Hope Springs Eternal

My toes had been cold all day, no matter what kind of socks I put on. I resist footwear...it just ain't natural. When winter comes and I put my poor Hobbit feet under wraps, I'm sure the world is grateful, but my digits yearn for the sea, the sand, the mud, and especially the cool moss that is our front yard. I think there's good stuff going on when our bare feet are right down on the earth, absorbing those beautiful minerals. My Yankee Grandma would've scolded me all these years for my ways, if she could have seen what I was doing...but my Southern MawMaw would've approved. Either way, on this chilly day I yanked off those socks and headed out the door to the front stoop. The air was windy and chilly, but in the sun it was sweetly warm. The dog and cat tilted their heads to the west and drank it in with me. For the first time in days, I got toasty.

It's a strange thing, to be all alone in my house.  Baby girl got married last summer; my three sons and their wives are raising families in their corners of the world, not too far away, thankfully. I hear Ken stirring, insanely early in the morning, but then I drift back to sleep. Yes, I have much work to do, but no toddlers pulling for breakfast or vague thoughts of what I need to do for supper are haunting me first thing. I used to buy crates of food from Sam's to keep up with the appetites of my lumberjacks. Now I pop in to Publix or Aldi or send my little list to Ken to gather things before he heads home from work. It's a different world, a different season. I couldn't have imagined it when my house was full of three mangy boy creatures and one quiet ballerina. My lunch breaks now include one episode off HGTV and maybe a little siesta on the front porch, while eating my healthy food. Mid-day used to be a wild scramble to fill up everybody's tanks. There's a reason God gives babies to the young.

They're saying it's going to be near 70 degrees today. I'm planning on shedding those socks again, once I get some of these chores and clients taken care of. It's the simple things... 

Simple Things Bring Great Riches

When our Georgia weather turns winter, with loads of rain and blustery, chilly wind, it's colder than a number on the meteorologist's report. In a season like this, I always think on my Daddy's memories of his childhood...a cold and scary place. He grew up very poor, next to the railroad tracks in downtown Smyrna. He was the youngest of eight children with, effectively, no father. His parents stayed married but his wanderlust patriarch was rarely home and never worked, except to polish up the occasional horse to sell. Winters were unbearable, with no heat in the house, no shoes and not enough food on the table. All of them piled into one bed to keep warm at night. I asked him what they ate and he said it was usually biscuits and coffee, no meat, though in the summers there were vegetables from the fields where MawMaw worked. If I didn't know he was the epitome of a truthful man, I would have believed these were tall tales.   

But I didn't have to grow up this way. Daddy married a good woman who believed in him, a Yankee, bless it. His mother-in-law taught him to read and appreciate good literature. They started out poor as Job's turkey, but he got a menial job with the postal service and they lived within their means. That meant that we didn't have all the new fashions or the vacations to fancy places. Our home was clean, the food was simple and hearty, the yard was mown, the world was stable. When Daddy became a Christian, there were no complicated devotions but there was a daily walk with them, as we rose up in the morning and lay down at night...a walk of trusting God and praying about everything. The Bible was open, laid out, read and studied and believed. I saw the realities of old bitternesses forgiven, a couple who argued and fought and then made up. Real people, cracked people, who lived out the muddiness of life, at times slogging through and at times flying above. I think it was their "realness" that sold me. My parents' raw, unvarnished walk with God could not be denied. I saw both their failings and their victories in front of me, with no hypocrisy, and I saw God's grace prevail.

Before Daddy died suddenly in 2018, I stayed with them one night. As I lay down in the spare bedroom, I breathed in the smell of crisp, clean sheets. I looked out at the window, where the small lawn had been freshly mowed and the bushes clipped. My parents had worked all of their lives to make a better world for their children, Daddy out in the daily grind (for most years at a job that did not give him riches or accolades), Mama at home and in cottage industries. Matthew Henry said, "It is not poverty, but discontent that makes a man unhappy." At the heart of what my parents did right was a thankfulness for what God gave them, a looking to Him as their provider, and a willingness to take care of what was in front of them. Contentedness. We might need to resurrect that concept.  

New Blood

I've had too much to do, too little time and not enough sunshine, then add to that, not seeing enough of my people. When one of our sons invited us all to his alumni basketball game, I was pumped. Somebody came down with Covid, game got cancelled and we decided to meet up at Hudson's BBQ anyway. Two of our four children, their spouses and progeny crowded up a big table and started swapping stories. There was much laughing and joking at each others' expense. It was fun all around, but when 7-year-old Eden plopped down next to me, after the food was done, and said, "I came down here so I could talk to you..." well, my heart grew three sizes. 

Children tell you the truth. They don't care what you look like or what you've accomplished in your lifetime. It's no wonder that Jesus told us that we had to become like a little child, to get into heaven. Kids come out of the womb squalling and demanding, sucking all the life out of you....they're not innocent, no matter what anybody says...but they are also raw, open, real, at least until they start getting their cues from their peers or us, their sinner parents. One of the best things about grandkids is the way we get to experience life all over again through their unjaded eyes. The wonder of the stars; the fluffy, warm fur of a puppy; the delight of any form of water they encounter...their wide-eyed discovery of the world's secrets is a joy to behold. I'd like to quit my day job and just make rotations around to them all.

Our daughter and her new husband had a beautiful, magical wedding in our yard, back in June, despite Covid, and came home from their honeymoon with a surprise package. Their first child will be born about mid-March, nine months and some change later. With all the hoopla (or maybe poop-la) this past year has given us, there's those who would shake their heads in dismay. Truth is, a baby brings both lots of trouble and lots of good. Parents have to die to themselves, to slow down, to take care of a thousand little humble things to bring up a child. I've seen folks who shirked, despised and gritted their way through all that minutiae, and then I've seen folks who opened their hands and hearts to the blessing that is a child, no matter the woes. There's mess, manure, and a massive intrusion into a life, when a baby enters. But it brings with it one of the sweetest gifts: hope. There's crying, laughing, suffering, pain, joy, mercy and the promise of a new day. "Suffer the little children to come unto me..." - Jesus 

Wookie Flute Playin'

From the time I was a youngster, people told me that I had "piano fingers" -- apparently, that's when you are long and lanky and your fingers look that same way. I am guilty of saying that to untold children in my lifetime too. I have a couple of grandchildren that have twiggy appendages, and I'm hoping for plucky songs in the future. 

My own musical history has been fraught with distraction and missed opportunities. My parents ponied up for piano lessons when I was in sixth grade, no small sacrifice. The (wonderful) teacher lived around the corner. The bus let me off on Thursday afternoons for my lessons and then I walked home afterwards. Miss Elsie loved Mozart, Bach and expressive playing. Even though I was lax in my practice, I was not lax in my love for her and for the music she introduced me to. When she played, it opened a sea of enchantment for me. It was a foray into worlds unknown, a crack in the current universe with a peek into what heaven must sound like. I still feel that way about music...whether it's classical, modern, jazz (well, some of it) or bluegrass. Throw down a folk rhythm and my foot's a-jumpin'. I'm so happy God gave us music.  After a few years of piano lessons, I begged my folks for a flute. They rented me one for $5 a month from Ken Stanton Music, and bought a beginning band book. Since I knew how to read music already, I quickly picked up how to play. I was already in high school and had a full schedule of sports, studies and social life. I practiced, but with limits. 

Life moved on, but I never stopped playing it. Church, weddings, jam sessions...the piano went to the side but the flute kept making its appearance. For years, when we were home-schooling our kids, I would use their nap time to teach beginners how to start out on the flute. It gave us money for my own kids' lessons and sports, in their own arenas. None of them really took up an instrument, but they were beasts out on the court and field, and loved music anyway. Now I play with the Carroll Community Wind Ensemble and at church, practicing more than I ever have and finally running up against the truth: that I need to learn how to play this thing. I'm performing next fall with a wonderful, young harpist in a contest in Atlanta, so I decided to take some lessons myself, since I could use some help. Yesterday was our first Zoom session, the dinosaur with some sweet young gal who could almost be my grandchild. In five minutes she was gracing me with great information. This morning, I was thinking about these kinds of blessings and also about the first grave sin: pride. Pride keeps us out of heaven, destroys our neighbor and puts a wall up in our brains that keeps us from learning and growing. I'm gonna lay down my pride and soak up everything I can from this young gal. I'll be her Padawan learner. Hurrah for new bends in the road.