Sounds of Hope

So many thoughts whirl around in my head. I think it is because I don’t have anyone to talk to right now. My husband says we are like the Democrats and Republicans. In their case, they both have the good of the country at heart, but they see things very, very differently. In our case, we are all thinking about my mother and yet our thoughts couldn't be more different. In my romanticized view of how family should be, I see us clinging to each other as we allow our loved one to go to the one she loves the most, her Lord. Rather, some cling to a life that is nearly over. Their desperations want some heroic measure to snatch her from the jaws of death. If it were possible, I would too. I, as the lone member of my political party, silently pray for Jesus to hasten to come to her aid and snatch her to her eternal home. I dare not utter my feelings because I feel outnumbered. The practicality of my personality is viewed as cold and indifferent. Nothing can be further from the truth. I...

Have you ever noticed that your ears are a bit like your mouth? Just like your mouth waters for grandma’s special cookies, pie or stew, there are times you just get a craving to hear something that brings you pleasure. Just like the delight on your tongue, your ears tingle and feel satisfied just at a sound. I feel that way when I go back to Nashville. When we first moved to Tennessee, we would hear: Ya’all I’m fixin to go to the store I carried my mother to the store ya’all want a buggy? It sounded so strange and we would laugh. And that accent!? So tinny and high pitched. Children and even adults always called me Miss Joyce. I feared that my children would be viewed as rude since they had never been taught to use the polite Miss in front of a name. As a family, we purposed to NEVER pick up the Southern accent nor ever use fixin in a sentence. We haven’t. Yesterday I went to the bank in Nashville. A simple activity. I pushed the button for the pneumatic tube to go inside th...