November - A Time To Remember

It's still officially fall I guess, but with the leaves quickly falling and Thanksgiving right around the corner (Yikes, that's next week!!) it's almost time to turn the calendar to that last page - and we all know how quickly December will fly by.

Growing up I remember being aware that Thanksgiving was a big darn deal, as important as Christmas if you must know. I'm not sure if this was true for other families, but I believe that it was. Maybe my parents, as part of the generation that grew up during the Depression and fought in World War II, were more sentimental about home and family. They married young and left home to start their own families. Many of them spent years separated from their families while serving in the armed forces far from home. Let's face it, today's young people are more likely to be living at home and delaying marriage.

From Norman Rockwell's iconic Saturday Evening Post cover pictures of families celebrating Thanksgiving, to the ubiquitous "made-for-TV-Coming-Home-For-Thanksgiving" movies, it appears that this uniquely American holiday has more meaning for us that we might like to admit.

It is a holiday that harkens back to our very beginnings as a settlement and later as a nation. It's a holiday that puts us in touch with the agrarian roots of our ancestors, though we've long since stopped growing our own food for the most part. And it is a holiday that is, at its very heart, an acknowledgement of God's grace. As Rebecca Harding Davis puts it, "For, after all, put it as we may to ourselves, we are all of us from birth to death guests at a table which we did not spread.  The sun, the earth, love, friends, our very breath are parts of the banquet.... Shall we think of the day as a chance to come nearer to our Host, and to find out something of Him who has fed us so long?"

I hope I have instilled in my children the importance of remembering, of family and home and of faith. Thanksgiving is not just a day on the calendar as we all know. It is, in fact, a state of mind that can and should be turned into an action word. One thing I do believe is that gratitude is an attitude that grows stronger as we grow older. So there is always hope for the next generation.

Autumn Leaves . . . or Does It?

Wow! Snow in October - from North Carolina to New Jersey and New England. That is what I love about the weather; unless you're a meteorologist by profession or read the Farmers' Almanac religiously, the cliche is true - there is no predicting the weather.

Each year we anticipate the seasons changing, but we can't pin the exact time to a date on the calendar. The early frost or snowfall, the spring ice storm, whether we'll have a white Christmas in the south, when the fall leaves will be at their peak - are all reminders that we don't control the weather.

When I was younger I "had to" watch the weather report on the late news before going to bed. In truth though, the only thing affected by the weather was my commute [which I still had to endure] or my wardrobe choice. But, of course, I grumbled and complained about bad weather like many people do.

These days I don't pay much attention to weather reports, well, unless there is a weather "event" like a hurricane or ice storm predicted.  But really, is there anything I can do to change the weather? Nope. I can find out how hot or cold it is by going out on the back porch to feed the dog. I don't go to many parades or picnics anymore, and I've lived through enough droughts to actually be thankful for rain.

I try to enjoy each day as it comes. I don't [or try not to] complain about the weather. I appreciate all of the seasons, but don't try to anticipate what each will be like or when they will arrive. Of course I have a favorite season; doesn't everyone? Mine is fall. I do love the colors, the cool crisp mornings but still warm afternoons.  The recent October snowfall may signal an early end to autumn in parts of the country, but not in Atlanta. With any luck, I will get to enjoy my favorite season a bit longer, but who knows how much longer? Not I. I can live with that!

Country Roads

I just returned from a trip into my past or more accurately my Mother’s past.  A visit with cousins in Louisiana led to a trip down some back roads in Washington Parish which led to a remote Baptist church and a small cemetery and a surprise.

Mother says I’ve been to the cemetery before, but I have no recollection of that.  My great grandparents and some of their siblings and children are buried there, and I amazed my family by locating the cemetery on the internet via my iPhone and accessing a website that actually listed all of the people buried there. 

There are thousands of such cemeteries accessible to varying degrees via country roads in every county and state in North America. This particular cemetery, Sunny Hill, is maintained by the descendents of another family whose name appears on many of the headstones. The sad truth is that too many small family cemeteries are not maintained and thus likely to be overgrown and lost forever.

Does it matter if they are lost or found?  Maybe not.  I suppose I’m interested in such things because of my love of history and dabbling in genealogy, but there was something compelling about standing in the yard between that cemetery and the small white country church that my Mother remembered attending as a child. [She says it used to be a lot bigger church back then!]
 

As we stood there she started talking again about the Sunny Hill community of her childhood, pointing out where the Methodist church and the general store used to be, where the school she attended was located.  She reminisced about walking to school for one year, first grade, because her Daddy wanted her to go to the school he went to when he was growing up.  Funny thing was that he made Mother’s little sister accompany her on the one mile walk, so my Aunt Pansy sat through first grade that year and then had to go the next year too.  Oh, and by the way, I’m not sure what a five year old could have done to protect a six year old had something bad happened to them on the way to school. But those were different times.

We had piled in the car to begin our trip back to the present, but the past wasn’t through with us yet.  As Mother pointed to a wooded area across the road from the church and told us, “The school was right there,” my cousin said, “I see something.  It looks like a shack.”  Sure enough we got out of the car and peering into the woods could just make out the building, or what was left of it. 

Just as my cousin was promising to come back and explore the area later, we discovered a path that was more or less clear so we all traipsed into the woods, right up to the dilapidated two story structure where my grandfather had gone to school and played basketball, and where my Mother had attended first grade. 

There wasn’t much left there to see, but there was a broad staircase, walls, parts of the floor and the roof, and somehow I had no trouble picturing my Mother there. 

For good or ill, the past lives and is always part of our present.  For me, it is all good.  I think John Denver said/sang it best: “Country roads take me home . . . “

Moving On

Not sure what to do with what I’m thinking and feeling right now – except to write it down and puzzle it out.

So, I [we] decided to leave the Methodist Church and become Baptist, and I thought I knew what that meant.  Although I’ve never been a Baptist, I thought I had a pretty good idea of what a Baptist was.I think what I’m finding out is that there are many different kinds of Baptists and many different kinds of Baptist Churches.

The good thing is that, unlike the Methodist Church, I can join a Baptist Church and not have to support some advocacy group that does not speak for me…at least I think that is possible.  I am still learning about the Baptist Church, Baptist beliefs, etc.But here is an example of something that is kind of troubling me and that is making me feel woefully uneducated – the local Baptist Church that we have chosen to attend is participating in a study called “Monvee”.  It is loosely (?) based on a book by John Ortberg,  The Me I Want to Be: Becoming God's Best Version of You”.

Now I’ve known of John Ortberg for decades, though I can’t remember if I’ve read any of his books.   The title of this book is intriguing though and certainly speaks to me – someone who is seeking to hear God’s voice and discern God’s will for my life.  And yet, when I do a little research, I find that there are some Christians who have a few problems with John Ortberg, with his writings and associations and with Monvee itself.  These critics categorize Ortberg, Monvee, et. al. as part of the “spiritual formation” movement or the emergent church movement within evangelicalism.  For the moment, I’m suspending judgment on this particular issue.Another influence within the Baptist Church is Calvinism and there are churches that even use the term Reformed Baptists.  I really don’t know what to do with this.  I have recently learned that a new “movement” -  the 9Marks movement is Calvinistic and apparently there are a number of Baptist Churches that are choosing to self-identify as “9Marks Churches” – including one local church that I’m aware of, Mt. Vernon Baptist Church. 

Bottom line, we still have some talking to do about what kind of church we want to be a part of, what we want to hear from our minister and teachers on a weekly basis.  If you have any insights, pass them along and stay tuned . . . 

Tuesday is the new Monday

I don't know what happened to Monday - one minute it was here - and the next minute it was gone. It makes me sad because I love my Mondays. It's true. Mondays are free days - nowhere I have to go, nothing I have to do. 

You're right, it wasn't always like that before I retired. I dreaded Mondays like most of the rest of the working world. But now Mondays are like an extension of the weekend and it is wonderful.

But now it is Tuesday, and I miss my Monday, and my Tuesday is my new Monday - a day I don't look forward to at all.

That's because I have committed to help a family in my neighborhood on Tuesdays and Thursdays every week for the foreseeable future. Yes, it's a good thing I am doing. Not how I planned on spending my retirement, but God had other plans. God knew of their need (and truthfully so did I) and said to me,"Hey, you've got some free time now, don't you?" What could I say?

So on Tuesday, today, and on Thursday, I go next door and stay with their children - 3 under the age of 5 - all day so that Dad can finish his dissertation and Mom can get therapy as she recovers from a brain injury.

I think I'm too old to be doing this, but again, God doesn't agree.  Tuesdays and Thursdays are long, hard days that almost make me miss my desk job.  But there is a light at the end of the tunnel - the 5 year old started school yesterday and the 3 year old starts pre-school in 3 weeks. I can do all things through Christ . . . I can do all things through Christ. . .

Reading Obituaries

I read an article last month about why Christians should clip obituaries. Occasionally various family members have accused me of passing strangeness for my obituary reading, so I felt vindicated by the article. 

Reading obituaries is a shocking reminder that we can not always predict the time of our death.  Even those of us in seemingly good health, those at the peak of success in our careers, those just starting out in life, those going about God's work in the world - all of us are absolutely sure of only one thing - we don't know when our earthly lives will end.

Now Christians should already know this shouldn't we?  We've read it in many verses of Scripture.  And yet Christians are just as shocked and incredulous when we read the accounts of lives ended too soon.

Then last week a friend from Church died "unexpectedly".  He was only 58 years old, but that's not old, is it? It sure doesn't sound old to this 62 year old! So it was a shock and it took several days to process the news and to accept the finality of his death, except . . .

as Christians we don't accept the finality of death.  We know that death is just a passage from this earthly life that is finite to our life with God that is eternal. 

And so, the reason we should keep reading those obituaries is to remind us to number our days, to not take life or any moment of it for granted, and of course to make every moment count - not so our obituary will be a glowing account of our earthly life, but so that we will know the peace and joy of living with and worshipping our God for eternity.

Memories

That familiar smell just outside my back porch this time of year comes from the gardenia bush planted there.  It's a giant shrub now but it was once a small plant that required lots of TLC in the winter and also in the summer. (I thought the white flies would be the death of my beloved gardenias.)

Now it is huge and covered with flowers from whence comes that glorious smell that takes me back to my Granny Nicholson's porch in South Carolina, and that is a place I love to revisit in my mind.

I can't say that the distinctive smell of this flower always brings with it lots of different memories of my Grandmother or her house in Mullins, SC or the family times we spent there.  On the other hand, I cannot smell the gardenia without thinking of that particular porch.

The gardenia - both shrub and flower - is a touchstone for me.  In NLP [Neuro-Linguistic Programming] it might be called an "anchor" - something that triggers a memory every time it is experienced.  Like hearing an old song and remembering where you were and who you were with and how you felt the first time you heard it.

The blooms this year are just about spent - only a few remain.  Then I'll have to wait until next June to enjoy that lovely fragrance again. I sure wish my gardenia could bloom all year long.