The Card

In the process of cleaning out and renovating, we have found quite a few treasures.  Let me tell you about one of my favorites.
Most people from Bullock County knew or at least had heard of my grandmother.  She was kind.  She was gentle.  She was godly and wise.  She cared for other people.  She was beautiful inside and out.  I heard all of these things over and over and loved it each time someone took the time to tell me about how they remember her.  A few months back I was working at the Grill and waited on some older folks I knew.  We talked and caught up on life, quickly and she paused, looked at me and smiled.  She had not seen me since I was little and she had the funniest expression.  She went on to tell me she just had to say how much I reminded her of my Gram.  She told me how she had first met her when my granddad was preaching a revival at her church.  She was about 6 or 7 and my grandmother was about 15.  My friend said when my grandmother walked in, all of her friends and she were awed by her beauty and grace.  She said they all wanted to be just like her and they were so excited that the pastor was dating her.  She said not long after that, my grandparents were married.  My friend said that my skin was just as beautiful as my Gram's and she just had to tell me her memories of her.  By the time she finished I was in tears. Complete tears.  Thank you, Mrs. Locklar!
My Gram died when I was 3, so I have very few memories of her.  Anything anyone tells me is like gold, and my friend had just given me a fortune in her story.  My few memories are things like how she always smelled so good.  She was always beautiful, not made-up beautiful, just naturally beautiful.  She always had sparkly or pearly jewelry on-I still have a lot of her pieces...mostly costume, but lovely.  She had wavy, short hair.  She talked with a drawl.  She wore the best satin house slippers and let me wear them.  My mom let me keep them for years.  She was good at entertaining.  We always had nice meals at her house.  Anytime I smell cloves, I think of her house at meal time.  She let me help with things.  She had lots of aprons and almost always had one on over her dresses.  Things like that.  And having only been three when she passed, I am so thankful I have as many memories as I do.
So when my friend shared with me, a real, moment by moment account of her, it was more than I could absorb.  I had to apologize and thank her all at the same time.
And now I get to the picture.  I had always seen my Gram's handwritten recipes.  I had always heard about her.  Had memories with her, but never any memory of her saying anything to me or telling me anything, although I knew she surely had done both.  In a box of odds and ends, I found a note from Gram to me.  It was a thank you note.  She was sick with cancer and I had drawn her a picture and taken it to her.  I do remember her sickness and suffering.  I remember making her things and seeing her in the hospital.  On this occasion, she had written to express her thanks.  Who knew that would be the only "conversation" I would ever remember between the two of us?  Not that I really remember it, but I had evidence.  Her sweet words at the end of the note were worth the million salutations from her I had forgotten.  All the times I am sure she kissed me goodbye and hugged me hello.  All the times she rocked me or held me.  All the times she brushed my hair or whispered a Bible verse or read me a book.  Those simple, simple words she chose to write are now worth more than I could ever have guessed.
"I am so proud of my lovely, sweet granddaughter!"
I hope she would still be proud of me, everyday.

The Day My Parents Became Human

 

As you age and have kids of your own, you sometimes, unwillingly, become "the best parent there is."   You know best, you have the answers, everyone else is an idiot...you know what I mean.  

This attitude can creep into your relationship with your parents.  You start to second guess why they let you do this or that.  Why did they let me spend so much time with my grandparents, who smoked like chimneys, and exposed me to all that second hand smoke?  Why did they make me drive so far to go to school, where most of the time I didn't feel I fit in and that cost a lot of money on top of that?  Why didn't they know where to shop to get better clothes for less or know the fashion trends so I wasn't embarrassed of what I wore?  

And the list gets more serious.

Why didn't they have daily Bible studies with me as I was growing up?  Why didn't they let me choose what college to go to on my own?  Why did they have a huge chicken farm, that I had to work on and that worried them more than I thought was worth it?  Why did they always "adopt" people into the family to spend time with, when all I really wanted was to spend time alone, as a family?

Here's what I realized a few years ago...They did it for me.  

They made sure I spent time with my grandparents, so I'd know them.  They were very far from perfect, had a very rough life, but had so much to teach me.  And second hand smoke wasn't that big of a deal in the 80s-we knew so little.

They sent me to the best school they could find and broke their backs to pay for it, so I'd have a better chance at having a good future.  I also learned so much about being content and investing in people who were not like me.

They clothed me with love.  Fashion is such a unimportant thing.  I had what I needed.  They showed me what was important.

They taught me Biblical truths daily by walking with me through life.  They may not have pulled the Bible out everyday, but they pulled it into everyday situations.  They made sure I was at every church event I wanted to attend and every church camp and every opportunity to learn more about God.

They encouraged me to go to the college of my choice, based on a few criteria.  Price and majors available.  I wanted to go to some very expensive schools.  I am so glad they encouraged me to think reasonably and ended up where I did, learning what I did.

They had a huge chicken farm, because they dreamed it would give them a better life and help people along the way.  Farming is a noble profession.  It is a service.  It was so fitting for them.

They always adopted people because they know how to love them.  They can befriend the roughest, toughest folks and find the good in them and encourage it.  They can find the friendless and be there for them...the orphan and be family to them.  They really have an amazing gift.

These are just a few instances where I had the opportunity to be critical of my parents or to love them.  My groundbreaking realization:  MY PARENTS ARE HUMAN.  They are not perfect.  They have lessons to learn and lessons to teach.  The have and will mess up.  I will need their help and they will need my help.  But guess what?  Another large lesson I have learned lately is to love who God has placed you with...in all their imperfections. Don't go find a better fit, a more ideal mom or sister or brother.  Sure.  Surround yourselves with those who encourage you to grow, adopt a close friend who is more spiritually mature than you are.  Do all of that, but don't leave your family behind.  Love them fiercely, daily forgiving, and be full of grace, because God knows you want the same consideration one day...everyday.

I know this is kind of a weird post for Father's Day, but is so fitting in my mind.  In a world where we are bombarded with "idealistic" everything on social media, it is good to remember the humanity in us all.  The imperfections, the lack of control over the day to day, the goodness of redemption of the mess...it is good.  It is sobering and empowering.  Love your family.  God gave them to you and you to them.

Beauty Shop Saturday

(photo taken by Jimmy Emerson, https://www.flickr.com/photos/auvet/6380366565)

When I get stressed, I seem to have a need to write down memories.  I am not sure why, but it helps to think back to simpler times.  The memories seem to make the troubles and hurry-hurry mentality of today, fade away.
One of my favorite childhood memories is the Saturday morning trip to the beauty shop.  If I got the chance to spend the night at my grandparents' on a Friday night, chances were, I would get to go with Grandmama to the beauty shop on Saturday.  To my brother, I think this was torture, but to me, it was the epitome of fun.
When I got the chance to go to Mrs. Bert's beauty shop, I not only got to look at all the shiny, colorful costume jewelry she sold, I also got to look at all the beautiful clothes she had for sale.  Her shop was on the main drag in town, so it was a very narrow and deep building.  She had windows up front that were always warmed by the sun and occasionally had enough room in them for me to slip in and act like I was part of the display.  Yes, I really did that.  As you walked in the heavy swinging doors, you passed these window displays and were immediately in the midst of rack after rack of sequened clothes-it was the 80s.  These clothes were special because this was Union Springs.  We had no mall, no department stores, and no Wal-Mart.  This was one of the only places to get clothes in town and almost the only place to get nice clothes.  As you continued in to the shop, she had case after case of jewelry to the right.  There were pendants with jewels of every color.  There were necklaces, earrings, and more than i can remember.  Above these cases, Ms. Bert even had wigs.  This was the coolest thing to my young brain.
As soon as you got through the merchandise section of the store, you had reached the beauty parlor area.  Ms. Bert had 2 chairs, I think and maybe 2 dryer chairs.  This is where the action happened.  If you have ever watched the southern classic Steel Magnolias, you have a very good idea of the feel here.  My Grandmama didn't just get her hair done, she talked and visited and shared her life with Ms. Bert for a couple of hours every week.  She would get her hair washed and set and dried each Saturday.  As I roamed the store while all of that was happening, I heard countless stories from past and present.  I learned about life through their eyes.  They were not perfect people, but what can you really learn from "perfect" people?  They tend to be closed and guarded.  These people I encountered in Ms. Bert's shop were quite the opposite.  What great memories of laughing and crying and sharing.  Oh how I wish I had a "Beauty Shop" where I could go for a couple of hours on Saturday mornings, or maybe just 30 minutes. :)
 

Fiber

FIBER

"a thread or filament from which a vegetable tissue, mineral substance, or textile is formed."

The word has been echoing in my brain.  I see so many disappointments in the world.  Probably something to do with my thirty-something time in life, but I think it also has to do with my home.  My home was not perfect.  Life on a farm is hard.  Even before we had a big farm, life in the sticks was hard.  Money was almost always short.  We ate tons of deer meat-out of necessity.  We always wore hand-me-downs.  Despite being on the under-side in a lot of circumstances, we were always taught to mind our manners and respect our elders.  We were taught to put others above ourselves-others' needs.   We were taught about Agape love-the true love of Christ.  Our fiber, what we were built on, was strong.  It was tough and it was loyal.  
I look at so many life-decisions people are making and wonder, what is lacking in the fiber of their lives?  What did they miss?  Why are mundane things so life-or-death to them?  Why do they risk relationship over self-image and popularity?  Why do they see the need, the constant need, to be "applauded" by society, even Christian society?  Why?  What is missing?  These are Christ-fearing folks, even; needy sinners aware of their sin, and they still so willfully let it take dominion over their everyday decisions...their self-worth.  
I am so thankful that my fiber was woven strong and tight and out of lasting material.  I know it doesn't take living in a map dot of a community to possess this foundation, but I tend to think it was easier.  The constant struggle to maintain...the very rare presence of excess...the day-to-day reality of how temporal life really is.  In my "big city life" I live now, it is so easy to forget what matters...how simple it really is.  
My husband (a true life-long city boy) says it best, "What's more important...people or things?"  Embrace the people...let go of the things.    

Home

Home cannot be contrived.  It is not bought.  It is not sold.  Home is where your memories are.  My life is so busy.  I live a fairly fast-paced life, so far from what I grew up living.  I find myself overwhelmed more than occasionally, and then remember God has a plan for where He has me, and I better get to it!
In those times, I do think of home.  Home is family being together, cooked meals, cooking the meals together, sitting and watching the news together, reading together, being outside together, putting things together, building things, fixing things, renovating, painting, relaxing together, a warm spot in a really cold house in the winter (because it's a really old house :), heaters to warm by, big coats to go "woods walking" in, shooting just for target practice, shooting cans in the pond, camping out, and I really think the list could go on.  The funny thing is, the list goes in and out of my childhood memories and my more recent adult memories.  Home has become a mix of what I did growing up and what my kids are doing growing up.  Our home is sort of a mix of city life and Smut Eye life.  
My husband may have said it best.  "I go to your parents' and I get bored.  I go to my parents' and there's always something going on and it's crazy.  And then I think, 'Gee, I would really like somewhere in between.'  And then I realize, 'There is a place like that!  It's our house."
I love my family and where I came from and I love where we are going.

Water Trough

With summer coming to an end, I can't help but thinking of all the days spent outside, with friends.  Some of my favorite summer memories involve the same group of friends... just about all the people my age in a 5 mile radius.  One summer, we were so desperate for a swimming pool (which we had no access to in Smut Eye), that we developed a plan.  The Finlaysons had cows, so that meant they had cow watering troughs, which were shaped very much like a swimming pool...if you squint and turn your head sideways :)
The time between Mrs. Patty giving the go ahead for the seven or so teens and kids to use the trough as a pool and us jumping in it (well, as much as you can "jump" into a 2 1/2 ft. pool) was not very long!

I am not sure how many consecutive days we spent each afternoon in the "pool", but there were many!  And I am pretty sure our parents finally took pity on us, because the next summer they had made arrangements for the two families to use an older community member's pool, in exchange for taking care of it.  We had just as much fun in the real pool as we had in the cow pool!  To this day, I cannot look at a round metal cow trough, without seeing it first as a swimming pool.  One thing you learn, living in the middle of nowhere, is that you make do with what you have.  I learned more about using my imagination through situations like using a trough as a pool, than I did most anywhere else.  Don't get me wrong, any kid can learn to use their imagination in any setting, but where else can you say you spent a whole summer "swimming" in a cow trough?

Really Big, Strong Trees

One might notice, as they drive towards Smut Eye Grocery, a few big, strong trees arching over the road. One might even notice how shady they make the spot underneath and how absolutely breathtaking the contrast of lively green on the clearest blue sky can be on a mid summer day. These trees have been in the same spot for as long as I can remember. There are a few that were lost in this storm or that, but three or so still stand strong.
A few months ago, my family planned a surprise 60Th birthday party for my mother. The party was fairly simple and was really the idea of our family's good friend, Aunt Debbie. When making plans, we went through each area fairly easily. We would have BBQ to eat. People's presence would be the presents. The guest list? This was SIMPLE! The list would be my parents' closest and, some of them, oldest friends. As we made the list, I was once again reminded of how LARGE my family tree is. I mean, if you live in Bullock County, there is a 95% chance that I am related to you. But what stuck out wasn't the number of blood relations. It was the chosen relations that made up the majority of the list. The list read something like this:
Aunt Debbie
Uncle Wiley
Uncle Mike
Aunt Maryanne
Marie
Henry
Uncle Robbins
Aunt Nell
Aunt Charlotte
Aunt Flossie
You get the picture? It's a pretty normal picture until you realize, I have no blood related aunts or uncles. All the aunts and uncles listed (except my great aunt) are "chosen relations". What a great network of family to have? All of these people are those who invested in my life and the life of my family, since before I was around.
You may wonder, how does someone come to call a non-related person aunt or uncle? Well, one couple lived across the road from us for years...I grew up riding their bulldog for fun! One couple was my mom's lifelong best friend and one of my dad's best hunting buddies. Another is actually a distant cousin and one of my best friend's parents. Aunt Charlotte lived with my grandparents as a young adult and ended up taking tons of pictures of my brother and me as we grew older. She was with my family as we lost me grandmother to cancer at age 52 and she still helps preserve her memory for us.
I would not trade this close knit, yet now separated, group of people for anything. They are, to me, family. And they are, to my parents', family. We love our biological families, but love the benefit of having these chosen relations too! Our family tree is bigger, stronger, and definitely more beautiful because of them. What a lively bunch of leaves I have on that branch of my tree!