Corn Bread and Beans in a Mind Made Fairytale Worthy of God

My mom is beginning to lose her past, forgotten most of her lived life, unable to live in the joy of the memories of a life so well lived.  It is nothing that greatly concerns me, her faithfulness has and is being meticulously recorded for her crown to come.  What does puzzle me but doesn’t seem to concern her is what does her mind dwell on if most of her past is forgotten?  Are the memories of all those meaningful years still there often drifting by her consciousness but she is just unable to recall them on my command?  Or does her mind create a new reality that I am not privy to, a reality that is just as rich even if not reality at all?  I had a dream last night that was so real that it woke me.  I laid in bed and thought how real it seemed in my sleep but completely made up by my mind.  Is that mom’s experience, conscious consciousness of absolute reality but more a mind-made fairy tale?  In my dad’s last dying days he often spent the unconscious hours in his favorite pastime, playing golf.  I would come in and sit by his bed and he would suddenly say, “Hand me my 9 iron!”  It would bring me such joy sitting by my dying father knowing that to him, dying was playing a round of golf.  Maybe my mom continually plans Christmas dinner or cornbread and beans for Mamaw, Betty, and me when we show up this evening—only in the world of her mind, a grace worthy of her God.   

A photo of what a well-lived life's memory looks like.

 

 

The Overture Has Started, The Revival of the Blockbuster Begun

This is the browning time, all that died in winter is no longer covered in snow but carpeting West Tennessee in a decaying stain of dirty brown.  There is very little to suggest springtime and lots of left-over debris of winter.  But then the announcement comes, a herald from the buttercups, a yellow invitation to anticipation, springtime is coming.  And then the country fields turn emerald with wheat, the forsythia sparkles among the ditches in tuning voices, the cherry blossoms pinkly plead and the towering trees put on a tiny red canopy of coming shade and last; of the first glittering of putting the brown to enriching soil; is the faithful Redbud, its purple parade will line our lanes and busy byways announcing, GREEN IS COMING!  And we all lean gently back in our rocking chairs and attend one of God’s greatest plays, “Spring Comes Flourishing Across Tennessee.”

The Bouncing Marble of Insomnia

I often struggle with insomnia, a hereditary gift from both my parents.  Passing the late-night hours listening to the grandfather clock chime away your coveted sleep is maddingly boring.  My mind weirdly runs down odd trails as out of control as a marble bouncing on a tiled floor and every sound is thoughtfully investigated to determine what in the world is awake at this hour.  The worst part of it is the total helplessness to control or actually, to lose control of my awake-ness.  I seem to be able to make myself be awake but cannot make myself be asleep.  I listen to my lover’s soft breathing, smile at her great good fortune, and quietly wish we could be together during this difficult malady of mine but insomnia is always suffered alone.  My mom used to say that she and dad would pass each other in the middle of the night, one of them getting up, the other going back to bed.  The only thing I pass in the middle of the night is the time I am not asleep.     

Can I Get A Vision

I have been fortunate enough to be a part of the lives of several people who were good at casting a meaningful vision before me and expecting me to join in—"Without  a vision, the people perish.”  My parents, my wife, an art professor, a university president, dean and provost, and a department chair.  There is no greater assurance of meaning than God daily casting His vision before you and asking, “Will you take up My cause, seek the lost, help the hurting, be kind to the brokenhearted, love and encourage those that barely know me…be My ambassador?”  God how great a debtor I am for the grace of You imparting You and Your vision to me to give me cause to live with meaning today!

Two great visionaries.

The Grace Fetter

There is nothing so great as a daily self-assessment.  That is one of the great graces of a personal time alone with God every morning.   It is not a mystical spiritual deal even though it often is, it is more like a tune-up, an exercise regiment, a diagnostic of all my systems.  The sincerity of it is what always keeps me coming back, my old ford me is not judged but more like greased, oiled, and polished.  And what is the wax?  It is the grace polish!  It is that understanding of God that says to me, “Lee, I know you are human, and I am going to give you enough of Me to make it through today.”  And then my heart leaps to a line long forgotten but oft sung in those old country churches of my past… "O to grace how great a debtor..."

Come, Thou Fount of every blessing,

Tune my heart to sing Thy grace;

Streams of mercy, never ceasing,

Call for songs of loudest praise.

Jesus sought me when a stranger,

Wand’ring from the face of God;

He, to save my soul from danger,

Interposed His precious blood.

O to grace how great a debtor

Daily I’m constrained to be!

Let that grace, Lord, like a fetter,

Bind my wand’ring heart to Thee

Teach me, Lord,. Some rapturous measure,

Meet for me Thy grace to prove,

While I sing the countless treasure

Of my God’s unchanging love.

Prone to wander, Lord, I feel it;

Prone to leave the God I love:

Take my heart, oh, take and seal it

With Thy Spirit from above.

What Am I Thinking!!!

"When in the Course of human events, it becomes necessary for one people to dissolve the political bands which have connected them with another, and to assume among the powers of the earth, the separate and equal station to which the Laws of Nature and of Nature's God entitle them, a decent respect to the opinions of mankind requires that they should declare the causes which impel them to the separation..."

I am thinking.

Trending Warm and Quiet

It is raining when we get here, no sun and dark threatening.  We unload and the dogs are happy.  Everything is sluffing off.  There is no stress here.  The sky is just above us, grey and sad but the river is slick as ice and reflects all the grey which makes for meaning.  My lover begins to unpack, shirts, jeans, beautiful things and praise God she remembered my house shoes.  And on thanking God, I am grateful I have filled the wood box.  Our home is cold.  Been abandoned for three weeks and it's obvious, cold in every nook and cranny.  I begin the fire, coaxing, pushing, and then it is up and running.  Our home begins to warm.  I take a walk in the wet wood and when I return dinner is drifting its promise around.  We are here.  All else drains away and only quiet is here and it is fine.  Quiet is fine.  And so I rest and know rest is on the docket tomorrow—it is just my lover, two dogs, my latest art project, quiet and a fire that warms. I must tend the warm now but the quiet takes care of itself—it's trending warm and quiet.