It was a Tuesday evening. The supper dishes had been cleared off the table and the kids were in their rooms doing homework and who knows what else. At the kitchen sink, the mother takes off her yellow rubber gloves and yells for the children to come to the den. The father sits in his chair in front of the TV and the children file in to see why they're being called. The mother makes her way into the den and turns the round TV dial on the big console set as she instructs them all to sit down and be quiet. "Billy Graham is coming on and we're all going to watch it."  This was my house, when I was growing up, anytime there was a televised crusade. Billy Graham specials were required viewing from beginning all the way to the last verse of Just As I Am.

I thought about what it would've been like in heaven, yesterday, when he got there. I'm sure he was beyond ready to get home. He was such a gifted, anointed man. I remember how he could fill stadiums just like any big sporting event. All the people pouring into the aisles during the invitation. All over the country.....all over the world. I can't imagine how many souls were saved because of that one man's life. He took "Go ye, therefore..." and ran with it with his whole heart.

Even in his elderly years, he seemed to serve as our country's spiritual leader. The one we wanted to hear from in times of sadness. The one we craved insight from on our modern society's problems. The one we paused and listened to when he had something to say.

Our nation has lost a great man of God. A leader above reproach. I know when I get to heaven, I won't live anywhere near his subdivision, but I sure hope we bump into each other down by the crystal river or somewhere. I'd love to meet him. What great work he did for our country and for God's kingdom.

Take your rest, Reverend.  

And, now, if you'll allow me to make a bumpy and outright awkward transition from Billy Graham to mammograms, well, I had my mammogram, earlier this week. You, girls, know I try to always mention my mammogram in order to encourage you to get yours. I think I've gone at the topic from all angles and so, this year, I'd like to take a different approach to breast health awareness.

It occurred to me that we have appreciation weeks which celebrate the difficult tasks of nurses, teachers, ministers, administrative assistants, doctors, and such, but where is the celebratory week for the work of the woman who wrestles our breasts into those mammogram machines? I mean, really. Bless her heart. Have you ever noticed all the different shapes and sizes and levels of perkiness of those things that are walking around? Can you imagine that it's your job for 8 hours a day to try and wrangle up all that and pin it down with a vise? Today, we'll just skim over the part about their cold hands and just try to concentrate on their unmatched ability to make the experience seem so nonchalant as they initiate pleasant conversation about anything and everything in order to distract us from the somewhat unnatural and potentially awkward encounter. And they're always so cute the way that they tell us to hold still while they take the picture as if there's any way that even an EF-5 tornado could move us a single millimeter from that grip. And thorough. Did I mention thorough? Not wanting to miss anything, they will work and work and pull and maneuver until they have every little smidgen of you corralled in there all the way up to your armpits. Talk about a work ethic
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So, as this year's mammogram reminder blurb, I'd just like to send a hats off to all the mammogram operators out there. You have a tough, tough job and you do it so well....making us feel so relaxed.....as if having our exposed breasts run through a dough press is just a normal, everyday occurrence about which we should have no reservations. Only a skilled, thoughtful healthcare worker could achieve that level of professional care and empathy. So, here's to you for helping us, your fellow women, stay healthy. We appreciate the work you do.

And for the rest of us, go get your mammogram. For yourself and for your people who love you.

And, lastly, Davis and I are celebrating our 26th anniversary today. The mammogram to anniversary transition seems much less dicey than the Billy Graham one, but I digress. On February 22, 1992, Davis and I decided that we'd both found the person we'd like to do life with and we married in a full church surrounded by all the people we love. 26 years later, I could string him up by his toes, sometimes, and he wishes he could duct tape my pie hole, but all in the most loving way possible, of course.
I wish I could go back and choose another dress and veil. Tone down the big, early 90's hair. I'd love to go back and register for gifts again and make different selections. I'd probably choose to save my parents some of the money they spent on that big wedding. I wish I could change the bridesmaid's getups and their color. Yeah, there are a lot of changes I'd make to that day, looking back with 26 years of experience and maturity under my belt, but I still would choose my kindhearted Davis, every time. Every day.

What I'm lacking, he has plenty. Where he runs thin, I've got him covered. God knew what we both needed and helped us find it in each other. Now, we're treading new waters with a married daughter, a son-in-law, and a graduating son. Every day, we're getting closer to the way we were in this picture. Back to just the two of us.

And we'll be just fine with that.               
 
We're taking a quick trip to the beach to celebrate.

Y'all have a great weekend, too!