my joints hurt and I’d rather take a short one, so there. My anxious self told me I needed to make some headway on my next book. But I haven’t figured out something I need to figure out before I start putting words on paper, and I really and truly just flat-out don’t want to write today.  I could make up for the lost time if I told my parents I wouldn't be staying for Sunday lunch and came right back home after church. But I want to spend some time with them and enjoy a visit.

Modified Cat. Not so much selfish as a little more self-forgiving when there’s just too much coming at me. And I’ll remind myself that we all need rest—not just for a tired body but for a troubled mind or a weary spirit.

Come to Me,
all you who labor and are heavy laden,
and I will give you rest. 
Take My yoke upon you 
and learn from Me,
for I am gentle and lowly in heart, 
and you will find rest for your souls.
Matthew 11:28-29

Sunday Morning Serenity

Am I really free? Many of us have been asking that question since the CDC lifted the mask mandate for the vaccinated. It’s still hard to believe, after all these months of masking and sanitizing everything but the cat, that we can at last free our faces (with the exception of all the exceptions, which will sort themselves out eventually, I guess). On Friday, Daddy and I went to a local hardware store to get potting soil for Mama’s spring flowers, and we were well on our way home when we realized we were both still masked, cruising down the highway in his pickup truck.

No big secret here: There’s a spiritual application to the mask situation. It's hard to let go of the guilt and regret we feel for all the bad choices we wish we could undo (preaching to myself). And it's hard to believe that God really does have enough love for us to look at those faults, unmasked, and forgive them when we turn away from our stumbles in the darkness and seek the light. But He does. He does have that much love.

Therefore, having been justified by faith, 
we have peace with God through our Lord Jesus Christ, 
through whom also we have access by faith
into this grace in which we stand,
and rejoice in hope of the glory of God. 
And not only that, but we also glory in tribulations, 
knowing that tribulation produces perseverance; 
and perseverance, character;
and character, hope. 
Now hope does not disappoint, 
because the love of God has been poured out
in our hearts by the Holy Spirit who was given to us. . . .

But God demonstrates His own love toward us,
in that while we were still sinners, Christ died for us.

Romans 5: 1-4, 8

 

Sunday Morning Serenity

I’ve never considered myself photogenic, so I don’t have many pictures of myself that I care to dwell on. The few that I do like were taken by Southern Living photographers or my cousin Richard. (Our friend Blake Sims, who worked with me at the magazine, gifted Dave and me with our wedding pictures.)

Though I usually don't like images of myself, I have many pictures of Mama and me, together, that I love. She’s a natural beauty who never takes a bad picture, even though she wears very little makeup and is “not good with hair.” (It’s a deficiency the two of us share; we heavily depend on our hair stylists because the cut has to save us from ourselves.)

The pictures I love best show the two of us enjoying each other’s company—laughing, hugging, or sharing a knowing look (that silent mother-daughter communication where a raised eyebrow speaks volumes).

On this Mother’s Day, I’m thankful to have been raised by an Alabama country girl who can make a coconut cake from scratch, set a pretty table, swim like a fish, and handle a shotgun. Her faith in God and love for other people are daily lessons in how to live my life.

Happy Mother’s Day, Mama! Today, for the first time in a long time, I’ll see you in church.

Sunday Morning Serenity

Today is a little bittersweet for me. It’s Mama’s birthday, so lunch and . . . CAKE! But it’s my last “Movie Sunday” with Daddy. Once he and Mama were fully vaccinated, she was MORE than ready to go back to church, but Daddy’s still not quite up to it. So while Dave and I waited (and waited) to get our shots, I’ve been going out on Sundays and sharing a movie morning with Daddy while The Boss is at church.

To explain: Daddy and I both love movies—I mean LOVE movies. Mama . . . not so much. She can’t sit still long enough to get through one (unless it’s Robert Redford in the The Way We Were). She and I have always had our girl time together, but I haven’t had much time, especially lately, with just Daddy and me. It took a pandemic. These Sundays have been pretty special—just the two of us and a big bowl of popcorn, watching Gary Cooper and Judy Holliday and Sidney Poitier.

Mother’s Day will be my first Sunday back at church in over a year. I’ve missed two Easters and Christmas. And I’ve missed our church family. I’ve missed the fellowship. But I also know that time with Daddy is a treasure I need to hold onto. Movie Sundays might have to become Movie Fridays, but I’m not ready to quit riding the range with Daddy and Gary Cooper. And I’m very lucky that Dave is just fine with giving us time to saddle up.

If months of separation and isolation have taught us anything, it’s that we should treasure the people we love and every minute we can spend with them. Human connection teaches us so much about our connection with God. Both are gifts.

Sunday Morning Serenity

There’s joy in pleasing a bird. That’s my great takeaway from the pandemic. Little things make me a lot happier than they used to, and I’m hoping they always will. When the weight of the world seems to be knocking at your door daily and your whole life has been upended, you’d think it would take a lot to pull you out of the dark places your mind can go, but it doesn’t. A blue jay’s wacky hop through the birdseed on your porch will just about do it.

I never took much notice of birds before, even though Mama is a certified Bird Lady. But at some point during the past year, well before vaccines, I decided I needed something new to look at while I worked. So I hung a couple of birdfeeders on the little front porch of the Story Shack and consulted Mama on proper feed and care. What began as entertainment for me turned into a fascination with them—with birds and their fine-feathered ways, from the blue jay—“a blue jay’s a fussy bird!” Mama says—to the peaceful doves that hang back just a bit so as not to stir up trouble. They have such personality. And they seem able to coexist well enough with the squirrels and the chipmunks.

Of course, I imagine bird-voiced conversations: “Have you tried the sunflower seeds? Oh, my, they’re just delightful. You’ll want to get here early for the supper buffet.”

Cheeto, whose nap chair sits by a big glass window overlooking the porch, thinks he has acquired his own personal Animal Planet station and watches the birds and chipmunks till he falls asleep.

And so it goes in the Story Shack for a little while longer—birds and squirrels and chipmunks and the occasional invasion from inquisitive toddlers next door, out for a snack from the basket of treats in my office and a gleeful grab at the wind chimes hanging from an arbor nearby.

The moral of this avian meditation, I guess: Even when your joys are small, your joy can be full. Prayers for your joy and peace this Sunday morning.

Sunday Morning Serenity

When I did a Genesis-to-Revelation study of the Bible (we won’t talk about how long ago that was and how lax I have been lately), I read some commentary that said some of the dietary restrictions God gave the Israelites—rules that might sound arbitrary to us now—actually helped prevent disease back then.

I think the same is true of other rules He gave them, directives later absorbed by Christians as well—rules against jealousy and faithlessness, rules for honoring your parents and putting God first. These aren’t arbitrary edicts; they’re the pathway to spiritual and emotional health. They prevent diseases like hatred and violence and selfishness and spite.

I’ve had the (sad and unpleasant) opportunity to witnesses dissention between a couple of young people nearby, mostly, it seems to me, because one doesn’t understand or approve of the way the other chooses to live her life. The truth is, I see my young self in the judgmental one. Young and untested me believed everybody needed to live/think a certain way. It took life experience to open my mind—and Dave. He has a gift for taking people as they come and appreciating them for who they are, even if they don’t see the world the same way he does.

Watch the news for five minutes and you'll see that disease is rampant in our country—in our world—right now. My hope is that battling the physical illness that surrounds us will teach us lessons we won’t soon forget about spiritual afflictions because they spread just as easily and they’re just as dangerous. Jesus said:

“A new commandment I give to you,
that you love one another; as I have loved you,
that you also love one another.
By this all will know that you are My disciples,
if you have love for one another.”
John 13: 34-35

Sunday Morning Serenity

“What’s today?” There’s no telling how many times I’ve asked Dave that question in the past year. I never realized, until now, how much we depend on markers—large and small—in everyday life.

For me, each week has always begun with Monday-back-to-work and ended with Sundays at church. Seasons were marked by Easter services, Mother’s Day corsages and would-anybody-like-to-say-a-few-words-about-your-father on Father’s Day, summertime trips to the coast, football and harvest season, a family Thanksgiving, and Christmas services and get-togethers. (I generally sleep through the ball drop on New Year’s Eve, and Mama has never been able to persuade me that the traditional New Year’s Day meal, which includes turnip greens at her table, is delicious. I’m good with the cornbread and black-eyed peas, but beyond that . . .)

It’s the seamlessness of the past year that has been so strange to me. (Well—that’s one of many things, but it’s the most consistent and persistent.) There were no mile markers—just a long highway leading to some point way off in the distance.

Tomorrow, Dave and I are scheduled for our first vaccines. Mile Marker 1. Make that 2. I think Marker 1 was helping my parents and other at-risk relatives get vaccines, which brought a kind of relief I can’t even describe. We still “have a ways to go.” (Not “way” but “ways”—anybody else grow up saying it that way?) But for the first time in a long time, I feel like we’ll get there.

And as we saw in the aftermath of a recent tornado outbreak, community isn’t necessarily defined by proximity. I saw all kinds of outreach happening on social media—and on the telephone—as friends and neighbors miles apart checked on each other and offered help—everything from prayer and support to physical shelter and chainsaws to clear debris. The worst can bring out our best. That’s something we’ve held onto as we’ve traveled this long highway.

“’Tis grace hath brought me safe thus far
and grace will lead me home.”