Family

Thanksgiving Guest Blog by Joe Darby

~ MID-WEEK MEDITATION ~

Based on Psalm 34

 

            I’m writing this Meditation after phone calls from my sons that made me smile.  My oldest son was preparing to do an early Thanksgiving dinner for his wife of two years and wanted me to send him my turkey dressing recipe.  My youngest son, who lives out of state, told me what he and his wife were preparing together for Thanksgiving dinner – a couple of days before their first wedding anniversary.

 

            Those simple phone calls led me to reflect on the joy of seeing my sons grow up.  I witnessed their births, changed their diapers, saw them learn to walk and talk and watched them go through all of the joys and challenges of evolving from children to teens to college students to successful men, both of whom are doing well in their careers and both of whom joyfully married the “women of their dreams.”

 

            I give thanks for the men they’ve become, especially since forty years of ministry – that included fourteen bi-vocational years as a juvenile probation counselor – allowed me to see how good young people can easily run into bad situations that derail their hopes, dreams, progress and well-being.  The success of my sons is a simple but significant reason for me to give thanks to God.

 

            I share that blessing with you on the eve of Thanksgiving Day 2017.  America’s national day of thanks – that was first formally proclaimed during the American Civil War – is a time for families to gather for food, fellowship, football games and parades.  It’s easy to get caught up in the obligatory traditions of the day, forget the real meaning of the day or simply see the day as a welcome and brief break from life’s routinely stressful and troubling daily situations.

 

            When we take the time, however, to “exhale” and remember the real meaning of the day, we can thank God for life’s routine and extraordinary blessings.  We can reflect on the things that God has already done for us – great and small – look forward to what God will do for us, take the time to praise the Lord and prepare to return thanks every day by what we do to serve the Lord and to reach out to and stand up for those around us.

 

            Take the time, in the midst of all that you do on Thanksgiving Day, to pause, count your blessings and praise the Lord for all that’s right in your life.  You’ll find new joy, new strength, new peace of mind and new hope as you face each day – not focusing on your obstacles but celebrating your opportunities and saying with one hymn writer – even in the “age of Donald Trump” – “Oh, come to the Father through Jesus the Son; and give Him the glory, great things He has done!”

 

This Meditation is also available:

 

As a Blog on the Beaufort District’s Website: wwwbeaufortdistrict.org

 

And on Facebook at:

www.facebook.com/BeaufortDistrictAMEC

 

Get Ready for Sunday, and have a great day in your house of worship!

Categories: Faith/Spirituality, Family | Tags: , , | 1 Comment

A Week with President Jimmy and Mrs. Rosalynn Carter

Last Saturday, April 29, when I arrived in Plains, Georgia, I assumed I would have a chance to meet the Carters. After all, he was teaching Sunday school in the sanctuary and I was preaching there immediately after—for two Sundays.

I’ve never been to this section of Georgia, so I had a couple of places on my “to do” list for the week—Koinonia Farm, the Habitat for Humanity Global Village, and the Andersonville Prison. All three of these were pilgrimages. Clarence Jordan, author of the Cotton Patch translation of the New Testament, was a huge influence on my young life. Greenlawn Baptist Church and I built the first Habitat for Humanity House in Columbia, SC. I said the first cuss word on a South Carolina Habitat site when a nail punctured my flesh in an inconvenient place. Andersonville prison, as someone posted on Facebook, is the saddest place in America and its story needs to be told.

The President Carter component of the week many of you have seen on Facebook was pure serendipity. My boarding house hostess is, it appears to me, the primary source of orientation for the guests at Maranatha Baptist Church, where the former Leader of the Free World teaches Sunday school. She talks to the gathered congregation before Sunday school about protocol. She makes sure the Carters’ needs are met and is very protective of their privacy. Between Sunday school and worship, in the seclusion of a church office, she (Jill Stuckey) asked if the Carters might be interested in having a meal with the guest preacher (me) sometime during the week. President Carter answered, “Let’s see how he preaches first.”

That’s an honest man. (I didn’t know this story until later.)

Of course, the Carters and I spoke to one another briefly after worship and after pictures had been taken with everyone else. That was a pleasure and an honor, and I was a happy camper.

President and Mrs. Carter returned to Sunday evening church. That was a surprise. They were good listeners. They seemed to like what I had to say.

Later, Jill told me we’d been invited to dinner at the Carter’s on Monday night. I actually prepared some questions in case we had time for serious conversation. I don’t intend to share details of a private evening, but this is worth repeating:

In response to one question, he said, “Be flexible for changing times, but cling to enduring principles.”

Two Mrs. Carters were at dinner. Billy Carter’s wife, Sybil, joined us for dinner. I thoroughly enjoyed her part in table conversation. After dinner, we admired the audacity of a raccoon eating his supper from a bird feeder. He did not seem particularly threatened by the 39th President, but he eventually ambled away.

On Tuesday, I played the tourist, visiting President Carter’s boyhood home and other attractions around Plains. I understand the President was turkey hunting. Sunday school teacher, author, volunteer for Habitat for Humanity, hunter, fisherman, peacekeeper, humanitarian, husband, father, artist, furniture-maker, eradicator of diseases (through the Carter Center in Atlanta) and who-knows-what-else? The former President stays busy.

On Wednesday, I visited the POW Museum and the Andersonville Prison about which I blogged earlier this week.

Meanwhile, I discovered the Carters were coming over for Thursday supper as long as I cooked. Landlady Jill claims she’s not a chef, but my Mom taught me how to prepare a meal long ago. Everybody in my family loves breakfast for supper, so I bought sausage, bacon, berries, milk, eggs, coffee and pancake mix and prepared a meal. Folks have asked if I fed the Secret Service. Yes. Sybil Carter and one of the other boarders here also joined us.

Today, Friday, Nelle Ariail, wife of the former pastor at Maranatha Baptist Church, escorted me to Americus and sites of interest there.

There’s a big front porch on the boarding house, and I’ve spent a good hunk of my free time there reading.

Sunday will roll around again, and my plan is simple: Go to Sunday school and hear a good lesson and then preach. After lunch and a nap, I’ll preach again on Sunday night.

“The boundaries have fallen for me in pleasant places.” Psalm 16: 6

 

 

Categories: Faith/Spirituality, Family, Health, Holiday, Travel | Tags: , , , , , , , , , , , | 10 Comments

A Carolina Baptist in Two Yankee Winters

For two consecutive years, 2016 and 2017, I’ve confused my seasons and moved North in the dead of winter. Minus seventeen degrees was the lowest temperature—on a Sunday morning! Church was not cancelled. Here are a few observations:

Calling/Vocation—I didn’t initiate either of these experiences. I’m a retired pastor/preacher/church consultant who lives in South Carolina with my wife Sally and my cat Caesar. During the last fifteen years, I’ve worked with churches in crisis or transition. My skill set is to serve as a “bridge” from their past to their future. Trinity Baptist Church in Hanover, New Hampshire, and Wilton Baptist Church in Wilton, Connecticut, needed help. They called. I responded. It’s a good thing to feel useful. It’s even better to be useful. I’m grateful for all my friends who encouraged and/or prayed for me. Trinity called a fine young pastor and Wilton, I believe, is close to calling someone as their pastor. I’ll keep you posted.

Family—Anyone who knows me understands that family is important. Sally and I have been married 44 years. Our daughter Jenna, son-in-law Thorne, and Grandson Lake live three blocks from Sally and me. They eat supper with us every Sunday night. On the other hand, our daughter Julie and her husband Tom live outside Boston, a long way from South Carolina. I don’t like that distance at all. By being in New England for good chunks of 2016 and 2017, Julie, Tom and I could get together about once every three weeks. I loved, loved, loved those times. Francis Bacon said something like this: “If the mountain can’t come to Mohammed, then Mohammed can go to the mountain.” So, off to New England, I traveled.

Adventure—What’s not to like about a Currier & Ives Winter Wonderland? For someone with an incurable case of wanderlust, New England is an attractive option. Ivy League schools, hockey games, moose, frozen ponds and rivers, all sounded intriguing. Merely sightseeing (no offense to my touristy friends) is not an adventure. Getting out of my comfort zone is. I dreaded the idea of shoveling snow, but that worked out just fine. Also, I was aware of the proximity of New Hampshire to Canada and Connecticut to New York City, so I took advantage of both. I spent a few days in Montreal and several days in Manhattan. I saw four Broadway plays. I toured West Point. I loved the picturesque town squares and greens, as well as the streams, waterfalls, hills and wildlife, the covered bridges, mansions, churches, shops, restaurants, museums, and monuments I discovered all over New England, from Newport, Rhode Island, to Walpole, New Hampshire, to Quechee, Vermont, to New Haven, Connecticut, to Sturbridge, Massachusetts. Lots of beauty, lots of history, and lots of fine food!

(Bonus points for Adventure: Dartmouth College was an intriguing part of my 2016 experience. As the Baptist Student Minister for the campus, I had access to libraries, lectures, and other aspects of campus life. I took continuing education courses.

Serendipity—Food! I’ve never taken a road trip for the sake of a culinary experience, but neither have I shied away from dietary excellence. King Arthur Flour was a highlight of my first winter away—pastries, breads, desserts. Incomparable. The farms of Vermont and New Hampshire produce some of the best cheeses you will ever taste. This year, I discovered the restaurants in the corner of Connecticut where I lived were exceptional, with a commitment to locally grown meat and vegetables. On my last trip into New York City (the train ride costs only $8.50), I determined to eat at a Michelin-starred restaurant. I couldn’t afford most of them—over $300 for a fixed price meal. I discovered NoMad was within my price range, made a reservation, and had one of the great dinners of my life.

Being alone—Traveling by myself has, of course, pluses and minuses. I’ve blogged about that before. I’m comfortable with Quiet Time. I read a lot. I write. I walk. I think. I eat. I read. I eat. I walk. I read. I eat. I’m perfectly content to go to a baseball game, a high school musical, or a museum tour by myself. I prefer to be with someone, but that’s not always possible.

In case I sound a bit too blasé or pious about all this time unaccompanied, let me be clear: both years, I got very lonely. The adventure wore off. I’m sure I don’t want to spend a full winter in New England or apart from Sally again. Sally and I really missed each other. She came up once during each of these sojourns for about a week. Thank God for those occasions when friends or family called or visited or wrote. Sometimes, member of the Trinity and Wilton congregations reached out to me, and sometimes I reached out to them, so I also enjoyed local fellowship.

I’ve reflected about people who have no choice about living alone: widows and widowers. I’m sensitive to the fact that being by yourself is not always a choice. It can be painful. I’m fortunate. I came home to a wife who loves me.

Until the wanderlust strikes again, or, until I get a phone call, whichever comes first, I’m glad to be home.

Categories: Faith/Spirituality, Family, Holiday, South Carolina, Travel | Tags: , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , | 9 Comments

Homeward Bound

Having been in New England for ten of the past sixteen months, I’ve thought a lot about home.

With respect to Robert Frost, home is the place where they’re glad to take me in.

Sally, Jenna, and Julie are home to me, wherever they are.

Home is sleeping in my bed with my wife.

Home is our cat, Caesar, loving me as if I’d never been gone.

Home is grilling salmon on our patio. Home is our bright red Japanese Maple tree.

Home is a hug from the lady at the dry cleaners who missed me. Home is friends at Kathwood Baptist Church welcoming me back.

Home is my Grandson Lake showing up at our house at 6:45 a.m. wanting blueberry muffins on Thursday morning.

Home is my shower, my pillow, and my favorite coffee mug. Home is iced tea with mint freshly picked from our garden. Home is my bookshelves with my books with my favorite passages underlined. Home is being surrounded by memorabilia from Charleston, Cooperstown, Scotland, Italy, Turkey, Kenya, and Romania.

Home, for me, are tigers, tigers everywhere.

Home is driving on familiar roads and walking on familiar sidewalks.

Home is my Dad’s picture on the wall and my Mother’s baking sheets (which we still use to make chocolate chip cookies) in our kitchen cabinet.

Home is my back porch where I eat breakfast and drink coffee as many days of the year as possible, January through December. I love it, especially the sound of the birds singing, the toot of the railroad train not far away, and the kids waiting for their school bus. When Sally, Jenna, Julie, sons-in-law Thorne and Tom, or friends join me, there is no better place in the world.

Home.

 

 

 

 

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We Were Wrong…

We Were Wrong…

Marion Aldridge

As I matured as a Christian, I reflected, long, often, and sometimes sadly, even painfully, about much of what I believed as a youngster, and into adulthood. Because my doctrines, my ethics, and my habits have sometimes undergone enormous changes, there may be those who are presumptive enough to wonder if I lost my faith.

Quite possibly, I lost your faith. I found my faith. The Bible calls these transformations “repentance.” Here are some of my confessions:

WE WERE WRONG to believe that science and God could be enemies. Truth is truth wherever we find it.

WE WERE WRONG to assume uniformity in thought or action was better than independence or creativity.

WE WERE WRONG to accept what our culture taught us about racial segregation and the supposed inferiority of black people.

WE WERE WRONG to believe that we could somehow obey the Great Commission by paying for and praying for missionaries to go to Africa while ignoring the Great Commandments, disrespecting the African-Americans who lived down the dirt roads from our churches. We were either unaware or didn’t care that they often drank polluted water, had leaky roofs, and had no indoor plumbing.

WE WERE WRONG to believe that a glass of wine on Thanksgiving would send someone to hell but that it was okay for the preacher to be 100 pounds overweight and continue to stuff his face with fried chicken.

WE WERE WRONG to believe that people in other denominations who paid attention to the Christian calendar (Pentecost, Maundy Thursday, and Ash Wednesday, for example) were somehow less spiritual than Baptists who built their church calendar around secular holidays (such as Mother’s Day, Memorial Day and July 4).

WE WERE WRONG to believe we could be comfortable and Christian at the same time.

WE WERE WRONG to believe the primary thing that Jesus or the Christian faith cared about was Heaven and Hell.

WE WERE WRONG to believe that somehow America was the Kingdom of God.

WE WERE WRONG to believe the assumptions of our secular society, that bigger is better, that might makes right, that getting is better than giving.

WE WERE WRONG to believe that highlighting a few isolated verses could sum up the Bible, as if God could be contained in a bumper sticker.

WE WERE WRONG to trivialize prayer, as if getting all the things we want is the point!

WE WERE WRONG to believe God intended to silence the female half of the human race.

WE WERE WRONG to assume other people could practice the Christian faith on our behalf: pastors, missionaries, youth ministers, and social workers. When was the last time you got to know a welfare mother or a drug addict?

WE WERE WRONG to say there is only one biblical way to focus on the family. The family of Abraham looks different than the family of Jesus, which looks different than the family of King David, which looks different than the family of Mary and Martha, which looks different than the family of Esther and Mordecai.

WE WERE WRONG to think that Roberts Rules of Order, rather than the Bible, is the primary guide for working out disagreements in our churches.

WE WERE WRONG to teach (or imply) that talking, telling, and preaching, was more important than listening. The great sin of the Old Testament, according to Roy Honeycutt, was “They would not listen.”

WE WERE WRONG to let bullies, blamers, gossips, and other spiritually unhealthy people dominate the conversations and the decisions in many of our congregations.

WE WERE WRONG to think that repentance was primarily for non-Christians outside of our churches instead of for those of us inside. The more I know about Jesus, the Bible, the Christian faith, and the Holy Spirit, the more I know I am called to change, to repent.

WE WERE WRONG to believe that any tradition, law, bible, preacher, program, building, doctrine, convention or any other part of creation—even if God made it and blessed it—could possibly be as important as the Creator.

This, by the way, is the short list. I could write a book!

I have always been a loyal kind of guy. For decades, I hung in there, as much as possible, with the ecclesiastical world I inherited. I knew racism was wrong, however, and one by one, I began confronting the errors and inadequacies of my childhood experiences. I am grateful for the church of my childhood, for my family, for the appropriate lessons from my South Carolina culture. But I am also grateful I had permission to continue to grow, to get un-stuck from the habits, behaviors and beliefs of my childhood and adolescence.

(Four years ago, I wrote this column for the newsletter of the Cooperative Baptist Fellowship of South Carolina.)

Categories: Faith/Spirituality, Family, Health, Holiday, Lists/Top Ten, Race, South Carolina | Tags: , , , , , , , , , , , | 13 Comments

No Church Gets the Pastor They Thought They Called

No Church Gets the Pastor They Thought They Called

The reverse is also true. Pastors do not end up at the church to which they thought they had a call.

(The exception to both observations is when a church calls as pastor a well-known associate already on their staff. Each party knows in advance whether the match is a good fit.)

Church and candidate need to say as much as they can about their hopes, dreams, agendas and, even, to some extent, deficiencies. Potential pastors should not say they love hospital visitation or evangelism if they don’t. Churches should not say they are conflict free if they aren’t. This isn’t to say the church or potential pastors need to pursue every idiosyncratic thought during the search.

When a new pastor is installed, grace will be required on both sides. Selecting a pastor and accepting a call is like dating and marriage. There’s a lot about the courtship that is charming, exciting, hopeful and lovely. But, as in marriage, there will be surprises. The pastor search committee didn’t know about the pastor’s kickboxing hobby. The prospective pastor didn’t know he/she was expected to join the Rotary Club.

As a lifelong observer of and participant in churches, I’ve noticed that sometimes the members of a pastor search committee are the first to turn against their new employee—which they selected! I suspect that’s because of unrealistically high expectations: “We thought our youth program would double in size within six months. It didn’t happen and I’m disappointed. We made a mistake. We got the wrong person.“

Generally, our level of satisfaction is directly proportional to the level of our expectations. If we have super-high expectations, we are sure to be disappointed. This is a principle for life, by the way, not just for search committees and pastoral candidates.

Pastors are also surprised. In almost every church there’s a hot button issue that’s untouchable in sermons and possibly even in private conversation. I can give you a list of fifty. The unhealthiest congregations are without grace on a dozen or more fronts. It’s silly to think the entire congregation and the new pastor will agree on all subjects.

Prepare for surprises. Life is a roller coaster. The pastor and congregation are on a pilgrimage together, at least for this season.

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Take My Breath Away

“The most completely lost of all days is that in which one has not laughed.” Nicolas Chamfort

Birthdays with a Zero in them are fine times for reflection. February 11, 2017, I turned 70.

I’ve enjoyed hundreds, thousands of moments that have taken my breath away. I’ve fallen in love and married. We’ve celebrated 44 anniversaries. I’ve watched the birth of two daughters. I baptized both of them.

I’ve been blessed to participate in the spiritual growth of many folks. I’ve helped alcoholics get sober. I’ve seen people whose lives were pure chaos find order, salvation and peace. I’ve watched rigid, self-righteous people discover grace. More importantly, I discovered grace for myself and for others.

In Mauritania, I got stuck in the Sahara Desert in a four-wheel drive vehicle. That might have taken my breath away but I found a small tent village and took a nap. You must have priorities!

I’ve watched Clemson win two National Championships in football. Exhilarating!

It’s a rush to hold a book you wrote that’s been published. I’ve had that privilege four times.

I survived two serious car wrecks, one with a fully loaded logging truck.

Sally and I were on a transatlantic flight when one of the plane’s engines blew. We heard it. No doubt about what had happened. Potentially breathtaking experience. Literally. When we landed, two dozen emergency vehicles followed our plane down the runway.

My two best friends died. Soul-crushing experiences. Even at their memorial services, we found ways to laugh.

I’ve listened to Ella Fitzgerald in concert. Magnificent.

I’ve seen Greg Maddux pitch. Incredible.

In Kenya, I’ve seen elephants, lions, giraffes, zebras, and ostriches in their natural habitat. Wow!

On Folly Beach, South Carolina, I watched loggerhead turtles bursting from their brittle eggshells and clawing their way across the sandy beach into the Atlantic Ocean. Awe-inspiring.

With my grandson, Lake, we peered over the edge of the Grand Canyon, then rafted on the Colorado River.

With my daughter, Julie, we watched whales and caught lobsters off the coast of Massachusetts. Incredible.

With my daughter, Jenna, my grandson Lake, and my wife Sally, we climbed to the top of Machu Picchu. Then, we hiked in the Amazon Rain Forest. Mindboggling experiences.

Two pieces of advice I got from Jerry and Jane Howington when I was a teenager: “Keep on keeping on” and “Hang in there.”

“I’m so excited. I’m about to lose control and I think I like it.” The Pointer Sisters

Categories: Baseball, Faith/Spirituality, Family, Football, Humor, South Carolina, Travel, Writing | Tags: , , , , , , , | 15 Comments

Sandy Hook Elementary School

Sandy Hook Elementary School

As a child, and as a young adult, I was taught to shy away from trouble. That was a good lesson for a lad. If there was a schoolyard brawl, teachers said not to get involved. There are Bible lessons about not hanging around bad folks doing bad things and avoiding all appearance of evil. (Psalm 1 and I Thessalonians 5: 22 are examples.) So I shunned playground fights. I never learned to play poker and I didn’t go to pool halls because gambling was involved. I was a good kid.

There’s a difference, however, in innocence and naiveté. And there’s a difference between being ten years old and thirty years old. As a maturing adult, as a pastor, I was much too ignorant for much too long about too much that was a part of our culture.

Sometimes my ignorance was funny: During a children’s sermon, when a little girl said she wanted a Jam Box for Christmas, I was befuddled. I knew what a jelly jar was, but not a jam box.

But my problem was more serious. If someone said a college friend who dropped out of school had been raped, I didn’t want to think about it. If I was told that a couple in the church was having trouble because the husband was having an affair, I resisted the idea: Surely, not him. I secretly hoped the couple would not come to me for counseling. I liked the husband and wife. My fears of the painful and the unknown paralyzed me.

Eventually, I made some decisions to become more aware, to grow up, to listen, to pay attention to what was really going on and not just live within my idealized fantasyland. Others might say I became more “worldly.” But I needed to know stuff I didn’t know. That didn’t mean I needed to smoke pot (I never have) or get in a bar fight (I never have). But I have made an effort to learn about worlds I previously had known little or nothing about.

What does that have to do with Sandy Hook Elementary School? This winter, in Connecticut, I live fairly close to Sandy Hook, where a young man shot his mother, then drove to the local grade school where he murdered twenty boys and girls between six and seven years old, as well as six of the school’s staff members before he committed suicide.

There was a time when I simply put such events out of my mind. Actually, that’s probably impossible. I suspect they go deep into your mind, manifesting themselves in different deep-seated fears, in dreams, in relationships, and in who knows what other ways. At some point in my adult life, I began to embrace the need to pay attention to the full range of human reality. Some people are ghoulish about such horror stories. They are voyeurs, weird and inappropriate. I have no desire to hunker down with the hideous and gruesome, nor do I want to turn my head away from the real pain and suffering in the world and pretend it’s not there. I’ve been to Buchenwald concentration camp. I’ve been to the Sixteenth Street Baptist Church in Birmingham where a bomb killed four precious girls attending Sunday school. I now try to pay attention to the full reality of our world.

Next month, I turn seventy. I’m glad I’ve learned some things since I was thirty, I no longer tell grieving parents, “It will be okay.”

I drove by Sandy Hook Elementary School this week and was reminded that some things are never okay.

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One Month in Connecticut, December 2016—Survived!

South Carolina friends asked me to keep them posted on my second winter sojourn into the great Frozen Northland, otherwise known as New England. It snowed again last night, about an inch where I live in the woods of Wilton, Connecticut. It’s not supposed to get above freezing for a week, with a low temperature predicted to be 9 degrees.

Wilton Baptist Church is the reason I’m here. There were 75 worshipers on Christmas Eve and 25 Christmas morning. Average attendance seems to be 35-45. The church is fully organized and functioning with different folks responsible for flowers, the Lord’s Supper, children’s choir, Sunday school classes, and other typical church activities. I’m impressed.

But, it’s a church, and there are always surprises. The congregation cannot support a full-time pastor without being creative. They own a manse (parsonage) where I am living, and they have made the difficult decision to sell it to help underwrite their salary expenses for the next three years. Property here is high, so that will provide a half-million dollars income ($500,000). Since I have been here, volunteers have been working day and night to paint and prepare the house to be sold for top market value.

Yesterday, our fine part-time secretary/administrative assistant told me she has a new fulltime job requiring her resignation here. Phooey. We will be sorry to lose her. She is a faithful and good worker, and we will need to replace her. Churches don’t just run themselves. People behind the scenes make organizations work.

Last week, the first Sunday of the New Year, a family of four joined the church. I’m having dinner with them tonight to talk about their faith journey. This is the fun part of being a pastor.

My friends want to know what kind of foolishness I’m up to with regard to sightseeing and traveling around the area. Facebook is the easiest way to participate in my over-sharing! I post too much there, I’m sure, but I enjoy the humor and the sometimes-lively discussion.

Sally flew up for our 44th anniversary and Christmas. The truth is we ate, slept and churched our way through the four or five days she was here. Oh, and we went to the movies to see LaLa Land, which we both liked. I was glad the Wilton folks got to meet Sally and she got to meet them.

I drove over to Boston to visit with Julie and Tom for two days and watched the Clemson-Ohio State game with them. Since I was a nervous wreck, I’m not sure that was exactly fun. But we won, so I’m going back over on Monday to watch the National Championship Game. Go Tigers!

Finally, I went into New York City. Because of poor planning, I went two days in a row. I had a ticket to see The Great Comet of 1812, a musical about a portion of War and Peace. The very next day, I had a ticket to Front Page starring Nathan Lane and John Goodman. Best part of either trip was a long subway ride to The Cloisters, a recreated Romanesque and Gothic showcase for Great Art. Not on most “must see” lists, but it has been my favorite thing in New York City so far.

 

Categories: Faith/Spirituality, Family, Football, Travel | Tags: , , , , , , , , , , , , | 1 Comment

I Don’t Need To Repeat My White Christmas Experience!

2016-12-17-08-21-12

Last week, the snow fell in Connecticut, lots of snow. This part of the world, the rural landscape, can be stunningly beautiful. It was 27 degrees. I fixed bacon, eggs and grits for breakfast. Nothing was planned for the day. I washed clothes and cleaned the house. The snow is still on the ground and it is 10 degrees today. (I took this picture from the house where I am living.)

Life is good. God is good.

Last winter, in New Hampshire, when it was – (minus) 17 degrees, one of my South Carolina friends said we needed to call church off in that kind of weather. If you close church, school or businesses in bad weather up here, you’ll never go to church, school or work.

Have I ever had a White Christmas? Yes, and it was half magical and half not-so-much.

At age 24, I visited my girlfriend and her parents in Westchester County, New York, an area very similar to where I’m staying this year in Connecticut—hilly, rocky, rural, woodsy, no leaves on the trees, magnificent homes, a beautiful Currier and Ives setting. On Christmas morning, we ice-skated on the pond near her house. A fairy tale. Perfection.

Then, Christmas afternoon, it was time to leave fantasyland. Her dad was to drive us to the airport in New York City where my girlfriend and I were to catch a plane back to the Carolinas. I was in charge of a Young Life Camp beginning the next day, December 26. As we drove into the city, the snow was furious. After driving for a while, her dad asked which airport we were using. Turns out, he was taking us in the wrong direction to the wrong airport, and he was not a happy father-of-the-girlfriend. He had to backtrack to get us to LaGuardia. After he dropped us off, we discovered all planes had been grounded. Fourteen hours later, we managed to secure seats on a jet leaving LaGuardia. We arrived in plenty of time for our camping experience.

Though guilt comes easily to me, I never felt the trip to the wrong airport was my responsibility. He was the New Yorker. I kinda think it would have been smart of him to ask “Which airport?” when we left his house. Enchanting morning. The afternoon was less charming.

I’m pleased to say that relationship never worked out. I’d already met Sally Craig, and the next year, she applied her own charms and we married on December 22, 1972.   On Thursday of this week, she’ll fly into Connecticut for our anniversary. She’ll stay through Christmas. Snow or no snow? Who cares? I’ll have my love to keep me warm.

Categories: Family, Holiday, Humor, Travel | 3 Comments

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